Chapter Text
At least the view is nice.
That’s what Park Jimin is thinking while his mother is nagging at him in the back of the very expensive SUV.
They’re making their way back home after another grandeur family dinner. Jimin didn’t really want to go but it’s not like he really had a choice.
She’s probably talking about mating now. He’s not sure. He tuned out a while ago when she started critiquing his clothing.
He sighs and senses his mother pause, but he knows she won’t discipline him. She wouldn’t dare, not when he’s the apple of his alpha mother’s eye.
It’s comical really— Jimin knows he’s spoilt and is aware he can pretty much get away with anything. His Mother would sooner kill a man than to put a hand on her precious son. The last person who had something to say about him could attest to this. Except he’s currently tied to a brick at the bottom of the Han river.
Being the son of one of the most notorious crime families in South Korea definitely has its perks. And yet, as an omega, Jimin feels like he’s in a cage. No matter how gilded and glamourised it is.
Sure, he had some freedom by studying abroad for University, but he’s back in Seoul now. Like he never left. And his mother is already pushing for him to get mated all in the sake of strengthening their family name. But Jimin’s only twenty-two. He just graduated. He has his whole life ahead of him for mating and pups for goodness’ sake. He honestly doesn’t understand the rush. It’s not like his parents are dying anytime soon.
“…Byung’s Alpha son has shown an interest in you.”
“Well unfortunately, I have no interest in him.” He tunes back in just on time.
“Jimin.” His mother’s stern tone almost makes him cower away. But he knows he can’t afford to do that. Any sign of weakness and she will pounce.
“Mother. It’s been a long day. Please save all this mating talk for another day.”
“I don’t understand why your mother coddles you so much. When I was your age I was mated and pregnant with your brother.”
Jimin sighs.
“Why don’t you ask her that.. She is your mate after all.”
“I swear going abroad has ruined you.” His mother scolds. “You were never this disrespectful before. What did that University teach you?”
To be free. It taught me to be free.
He thinks it but doesn’t say it aloud.
He wouldn’t dare.
🔥
It’s about forty-five minutes later when they arrive at the vast mansion they call home and Jimin heads straight for his room.
He methodically wipes of any etch of make up before heading to the shower. The water is hot. Scalding even. It’s grounding.
He doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower, but by the team he leaves his skin is red from the heat and pruned from the water.
By the time he finishes his nighttime routine, he’s so exhausted that he almost misses the ringtone indicating that someone is facetiming him.
He picks up once he sees who it is.
“Jiminiee.”
“Hey Hobi.”
“Hey stranger!”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Well.. I’ve not been able to get a hold of you these days. It’s like you dropped of the face of the earth.”
“Let’s not be dramatic. I’ve just been busy”
He sees his friend roll his eyes before he responds.
“Sure, you were. You sure you didn’t get into one of your ‘moods’?”
“Excuse me. I don’t get into any moods” Jimin feels himself start to get defensive, even though he knows Hoseok means no harm.
“Sure you don’t… Anyway, am I seeing you tomorrow?”
He scrunches his brows in confusion. “What’s tomorrow?”
“Apparently my Dad is throwing a lunch after Mass tomorrow. It’s crazy how during the week these mobsters will commit the most atrocious acts in the name of power but will diligently attend Mass every Sunday.”
Jimin scoffs. “Probably to atone for their many many sins.”
“…Babe I’m on the phone to Jiminie. I’m telling him about tomorrow.” Hoseok interrupts and although Jimin can’t quite make out his words, he can identify the deep timbre of his mate’s voice in the background.
He still finds it hard to believe that Hoseok is already mated. He can’t rationalise getting mated now at twenty-two, let alone at nineteen.
Sure, Min Yoongi grew up with them, albeit a few years older. They mated in the throes of the passion of heat and yet, they don’t seem to regret it. He remembers it like yesterday, everyone’s initial shock and disappointment before they accepted that nothing could be done about it. It didn’t help that Yoongi was initially nothing but a foot soldier, tasked with protecting the Jung’s precious omega son from the threats that would harm his family.
No one anticipated that Yoongi would be the biggest threat himself.
“I don’t understand the purpose of these gatherings when the majority of the people there want to kill each other.” Jimin says this mostly to himself not expecting his occupied friend to respond.
“You know it’s just to keep up appearances and I guess you could say it's an intimidation tactic. It’s all one huge pissing contest.”
“I guess… I’ll never understand mobsters.”
“Jimin you too are a mobster by association, whether you like it or not. We all are. I hope that fancy British University hasn’t made you forget. As long as you reap the benefits from all that your family do, there’s blood on your hands too.”
The call didn’t last much longer after Hoseok’s words. It’s not like Jimin was offended. He knew Hoseok was right and he hated it. He hated it because he did reap all the benefits that came with killing men. Whether they were guilty men or not.
He looks around his room that is easily bigger than some people’s homes. A large vanity, walk in closet, sitting area copious enough to seat a sizable amount of people. The plush queen-sized bed that he’s currently laying on.
All bought and paid in blood.
🔥
The pews are all filled to the brim with suits and dresses, and Park Jimin isn’t any different. He’s dressed in his Sunday best. A white linen co-ordinated set that, paired with his shoulder length blonde hair, makes him look all the more angelic.
He presents like the most ideal omega. Innocently singing hymns whilst turning a blind eye to the horrors that surround him.
Amazing grace! how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch; like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Every voice in the hall is echoing these lyrics and all Jimin can think is: These wretched souls that fill the cathedral seats are beyond saving.
He spots Hoseok a few rows in front sitting next to his mate. His parents seated on the other side of him.
It’s as if Hoseok can sense his gaze because not a moment later, he turns around and gives him a smile of acknowledgement which Jimin returns.
The rest of the service flows smoothly. Or at least Jimin assumes it does. He’s not paying attention to the particulars of it all.
“Oh my Jimin, you’ve gotten even more beautiful since I’ve last seen you.” And thus starts the endless coddling from all his ‘aunties’ and ‘uncles’. They don’t hesitate to start attempting to pawn him off to their eligible bachelor alpha children.
“Thank you Uncle.”
“Don’t be a stranger, okay. You are always welcome to visit me.”
As soon as he says those words, the omega feels his skin start to crawl all over.
If scum was personified Lee Dohyun would be it.
The man had seen him in diapers, had watched him grow up but that didn’t seem to stop his predatory gaze.
He is mated to a lovely omega woman but that doesn’t stop him from sleeping with half of Seoul. It doesn’t stop any of them.
But Jimin will be damned before he ends up like Han Areum; a pretty trophy wife who’s had all her vitality drained out of her by a scum that’s double her age and unable to leave.
He can see her now standing next to her mate, an empty smile adorning her face and even emptier eyes. Like she’s desensitised to Dohyun’s actions. Jimin thinks he would be too if he had twelve ‘step’ kids that were all born after the date of his mating.
“I’ll be sure to tell my parents, maybe they can plan a time for us all to visit.” He says politely before turning away.
He doesn’t stick around to see the disappointment in the alpha’s face.
He spots his parents and brother nearby and immediately heads their way.
“Were you talking to Dohyun?” are the first words he’s greeted with. His mother really doesn’t miss anything. Neither of them do.
“What was he saying?”
“He told me I was welcome to give him a visit.”
“You stay away from him Jimin-ah. And if he says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll make sure he doesn’t cause you anymore trouble”
The threat is clear and Jimin knows that his mother will do well on it.
Park Hana doesn’t mince her words.
He’s seen the alpha castrate a man for undermining her authority. He’s seen her gouge someone’s eyes out for looking at her mate funny.
She invokes fear into everyone who is present. Most of them respect her for it but it doesn’t change the fact that they all hate her for it. Nevertheless, none of them are brave enough to go against her.
“It’s okay mum. He didn’t really do anything.”
Jimin knows that although for now none of them will go against his Mother, they are looking for any reason to do so.
Killing Lee Dohyun would give them one.
“The Jung’s have invited us for lunch.” His mother states, changing the subject.
“I know. Is it okay if I ride with Hoseok and Yoongi?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sure sweetie.”
His parents look at each other then. His mother is clearly frustrated but she doesn’t have authority over her alpha.
Jimin bids them farewell, but he doesn’t think they even hear him in the midst of their bickering.
“You let him get away with too much Hana.”
“What’s wrong with him being with his friends?”
“They are a terrible influence on him-”
🔥
“Your mom’s a cold bitch.” Is what Hoseok says as soon as they enter the safety of Yoongi’s car away from listening ears.
“Which one?” He could honestly be referring to either.
“Both but I’m talking about your dam.”
“Careful, my other mum would still cut out your tongue if she heard you speaking against her omega.”
“Your parents are actually high key goals.”
“If that’s what you consider goals, I’m deeply concerned for you Hobi.”
“What? It’s romantic! Your mate threatening violence against anyone who would speak against you. Hell, if I heard Yoongi doing that, I’d let him put another baby in me.”
“Only you would find that romantic. I swear you need psychiatric evaluation, you’re so-”
“Wait..”
“You’re Pregnant?!" He screeches.
“I’ve got a little bun in my oven.” Hoseok confirms cheekily and Jimin can see the slight grin on Yoongi’s face from where he’s driving at the front.
But you’re still so young is what Jimin wants to say but he keeps it to himself.
“Congratulations Hobi. I’m so happy for you.” Is what he says instead.
“Thank you honey. We found out a few weeks back.”
“How far along are you?”
“About two months now.”
“Have you told your parents yet?”
“Yeah we told them last week. My dad even cried. I think that was the first time I’ve ever seen him show any emotion towards me since mating Yoongi.”
“It’s been three years. You’d think he would’ve gotten over it by now.” Jimin comments.
“Yeah… well I ‘disgraced’ the family name. You know it’s actually insane, he hasn’t spoken to me in years. Now that I’m pregnant, I’m back to being the apple of his eye. He’s spoken to me more in the past week than he has in three years.”
“That’s… Yeah.” Jimin trails off.
“Exactly. And the thing is… I think I actually preferred the silent treatment.”
Jimin’s about to respond when Yoongi announces they’ve arrived. He’d been too distracted by their conversation to notice that they had indeed arrived at the grand property that is the Jung family home.
They’re buzzed in and then they’re driving through the black gates that open to reveal a luxurious mansion that Jimin is no stranger to. This was practically his second home growing up. He distinctly remembers running across the front yard with the security keeping a close eye on them as they are now.
The sheer number of cars parked in the yard already has the omega on edge. He knew that when a Jung hosted an event, no one could decline it. He knew that this unfortunately also meant that the majority of, if not all, of the prominent families would be in attendance tonight. His Mother would exhibit him like an exotic animal; prime for the hunt.
He notices that there’s at least thrice the amount of security, in comparison to the usual foot soldiers that are tasked with guarding the Jung manor. He recognizes this is due to who is here tonight. With all the prominent families here today, Jimin could bet his left tit that someone would end up with a bullet in between their eyes by the end of the event.
After all, mobsters could never be trusted to be cordial even in the most genial environments.
It just wasn’t in their nature.
He makes his way inside with Yoongi and Hoseok in tow. They are guided through the house and led into the reception area. He spots his parents almost immediately, but he doesn’t recognise who they're speaking to. Jimin’s honestly just grateful that they’re too distracted to call him over.
The omega’s relief is cut short however, once Hoseok’s parents spot them and call them over. He has no choice but to make his way over with the mated pair.
“Jiminie, you look as gracious as ever. Well done for finishing your studies.” Jung Insu pulls him into a hug.
It’s a common joke within the community that Hoseok stole his father’s face. Jimin presumes it’s because he hasn’t seen the alpha in a while, but the notion rings true especially now with him standing in front of Jimin. The high cheekbones, heart shaped mouth that’s always stretched into a smile and the sharp eyes that don’t miss anything. It’s like copy and paste seeing them standing next to each other.
“Thank you Uncle.” He smiles politely.
“Our very own scholar. You studied Business Management right? Soon you’ll be managing all our businesses for us.”
Jimin could hear how fake the laugh he let out was, but Jung Insu didn’t detect anything. He joined in even.
Jimin finds the statement either ironic or wilfully ignorant. There was no way they would let an omega manage anything. Whilst the rest of the world lived in the 21st century, The Korean underground remained in the Joseon Dynasty it seemed. All the progressive rights that omegas had fought diligently for didn’t exist here.
The Alpha then turns his attention onto his son and Jimin appreciates the reprieve. They start to discuss Hoseok’s pregnancy and Jimin extends his congratulations to Insu on becoming a grandfather.
He excuses himself and manages to slip out but not without being pulled into a few more conversations. He makes his way to the library on the second floor. He knows this house like the back of his hand, and he also knows no one would be in there whilst there’s an event going on. Usually, he would socialise and engage in all the pointless small talk. He would even bask in the attention from all the Alpha’s. Maybe his mother is right, and he has changed, because the thought of talking to any of these soulless people and appealing to knothead alphas is now his idea of a nightmare.
The library is as expected vacant and Jimin makes himself comfortable on one the brown leather couches. He takes out his phone and is immediately met with several notifications. The most prominent ones are from his group chat with his university friends; they’re trying to organise another get together that Jimin won’t attend with the omega being oceans away from England. Matter of fact he won’t be allowed to attend any of those events again.
He ignores those messages in favour of opening up another social media app, mindlessly scrolling through and laughing occasionally when a funny shitpost appears. He gets so invested; he almost doesn’t notice another presence in the room until he hears the door click shut.
His gaze instinctively snaps up and he’s immediately trapped by the darkest pupils he’s ever seen.
He expands his focus to the rest of his face and the omega’s second observation is that the stranger is extremely handsome. His dark almost black hair is swept away from his face in a classic Hollywood style. His eyes, despite being round and wide, are somehow still sharp and dangerous. His lips aren’t what he’d describe as full but they’re not thin either— the perfect intermediate.
Jimin’s gaze travels downwards as he takes in more of the stranger. He’s wearing a pristine black suit and shiny brogues to match, likely from one of the many famous Italian designers. He looks like the perfect gentleman and yet, Jimin can already tell he’s anything but.
His eyes helplessly meet him again and that’s when Jimin notices his scent.
It’s strong, musky and powerful.
Cedarwood.
It’s the scent of an Alpha.
And despite his every instinct telling him to run, that this man screams danger, Jimin doesn’t move. He can’t. It’s like he’s in a trance. He’s sure he looks like a complete idiot just staring at this stranger as time continues to stretch.
The alpha raises a brow and that snaps Jimin out of his stupor. He makes to leave when the stranger interrupts him.
“You don’t need to leave.”
His voice is deep and smooth, like dark honey poured slowly.
Jimin sits back down.
He tries to distract himself with his phone but it’s impossible when he can see the alpha shifting around in his peripheral vision.
He doesn’t dare directly look at the alpha, but he can hear the telltale click of a lighter and that’s when he decides it’s time to leave. He’s not about to be a victim of second-hand smoking.
He’s approaching the alpha to walk past him to the door when he speaks again.
“I already said you don’t need to leave. You can continue whatever it is you were doing.”
“It’s okay, I’m done now.”
“Thought I’d rendered you speechless.” The alpha scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette. The motion brings to Jimin’s attention the alpha’s hands. He’s close enough to see that they’re tattooed. He can only see a slither of skin, as everything is hidden by the alpha’s suit sleeves, but he can tell the tattoos go further up his arms. He’s definitely not a gentleman.
He almost gets distracted by the alpha again until he realises what he just said.
Cocky much.
“Very much.”
Jimin’s eyes snap up to meet his. Shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud and by the humoured look on the alpha’s face, he knew it too.
He swallows, then tries to change the subject. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”
“Oh yeah? Says who?” The alpha is still looking at Jimin with that slight smirk on his face.
Jimin wants to slap it off.
He doesn’t know where it comes from, but suddenly he’s angry. How dare this alpha come and infiltrate his peace and think it’s acceptable to smoke in a library of all places.
“Who even smokes in a library?”
“I am.” The alpha takes long purposeful drags of his cigarette. He’s still smirking as if Jimin is nothing but local amusement.
Jimin is used to alphas being pricks but this guy takes the cake. He usually just ignores them; however, there’s something about this alpha that gets under his skin. Perhaps it’s his nonchalance or his cockiness. Or perhaps it’s the way he looks at him, like he’s something that shouldn’t be taken seriously. Before Jimin can decide what it is, his hands decide to slap the cigarette out of the alpha’s hands as he is preparing for his next drag.
His eyes follow the cigarette where it’s landed on the floor, no longer burning.
Shit.
What the fuck did he just do?
His eyes remain on the cigarette, too scared to even look at the alpha now.
Suddenly the mahogany floors seem very interesting…
It’s silent for a moment and then Jimin hears the alpha chuckle.
“Little Omega has some fire in him, huh?”
It’s not even his words; it’s the way he says them. The way he drags out the syllables.
Jimin eventually finds the confidence to meet the alpha’s gaze again and what he sees in it is enough for him to hightail out of that fucking library.
He doesn’t even bother responding and the alpha says nothing more.
He sees him fishing out another cigarette and this time Jimin doesn’t stop the alpha, he continues heading for the door as he practically flees out of that library.
He makes his way back into the reception hall and the lunch portion has clearly commenced with the majority of the attendees now eating and conversing with each other. His stomach grumbles and he takes it as a sign to head towards the buffet table.
He’s just finished filling his plate when he accidentally makes eye contact with his mother who immediately calls him over.
“Where the hell have you been?!” His omega mother has already started fussing over him.
“I just went to sit in the library for a while, I had a headache.”
“Are you feeling better? I have some painkillers in my bag.”
“It’s okay. It’s gone now.”
“Next time don’t disappear without saying anything. We can’t trust everyone who’s here today.” That comes from his dam, and he supposes she’s right. There are a few tonight who without a doubt would seek to harm him just to get under her skin.
“Yeah I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Look at the Kim boys. They’ve grown up so well.”
Jimin isn’t sure leaving a trail of dead bodies everywhere they went directly translated to growing up well, so he stays quiet.
“I heard that they’re all single and at least one of them is open to getting mated.”
“Mom. Please..”
“Fine. But just know you can’t avoid it forever. You’re 22 now, your mother allowed you to go to college but you’re back and now you have to fulfil your duty as an omega.”
Jimin wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
He does neither in favour of poking around the food on his plate, his appetite dissipated.
He imagines a world where he’s free of all this. Free to make his own choices. Free to be his own person.
Despite his better judgment and severe disinterest, he turns to observe the Kim’s. He could agree with his mother that they had grown up well. They were all at least a few years older than the omega at best, so he’s never spent that much time around them. Besides, their families had more of a working relationship unlike the close bond they had with the Jung’s.
From an objective standpoint, he could see why his mother would want to sell him like a cash cow to one of them.
The Kim brothers.
Kim Mingyu. Kim Namjoon. Kim Seokjin.
All formidable men, all successful and, most importantly, all Alphas.
It was a common belief that the Moon Goddess had smiled down upon the Kim’s and blessed them with such strong children. Jimin didn’t believe that. He’s not sure if he even believed in the Moon Goddess at all. But if the all-knowing Mother was real, he doesn’t think she would bless murderers and criminals.
He’s about to look away when suddenly Kim Mingyu meets his gaze. This seems to grab the remaining brothers’ attention and suddenly they’re all looking at him.
The person who they were clearly in the middle of conversation with also notices and turns around to face the omega that is the source of disruption.
Jimin startles. It’s the alpha from the library.
“Oh, Jungkook’s here too, the Kim’s must’ve persuaded him to come. He never comes to these ostentatious events; he hardly even comes out in public.” He hears his mother say from somewhere behind him.
“I don’t blame him. It’s at one of these events where both of his parents were killed. I wouldn’t want to attend a reminder either.” His alpha mom retorts.
“I suppose it’s a show of bravery.”
“He doesn’t need to show it. No one here would dare move a finger against him – they’re all too scared. If they feared his parents, it’s something else with him. Jeon Jungkook is the most ruthless of them all.”
A Jeon.
Since returning, Jimin had heard rumours about the Jeon son. He hardly paid attention to it, characterizing it as petty omega gossip from bored housewives. But as he integrates all the comments he’s heard thus far with his mother’s words, it’s enough of a warning. It’s a confirmation of what he had initially thought regarding the alpha.
He’s dangerous.
He’s dangerous and Jimin wants nothing to do with him.
The omega vows to himself then and there that he will keep far far away from Jeon Jungkook.
🔥
“Do you think this is a pretty colour?”
“Sure.”
“Jimin, you’re not even looking.”
He looks up from his phone and sighs at his cousin. “Yes it’s pretty, now go and pay for it so we can leave.”
Jimin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, thumb still idly scrolling though he hasn’t registered a single word on the screen.
“You’re so mean to me.”
“Pouting doesn’t work on me. I'm not a dumb alpha or an ahjussi.”
“Of course not. You’d make a terrible alpha.” His cousin retorts.
“Brat.”
“Learnt from the best.”
“I’m not.. A brat.”
“I didn’t even say you were. But if the shoe fits Cinderella.”
“The implications were there.”
“If the shoe fits…”
“Taehyung. Go and pay for your shit so we can go.”
“Fine.. fine, I’m going.”
His cousin finally heads towards the till and Jimin watches as the cashier rings up his items. He also watches as his cousin smiles and says something clearly flirty that makes the cashier blush.
It takes less than ten seconds.
Taehyung leans slightly over the counter, chin tilted just so, lashes lowered in that practiced way that suggests innocence rather than calculation. The cashier, an alpha by the scent of them, stumbles over the total, fingers brushing Taehyung’s when handing over the receipt.
The cashier doesn’t know she’s just another victim, helpless to be sucked into the orbit of Kim Taehyung.
Jimin exhales through his nose.
It isn’t even malicious. That’s the frustrating part.
Taehyung doesn’t flirt like someone hunting. He flirts like someone playing. Testing reactions. Collecting them.
And people give so easily.
He’s sure his dam would prefer him as her son. He practically is, with him being the son of her mate’s younger sister.
Taehyung fits.
He fits the image.
Soft-spoken when it matters. Bright when required. Effortlessly charming. The kind of omega that makes older alphas nod in approval and younger ones straighten unconsciously.
His cousin is the epitome of the perfect omega. He’s beautiful in a way that makes alphas powerless against his wiles. It’s not like Jimin thinks of himself as unattractive— quite the opposite actually, it’s that he’s no longer brainwashed to think that the attention of an alpha is all an omega is worth. His cousin, however, relishes in that attention. He can’t wait to meet an alpha and get mated; the worst part is he’s only 19. But Jimin supposes he doesn’t know any better. After all, this is exactly how he was a few years ago before he had gotten a taste of freedom.
He remembers what that felt like.
Waiting.
Watching.
Measuring his worth in glances and prolonged eye contact.
He remembers adjusting his posture. Lowering his voice. Smiling softer. Making himself more palatable.
He had thought that was maturity.
It had taken distance. Actual distance, cities away, oceans away; To realize it had been conditioning.
Taehyung returns to his side, small branded bag swinging from his wrist.
“She said it brings out my undertones,” he announces proudly.
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“Of course I do.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Taehyung gasps lightly, offended in performance only. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you insist on dragging me everywhere.”
“You’d rot in your room if I didn’t.”
Jimin snorts quietly but doesn’t argue.
The strip is busy in the late afternoon. Families. Couples. Packs of teenagers. The scent cloud is layered and overwhelming if he pays too much attention, so he doesn’t. He keeps his expression neutral as they walk, Taehyung occasionally veering toward another display only to be steered back with a light grip on his elbow.
“You’re no fun,” Taehyung mutters.
“I’m practical.”
“You’re boring.”
“I’m realistic.”
Taehyung nudges him with his shoulder. “You used to be fun.”
The comment lingers.
Used to be.
Jimin doesn’t respond.
They step outside into the parking area, cool air brushing against warm skin. Jimin breathes easier immediately.
Freedom had tasted like this once.
Cooler air. Fewer expectations. No one watching how he laughed.
He can’t help but see a reflection of his past self when he looks at Taehyung.
Bright-eyed. Expectant. Still believing that the world would reward sweetness.
His point is proven when they arrive back home, and his parents ambush him with an unwelcome visitor.
The black gates of the estate slide open smoothly, cranking only slightly. Surrounding guards nod as the car pulls through.
Jimin senses it before he sees him.
A scent he hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on in months.
“Hello Jimin.”
“Eunwoo.” He resists the urge to grimace. “How are you?”
“Better now that you’re here.”
The omega wants to roll his eyes.
“Well, it is my home.. why are you here?”
The alpha looks taken aback by Jimin’s aloof tone. “To see you of course.”
“You couldn’t call or text?”
“You know you don’t respond to my messages Jiminie.”
“And why should I respond to them?”
Eunwoo’s about to retort when his mother speaks.
“Eunwoo, why don’t you stay for dinner?”
Of course.
Of course she would.
Jimin doesn’t miss the faint satisfaction in his mother’s tone, polite but assertive. An invitation that isn’t really optional. Eunwoo inclines his head just enough to appear modest, the picture perfect alpha.
“I’d be honored,” he says smoothly.
Jimin feels Taehyung glance between them, curiosity barely concealed.
It’s subtle, but not subtle enough. His cousin has always been observant beneath the sweetness. He notices the way Eunwoo’s scent shifts—warm, confident, faintly pleased. He notices the way Jimin’s posture stiffens.
Dinner stretches longer than necessary.
Eunwoo sits across from him. He answers his parents’ questions smoothly. Business talk. Polite laughter. Respectful tones.
The picture perfect alpha.
“Yes, my father sends his regards.”
“The expansion into Busan has been promising.”
“I believe partnerships are stronger when built on trust.”
He says it without irony.
He plays the role well.
He always did.
Jimin watches the way his dam nods in approval. The way his alpha mother listens with interest. Eunwoo knows exactly how to speak in rooms like this. He’s thoughtful. Strategic.
He had spoken like that when he’d first courted Jimin too.
Soft promises. Careful compliments. Just enough affection to feel chosen.
Jimin keeps his replies clipped. Minimal. He eats carefully, aware of eyes flicking toward him every so often.
“So you’ve taken on more responsibility now that you’ve graduated?” his mother asks, tone casual but assessing.
“Yes, m’aam,” Eunwoo replies smoothly. “I’ve been overseeing a few of our Seoul operations more directly.”
“And how are you finding that transition?”
“It’s been instructive,” Eunwoo says with a faint smile. “There’s a difference between observing how things run and being accountable for them.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Eunwoo’s gaze lingers on him between courses. Not intrusive. Not possessive.
Just present.
As if they share something private across the table.
They don’t.
Jimin reaches for his water to keep from speaking unnecessarily.
He can feel Taehyung watching too.
Trying to piece it together.
There’s curiosity there. And something else.
Interest.
When Eunwoo laughs at something his mother says, Taehyung smiles too brightly. When Eunwoo offers to refill someone’s glass, Taehyung’s eyes track the movement.
It makes Jimin’s jaw tighten.
He’s unable to suppress his glare for the whole duration of dinner.
Not openly hostile. Just cold enough.
Eunwoo notices.
Of course he does.
But he doesn’t react. He continues speaking about market fluctuations and distribution channels like they aren’t coded language for something darker. Like everything about him is clean.
Jimin knows better.
He avoids interacting with the alpha as much as he can without drawing suspicion. Every time Eunwoo addresses him directly—
“Jimin, do you remember—”
He responds with one-word answers.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I’m not sure.”
His mother’s eyes narrow slightly at the tension, but she says nothing
He’s unable to suppress his glare for the whole duration of dinner. He continues to avoid interacting with the alpha as much as he can without drawing suspicion. In fact, he dashes straight to his room as soon as he clears his plate.
“Excuse me.”
He doesn’t wait for permission.
He can feel Eunwoo’s eyes on his back as he leaves.
The relief of closing his bedroom door behind him is immediate.
Silence.
Privacy.
Air that doesn’t feel staged.
For a moment, he just stands there, palm flat against the wood, letting his heartbeat settle.
He refuses to let the past follow him in here.
But he already knows it will try.
He sits on the edge of his bed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
But of course, things are never that simple for him.
Not even five minutes after he gets comfortable on his bed, there’s a knock on the door and then the handle is turning and Eunwoo is inviting himself into his room.
“Get out.”
“That’s not very nice Jimin.”
“I don’t care.” Jimin scoffs. “Why the hell are you here Eunwoo?”
“I just want to talk Jimin.”
“Well I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Jimin just let me explain myself-” The alpha sounds exasperated. Good.
“What are you going to explain? You being balls deep in another omega whilst I was halfway across the world?!”
The words taste acidic leaving his mouth.
Eunwoo flinches slightly.
“I know it was a mistake. It’s just I was missing you so bad-”
Jimin wanted to punch his stupid face in.
“So, you were just missing me so bad every time you cheated?”
“Jimin, you never wanted to do anything further than kissing. What was I supposed to do? You know how it is for alphas. We have urges.”
“Wow.”
There it is.
The entitlement.
The expectation that his boundaries were inconveniences.
“Baby come on-” Eunwoo tries to reach for him, and the omega swiftly dodges.
“Don’t touch me. And get the hell out.”
His voice doesn’t shake.
He’s proud of that.
There’s another knock on the door and his cousin enters. Apparently his room is the community hub today.
“Oh Alpha, I didn't know you were in here with Jiminie.”
There’s a superfluous saccharine lilt to Taehyung’s voice when addressing Eunwoo. Jimin notices immediately and narrows his eyes at his cousin who is purposely avoiding eye contact.
“He came to check up on me.”
“Yeah. I just wanted to make sure Jimin was okay after he left dinner so quickly.”
“Well as you can see I’m perfectly fine so…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. The rest of it is unspoken but very much loud and clear.
Eunwoo’s gaze flicks between them.
Assessing.
Interested.
Jimin hates it.
He can see the way Eunwoo’s eyes narrow at being dismissed but he knows the alpha wouldn’t dare try cause a scene in his parents’ home.
“I’ll see you later Jimin.”
With that, he finally leaves and thank the Goddess, Taehyung leaves with him.
Jimin doesn’t hesitate to close his door and ensure it’s locked. He doesn’t want anymore unwelcome visitors tonight.
He leans back against it for a moment, breathing slowly.
He had thought he was over it.
He isn’t angry because he wants Eunwoo back.
He’s angry because Eunwoo still thinks he has access.
Still thinks he can walk into his space.
Still thinks explanations fix betrayal.
However, he still catches his cousin’s saccharine lilt before his door is fully closed,
“Alpha how comes you never check up on me?”
Jimin’s eyes snap shut.
He knows that tone.
Curious.
Testing.
Provoking.
Oh Kim Taehyung, you’ll learn soon enough.
And for the first time that evening, Jimin doesn’t know if he’s more irritated at Eunwoo,
Or at the sinking feeling that Taehyung just found something interesting.
🔥
Jimin isn’t sure how he was dragged here, let alone by a pregnant omega nonetheless.
“Oh come on, at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself Jimin.”
“But I'm not enjoying myself… and you’re pregnant, aren’t clubs basically off limits?”
Hoseok rolls his eyes at that, as if Jimin is the ridiculous one here. “Being pregnant means that I can’t drink, not that I can’t shake my ass.”
“You’re two months pregnant,” Jimin shoots back. “You shouldn’t even be breathing this air.”
Hoseok blinks at him. “Oh my Goddess. Do you hear yourself?”
“It smells like sweat and regret in here.”
“That’s just you.”
“Oh fuck off.” Jimin flips him off.
Hoseok gasps dramatically. “Wow. Violent. In public. While I’m expecting.”
“You are barely expecting,” Jimin shoots back. “You found out like five minutes ago.”
“It was three weeks ago.”
“Same difference.”
The bass kicks up again, rattling through Jimin’s chest. Hoseok immediately starts swaying, grinning at the Jimin like this is normal.
Jimin watches him for a second. Then longer than a second.
“You promised we wouldn’t stay long,” he says.
“We won’t.”
“You said that before we paid the cover.”
Hoseok shrugs. “Growth.”
“That’s not what growth means.”
“Sure it is. Emotional growth. I’m evolving. You should try it.”
Someone bumps into Jimin and mutters a quick apology. He steadies Hoseok automatically, hand hovering at his waist before he pulls it back like he didn’t mean to do that.
Hoseok notices. Of course he does.
“You’re hovering,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m making sure you don’t get elbowed.”
“I’ve been elbowed before. I survived.”
“You weren’t growing a pup.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes but there’s something softer in his expression now. “It’s two months, Jimin. I’m not made of glass.”
Jimin looks away, mouth pursed.
“I just don’t like this place.”
Hoseok arches a brow. “You used to.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Hoseok leans closer so he doesn’t have to shout. “You practically begged to sneak in here senior year. You said the music felt like a trance.”
Jimin stiffens. “I was eighteen.”
“And dramatic.”
“I was curious.”
“You were obsessed,” Hoseok corrects lightly.
The bass vibrates through the floor again.
Jimin’s eyes scan the room, the men in tailored suits that cost more than most people’s cars, the bodyguards pretending not to be bodyguards, the heavy gold watches, the wolves circling in expensive cologne.
“I didn’t know what it really was back then,” Jimin says quietly.
Hoseok watches him this time instead of teasing.
“And now you do?”
“I’ve seen what it funds,” Jimin replies. “It’s not just music and lights.”
There’s a beat.
Hoseok’s expression softens, but only a little. “We’ve always known what it was.”
“Knowing and seeing are different,” Jimin says.
A couple brushes past them. Too close, hands wandering, mouths pressed together like they’re trying to devour each other.
He looks away too fast.
Hoseok notices that too.
“You act like you’ve never seen people kiss before.”
“Not like that.”
Hoseok smirks. “University must’ve been boring.”
“It wasn’t like this.”
“Like what?”
The omega hesitates. The word feels heavy in his mouth.
“Intense.”
Hoseok tilts his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Jimin exhales slowly. “It is.”
“For them?” Hoseok asks.
Jimin’s gaze drifts across the room again, the low murmurs between men who don’t need to raise their voices to be feared, the hands sliding over hips like ownership is assumed, the guards stationed just slightly too strategically to be decorative.
“For everyone,” Jimin says.
A couple stumbles past them, laughing, one of them pressing a mouth to the other’s neck without hesitation.
This time the omega doesn’t look away. He watches. And as he watches, Hoseok also watches him, observing.
“You act like you didn’t grow up around this,” Hoseok says.
“I grew up around violence,” Jimin replies quietly. “Not… this.”
“Not what?”
Jimin hesitates, swallowing. His eyes flick around the club — bodies pressed together, mingling with the bass, hands lingering where they shouldn’t, people moving like hunger made flesh.
“Not… this,” he finally says, voice low. “Like… like people all over each other, to the point of obscenity.”
Hoseok tilts his head. “You mean… people wanting each other?”
Jimin shrugs, uncomfortable, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. “Everything’s so… loud here. And intense. And I don’t know how to be a part of it. Or if I even want to be.”
Hoseok smirks knowingly. “Ah. That’s the Jimin I know. Always so innocent. Not used to the fire.”
A sense of discomfort washes over him. He can feel Hoseok’s amusement, but also the subtle acknowledgment; he’s aware of his own inexperience, of the way desire unnerves him.
And then something in the air shifts.
Not fear. Not exactly. Awareness.
He senses it before he understands it: a presence so commanding, so intense, that it seems to ripple through the room itself.
He glances up, almost against his own will, and his eyes freeze.
On the railing, leaning against the railing like he owns the chaos below, stands Jeon Jungkook.
Black suit, Italian designer shoes, hair swept back perfectly. One hand resting lightly on the railing, the other holding a drink. His expression calm, yet focused.
He isn’t scanning the crowd. He’s scanning him.
Jimin’s breath catches.
Their eyes meet.
And everything tightens inside the omega. His chest, his stomach, goosebumps rise on his skin. A slight sweetness seems to thread through the air around him, drawing attention without him realizing why, the faint trace of his own scent filtering in the space like a quiet invitation.
The alpha’s gaze is sharp, intentional, almost uncomfortably focused. Jimin’s heart races. He should look away. He wants to. He can’t.
He feels like the music, the lights, even the air itself, has sharpened around him.
The alpha tilts his head slightly. Not a smile, not a sneer. Just a slow gesture that makes Jimin’s skin prickle.
Jimin looks down quickly, swallowing hard. He forces his eyes elsewhere. Anything to avoid the intensity he doesn’t understand.
Hoseok laughs a little nearby, completely oblivious, and Jimin clings to that normalcy.
But when he dares a peek, the man is still watching. Still focused.
Hoseok’s gaze seems to follow his then. “Ah Jeon Jungkook. Apparently this is his club.”
“Oh.. I didn’t know..that.”
“I mean, how would you? You haven’t been here,” Hoseok says, nudging Jimin lightly, grinning. “Besides, it’s not exactly a university hangout, huh?”
“Yeah definitely not,” Jimin mutters, forcing a shrug. He can feel it; that presence, like heat radiating from the mezzanine, patient, resolute, watching. He wants to look away, to disappear, but part of him can’t.
Hoseok laughs, shaking his head. “You’re acting like the world changed overnight. You used to love sneaking into club, just to watch.”
“I… that was different,” Jimin says quickly, almost defensive. “I’ve changed.”
“Changed, huh?” Hoseok teases, his grin wide. “University must’ve been enlightening. Made you fancy and careful, huh?”
Jimin tugs his jacket closer around him. “Not even fancy… just careful.”
Hoseok claps him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on. Enough moping. Let’s go see the others before you start melting into the floor.”
Jimin lets himself be guided through the crowd, keeping his gaze low, trying not to think about the presence above. Every step feels heavier, every glance toward the mezzanine a small betrayal of his own caution.
Hoseok weaves Jimin through the crowd until a few familiar faces wave them over.
“Well, if it isn’t the menace and his sidekick,” one of Hoseok’s friends teases. “Decided to grace us with your presence?”
Hoseok smirks. “Of course. Somebody has to remind him what a good time looks like.”
Jimin shrinks a little, letting them chatter over him. He’s not here for the conversation. He’s not here for any of it.
“So, Jimin,” one of the omegas leans in, far too knowing, “when are you getting mated? Rumor has it the family has plans.”
Jimin blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You know how it is ,” another says. “You’re back from university, it’s time to settle into duty. You know. Getting mated to an alpha.”
“Not interested,” Jimin mutters flatly, already trying to edge away.
“Oh, come on,” the first omega presses, grin widening. “We’re not saying you need to get a mating bite tonight or anything. But, you know your role as an omega. What it means.”
Jimin huffs, lips thinning. “I said I’m not interested.”
The group exchanges looks, apparently deciding he’s too stubborn to bother with tonight.
Thank Goddess.
Hoseok laughs, holding up his hands like he’s shielding Jimin from their prying. “Alright, alright. No need to interrogate him. Let’s change the subject.”
Someone else tilts their head toward Hoseok. “Where’s your alpha, anyway? You’re here without him?”
Hoseok grins, a little smug. “Yoongi’s around somewhere, busy with business. My dad’s given him more responsibility now that he’s officially you know, pupped me. He’s in the good books again.”
Jimin sighs quietly, forcing his attention on the neon lights bouncing off the crowd, the mixture of scents and sweat that makes him feel simultaneously claustrophobic and exposed.
“Come on,” Hoseok nudges him. “At least get yourself a drink. You look like you’re about to implode.”
Jimin threads through the crowd, dodging wandering hands, elbows and hips, and orders something simple to distract himself.
The bartender smiles. “That one’s on the house.”
Jimin pauses. “Excuse me?”
“It’s already taken care of,” the bartender repeats, nodding toward the VIP railing.
Jimin’s stomach knots. He glances up, just enough to catch the unmistakable presence of Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually, eyes sharp and dark, trained on him.
He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need attention. He doesn’t need anyone watching him like that.
But the simple nod, the way the drink has already been taken care of, it’s a signal. A challenge. An invitation he doesn’t want, but can’t seem to resist.
He clutches the glass a little too tightly, the cold temperature of the drink slipping through to his fingers. The crowd around him fades into a blur of colors and movement, bass rattling through his chest. All difference scents prominent and sweat heavy in the air. Only one thing remains unmovable: Jungkook.
Jimin takes a shallow breath, his legs moving almost on their own, weaving through the crowd of bodies. He feels exposed, ridiculous, terrified, and electric all at once.
When he reaches the edge of the VIP section, he hesitates. The alpha hasn’t moved, hasn’t flinched. He leans against the railing like he owns the space, but his eyes never leave Jimin.
It’s not predatory, not exactly. It’s patient. Calculated. Expectant.
Jimin lifts his gaze fully, taking in the black suit, the polished shoes, the faint tilt of the head that says he knew this moment would come. His pulse races. He feels like he’s standing in the center of a storm, and the eye of it is focused on him alone.
“I don’t need your charity,” he mutters, voice more defiant than he feels.
Jungkook’s eyes hold him for a long beat. There’s amusement there. Challenge. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
Jimin feels a shiver run down his spine. He wants to flee, but every fiber of him wants to stay. To see. To feel. To survive the weight of that gaze.
And in that silence, he realizes something terrifying: he’s already caught.
He shifts slightly, trying to appear casual, but his fingers tighten around the glass. Every nerve in his body is alert, every sense screaming that he’s exposed, that this man, Jeon Jungkook, sees everything. Not just him. Not just the drink in his hand. Everything.
The alpha doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches, unflinching, as if measuring Jimin’s worth in silence. His pulse hammers in his ears. He can catch the faint, sharp tang of Jungkook’s alpha scent, brushes past him like a whisper, but he forces himself to stay put.
“I—uh…” He clears his throat, as if words could somehow make this less terrifying. They don’t.
Jungkook tilts his head again, the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Not a smile, not a sneer. Just awareness. And expectation.
“Do you usually wander into places without permission?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through the music. It’s calm, casual, but it lands like a weight in Jimin’s chest.
“I—I…” Jimin hesitates. He wants to retreat, but the words catch in his throat. The air between them hums, heavy with something he doesn’t understand.
Desire? Danger? Both?
He draws in a quick breath, shifting his weight. “I just came for a drink.”
Jungkook’s eyes don’t leave him. “The drink was meant to get your attention,” he says conversationally. “I take it, it worked.”
Jimin stiffens, the glass suddenly too heavy in his hands. Heat rushes to his cheeks. A faint pulse of Jungkook’s scent seems to emphasise in the air around him, bold and intoxicating, drawing him closer without touch.
“I don’t need charity,” he mutters, repeating himself, trying to reclaim some shred of control.
Jungkook chuckles softly. It’s quiet, assertive, and it twists something tight and dangerous in Jimin’s stomach. “No,” he says. “You don’t.” And somehow, Jimin can feel that he already does.
Jimin shifts on his feet, heart hammering. Every instinct screams at him to turn and melt into the crowd below, but curiosity claws sharper than fear. He forces himself to look up fully, meets those dark, unwavering eyes, and feels a slight warmth, part his own pheromones, part Jungkook’s, thread through the space between them, making the club’s chaos fade around him.
“Why… why do you want my attention?” His voice is tight, wavering, trembling just enough to betray him. He hates the way it sounds, like a challenge, but desperate at the same time.
Jungkook tilts his head, regarding him as if weighing the question against some private scale. The faint smirk lifts slowly at the edge of his lips, like he’s letting Jimin stew in his own nervousness. The muted alpha tang in the air makes Jimin feel on edge in ways he doesn’t fully understand.
“Because your reputation precedes you.”
Jimin didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
“Reputation?” The omega says, voice quiet, almost brittle. “I wasn’t aware I had one.” He feels the weight in the alpha’s gaze. He wants to look away, but Jungkook’s eyes hold him in place.
“Park Jimin. The omega of all omegas. You know the city has a name for you. They call you the Sweetest Omega.” He drags out the syllables like a slow melody, savoring each one. His dark eyes hold Jimin, sharp, unblinking, as if weighing every reaction.
Jimin can’t stop his cheeks from colouring. The heat creeping along his skin is a mixture of nerves and the intoxicating pull of the alpha above.
“Every alpha in this city seems to want you. Now imagine my surprise when I found out that the Sweetest Omega is the same Little Fiery Omega I met in the library.”
Jimin stiffens, every nerve firing.
Little Fiery Omega.
The words scrape along his skin, leaving heat in their wake.
“I… I’m not… I don’t—” His words catch, faltering under the weight of the alpha’s gaze. He tries to steady himself, but it’s impossible. Jungkook doesn’t just see him; he measures him.
Jungkook tilts his head slightly, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And here you are, stuttering, nervous, in front of me,” he murmurs. “Where’s that fire gone, Little Omega?”
Jimin’s stomach churns. Fire. Little Omega. He swallows hard, trying to force words, trying to summon even a fraction of the defiance he once had.
“I… I’m still me,” he manages, voice barely more than a whisper. His hands fidget at his sides, fingers curling into his jacket, and he forces his gaze up, meeting Jungkook’s dark, assessing eyes. The air between them is subdued but charged, as if the alpha’s scent and presence are a strong magnet.
Jungkook’s smirk deepens, slow, like he’s tasting something rare. “Is that so? The Sweetest Omega. You’re supposed to be all poised and elegant… yet you’re trembling before me. I expected the fire from last time. Boldness. Defiance. And yet… here you are, nervous, caught, like every other omega would be.”
Jimin stifles at his words. Trembling like every other omega? That cuts deeper than he expects. His heart hammers, but along with it a spark ignites. A small, stubborn flare of defiance. He’s not like the others. He refuses to be like the others.
“I’m not like every other omega,” he says, voice steadier than he feels, sharp enough to slice through the music and the crowd. “And I don’t tremble. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
Jungkook’s dark eyes glint with interest, the smirk curling just slightly higher. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “Bold words from the Sweetest Omega. From the Little Fiery Omega I remember. You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.”
The way he says those last words so dismissively ignites something inside Jimin. His cheeks heat, not from embarrassment, but from pure, stubborn irritation. How dare this alpha, this dangerous, infuriating man, brush him off like that.
“I’m not here for your approval,” Jimin snaps, voice sharp. He straightens his shoulders, forcing himself to meet Jungkook’s gaze. “And I’m certainly not here to entertain you.”
Jungkook tilts his head, eyes glinting, that faint smirk still playing on his lips. “There he is,” he says slowly, savoring each word. “Just like I remember.”
Jimin freezes for a fraction of a second, chest tightening.
There he is.
The words echo inside him, like a mark, a claim, even though Jungkook doesn’t say it outright. His throat tightens, forcing his gaze back to the alpha, trying to steady the heat creeping up his neck and the adrenaline in his veins.
Just like I remember.
The memory of the library flashes. The fire he thought he’d hidden, the boldness he’d shown without even meaning to.
“You don’t know me,” Jimin says, voice firm. He holds his chin high, letting a flicker of the defiance Jungkook remembers show. “I don’t bend for anyone.”
Jungkook tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Good,” he murmurs, voice like velvet over steel. “I wouldn’t want you to. I like the fire and I know how dangerous it is when someone like you decides to use it.”
Jimin feels his scent spike, both from the intensity of Jungkook’s gaze and from the surge of pride that refuses to let him shrink away. For a moment, neither of them moves, the crowd and the music fading into the background.
The alpha’s eyes are sharp, commanding, teasing, and it’s the first time Jimin realizes that he wants to stay in this stare-down. That dangerous pull, that thrill of being seen like this, it’s intoxicating and terrifying.
Somehow the omega finds his voice. “But I'm not dangerous. I’m not like you.”
Jungkook’s smirk turns predatory. “I see my own reputation precedes me.”
Jimin’s chest tightens, pulse hammering, but his voice comes out sharper than he expects. “Yes, your reputation,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I know what you are. Dangerous. Ruthless. I’ve heard the stories.”
Jungkook tilts his head, smirk flickering, intrigued. “And yet…” His dark eyes hold Jimin like a challenge.
“And yet what?” Jimin snaps, straightening, forcing himself to meet the alpha’s gaze. “I’m not… I don’t— I don’t seek danger. I want nothing to do with it. And certainly nothing to do with you.”
Jungkook’s smirk curls higher, predatory, almost intimidating. “Interesting,” he murmurs. “Most omegas would be trembling, fleeing, desperate to stay invisible. Not you. You came straight to the Wolf’s den.”
Jimin feels himself quiver from equal parts fear and defiance. He won’t back down. Not here. Not now. “I’m not most omegas,” he says, a spark of stubbornness flaring through his nerves. “And I don’t submit. Not to danger. Not to anyone.”
Jungkook’s dark gaze sharpens, magnetic, teasing, and it’s impossible for Jimin to look away. Every instinct screams to run, but something reckless makes him want to stay.
Jungkook leans just fractionally closer, the motion conscious, almost unnoticeable, but it sends a jolt through Jimin. His dark eyes gleam, sharp and calculating, drinking in the stubborn fire that refuses to bow.
“You’re bold,” the alpha notes, almost amused. “Most omegas would’ve run the moment they realized where they were. You didn’t. You came looking for me.”
Jimin stiffens. “I didn’t come looking for you,” he replies, voice steady despite the heat crawling up his spine. “I came for a drink.”
Jungkook’s grin curves, dark and magnetic, dangerous. “Ah, but here you are,” he says softly, letting the words linger like a claim, “and I can’t look away.”
Something burns in the omega, a mix of adrenaline and something he doesn’t quite want to name. Every instinct screams to run, yet every nerve charges with something magnetic, the thrill of standing his ground and the dangerous pull of the alpha who clearly wants more than just his presence.
He wants to look away, to step back, to run, but he can’t. There’s a pull here, prominent and undeniable.
Then his phone vibrates sharply in his pocket, a jarring intrusion. He startles, glancing down. It’s Hoseok, calling, probably looking for him in the crowd.
Reluctantly, Jimin tears his eyes from Jungkook, though the alpha’s gaze seems to follow him even as he shifts. Every instinct screams to remain, to stay under that magnetic gaze, yet the buzzing in his pocket tugs him back to reality.
“I need to go,” he mutters, trying to sound casual. “My friends are looking for me.”
Jungkook doesn’t break his stare. If anything, the intensity sharpens, darkly amused. It’s a claim without words, a reminder that he knows Jimin, and that he wants more.
“Until next time, Park Jimin.”
Jimin threads carefully through the crowd, heart still racing, stomach twisted. Each step feels like a battle between fear, fascination, and something reckless he doesn’t understand. By the time he reaches Hoseok and the others, laughing and gesturing for him to join, he forces a shaky smile, but the pull from above lingers.
Even as he rejoins his friends, trying to lose himself in their laughter and the blur of lights, he can still feel Jungkook’s attention imprinted in his mind, a fire he’s never dared to touch.
By the time they’re heading home, the alcohol finally wearing off, Jimin realizes he never actually told the Alpha his name.
🔥
Jimin doesn’t mean to wake up this early. The sun isn’t even fully up yet, but the quiet of the estate gnaws at him. Even here, in the stillness, he feels watched. Not literally, no one hovering outside his room, but the absence of eyes, the absence of someone directing him, guiding him, telling him where to go or what to do, feels heavy. It makes him uneasy in a way he hasn’t felt in years.
The kitchen is bathed in soft morning light, and he moves around lazily, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with a fingertip as he watches the steam curl upward. He picks up one of the pastries left on the counter by the housekeeper.
Jimin sips slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest, and tries to savor the quiet. He isn’t used to freedom like this, not complete freedom, anyway. For so long, he has been watched, guided, herded, protected, depending on who you ask. Taught who to trust, who to avoid, what to desire, what to ignore. Every movement watched, every word read. Now, in the morning stillness, he feels both liberated and exposed.
He flexes his fingers around the cup, noticing again the faint filter of his own scent wafting around him. Sweet, soft, faint, but there. Desire, anxiety, curiosity, maybe all of it. He doesn’t name it. He doesn’t need to.
A light noise in the hallway makes him jump, though he quickly composes himself.
“Jiminie!”
Taehyung’s voice rings out before he can respond, cheerful, teasing, echoing across the walls floors like it holds some secret amusement.
“I swear you’re here more than your own home.” He eyes his cousin as the younger omega makes his way toward him.
“Well this is my home as well. I literally have my own room.”
Jimin can’t argue with that. His mother set up one of the spare rooms for Taehyung to accommodate how often he stays over. He’s also pretty sure his dam used the younger omega as a replacement during his time away at university.
Taehyung stops in front of him, arms crossed, a coy expression that never leaves his face. “Don’t be so grim. It’s a perfect morning. Perfect for plotting world domination, or whatever your agenda is.”
“I don’t have an agenda. I just… exist,” Jimin says quietly, avoiding his cousin’s gaze.
Taehyung raises a brow. “Existing is boring. You should try it my way, at least for a day.”
“Your way involves charming alphas,” Jimin replies carefully. “I’m not interested.”
“Of course not,” Taehyung says lightly, laughter threading through the quiet room. “You’d never be reckless. You make sure that you’re careful, respectful, demure. But that doesn’t mean the world isn’t watching. Or that your choices don’t carry weight.”
Jimin’s pulse quickens slightly at the word weight. Expectations. Always expectations.
He feels the faint spike of his own scent again, faint but unmistakable.
The Sweetest Omega.
“You mean my reputation,” he murmurs cautiously.
“Exactly,” Taehyung says. “Everyone notices. People talk. Alphas talk. They notice you, even if you don’t notice them.”
Jimin flexes his fingers around the counter, tasting the tension in the air. Labels, whispers, assumptions. “I don’t care about attention,” he says softly. He wants to believe it.
“Sure you don’t,” Taehyung says, tilting his head. “But your mother cares. And she sees everything.”
His alpha mother, the one whose presence can dominate without raising a voice, is just down the hall. Her attention is like sunlight, warming but capable of burning if you misstep.
Taehyung’s laughter cuts through his inner turmoil. “Come on, Jiminie. You act like the world is closing in on you. Let’s get some air. You can mope later.”
He follows Taehyung down the hall, sunlight spilling through the windows.
Outside, the garden is perfectly maintained, every flower in place, the hedges trimmed to perfection. The early morning chill brushes over his skin, mixing with the warmth of the sun.
Taehyung strolls ahead, casual, watching a young gardener trimming hedges with a faintly bored expression. Without missing a beat, Taehyung’s gaze lingers, a coy smile tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he calls, voice teasing, “looking good this morning.”
The guard stiffens slightly, turning toward Taehyung with careful politeness, clearly unused to this kind of attention.
“Don’t,” Jimin warns under his breath, tugging lightly at his cousin’s sleeve. “You know better.”
Taehyung glances at him, mock innocence plastered across his face. “What about Yoongi and Hoseok? They’re together. They’re mated.”
“Hoseok almost got disowned. Yoongi was almost killed. It’s not worth it. Some things aren’t worth the trouble, Taehyung.”
Taehyung’s grin widens. “You worry too much, Jiminie. Life’s more interesting when you take risks.”
“Some risks aren’t worth it,” he mutters.
They continue walking through the garden in silence.
Taehyung stops near the greenhouse, tilting his head toward a distant worker, his grin teasing, his voice overfamiliar, light, playful. “Heya.”
Jimin groans quietly. “Taehyung,” he hisses. “Stop. You’re risking far more than you realize.”
“Life’s boring if you don’t test boundaries,” Taehyung replies lightly. “Besides, your alpha friends don’t seem to mind, do they?”
Jimin’s eyes narrow. “What alpha friends?” he inquires .
“Eunwoo.”
“That knothead is not my friend,” Jimin scoffs.
This seems to perk up Taehyung. “So… he’s available?”
Jimin stops walking.
The word hits wrong.
Available.
Like Eunwoo is a neutral opportunity. Like he hasn’t already left damage behind him.
“He’s not a store you can walk into and try out,” Jimin says quietly.
Taehyung blinks. “You’re reacting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jimin turns fully toward him now, something colder settling under his skin.
“Eunwoo doesn’t flirt without intent,” Jimin says. “If he’s smiling at you, he’s already decided something.”
“Maybe he decides I’m interesting.”
“Maybe he decides you’re convenient.”
Taehyung frowns. “Why are you talking about him like that?”
Because I know him.
Because I trusted him.
Because he chose someone else whilst still telling me I was enough.
But Jimin doesn’t say any of that.
“He’s from a criminal family,” Jimin says instead. “You think that doesn’t shape someone?”
“We’re all from criminal families.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is,” Taehyung insists. “You just don’t like him.”
“That knothead is not my friend,” Jimin repeats flatly.
Taehyung’s eyes narrow slightly. “You dated him.”
Jimin’s jaw tightens.
“Briefly.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“That’s not convincing.”
Jimin looks away, toward the hedges lining the garden.
Eunwoo is the picture perfect alpha. Educated. Respected. From a good family.
But no loyalty.
“You think I’m naïve,” Taehyung says.
“I think you’re romantic.”
“That’s not an insult.”
“It is here.”
Taehyung crosses his arms. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Jimin.”
The firmness in Taehyung’s voice makes him pause.
“He cheated,” Jimin says finally.
The words feels old. Stale. Like it’s lost its ability to sting.
It hasn’t.
Taehyung’s posture shifts immediately. “On you?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
It was another omega from a connected family. A “thoughtless mistake.” That’s how Eunwoo phrases it.
As if Jimin is a placeholder.
As if feelings are negotiable.
Taehyung’s expression hardens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s over.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”
Jimin exhales sharply. “I’m not fragile.”
“I don’t say you are.”
“You’re implying it.”
“I’m implying he’s an idiot.”
Despite himself, Jimin’s lips twitch.
“Maybe,” he admits quietly.
The moment softens, but Taehyung isn’t finished.
“So now you think he’ll do the same to me?”
“I think he’ll do what benefits him.”
“That’s everyone.”
“Yes,” Jimin says. “Exactly.”
Taehyung studies him carefully now.
“This isn’t just about me.”
Jimin doesn’t respond.
“Is it?”
Silence.
Taehyung’s voice gentles. “You don’t hate him.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t.”
Jimin swallows.
“I hate that I didn’t see it coming,” he corrects.
That’s the truth.
He hates that he believed the softness. Hates that he trusted someone raised in the same ruthless world to separate emotion from advantage.
“You’re not wrong for trusting someone,” Taehyung says.
“In this world?” Jimin lets out a quiet breath. “You always are.”
His cousin steps closer.
“And yet,” the younger omega says carefully, “you still look at alphas like you expect the worst before they do anything.”
Jimin’s pulse stutters.
“That’s called pattern recognition,” he replies coolly.
“No,” Taehyung says softly. “It’s called bracing for impact.”
Jimin doesn’t like how easily that lands.
“It’s called being realistic.”
“It’s called being hurt,” Taehyung corrects.
Silence stretches between them.
“I’m not projecting,” Jimin says.
“You are,” Taehyung replies gently. “You’re projecting your failed relationship onto me.”
“This isn’t a relationship,” Jimin snaps.
“It could be.”
“That’s the problem.”
Taehyung tilts his head. “You’re scared he’ll hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re scared I won’t care if he does.”
That hits closer than Jimin expects.
He doesn’t want Taehyung to brush off betrayal the way he tries to.
“You deserve someone who chooses you,” Jimin says quietly. “Not someone who calculates you.”
“And how do you tell the difference?”
Jimin doesn’t answer.
Because lately, he isn’t sure.
Taehyung’s gaze sharpens slightly.
“You’re not the only one allowed to take risks,” he says. “Just because it ends badly for you doesn’t mean it will for me.”
Jimin’s chest tightens at that.
He looks at his cousin properly then. Still young, yes. Still softer around the edges. But there is calculation behind his eyes, a quiet awareness that people often mistake for innocence. Taehyung isn’t reckless.
He just isn’t afraid in the same ways Jimin learns to be.
“I’m not trying to control you.”
“I know,” Taehyung says softly. “But don’t punish me for what he did.”
The words settle heavy between them.
Jimin exhales slowly.
“Just… be careful,” he says again.
Taehyung’s expression softens.
“I will.”
🔥
How the omega finds himself here again he doesn’t know.
The bass vibrates through the floor before he even steps fully inside, the low thrum of it already overwhelming him.
Here, the atmosphere is smoke and expensive liquor. Synthetic fragrances and scents covering up the dangerous underneath.
Jimin pauses near the entrance, hesitating.
He shouldn’t have come.
He had told himself he wouldn’t.
When Hoseok mentioned the club earlier that evening, Jimin had already known it was a mistake.
But he’d never admit to himself the reason why he followed.
“I don’t need supervision,” Hoseok had said, adjusting his top using the car window as a mirror.
“I’m not supervising you.”
“You’re absolutely supervising me.”
Jimin hadn’t denied it.
Now he watches as Hoseok moves ahead with easy familiarity, greeting staff with relaxed nods. This isn’t some reckless night out. This is business disguised as nightlife.
Which is worse.
Jimin follows anyway.
Under the guise of keeping him company.
Under the lie that he’s just there to observe.
The music swells as they pass through the main floor. Bodies move under fractured lights. Alphas cluster near the bar in tailored suits that don’t match the setting but somehow command it. Omegas drift in groups, laughter bright but careful.
It’s all a performance.
It always is.
Taehyung slides into the booth beside Jimin, flopping into the seat with that infuriating ease that makes Jimin want to roll his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose at the same time.
“You’re acting like you’ve never been here,” Jimin mutters, lowering himself beside him.
“Well you hardly ever let me come with you,” Taehyung says. “I’m just happy I don’t need your permission anymore.”
Jimin sighs instead of responding, staring at the dance floor. He can feel the familiar tightening in his chest, the pull of anxiety he refuses to name. He rests his hands in his lap, trying not to flare too obvious a scent.
Tonight, unlike last time, the Kim brothers, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Mingyu, are present, stationed strategically around the floor, their presence magnetic, commanding.
The attention they draw isn’t incospicious. Omegas not affiliated with the underworld drift closer than usual, eyes flicking, flirting, dancing deliberately near the floor to catch notice.
Even the dancers and strippers, their movements practiced and teasing, allow their gazes to linger longer than necessary, acknowledging the authority of those who own the night. Jimin feels the familiarity in it; this isn’t just a club. This is their territory.
Next to him, Taehyung shifts slightly, laughing at something minor, and Jimin notices Seokjin’s gaze has landed on him.
The older alpha smirks faintly, amusement clear in the slow lift of his lips. Taehyung catches the gaze without realizing its weight, flashing a careless smile back, completely oblivious to how dangerous the attention actually is.
Jimin can feel the tension prickling in his chest. Taehyung’s bright flush is faint but noticeable, and Jimin can’t help but observe, heart tightening.
There’s nothing he can do if Seokjin takes an interest; the older alpha carries authority, influence, and danger in every glance. He forces himself to focus on the music, the lights, the club around him, trying to push the awareness down, but the alpha’s smirk still plays fresh in his mind.
Hoseok leans closer, voice quiet enough for Jimin to hear. “My parents want to start working with Jungkook,” he says casually, nodding toward the corner where Yoongi is talking quietly with someone who he assumes is one of Jungkook’s people. The omega perks up at the mention, a faint awareness brushing against his nerves, not strong enough to betray him, but enough that his posture straightens slightly.
The music intensifies, bodies moving, lights flashing. Alphas navigate the space with ease, omegas with careful grace. And somewhere, threaded through it all, Jimin senses a presence.
He doesn’t see him yet. But he feels him. The pull of that gaze curls around him like a coiled wire, brushing against his nerves, pressing into his chest, igniting a tension he can’t name.
Jimin moves slightly, keeping his composure, but it’s impossible to ignore. His pulse quickens subtly, his scent diffusing faintly around him, impossible to hide.
Taehyung continues to fidget beside him, unaware of anything except his own amusement, while Hoseok talks quietly with Jimin about logistics. Jimin, meanwhile, feels the room contract slightly, senses narrowing, and knows, even without seeing, that someone dangerous is watching him.
The awareness lingers. And Jimin knows that sooner or later, the alpha will make himself known.
Taehyung shifts in the booth, fingers drumming nervously on the table. He leans closer to Hoseok, lowering his voice just enough that Jimin can’t entirely escape the conversation. “Hyung, what’s it like spending a heat with an alpha?”
Jimin’s chest tightens immediately. The question cuts sharper than he expected. Taehyung had the right to ask. He was nineteen, had already experienced heats of his own, but hearing it spoken aloud so casually makes Jimin’s stomach drop.
Hoseok’s eyes glint as he smirks, leaning back in the booth with complete confidence. “It’s intense,” he says bluntly. “Every nerve in your body’s on fire. You want, need everything from your alpha, and they don’t hold back either. You give yourself over completely. It’s overwhelming, consuming, raw. Pleasure like you’ve never imagined, mixed with primal energy you can’t escape.”
Taehyung blinks rapidly, absorbing every word. “I… oh… that sounds… I mean, you just let them?”
Hoseok chuckles, tilting his head, smirk widening. “Of course. That’s the point. A heat is your body screaming for release, and an alpha knows exactly how to take it. You don’t hold back, and they won’t either. It’s messy, intense, and unforgettable.”
Jimin feels his throat tighten, pulse rising. The words paint a scene he had never experienced, and the thought of surrendering like that makes his stomach twist. Taehyung, however, seems mesmerized, leaning forward, curiosity shining in his eyes.
“So you don’t regret it?” Taehyung asks quietly. “Even if it’s intense?”
Hoseok shakes his head, voice firm, almost teasing. “Regret? No. You experience it, you survive it, and you remember it. Every sensation, every mark, every taste. Omegas are supposed to be cautious, but once you’ve felt it, you understand why alpha attention is so addictive.”
Jimin feels a faint wave of heat rise to his cheeks, his body betraying him despite his efforts to remain composed.
Taehyung’s wide-eyed fascination lingers, voice small. Hoseok’s smirk softens slightly as he glances at Jimin, then back to Taehyung. “It’s not something you forget. You feel every second, every touch, every bite, every grip. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, but you survive it and you want it again.”
The bass pounds beneath their feet, vibrating through the patterned floor and threading itself into the taut tension in Jimin’s chest. Taehyung continues to fidget beside him, oblivious, still murmuring curious questions under his breath.
Hoseok answers with ease, teasing at the edges, and Jimin tries to focus elsewhere, to ground himself, but every nerve screams in quiet anticipation. Jimin tries to focus on their words, tries to ground himself to something mundane, but the cedarwood beneath the chaos, unmistakable, makes his chest tighten and his scent betray him.
Across the floor, Jimin catches movement at the edge of his vision. The Kim brothers are heading toward one of the VIP sections.
Conversations slow, heads turn, and even the regulars who were used to the club’s chaos give them space. Alphas and omegas alike react to their authority without question. The energy shifts around them, an acknowledgment that they are figures not to be ignored.
Beside him, Taehyung is clearly restless with curiosity killing him. “Do you think we can get closer?” he murmurs, voice barely audible over the music, eyes darting toward the VIP sections. “I want to see what it’s like up close.”
Hoseok’s laugh was short, amused. “You’ll see plenty from here, don’t worry. Let’s not make a scene. Some people here aren’t used to omegas wandering around without supervision.”
The booth grows heavier with movement as new figures approach. Taehyung leans back, suddenly alert as Seongwha and Eunbi arrive. Both omegas were paired with their mates, who lingered somewhere near the bar, watching but not approaching. Eunbi’s alpha, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes and a sharp jaw, leaned casually against the railing, but his attention was clearly on another omega nearby. Eunbi’s eyes flick to him, tight and tense, but she says nothing. This was normal. There was nothing she could do. The rigid rules of their world didn’t allow it, and any confrontation would only worsen her position.
Taehyung’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he leans toward Hoseok. “Why is she just… letting him do that?” His voice carries only enough for Hoseok to hear, but Jimin hears anyway.
Hoseok answers, calm and blunt. “Because that’s how it works here. Omegas know their place until they’re mated. Alphas have freedom to test, to explore. Omegas are trained to endure, to survive, and to learn restraint.” He gives a small shrug. “Sometimes it’s frustrating, sometimes it’s necessary. Either way, there’s no way around it. It’s the rules we live by.”
Jimin’s stomach twists. Watching Eunbi’s expression, the tightness in her jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils, makes him uneasy. It reminds him of the limits of their world and of what is expected of him.
From the corner of his vision, he catches the faintest movement, a shadow between the lights, and a flash of dark eyes. He turns just enough to be certain. The Kim Brothers have joined Jungkook.
Jimin observes them for a moment. There’s a rhythm to their presence, a simple choreography that spoke of familiarity, of unspoken trust.
He notices how effortlessly they occupy the space, how the room seems to bend subtly to accommodate their authority. There’s comfortability there, an effortlessness in their movements that made him both admire and envy them.
Then suddenly dark eyes meet his, and Jimin realizes he had been caught looking. Heart hammering, he quickly looks away, lowering his gaze to the table in front of him, hands tightening in his lap. But the alpha doesn't break his stare. Jungkook holds it, intent, assertive, assessing, and Jimin could feel the weight of that gaze pressing into him, even though he refuses to meet it again.
The heat in his chest doesn’t fade. He tries to focus on Taehyung, who is taking in the swirl of lights, music, and bodies with wide eyes. Unlike Jimin, Taehyung seems to drink in the energy, basking in the overt attention of alphas around him. Several had glanced in their direction already, and it was clear Taehyung had caught their interest. His posture was open, curious, awed, unaware of the danger that such attention could carry in their world. The younger omega smiles, completely unbothered by the barely subdued lust in the eyes tracking him.
Jimin swallows. The contrast is jarring. Taehyung, so young, so naïve, enjoying the power he doesn’t understand, while Jimin feels the weight of every glance, every unspoken assessment pressing on him. He forces himself to return his focus to the table, to the fizz of the drink in his glass, to anything mundane that might anchor him.
Seongwha, oblivious to the silent tension threading the booth, leans slightly toward Eunbi, teasing her lightly, while Taehyung’s curiosity remains unabated. He whispers questions to Hoseok about the dancers, the layout, the way alphas and omegas moved through the club, his wonder obvious. Hoseok answers with calm candor, explaining the dynamics with explicit detail, noting what was dangerous, what was performance, what could be enjoyed without consequence.
Eunbi’s attention flicks once more toward her mate, still caught in the dance of attraction with another omega. Her jaw tightens again, but she says nothing, only shifting slightly closer to Seongwha. Jimin watches her, noting the quiet tension in her posture, the way she manages to maintain composure while internally bristling.
When the omega can no longer feel the intense pressure of the alpha’s gaze, Jimin’s eyes drift back to Jungkook almost against his will. There is now a blonde omega by his side, clearly interested in the alpha, her presence demure and teasing. He doesn’t recognize her and doubts she’s from their world.
Her laughter is soft and airy, curling around the edges of the low music. Her hand brushes lightly against his arm in the kind of casual intimacy that speaks of practiced ease, of charm. Every movement is calculated, designed to draw attention—Jungkook’s attention, and Jimin notices it all.
The tilt of her head, the way her hair catches the shimmering lights, thearch of her back as she leans toward him. She is spilling charm effortlessly, radiating a confidence and makes her impossible to ignore.
Jimin’s chest tightens in a way he doesn’t name. His gaze flits between her and Jungkook, noting the ease with which the alpha responds, letting her flirt without the faintest hint of reluctance.
A small curiosity tugs at him suddenly. How many omegas like her has he encountered before? How many has he charmed and discarded, leaving only traces of himself behind?
He turns his eyes down quickly, pretending to adjust his sleeve, though he can still feel the pull of awareness, a fine thread of heat threading through his nerves. The observation burns faintly, to the point of discomfort, but he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t need Taehyung or Hoseok to notice.
Despite himself, he looks again, catching the way Jungkook leans back slightly, responding to her with just enough attention to keep her intrigued. There is no warmth in it, no softness, only the tact of someone who knows exactly how to handle admiration, how to hold it at a distance without breaking it.
The blonde omega laughs again, brushing her fingers along his forearm, and Jimin’s stomach twists at the sight. He can’t name the feeling and does not allow himself to. It is something sharp, a tightness coiling in his chest that makes him grab his drink, the smooth liquid flowing down his throat as though that could anchor him.
Jimin’s gaze lingers a moment too long, and he finally notices it. The sharp glint in Jungkook’s eyes, the way the alpha’s pupils darken slightly as he studies the blonde omega. It’s desire, measured and restrained, but it is there, and it makes something tighten in Jimin’s chest.
He looks down quickly, suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his hands. The tightness in his chest refuses to loosen. The blonde omega laughs again, brushing her hand against Jungkook’s arm, leaning in with effortless boldness, and Jimin can see the way the alpha tilts toward her, responding. He forces himself to turn away completely, pretending to study his drink, though every nerve is taut with awareness.
“I need another drink,” he blurts out.
“I’ll come with you,” Taehyung says, sliding out of the seat beside him, eyes bright with curiosity.
“Stay close,” Jimin replies, more a warning than a suggestion. They move through the crowd, weaving through the intermingled bodies.
At the bar, the bartender slides two glasses toward them with a smooth nod. A different one this time. “On the house,” he says, tone easy, like this happens often enough to be expected. Jimin accepts his drink without looking, swirling the liquid while keeping his attention forward.
And then he feels it.
Jungkook. His gaze is on him now, dark and unflinching. The blonde omega beside him still laughs and leans closer, her hand grazing Jungkook’s arm, but the alpha’s attention has shifted elsewhere.
To him.
Jimin lowers his eyes quickly, forcing the faint curl of his scent to stay contained.
Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Oh…” he breathes softly, understanding before he even can put it into words.
“Go back to Hoseok,” Jimin instructs, firm, keeping his voice just above the music. Taehyung blinks at him, hesitates, but the instruction is clear. He backs off, giving a small nod, eyes still flicking toward Jungkook with quiet curiosity.
Jimin’s hands tighten around his glass. The alpha’s presence presses into him like heat, and for a moment he lets himself feel it, then steels himself. He downs the remainder of his drink in a single swallow, the burn grounding him just enough. Setting the empty glass aside, he straightens his shoulders and moves with purpose toward the VIP section.
By the time Jimin reaches the section, the heat of the club feels distant, the bass a muted thrum behind the walls of authority gathered here. He realizes too late that Taehyung has followed him, he’s standing right over his shoulder, eyes wide, still absorbing everything.
All the alphas are here: Jungkook, Seokjin, Mingyu, and Namjoon. Yoongi sits quietly nearby, eyes flicking between them, observing, calculating . The sight hackles the omega’s nerves, but the alcohol in his system eases the edge of it, loosening his tongue just enough to sharpen it.
Jungkook tilts his head, voice low but cutting through the chatter. “You here to thank me?”
Jimin scoffs, tilting his chin, the whiskey lending fire to his words. “I thought I told you I don’t want your charity.”
Every alpha’s gaze lands on him now. Seokjin arches an eyebrow, Mingyu leans slightly forward, Namjoon’s eyes flick between Jimin and Jungkook, assessing.
Jungkook doesn’t react immediately.
For a moment he just studies him, dark eyes analysing him carefully, taking in the lifted chin, the faint flush along Jimin’s cheekbones, the defiance sharpened by alcohol. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, not quite mockery.
“Charity?” he repeats softly, voice modest enough that it doesn’t need to rise to command the space.
He leans back slightly, one arm draped lazily along the back of the booth, posture relaxed but gaze anything but. There’s something dangerous in the calm.
“I don’t give charity, Jimin.”
A beat passes.
“If I offer something, it’s because I want to.”
Jimin feels the weight of Jungkook’s words settle over him, heavy and full of intent.
His pulse jumps once against his throat. For a moment, he has nothing to say. Jungkook’s tone isn’t mocking. It isn’t cruel. It’s certain. And that certainty presses into him in a way that makes his heart race.
He’s the first to look away.
His gaze drifts across the booth, searching for something steadier, and that’s when he notices it. Seokjin isn’t watching Jungkook. He isn’t even watching Jimin. His attention is fixed just past him.
On Taehyung.
Taehyung stands a little too close to Jimin’s shoulder, trying to look composed but failing to hide the curiosity in his eyes. He doesn’t shrink under the scrutiny. If anything, he seems to glow beneath it, chin tipped slightly upward, unaware of what that kind of focused alpha attention truly implies.
Jimin stiffens.
“Taehyung,” he says quietly, still not looking at him. “Go back to Hoseok.”
There’s a protective edge in his voice now, firm and steady.
Before Taehyung can answer, Mingyu speaks, tone smooth and faintly amused. “No, it’s fine. Your friends can sit with us.” He gestures toward the open space in the booth as if the offer costs him nothing.
Namjoon inclines his head slightly. “You’re with Yoongi’s mate, right?”
At that, Yoongi finally looks up fully, expression calm but measured. The atmosphere shifts. What had been tight and confrontational turns curious, almost entertained.
Seokjin’s gaze lingers on Taehyung for another second before returning to Jimin, a faint smile touching his mouth. “No need to separate,” he adds casually.
Jimin’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like Taehyung under that kind of attention, and he doesn’t like how quickly the mood has changed from challenge to invitation. Refusing would only draw more notice, though.
He glances once more at Jungkook, searching for a cue. The alpha simply watches him, dark eyes steady, as if waiting to see what he chooses.
Jimin holds Jungkook’s gaze for another second, then exhales softly.
“Fine,” he says at last, tone even.
He steps aside as Hoseok arrives with the others. Eunbi greets Yoongi with an easy familiarity, sliding into the booth beside him as if she belongs there, which she does. Seonghwa follows, offering polite nods to the gathered alphas before taking a seat near Namjoon.
Taehyung lingers only a moment before sitting as well. It happens almost accidentally. The only open space left is directly across from Seokjin.
Jimin notices immediately.
Seokjin doesn’t bother disguising it. His posture relaxes in a way that is too intentional to be casual, broad shoulders stretching against the back of the seat as his gaze settles fully on Taehyung. There’s open appreciation there, slow and assessing. He looks like a man who likes exactly what he’s seeing.
The omega remains standing.
He waits until everyone is seated, until the dynamic settles, until the alphas and omegas begin their murmured conversations. Only then does he clear his throat lightly.
“I’m getting another drink,” he says, tone neutral.
No one stops him.
He turns before anyone can offer another comment, weaving back through the VIP section toward the bar. The music swells again as he steps away from the concentrated heat of that booth, trying to shake the feeling crawling beneath his skin.
He doesn’t notice the shift in air behind him.
Not until a hand closes around his arm.
Firm. Warm.
Electric.
Jimin freezes.
The contact is immediate and undeniable, heat searing through the thin fabric of his sleeve. His breath catches, sharp and involuntary, as something tight coils low in his stomach. It isn’t rough, but it isn’t gentle either.
He turns slowly.
Jungkook stands close. Too close. Up close their height difference is even more pronounced. Dark eyes lock on him, expression unreadable. The club noise fades out and all Jimin can focus on is the alpha.
For a moment neither of them speaks.
The tension stretches between them and Jimin becomes acutely aware of every inch of space separating their bodies. Or the lack of it.
Jimin doesn’t pull his arm away.
He lets Jungkook hold it for a second longer than necessary, heat traveling up his skin. Then he lifts his chin slightly, meeting those dark eyes without softening.
“I thought you were busy,” he says.
Not accusatory. Not quite.
His gaze flicks briefly past Jungkook’s shoulder. The blonde omega is still seated in the VIP section, no longer laughing. No longer light and teasing. Her eyes are fixed on them now, sharp and unmistakably displeased.
Jimin looks back at Jungkook.
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
There’s a challenge in it.
The alcohol gives his voice a confidence he might not have had earlier. He doesn’t step closer, but he doesn’t step away either. The space between them is small enough that he can feel Jungkook’s warmth.
“You weren’t interrupting anything,” the alpha says evenly. His voice is steady, as if the answer is obvious.
Jimin’s eyes flick past him again. The blonde omega is no longer pretending to be indifferent. Her posture is rigid now, lips pressed thin, gaze fixed on them with open irritation.
“Her reaction says otherwise,” Jimin replies.
His words are simple. But there’s heat beneath it.
Jungkook studies him, head tilting slightly. “You’re paying a lot of attention.”
The words press somewhere sensitive.
Jimin exhales through his nose, and before he can stop himself, the thought spills past his lips.
“How many omegas have you entertained like that?”
The second it leaves his mouth, he feels it. The weight of it. The implication.
He straightens.
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Jungkook goes still.
Not angry. Not amused either.
Interested.
His thumb shifts slightly where it rests against Jimin’s arm, a small drag through the material of his top that sends a spark of heat straight through him.
“Is that what this is about?” Jungkook asks softly.
Jimin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to.
The music thuds in the background, distant now. The space between them feels smaller than it is.
Jungkook leans in just enough that his voice doesn’t need to rise.
“Do you want me to entertain you instead?”
The question is simple. Not crude. Not teasing.
Jimin’s breath catches before he can stop it.
There’s no laughter in Jungkook’s eyes. No mockery. Just something dark and assessing. As if he’s genuinely considering it. As if he’s waiting to see whether Jimin will step forward or retreat.
The hand on his arm hasn’t moved.
Neither has Jimin.
Jimin falters.
It’s small. Barely there. A hitch in his breathing. The faint widening of his eyes.
But Jungkook sees it.
Sees the way the question lands. Sees the way Jimin doesn’t have a ready retort this time. The confidence the alcohol gave him flickers, not gone, just shaken. For half a second, Jimin looks exactly like what he is—curious, affected, standing too close to something he doesn’t fully understand.
And that’s all Jungkook needs.
Color creeps faintly along Jimin’s cheekbones. He looks away first, unable to withstand the weight of that gaze any longer. It’s too intense. Too knowing.
His eyes drift, searching for something to anchor to, and that’s when he sees them.
A couple pressed against the wall not far from the VIP entrance. An alpha and an omega tangled together like they’ve forgotten the rest of the room exists. The omega’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, head tipped back as the alpha mouths along his throat. One hand is splayed possessively at his hip. The other disappears beneath the waistband of the omega’s trousers, fingers moving with familiarity.
It’s intimate. Unashamed.
Jimin’s breath slows without him realizing.
The alcohol dulls the shock and sharpens the curiosity. He watches a moment too long. Watches the way the omega arches, the way the alpha’s grip tightens, the way control and surrender blur in the dim light.
Heat pools low in his stomach.
Then discomfort follows close behind it.
He looks away quickly, pulse uneven now, something unsettled stirring beneath his ribs. He swallows, trying to steady himself, suddenly hyper-aware of Jungkook still standing close enough to feel.
Too close.
A low sound leaves Jungkook’s throat. Not quite a laugh.
“Something interesting over there?”
Jimin stiffens. “I wasn’t—”
Jungkook steps half a pace closer. Just invading his space enough that Jimin feels surrounded. His hand still wrapped around the omega’s wrist.
“You looked curious,” Jungkook says softly. There’s amusement in his voice now. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just observant. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”
Jimin’s fingers curl slightly at his sides. He refuses to look back at the couple.
“I’m not a child,” he replies, though the defensiveness edges his tone.
Jungkook hums quietly, gaze dragging over his face, lingering on the faint flush that hasn’t faded.
“I didn’t say you were.”
Another beat passes.
“Not the type to have seen an omega like that are you?”
The tease is subtle. Testing.
Jimin finally looks back at him, eyes sharp despite the lingering heat in his system. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t retreat.
“Maybe I just prefer not to do it in public,” he says evenly.
Jungkook’s eyes darken slightly at that.
“Oh?”
“It can be… thrilling,” Jungkook continues, voice smooth, prominent over the music
Jimin doesn’t look at him. He can’t.
“There’s something honest about it,” Jungkook adds. “An alpha possessing his omega like that. No shame. No hesitation.”
The word possessing lands heavily.
Jimin’s pulse stutters.
Jungkook’s thumb shifts slightly against the inside of his wrist, a slight movement that makes Jimin’s breath catch despite himself. The contact is gentle, almost absent-minded, but it holds him there, keeping him from stepping away.
“Look,” The alpha nudges him.
Jimin hesitates.
“Watch.”
Against his better judgment, he does.
The omega against the wall isn’t hiding. His head is tipped back, lips parted, hands gripping the alpha’s shoulders as if he’s steadying himself through the pleasure. There’s no embarrassment in his expression. No restraint. Just open want. The alpha’s hand moves with confident familiarity beneath the trousers, possessive and certain, holding him in place like he belongs there.
Jimin’s breathing turns shallow.
The alcohol makes everything sharper. Louder. Warmer.
Curiosity creeps in first, then something heavier. His body reacts before his pride can catch up, a slow, undeniable awareness pooling beneath his clothes. He shifts slightly, trying to mask it, suddenly hyperaware of Jungkook standing beside him. Of how close they are. Of the fingers still resting against his wrist.
Jungkook is watching the couple too. But not only them.
“You see?” he says quietly. “He isn’t embarrassed.”
Jimin’s voice comes out softer than he intends. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t—”
“He’s enjoying it,” Jungkook cuts in gently. “And he isn’t pretending otherwise.”
The implication hangs between them.
Jimin feels it in the space between their bodies. In the steady warmth of Jungkook’s hand. In the way his own heartbeat won’t slow.
“That doesn’t mean everyone wants that,” he says, though the edge in his voice has dulled.
Jungkook turns his head slightly, close enough that Jimin can feel the brush of his breath near his temple.
“No,” Jungkook agrees. “It doesn’t.”
A pause.
“But you’re still watching.”
Another pause.
“I can smell you, Jimin,” Jungkook says, his voice almost a whisper, fingers still brushing lightly against the skin of Jimin’s wrist, grounding and unyielding.
Jimin freezes for a fraction of a second, heat pooling low and steady through his body. He doesn’t respond, but he can’t look away from the couple in the corner, the sight drawing him in. The sweetened vanilla of his own scent surrounds him, undeniable, and he knows the alpha can feel it, can smell it.
The alcohol in his system blurs some of the restraint he usually has, sharpening his awareness of every touch, every brush of the alpha’s fingers. Jungkook’s gaze presses into him, heated and insistent, threading through the chaos of the club straight to him.
Jimin’s pulse hammers in his ears, not from fear, but from the growing, undeniable arousal twisting through him. His eyes track the couple—an alpha’s hands exploring an omega with abandon, the omega’s pleasure open, unashamed—and his body responds, aware of the parallel heat radiating from Jungkook beside him.
Jungkook’s fingers linger lightly on Jimin’s wrist, teasing, unyielding. His voice lowers, velvet-smooth and intimate, brushing along Jimin’s senses as much as the music does. “Now… imagine this right in front of you. Watching is one thing, but feeling it, experiencing it… that’s entirely different.”
The words hit Jimin like a spark. He freezes, chest tightening, pulse thrumming in his ears. He can’t look away, drawn to the intensity in Jungkook’s gaze, the heat radiating from him. The alcohol and the closeness make every brush of skin, every slight movement of the alpha’s fingers, feel magnified, impossibly intimate.
Jimin swallows, lips pressing into a thin line as the awareness coils through him. He knows he shouldn’t indulge, shouldn’t let himself be caught in the pull, but his eyes meet Jungkook’s anyway, betraying a flicker of curiosity he doesn’t want to admit.
“I… I need to go,” Jimin finally says, voice tighter than he expects. He jerks his gaze away, refusing to let himself be pulled further under the heat, even as the alcohol hums through his veins, sharpening his senses and loosening his resolve.
His chest still burns from the proximity, the weight of Jungkook’s stare pressing against him even as he turns, forcing himself to move, to retreat toward the bar, needing distance, needing to breathe. Fuck. Jimin moves back through the moving crowd. Each step feels heavier than the last, the alcohol loosening his usual caution but sharpening his awareness of every glance, every single movement around him.
He keeps his head down, hands brushing along the edge of the railing as he makes for the exit. Outside, the night air is cool and sharp, a contrast to the heat of the club. He can smell it – the sweetened vanilla, more potent than usual— it clings to him, and he knows Jungkook can still track it in his mind.
He pulls out his phone, fingers fumbling slightly as he texts Hoseok first, the words brief: Make sure Taehyung gets home safe. Then to Taehyung: Go straight home. Don’t wander around. The older omega had already been careful to watch his cousin, but Jimin’s insistence feels necessary, protective.
A sleek, black car rolls up, one of his guards leaning out the window. Jimin slides in without a word, the door closing softly behind him. The interior smells faintly of leather, grounding him even as his mind swirls with the memory of Jungkook’s fingers, the heat of his gaze, the teasing pull that had left him unsettled and aware of every nerve ending in his body.
The city blurs past the tinted windows. Jimin leans back, taking a deep breath. Desire thrums under his skin, a reminder that the pull to the alpha hasn’t completely faded.
His phone vibrates quietly, a message from Hoseok: That’s fine. You left? Is everything okay? Jimin exhales, letting a small, shaky laugh escape, though it’s devoured quickly by the hum of the car.
Even in on his way home, even under the dimmed city lights, he can still feel Jungkook. Smelling him, teasing him, pressing against him in memory. The knowledge that the alpha’s attention isn’t casual, that it follows him, lingers in the back of his mind.
By the time the car pulls into the estate’s driveway, Jimin’s thoughts are chaotic, a tangle of desire, curiosity, and that unnameable ache of wanting and resisting all at once.
He steps out into the quiet night, the weight of the encounter pressing in with him, and for a moment, he wonders how much longer he can pretend it means nothing.
🔥
The doors swing open before Jimin can knock, and there’s Han Seo-rae, standing in the hallway like she owns the place. Not that her alpha, old as he is, really cares anymore. She mated for convenience, loyalty, reputation. Not for heat, not for desire. Definitely not for love. The whole household knows it. That doesn’t stop her from making every footsoldier in the vicinity sweat if she wants.
“Jiminie,” she purrs, voice coy and teasing. “Finally decided to grace me with your presence.” She leans against the wall, adorned in a silk dressing gown, one perfectly manicured hand brushing along the railing, the other holding a wine glass as if it is part of her. She is relaxed, lethal, and impossibly free.
He can’t stop his eyes from flicking to the staff moving around, discreetly watching him. Some carry trays, others linger in corners, all aware that the omega in front of them is untouchable.
“Wow, you really do whatever you want in this house, huh?” He can’t hide the awe behind his words. He is equal parts impressed and scandalized.
She laughs. “Of course, sweetie. Don’t tell me you thought marrying a seventy-year-old Alpha would stop me from enjoying life.” Her smirk widens. “Besides, these guys don’t mind a little attention.”
He glances at one of the footsoldiers frozen mid-step and quickly looks away. He knows he shouldn’t, but part of him can’t tear his gaze from the way Han Seo-rae moves, the confident way in which she carries herself, the way she interactes with her workers, the way they respond.
“Sit,” she says, gesturing to one of the velvet armchairs near the window. “Drink?”
Jimin hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Sure. Water’s fine.”
“Water? You’re twenty-two. You’ll have some wine.” She saunters to the minibar and pours him a small glass of red wine anyway, handing it to him with a coy smirk. He picks it up carefully, swirling it in the glass.
“So university?” she asks, perching on the arm of the chair opposite him. “How was it? Did you meet any interesting alphas?”
Jimin smiles. “No. None interested me enough to matter.”
Seo-rae tilts her head, as if appraising him. “Hmm. And now? Back in Seoul, back in the real world, any alpha catch your attention yet?”
“None,” he says flatly, though his mind drifts instantly to the memory of that alpha. The heat of the club, the way the alpha’s fingers had brushed against his wrist, the way his gaze had pressed into him like he was reading him naked. Jimin shakes his head, forcing the thought away. “Seriously, none.”
Her smirk sharpens, mischievous. “Speaking of alphas, Eunwoo’s finally out of your life, right? Thank the Goddess. He was pathetic.”
Jimin freezes, caught between indignation and disbelief. “Han Seo-rae! Don’t let anyone else hear you say that!” His voice is sharper than he intends, a flush rising in his cheeks. “And how can you say it so casually?”
She waves a hand, unfazed, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Relax, Jiminie. Between us? I’ve heard from a few… sources. That he’s not even packing much. A small knot and an even smaller cock. Really, not even worth it. You deserve better than someone like that.”
He gapes at her, scandalized. The bluntness, the sheer audacity of speaking so openly about another alpha’s… deficiencies, leaves him both horrified and oddly exhilarated. “God, I can’t believe you just said that,” he mutters, voice low, almost a hiss.
Seo-rae steps closer, tilting her head like she’s letting him in on a secret. “Honestly, sweetie, I’m glad that’s over. You should be too. Life’s too short to waste on alphas that can’t even… you know.” She lets the words hang, a sly grin dancing across her lips.
Jimin fidgets, eyes darting around the room. She makes it sound so casual, as though she’s talking about what to order for dinner instead of an intimate, shamefully private subject. His pulse ticks up at the audacity of it. He’s scandalized, yes, but also oddly aware of the heat curling through him at her confidence.
Seo-rae notices the twitch of his brow, the tight line of his lips. “Relax, Jiminie. I’m just saying—don’t waste your time. There are better options. Stronger alphas. Ones that actually make your blood sing.”
Jimin opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He can’t argue. He can’t.
And yet, the conversation has stirred that familiar discomfort in his stomach—the one that flares whenever he thinks of certain other alphas. He fumbles for something, anything, to change the subject, though the memory he’s so desperate to bury keeps rising to the surface.
Seo-rae notices the other omega’s discomfort. “Alright, enough about pathetic alphas. You’ve clearly had enough of that nonsense.” She steps toward the kitchen, motioning for him to follow. “Tell me more about your time abroad. Did you at least party whilst you were at university? Otherwise what was the point of you even going abroad?”
“The purpose of going to university Rae is to study. Which is what I did. Mostly.” Jimin hesitates, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There was some partying too, obviously. The usual.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, raising a brow and grinning slyly. “The usual? Don’t hold back, Jiminie. I want details. Did you at least meet some cool people? Even though I already know no one is cooler than me.”
He nods his head lightly. “Yeah. I made a few friends. We even have a groupchat.” His mind floods with memories from university.
Late nights crammed into tiny apartments that smelled like instant ramen and cheap candles. Heated debates over politics and art and which professor was secretly sleeping with which TA. Study sessions that turned into wine nights. Laughter echoing down unfamiliar streets at two in the morning.
It had been different there.
No one cared about bloodlines. No one lowered their voice when they said his surname. No one watched him like he was an investment waiting to appreciate. He had just been Jimin. Annoyingly punctual in group projects. Obsessed with coffee. A little too competitive at video games.
He remembers walking across campus in oversized hoodies, earbuds in, head down. He remembers feeling almost invisible in the best way. Desired sometimes, yes. Flirted with.
But not assessed. Not weighed and measured for what kind of omega he would be in a marriage contract.
There were alphas who tried. Confident smiles, flirting at parties, offers to walk him home. One had sent flowers to his dorm after a midterm, another had waited outside his lecture hall to walk him around campus for a week straight before finally giving up.
Jimin had turned them all down gently.
Not because they were unattractive. Some of them were objectively handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, charming in that effortless way university alphas perfected. But something in him had remained unmoved. Curious, maybe. Flattered, occasionally. Never compelled.
He had told himself it was focus. Discipline. The desire to build something for himself before attaching to anyone else.
But if he’s being honest, there had always been a quiet dissatisfaction humming beneath it. A sense that something was missing.
He swallows, blinking away the rush of nostalgia. “It was good,” he says more quietly. “Being there.”
Seo-rae blinks at him once, then breaks into a grin.
“A groupchat? Wow. Look at you.” She presses a hand to her chest in mock astonishment. “Jimin the social butterfly. Should I be threatened?”
Jimin rolls his eyes, though there’s still a softness lingering in his expression from the memories. “Relax. It’s not that impressive.”
“Oh, it’s impressive,” she insists. “You? Voluntarily maintaining friendships? Sending messages? Reacting to memes?” She narrows her eyes playfully. “Do they know how difficult you are in person?”
“I’m not difficult.”
“You’re very difficult.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, fighting a smile. “We talk about normal things. Classes. Gossip. One of them is engaged now, actually.”
“Engaged?” Seo-rae straightens. “Already? See, this is what happens when you leave the country. People start mating without you.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“It absolutely is,” she replies without hesitation. “Time is always a competition in our world.”
Her tone isn’t heavy, but the implication lingers. Omegas are always on a clock, whether anyone says it outright or not. Prime years. Desirable years. Strategic years.
Jimin takes another sip of his drink. “I’m not in a rush.”
Seo-rae studies him for a moment. “Good.” Then her smile returns, lighter now. “Still. I’m glad you had that. Friends who see you as just… you.”
He nods. “It was easy there.”
“Easy is dangerous,” she says thoughtfully. “You get used to it.”
He arches a brow. “You sound like you miss it.”
She scoffs under her breath. “I never had it.”
There’s no self-pity in the statement. Just fact. She grew up knowing exactly what she would be used for and how. Marriage as alliance. Heat as leverage. Beauty as currency.
They head back the way they came, returning into the large reception area. Jimin looks at her silk dressing gown, the enormous house, the staff moving silently beyond the doorway. “Do you regret it?” he asks before he can stop himself.
She tilts her head. “Marrying an old alpha?”
“Yes.”
Seo-rae hums, considering. “Regret is pointless. I chose security. I chose freedom in a different way.” Her lips curve. “And I make my own fun.”
That much is obvious.
She steps closer, bumping his leg lightly with hers. “But you, Jiminie. You had a taste of something normal. That’s dangerous too.”
“How?”
Seo-rae smiles, tilting her head like she’s savoring the answer. “Because, sweetie… you felt it, didn’t you? That little bubble where no one expects anything from you, no one judges, no one wants to own you… You forget what that feels like too easily.”
Jimin nods, voice quiet but firm. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
He makes himself comfortable on the plush armchair again, kicking off the tight tension from his legs. He lets out a sigh, the kind that feels like it’s been simmering under his ribs for days. “God, I forgot what it feels like to just breathe,” he admits, voice quiet.
Seo-rae laughs, a rich, teasing sound that fills the room. She leans against the back of the couch, tilting her wine glass toward him. “See? I told you. Normal is dangerous. You get a taste, and suddenly everything else feels wrong. Claustrophobic.”
He smirks faintly, tracing a finger along the armrest. “Yeah. Everything back home feels stifling now. I can’t even enjoy being here without thinking about it.”
She moves closer, tilting her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “It’s the little victories, Jiminie. Little freedoms. The small moments where no one owns you. That’s the spice. That’s what you’ll crave when all the rules, the expectations, and the arrangements hit you full force.”
Jimin leans back, swirling the wine in his glass, tasting it without drinking just yet. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’ve felt that. At university. And now being back here… it’s different. Everything is just calculated. Eyes everywhere. I’m supposed to be perfect. It’s exhausting.”
Seo-rae tilts her head, smirking knowingly. “Ah, the glamorous life of a Kkangpae omega. They want you pristine. They want you pliable. They want you predictable. You, on the other hand?” She waves a hand lazily in the air. “You want to feel. To taste. To break the rules and see what happens.”
Jimin lets out a quiet laugh, almost bitter. “Yeah. I want to feel, for once, like I’m allowed to.”
She leans back, resting her glass on the table, her grin softening for a moment. “And that’s why you came here. To remind yourself it’s possible. Even if it’s just for a night. Even if it’s just with me, and this stupid, large house that does nothing but boast with money.”
He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know why I find it comforting. You make it look like chaos and freedom at the same time.”
“That’s life, Jiminie,” she says, eyes glinting. “A little chaotic, a little dangerous, and entirely ours if we dare to take it.”
He exhales slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. He knows she’s right. He’s never had anyone like her to remind him that there’s a world outside of the rules, outside of the pressures, outside of everything he’s been told he must be.
And for now, that’s enough.
🔥
The morning air is sharp, brushing against Jimin’s skin as he hits the private road. The sun hasn’t fully climbed yet, but it lights the mansions lining the street in a soft glow glinting off black gates and carefully manicured lawns. He doesn’t pay much attention to them. He’s moving too fast, too restless to admire anything.
“Keep up, Jiminie,” a voice calls, breath even and strong beside him.
He glances to his right. Jihyo, his alpha guard, jogs in perfect stride, ponytail swaying, long legs eating the pavement like it’s nothing. She’s grinning, clearly enjoying the challenge.
“You’re going down,” he says, half joking. But he also genuinely believes he can beat her.
“Oh, really?” Her grin widens. “You said that yesterday too, and yet I let you win. Maybe I’ll be generous again today.”
Jimin scoffs, though his chest lifts in amusement. “Generous, huh? Sounds like a threat.”
The wind whips past, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and morning dew. His limbs feel restless, alive, full of energy he can’t quite place. It’s like there’s a spark under his skin that needs to run, to move, to be burned off.
He rushes forward, pulling ahead slightly. “Beat that,” he calls, voice light and teasing.
She doesn’t speed up, doesn’t falter. She keeps pace, matching him step for step, her laughter trailing behind like a ribbon. “You’re fast, Jiminie. But you’ve got nothing on me if I actually try.”
“Try all you want,” he breathes, eyes forward. The road curves slightly, lined with iron gates and stone pillars marking the boundaries of other estates—some celebrity, some mob families, some just ridiculously rich people. “I’m winning today.”
Jihyo tilts her head, mock offense in her expression. “Oh, you think you’re winning? Fine. Let’s make it interesting.”
They pick up the pace. His legs pump harder and he feels the burn in his lungs. He notices nothing about the houses, the guards stationed near the gates, the early deliveries rolling past.
He feels the edge of exhilaration, that push and pull of competitiveness and something lighter, freer. His chest lifts with every breath, his mind clear yet buzzing with the simplest kind of joy.
And then, the final stretch. He lets out a laugh, it comes out more like a huff due to how breathless he is. “Last stretch. Come on, Jihyo.”
She grins, leaning forward, letting him pull ahead but not too much. There’s a teasing tilt to her step, and he knows she could easily overtake him if she wanted. He sprints anyway, a rush of heat in his chest, limbs moving on pure instinct.
He crosses the imaginary finish line first, chest heaving, a victorious laugh spilling out. She slows beside him, pretending to pout. “Congratulations, Jiminie. Enjoy your fleeting victory while it lasts.”
He’s grinning, catching his breath, arms swinging loosely. “I’ll take it. You’re too nice letting me win.”
She shrugs, hair sticking to her damp neck. “Maybe I wanted you to feel good. Or maybe I was enjoying the view.” Her smirk makes him laugh again, light and easy.
They walk the last bit back toward his estate, side by side. The sun’s high in the sky now, heating their bodies up even more.
He’s buzzing, still restless, but calmer. The road, the run, the friendly competition—it’s enough to keep the storm of energy contained for a little while.
“Next time, I’m not letting you win,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Sure, sure. We’ll see,” he says, already thinking about when the next run will be, how he’ll push himself harder, how he’ll burn this restless energy off before it drives him crazy again.
Even as he steps inside the gates, dripping sweat, he knows the morning hasn’t settled the restlessness. He hasn’t quite pinned down what it is, but at least he’s running toward something, even if it’s just the start of another day.
By the time they enter the estate, his chest is still lifting and falling in uneven bursts, sweat cooling quickly on his skin.
Jimin gives a small bow to a passing house help without slowing, the smallest acknowledgment that says: I see you, I’m home. It’s automatic, the politeness drilled into him from years of growing up in this environment. The staff notice, but there’s no shift in expression; he’s their boss’s son, untouchable.
“Race again tomorrow?” Jihyo asks lightly as they step onto the foyer.
He smirks, tugging at the hem of his damp shirt. “Maybe. Depends if you’re feeling generous again.”
“Generosity is for the weak, Jiminie. You’ll see tomorrow.”
He laughs, shaking his head, but doesn’t respond further. The sound echoes lightly off the high ceilings. His mind already drifts toward the cool relief of a shower, toward stripping off the sweat and tension that clings to him, toward relaxing in the calm of his room.
He moves through the familiar corridors of the house, the soft click of his sneakers against the marble echoing softly.
His room door swings open with ease, the familiar scent of vanilla greeting him. He drops his running shoes near the door and stretches, feeling the muscles loosen gradually. Even as he moves, he can feel the lingering ache in his limbs.
The shower is hot. Scalding, even, steam curling up to fog the glass as he steps in. Water hits his shoulders, trailing down his back, washing away the sweat, the stiffness, and some of the restless energy that’s been buzzing under his skin for days. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back, letting the feel of water and heat ground him.
He doesn’t know how long he lingers under the torrent, losing himself in the simple satisfaction of warmth and cleansing. By the time he steps out, skin pruned and flushed, he’s calmer, a little more collected.
He wraps himself in a towel and moves to the vanity. He runs a hand through damp blonde hair, then methodically dries it then tames it.
Finally, he stands back, looking at his reflection. His chest still lifts slightly from the morning’s exertion, a lingering flush across his cheeks. He flexes his fingers once, testing his energy, noting the subtle twitch of muscles still wound tight.
Breakfast will be ready soon. The day is just getting started.
Jimin slides into his usual seat, letting the chair scrape softly against the floor. His mother is already there, perched like a hawk at the head of the table, a cup of tea in her hands, eyes narrowing the moment they meet his.
“Jiminie,” she says, voice warm but carrying that familiar undertone of critique. “You need a haircut. Your hair is getting far too long. You look unkempt.”
He stiffens slightly, hiding the flicker of irritation. Of course she’d start here. She always starts with something about appearance. It’s like she thinks criticism is affection.
“Noted,” he mutters, voice flat, forcing his attention on the plate in front of him.
“And you’re too thin,” she continues before he can escape. “You need to eat more. These pastries won’t make you stronger, Jiminie. You’re still delicate.”
Delicate. That word makes something twist low in his stomach. He’s heard it a thousand times, every birthday, every family gathering, every casual comment from anyone in his orbit.
He swallows hard, trying not to internalise her words. It’s her way of showing she cares. Or at least, her version of it.
“I eat enough,” he says quietly, stabbing at the omelet with a fork more aggressively than necessary. “I’m fine.”
“Are you, though?” she asks, tilting her head, a knowing smile curling the edges of her lips. “Your hands are still so thin. And your legs… Jiminie, you need to keep them slim but not skinny. An omega must maintain themselves.”
He bites back a sigh, the familiar burn of frustration rising. Why does she always have to make him feel like he’s failing at being himself? He pushes the irritation down, letting it simmer quietly. Keep it in. Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Your top is wrinkled,” she adds suddenly, glancing down at his blazer. “Couldn’t you get anyone to iron this?”
He swallows again. Yeah, okay, he knows it’s wrinkled. He’s been rushing this morning. But it’s not like she’s trying to understand—she’s just cataloguing flaws. He feels the flare in his temples, the familiar irritation prickling under his skin.
“Mother,” he says, keeping his tone light but carefully polite, “I had a run this morning. I didn’t have time.”
She lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A run, hm? You still need to eat more.”
He’s about to say something sharp when a small, almost imperceptible smile flits across her lips. She knows. Always knows. The balance between criticism and pride, care and critique, is something she wields like a weapon. He knows it. And yet it stings every single time.
He picks at his breakfast, mind wandering to the need to do something, go somewhere, escape the quiet suffocating judgment of her gaze. He hates that it bothers him, but it does. Even after all these years.
She watches him eat, fingers drumming lightly on the table, silent for a moment. Then: “You’ve put on muscle, I see that. At least some of your running is paying off.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he mutters, voice barely more than a mumble.
She tilts her head, regarding him like she’s weighing him, measuring whether he’s grown or still too much the boy she fusses over. “Still, don’t let it all go to waste. Your hair, your frame, everything must be tip-top. You never know who’s watching.”
Jimin buries the frustration, forcing down the bitter taste that always comes with her words. He knows she’s right in her own way. He’s a target, he’s a pawn, he’s always under observation. But still, some part of him aches to be allowed to just exist without critique.
He pushes his plate away finally, standing. “I’ll finish up later,” he says, voice neutral. He doesn’t look at her.
As he steps away, he feels the weight of her gaze settle on him. The burn in his chest isn’t hunger—it’s the tension of always being measured, always being judged, even by the one person who is supposed to love him without reservation. He can feel the restlessness stirring again, the energy he doesn’t know how to place.
He heads toward his room, thoughts tangled, the quiet frustration lingering like a shadow he can’t shake.
He doesn’t even make it back to his room. After a few steps from the table he is summoned to his alpha mother’s office.
The words come from a staff member standing stiffly at the end of the corridor, head bowed, voice carefully neutral. Not a request. Not a suggestion.
A summons.
Jimin pauses mid-step, jaw tightening for the briefest second before his expression smooths out. Of course. The universe doesn’t even grant him the luxury of sulking in private.
“Now?” he asks.
“Yes, Omega Park”
He exhales quietly through his nose and adjusts the hem of his shirt, fingers steady even if his pulse isn’t. The faint sting of his omega mother’s criticisms still lingers under his skin, raw and irritating. Too thin. Too delicate. Too long. Not enough.
He hates how easily it burrows inside him.
He moves toward the study cautiously, aware of every grain of wood beneath his feet. He wants to remain unseen, unnoticed, but in this house that is impossible. Everything has eyes. Everything observes.
“Jimin,” his mother says before he even fully steps inside, calm and precise. “Morning. I trust you slept well?”
“I did,” he answers automatically.
She looks up from her desk, gaze steady and assessing, not harsh, not cold. She doesn’t need intimidation to command a room.
“You seem different since coming back from University,” she says.
He stills. “Different how?”
“More certain,” she replies. “You carry yourself with more independence. It’s noticeable.”
His fingers curl faintly at his sides. That is not criticism exactly, but it is not light either. “I’ve grown,” he says simply.
She sets her pen down and folds her hands together. “Growth brings responsibility with it. I have not spoken to you about mating the way your omega mother does.” A faint breath leaves her. “But that does not mean I have not been thinking about it.”
His stomach tightens.
He expected this conversation eventually. Just not from her. Not like this.
“The time is approaching where we must begin considering it seriously,” she continues.
His pulse starts to climb, slow and steady. “I’ve only just come back,” he says carefully. “There’s no rush to mate.”
“We don’t need to make an announcement tomorrow,” she clarifies. “But we do need to start strategising.”
That word lands heavier than any reprimand could.
She watches him closely, not to corner him but to understand him. “The Cha family has expressed interest.”
His head lifts. “Eunwoo?”
“Yes.”
“No.” The word leaves him too quickly, instinctive.
She doesn’t snap. She doesn’t narrow her eyes. She simply regards him. “He is disciplined. Intelligent. His family’s influence would strengthen ours considerably.”
“I don’t want him,” Jimin says, quieter now but firm. The idea alone makes his chest feel tight. Eunwoo is impeccable. Politically flawless. And suffocating.
“I see,” she says, and she sounds like she means it.
She leans back slightly. “There are others. The Kang heir. The Lim family’s eldest. All viable. All advantageous.”
Each name feels like another weight placed carefully on his shoulders. He imagines standing beside one of them, smiling for cameras, scent intertwined not from want but expectation. The thought makes something inside him recoil.
Anxiety hums under his skin. His body betrays him as always, scent shifting faintly despite his effort to control it. He hates that she can probably sense it.
“I need time,” he says. The strain slips through no matter how steady he tries to sound. “I’m not ready.”
Her expression softens at the edges.
“Jimin,” she says quietly, “I’m not trying to corner you.”
The gentleness unsettles him more than anger would.
“You are my son before you are an alliance,” she continues. “But you are also a Park. Those truths exist together.”
His throat tightens.
“We don’t choose duty instead of love,” she says. “We learn to carry both. I’ll give you time. I mean that. But I can’t ignore this responsibility, and neither can you.”
The pressure in his chest shifts. It does not disappear, but it becomes sharper.
“Our name must remain strong,” she says. “Alliances protect us. They ensure stability for the next generation. One day you’ll have to protect your name. You can’t step into that role unprepared.”
He understands. That is the worst part. He understands every word.
Understanding does nothing to quiet the fear that his future is slowly narrowing into something he did not choose.
“Yes, Mother,” he says finally, because refusal is not an option here.
She nods once. “Attend the upcoming gatherings. Scout. Socialise. Speak properly. I’m not asking you to commit to anything. I am asking you to explore.”
Explore.
The word sounds gentle. It feels anything but.
“You have time,” she repeats. “But don’t waste it pretending this will disappear.”
He rises, posture straight, composure intact. Only when he steps out of the study does his breathing shift, shallow and hitched.
Mating has always been theoretical. Distant.
Now it has names. Faces. Deadlines.
And in this house, time is never freedom.
It is preparation for surrender.
🔥
Later that night, when Hoseok mentions going to the club again, he doesn’t ask. He just knows Jimin will follow.
Tonight the club feels different. Less intimidating. The careful awareness he usually wears like armor has softened after a few drinks, warmth spreading through him. His walls loosen, replaced by something he hasn’t let himself feel in weeks: freedom. Youth. A touch of recklessness he remembers from university, when nights blurred into mornings and consequences felt distant.
They skip the dance floor. The crowd is smaller than usual but still large enough to be overwhelming. Hoseok guides him to their booth, and Jimin sinks into the cool vinyl, shoulder to shoulder with his friend.
The music settles into them. Hoseok’s hand brushes his, and Jimin feels the warmth like a tether. They sway where they sit, heads nodding in time, a quiet choreography that feels safe.
Eyes drift their way. Alpha, omega, curious, appraising. Some linger too long, hunger or amusement flickering in their gaze. Usually he would retreat behind polite smiles and distance.
Tonight he doesn’t.
He lets the attention rest on his skin and tilts his head slightly, amber light catching along his cheekbones. There’s a thrill in being watched, admired, weighed. For once, he allows himself to enjoy it.
He swirls his drink, ice clinking softly. His gaze moves lazily over the room, catching glints of interest when they land on him. Instead of anxiety, a tender heat coils in his stomach. He leans back with a faint smile.
Hoseok notices the shift but says nothing, sipping his juice.
The club owner isn’t visible tonight. Jimin notes the absence and lets it go. He doesn’t the atmosphere itself is electric. He drinks again, warmth spreading through his chest. The weight of legacy, expectation, responsibility feels distant, blurred by music and light.
From the booth he takes in the room. The Kim brothers aren’t here either, and the smaller crowd leaves space to breathe. Even so, he feels the steady brush of attention.
Hoseok nudges him lightly, pulling Jimin from the thrum of his own thoughts. “Dance with me?” he says, half joking.
Jimin hesitates for a beat, then rises.
Not on the floor with everyone else; not in front of the glaring spotlights and prying eyes. But here, in their private booth, they move together, swaying with the music. The rhythm is simple, familiar. Hoseok’s hand is steady, guiding, anchoring him in the movement. He giggles softly, a sound simple and unguarded, letting his body respond naturally.
A glance to the side catches a pair of alphas observing from a distance, their stance casual but their attention impossible to miss.
Another omega nearby shifts in their seat, eyes flicking over him with something like envy.
Normally, these observations would prick at his nerves, but tonight they ripple through him like a current he wants to feel. He tilts his chin slightly, exposing the curve of his neck to the light, and allows the invisible weight to land where it
He sips again. The alcohol has taken hold just enough that the familiar knots of anxiety, the constant pressure of his family’s expectations, blur into the background. Tonight, he doesn’t think about lineage, duty, mating, or legacy.
Fuck all of that honestly.
Tonight, he lets the music carry him, lets the eyes trace him, let the electricity of the room settle along his skin like a second heartbeat.
Hoseok leans closer, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re glowing tonight,” he says, almost teasing, but Jimin senses something else in the undertone.
He smiles, letting his gaze drift casually across the room, unspoken understanding between friends in a private rhythm of movement.
He is glowing tonight.
Every glance, every lustful gaze directed his way, reinforces it. Jimin doesn’t think about why anyone looks, doesn’t question their intentions. He simply absorbs it. He revels in it. It makes his heart beat quicker, makes the sway of his hips more deliberate. There is a thrill in the attention, a power in the vulnerability.
The club is quieter than usual, the weekday crowd smaller, more intimate. He notices the lack of constant chaos, the reduced hum of voices, and finds a strange comfort in the rhythm of it all.
He knows that by his sheer presence alone, he draws eyes. That his scent, his movement, even his posture are enough to register on the subconscious radar of everyone in the room. He feels it like static, a soft current brushing against his skin. For once, it doesn’t frighten him. It excites him.
He lets out a soundless laugh, leaning back into the booth with Hoseok’s comforting presence beside him. Tonight, he is untethered. He lets the energy of the club, the eyes on him, and the rhythm of the music seep into him completely.
It is intoxicating.
The music pulses through his chest like a second heartbeat, and Jimin leans back, letting himself sink into the booth. Hoseok hums along with the bass, swaying lightly, and for a moment the room feels like theirs—just theirs, a private island carved out of the chaotic hum of bodies and neon.
But then Jimin notices it. Not directly, not in a way he can name, but a pull at the edges of his awareness, incospicious and insistent.
A brush of presence, a weight in the room that isn’t Hoseok, that isn’t the crowd. Something familiar and unyielding, threading through the air, tuning itself to him. He tilts his head, glancing around casually, pretending he’s scanning for another friend, but his heartbeat picks up just the same.
The club feels smaller suddenly, like the space between him and whoever it is has shrunk without a sound. He can feel eyes tracing him. Not prying like the others, not casual. Focused. It makes the warmth in his chest twist, a slow, insistent ache that he doesn’t fully understand.
“Jiminie, you’re spacing out again,” Hoseok murmurs, brushing a hand over his shoulder. The touch is grounding, and Jimin shakes his head lightly, forcing a laugh.
“Just… thinking,” he says, voice casual, but the electricity under his skin is anything but.
He sips his drink, letting the burn settle and remind him he’s still in control. But the presence is still there. He feels it in the shift of air behind him, in the movement of bodies in his periphery, in the way the music seems to thread tighter around him. It’s like someone has tuned themselves to his frequency, and he can’t help but notice.
Jimin shifts in the booth, letting the music carry him, trying to act nonchalant, but his senses prick at every movement around him.
Then he sees him. Across the room, for a heartbeat just long enough to catch him off guard. The alpha’s eyes, dark and unflinching, lock onto his.
It’s not the casual glance of someone surveying the room. It’s intentional. Focused. Like he’s tracking Jimin through the crowd without needing to move.
Something stirs deep in Jimin’s chest—a spike of heat and curiosity. The rational part of him tells him to ignore it. He’s been caught in these currents before, knows the pull, knows how dangerous it can be to give in. But the alcohol loosens that caution, dulls the edge of propriety, and suddenly the magnetic weight of that gaze is impossible to resist.
He gulps, feeling a strange combination of thrill and apprehension, and then something almost compulsive, almost reckless, takes over. Jimin stands.
“I’ll be back,” he says to his friend.
Hoseok looks at him immediately, brows lifting, confused until he follows his gaze.
And then he sees.
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
Jimin moves through the thinning crowd, each step determined and impossible to stop. The bass vibrating in time with the tension curling in his stomach. All around him, lights flash and bodies sway, but his attention narrows, sharp and singular, drawn to the weight of those eyes across the room.
The more he approaches, the more the rest of the club fades into background noise—the bass, the chatter, the flickering lights until there’s only him and the pull of that presence.
He stops just a few feet away, every nerve ending alight. The alpha doesn’t move closer, doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, but the weight of his gaze presses on Jimin, grounding him, teasing him, daring him.
The alcohol loosens his tongue before he can think better of it. “How did you find out my name?” he blurts, sharper than he intends, curiosity flaring hot in his chest.
It’s a stupid question. He knows it the moment it leaves his mouth.
An alpha like Jungkook doesn’t need to ask around. Men like him have resources threaded through the city, information delivered before they even think to request it. If Jungkook wants something, he gets it. If he wants to know something, he finds out.
Effortlessly. Quietly. Thoroughly.
The same way Jimin’s own mother does.
That isn’t what unsettles him.
What unsettles him is that Jungkook bothered.
Out of all the names he could have pulled from a list, all the faces he could have dismissed as irrelevant, he chose to look into Jimin.
Specifically. Intentionally.
The alpha tilts his head, eyes dark and unwavering. “I don’t leave anything to chance when something—or someone—interests me.”
The words aren’t coy. They settle between them, precise and purposeful, a claim that leaves no room for doubt.
There’s the faintest pause after Jimin’s question before Jungkook answers, not confusion exactly, but something different. As if Jungkook hadn’t expected him to ask. As if a man used to pursuing, used to being pursued in return, finds the inquiry unnecessary.
Jimin has a reputation. Sweet. Demure. Desired. Alphas seek him out without needing a reason. Everyone knows that.
Jungkook doesn’t point that out. He doesn’t have to.
His gaze says enough.
The realization curls low in his stomach, warmer than the alcohol. Because this isn’t about access. It’s about interest. And that is far more dangerous.
Jimin draws in a sharp breath, and in the back of his mind, Seo-rae’s words flicker like a warning and a promise all at once:
You need an alpha that will make your blood sing.
His lips move before he can stop them. “Will you… make me feel what that omega felt a few weeks ago?” The words are soft, almost breathless, the alcohol and the draw of Jungkook pressing him forward, forcing honesty he can’t take back.
Jungkook’s eyes flash with something sharper, hotter, and for a heartbeat, Jimin thinks he sees desire. Then the alpha shakes his head slowly, his expression unreadable. “You’re drunk,” he says, dismissing him with a tone that leaves no argument.
“I’m not,” Jimin blurts, a little too quickly, voice firmer than he feels. “I’ve only had a few drinks.” His pulse quickens as he realizes how feeble the excuse sounds, but he doesn’t retract it.
Jungkook studies him, tilting his head slightly, assessing, measuring. The seconds stretch as Jimin waits, aware of every sharp line of the alpha’s face, every slight pause in his movement.
Finally, Jungkook holds out a hand. “Come,” he says simply, the invitation heavy with intent.
Jimin hesitates for only a second, then takes the hand. It’s warm, firm, grounding, and the small contact sends a jolt straight through him.
Jungkook leads him away from the thrum of the club, down a dimly lit hallway behind the main floor, past doors Jimin is certain he’s never noticed before. The bass dulls with each step, fading into a distant noise, replaced by the quiet of the back corridors.
Jimin’s attention drifts despite himself.
Jungkook isn’t wearing a suit jacket tonight. Just a fitted black shirt tucked neatly into tailored slacks, the fabric stretching clean across broad shoulders. The top buttons are undone and his sleeves are rolled slightly up his forearms, exposing ink that winds over tan skin in intricate patterns. The tattoos crawl up both arms, disappearing beneath the short cuff of his shirt, dark lines shifting subtly with every flex of muscle.
His hair is impeccable as always, styled with precision, not a strand out of place despite the humidity of the club. There’s something unfair about it, Jimin thinks faintly. How the alpha never looks unkempt even in this environment.
Every step Jungkook takes is measured. Confident. He doesn’t look back to check if Jimin is following. He simply knows he is.
And Jimin does.
The faint scent of alcohol and leather lingers in the corridor, mingling with something distinctly him. The quiet click of polished shoes against the floor echoes softly. With the music reduced to a distance, Jimin becomes acutely aware of everything: the proximity, the narrowing hallway, the view of Jungkook’s back guiding him forward.
Each step feels conscious. Each step feels like crossing a line.
Finally, they reach a door at the end of the hall. Jungkook presses a button on the side, and it swings open to reveal his office. The lighting is low, warm, intimate. The air is thick with cedarwood, full and unmistakable, like the alpha himself, and Jimin can’t help but inhale, caught off guard by how completely it fills the space.
Jungkook steps aside, and Jimin enters, acutely aware of the space around him, aware that he’s exactly where the alpha wants him to be. The air feels charged, thick with the promise of something unspoken, and Jimin’s heartbeat hammers in his chest, both anxious and reckless all at once.
The door clicks shut behind him, and Jimin’s pulse spikes immediately. The space is smaller than he expected, enclosed, low-lit, and the weight of Jungkook’s gaze presses down on him like heat. Every nerve ending hums with awareness, every movement of the alpha magnified in the intimate space.
He shifts slightly, trying to ground himself by taking in the office, but it’s almost aggressively bare. Dark wood desk and shelves with matching chairs, glass windows and a leather couch. Not a personal touch in sight, no photos, no ornaments, nothing that hints at the man behind the title. It feels impersonal, strictly business. It unnerves him in a way he didn’t anticipate.
He lets his gaze wander a little too long, and that’s when Jungkook steps closer, appearing suddenly in front of him with a bottle of water. The motion makes Jimin jump, startled by the sudden proximity.
“You okay?” Jungkook asks, voice smooth. His dark eyes fix on Jimin like he’s assessing him, peeling back the layers.
“I… yeah,” Jimin stammers, swallowing hard. “I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Jungkook raises an eyebrow, not unkindly, but with that same teasing precision that seems to read every flicker across Jimin’s face. “Anything like what?”
Jimin flushes, unsure whether to explain, and opts for a small shake of his head. His fingers twitch slightly as he takes the water, hands clammy, and he feels the heat of Jungkook’s gaze tracing him. It’s heavier here, more concentrated in the office, more impossible to escape.
“You know,” the omega mutters, looking away.
“Do I?”
Jimin returns his gaze to the alpha, catching the teasing lilt in Jungkook’s voice. Heat coils in his stomach, twisting his nerves, making his fingers tighten around the bottle.
His lips part slightly, words caught somewhere between curiosity and intimidation, and he feels the weight of Jungkook’s heated stare.
“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Jungkook asks, voice low. His eyes flick briefly to Jimin’s lips, plush and flushed from the alcohol, and it’s impossible not to notice the way the alpha watches him, leisurely and intent.
Jimin flushes harder, shaking his head quickly. “I—I’ve kissed alphas,” he admits, voice small, breath uneven, “but nothing, nothing else.”
Jungkook’s gaze sharpens, as if measuring each word, each confession. “Not further than that?”
Jimin hesitates, then just shakes his head again, aware of the way the alpha’s presence fills the office, pressing in on him from every angle. The air between them feels electric, heavy with the things left unsaid, and the pull neither of them can deny.
Jungkook hums softly at Jimin’s answer, a low, almost imperceptible sound that doesn’t give anything away, but carries a hint of satisfaction. His posture shifts just slightly, and Jimin catches it: the faint, intoxicating warmth of his scent brushing closer, impossible to ignore. It presses against him, teasing, communicative in a way words could never be.
Jimin feels it move through him, awareness sharpening, pulse picking up. He gulps, heat rising to his cheeks.
“You’re very forthcoming,” Jungkook observes, the faintest curve touching his mouth, a subtle glint of approval flashing in his eyes before it settles back into something unreadable.
His gaze remains steady on Jimin, intense but measured. He doesn’t move any closer, yet the space still feels tighter somehow, the air heavier, each breath carrying the quiet weight of his attention.
Jimin shifts slightly, gripping the water bottle like a lifeline, mind spinning. He’s dizzy, flushed, and aware of every inch of the office, every shadow, every flicker of the alpha’s presence.
He realizes, with a startling clarity, that Jungkook is enjoying this, enjoying him. And that thought twists something electric low in his chest.
Jungkook’s eyes don’t leave him, dark and unyielding, and the faint thrum of approval lingers in the air. He tilts his head slightly, studying Jimin, and his voice cuts through the silence.
“Drink your water,” he says, nodding toward the bottle in Jimin’s hands. “Take your time.”
Jimin blinks, caught off guard by the command, and his pulse skips. “I… uh… okay,” he stammers, gripping the bottle tighter, fingers trembling slightly.
Jungkook doesn’t move closer, doesn’t touch him, yet the weight of his gaze makes Jimin hyper-aware of every inch of his own body. Every nerve ending hums, every breath feels amplified. The alpha’s presence fills the office, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Jimin tilts the bottle and forces the water down, the cold liquid shocking against the warmth crawling through him. He tries to focus on the mundane act of drinking, telling himself it’s just water.
But every sip only sharpens his awareness of Jungkook, of the way the alpha’s eyes darken, the faint curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth, the scent, cedar, musk, something addictive, wrapping around him.
“Good omega. Keep drinking,” Jungkook murmurs, voice smooth, certain, owning the space around them.
Jimin freezes mid-sip for just a fraction of a second, but enough for the words to coil through him. His eyes flick up, and they lock with Jungkook’s. That gaze, sharp, unyielding, magnetic, pins him in place. Every sip, every swallow feels heavier now, each one threaded with the weight of the alpha’s stare. The heat in his chest twists and spreads low through his body, igniting a fire he can’t contain.
His omega instincts flare, senses sharpened, every small shift in Jungkook’s posture, every flex of his fingers, every tiny movement of his head, amplified. The office feels impossibly small, the air thick, dense with tension and want.
He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t stop drinking. He’s too aware, too drawn in, too captivated by the intensity between them. The lingering alcohol blurs the edges of control just enough to make him bold and reckless without letting him speak. His lips part slightly as he swallows again, heart hammering, gut coiling, every nerve alive under that charged, unrelenting gaze.
And still, he drinks, meeting Jungkook’s eyes with each sip, each second stretched, every glance threading into the unspoken pull that neither of them need to name.
Jimin sets the water down slowly, aware of every movement, every small sound in the office. Jungkook doesn’t move closer yet, doesn’t speak, but the space between them hums with unspoken command. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jungkook shifts, closing that final fraction of distance, and the heat from his body presses into Jimin’s like a tangible weight.
Before Jimin can process it, Jungkook is on him.
The alpha doesn’t just kiss; he possesses. His lips claim Jimin’s with a demanding, insistent authority. His tongue slides in without permission, tracing, testing, shading the kiss with dominance. Every motion is leading, claiming, making Jimin’s back arch subtly, his fingers clenching the edge of the desk.
Jimin’s mind reels. He didn’t expect this, didn’t anticipate the force of it. Every nerve ending ignites at once, heat pooling, stomach twisting, a deep, intoxicating ache that radiates out of him. His omega instincts flare, his body responding instinctively, greedily, to the alpha pressing against him.
He gasps softly into the kiss, the sound devoured by Jungkook’s own low groan, and for a moment the office disappears. There’s only this, only the taste and pressure, only the consuming, urgent claim that leaves him breathless.
Jungkook’s nostrils flare, smelling the omega’s arousal that seems to grow with each passing moment, eyes darkening with approval and something unspoken.
The office feels smaller, more intimate, every breath, every movement magnified. The alpha leans in, letting his gaze drink him in, and Jimin can’t look away, entranced by the intensity pressing down on him.
Jungkook’s lips leave Jimin’s neck, tracing a slow, purposeful path down his torso. Every inch he kisses leaves a trail of fire in its wake, and Jimin can feel the heat pooling lower, a rising pressure he can’t control. His breaths come faster, shallow and uneven, chest lifting and falling under the pressure of desire.
His gaze drifts lower, settling on Jimin’s dress shorts.
“Take them off,” he says, his voice low and steady.
Jimin stills.
His fingers hover near the waistband, uncertainty flickering across his face. The office suddenly feels smaller, the quiet heavier under Jungkook’s unwavering stare. Heat creeps up Jimin’s neck as hesitation knots in his chest.
Jungkook notices.
“Jimin.”
The single word pulls Jimin’s eyes back to him.
Jungkook studies him for a moment, expression calm and unreadable.
“Take them off,” he repeats.“But understand something first.”
A brief pause follows, heavy.
“Once you do it, you’re choosing this.”
The words settle between them, heavy with meaning.
The omega’s heart beat pounds in his ears. For a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hands reach for the button of his shorts, this time without hesitation.
When Jungkook reaches the edge of Jimin’s black lace panties, he pauses for a fraction of a second, taking a deep inhale. The scent of Jimin’s arousal is unmistakable, rich and intoxicating, and it makes his stomach knot tighter, a mix of embarrassment and want swirling together.
Jimin flushes, heat creeping into his cheeks, his omega instincts stirring violently. He swallows, tongue dry, feeling caught, exposed, and impossibly aware of Jungkook’s presence. The alpha’s gaze lifts to meet his, eyes dark, intent, claiming.
“Take it off,” Jungkook instructs, steady and sure, and Jimin, nerves coiling and pulse racing, obeys without hesitation. The moment the panties are removed, the desire in Jungkook’s eyes becomes unrestricted, and he murmurs, “I knew it’d be pretty. Every part of you is pretty.”
The alpha doesn’t give him a moment to respond. He doesn’t waste a single second. He dives right in, lips and tongue tracing every curve, every sensitive fold. He licks, sucks, slurps, relentless and precise, the same commanding, unyielding passion he’d used to kiss Jimin now focused on consuming him entirely.
Jimin’s back arches instinctively, fingers clutching at the edge of the desk as a flood of moans escapes him, raw and unabashed. Heat coils tight in his stomach, spreading outward in a rush that leaves him trembling. Every movement of Jungkook’s tongue, every flick and drag sends sparks through him, unrelenting and demanding.
He’s helpless to stop it, to think, to resist. Pleasure surges through him like wildfire, making him leak slick and causing him to shiver. Every sound that leaves his mouth only seems to fuel the alpha’s hunger, sharp, ravenous, and entirely focused on him.
Just when he thinks the pleasure has reached its peak, he feels a sudden, intrusive pressure. The alpha has inserted a finger alongside his mouth. Jimin is wet enough that it slides in smoothly, and the sharp edge of discomfort melts instantly into waves of pure sensation. Heat coils low in his body, spreading, impossible to contain.
Jungkook’s low, guttural groans mix with Jimin’s moans, vibrating through him and sending shivers down his spine. There’s a weight in the sound, a satisfaction threaded through it, as if the alpha is taking as much pleasure from tasting him as Jimin is from the touch.
Every flick of Jungkook’s tongue, every slide of his fingers, carries that quiet assertion. He’s pleased, claiming the omega in a way that feels all-consuming. Each movement of Jungkook’s fingers is precise, insistent, and Jimin’s body responds instinctively, every nerve alight.
Then, before he can catch his breath, Jungkook adds a second finger, then a third. The stretch, the wet glide of each stroke, the friction against sensitive flesh sharpens Jimin’s pleasure until it feels almost unbearable.
He arches, hips pressing forward, moans spilling freely, his voice raw and ragged. Every motion of Jungkook’s mouth on him, every flick of his tongue, every groan from the alpha sends tremors through him, pushing him higher and higher.
The taste, the scent, the feel. Jungkook is everywhere at once. His lips, his tongue, the sweep of his fingers claim Jimin, not gently, but with the kind of dominance that leaves no room for hesitation or restraint. Jimin’s chest rises and falls unevenly, head thrown back, scent curling, heat spilling from him, utterly exposed.
Jungkook pulls his mouth away, leaving only his fingers inside him, and Jimin shudders at the hollow absence of lips, replaced by the insistent, slick press of fingers curling and stroking deep. Then the alpha lifts his head slightly, dark eyes locking on Jimin’s.
“Look at me,” he demands, rough and commanding, each word vibrating with power.
Jimin obeys, eyes wide, pupils dilated, feeling simultaneously small and completely held under the alpha’s gaze. His body still trembles from the sensations, slick and hot, and yet his mind is impossibly tethered to the command, the intensity of the connection threading through every nerve.
“Listen to how wet you are for me,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice low, owning every inch of the quiet office.
Jimin’s breath catches instantly. The sound of himself, loud, wet, undeniable, fills the space between them. There’s no music to hide behind, no crowd to mask the noise. Every squelch echoes, reverberating against the walls.
His cheeks heat, a flush creeping across his skin as a thrill of scandal mixes with the relentless pleasure coursing through him. Each sound, each press of Jungkook’s fingers, only makes him slicker, more sensitive, more helpless to the rhythm.
He tries to shift, to look away, but his eyes are drawn to the movement in front of him. He can’t stand the intensity of Jungkook’s gaze, the dark, unwavering eyes holding him, reading him, claiming him. Every second spent looking at the alpha feels like fire against his skin, impossible to endure while he’s already trembling.
So instead, Jimin focuses on what he can, the fingers inside him. Tattooed, strong, moving with rapid, unrelenting precision. Each thrust sends heat spiraling through him. The veins on Jungkook’s hands stand out, prominent and pulsing with every movement, the skin tight with exertion.
The patterns of ink twist along his forearms, visible where his sleeves are rolled, crawling toward the elbows, almost alive as they flex and shift with the power driving each stroke. Jimin bites his lip, entranced, flushed, his own slickness making every motion feel impossibly more intense, every squelch amplified in the quiet of Jungkook’s office.
Jungkook slows his fingers, the abrupt change in motion making Jimin shiver with withdrawal. His gaze snaps up instinctively, meeting Jungkook’s dark eyes, only to be met with a sharp, almost scolding lift of an eyebrow.
“Keep looking at me,” Jungkook commands, a hint of warning threading through it. “Or I stop.”
Jimin forces himself to lift his gaze back to the alpha. The intensity of those dark eyes pins him in place, hot and consuming, and he feels a shiver of need run through his spine.
As soon as Jimin meets his gaze, Jungkook’s fingers surge forward again, faster, harder, curling in a new angle that makes a sharp, invasive pressure build inside him. The sudden change steals Jimin’s breath, makes him arch instinctively, letting out unabashed, uncontrollable moans.
“You’re mine to take apart, inch by inch. You feel it, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice presses against him, owning the space around them.
Jimin shudders at the words, the weight of them grounding him even as the pleasure coils tighter. He glances up, caught in the alpha’s gaze, and Jungkook’s eyes darken with something fierce, something claiming. “Look at you, taking it so well,” he continues, the edge of approval in his tone sharpening the heat running through Jimin.
Every responsive gasp, every quiver beneath his touch, seems to feed the alpha’s hunger, and Jimin realizes just how much Jungkook is enjoying not just the act, but him, every part of him, entirely, without restraint.
His breaths come faster, shallow and uneven, heart hammering. He feels utterly exposed, utterly owned, and the intensity of Jungkook’s words twists through him, tightening that coil in his stomach until it threatens to break.
The alpha doesn’t stop. Words pour over Jimin, thick with claim, with intent, with possession. “So wet, so needy… all for me,” Jungkook growls, and the sound of Jimin’s own slickness echoes back to him in the quiet of the office, stark, undeniable.
Every squelch, every gasp, makes Jungkook’s eyes darken, a glint of approval reflected there that makes Jimin shiver. “Take it for me. Take all of it,” the alpha commands, his voice smooth and unwavering, each syllable a tether binding Jimin tighter to him.
Jimin’s body responds instinctively, each nerve alight, trembling with every word. The praise threads through him like fire, every “good omega” and “so perfect for me” embedding itself deeper, sharpening his arousal, coiling the heat in his stomach until it threatens to spill over. He can feel how completely Jungkook revels in it—not just in the sight, not just in the taste, but in the way Jimin responds, in the way his body betrays him so openly.
The alpha’s gaze never falters, dark and consuming, and Jimin finds he can’t look away. Every motion, every thrust of those fingers inside him, every low, guttural sound from Jungkook presses into him, fanning the flames of desire. His chest heaves, his hips lift subtly without thought, his mind narrowing to nothing but the possessive force of the alpha in front of him.
“Such a good omega,” Jungkook murmurs, the words rolling over him, claiming, praising, teasing. “So perfect… all mine. Do you feel that, hmm? You feel how much you belong to me?”
The combination of praise and possession pushes Jimin further, a knot tightening in his stomach, his muscles trembling with need. He’s slick, quivering, utterly consumed, and every syllable Jungkook utters makes it worse, hotter, faster.
Jimin is so wound up, so attuned to Jungkook’s every word, every low, possessive murmur, that by the time the alpha finally says, “Come for me,” his body obeys instantly.
The pressure inside him explodes.
His orgasm crashes over him like a tidal wave, loud, wet, unrestrained. Every nerve ending fires, his hips jerking against the alpha’s fingers, utterly surrendered. Jungkook’s approving hum vibrates through him, a confirmation that every tremor, every gasp, every shiver was exactly what the alpha wanted.
In the aftermath, as the tremors fade and his breathing struggles to steady, that’s when the omega notices.
There’s slick everywhere. The alpha’s fingers, arms. He can see the now dampened material of Jungkook’s shirt. His gaze lifts and he sees the beads of slick on Jungkook’s chin trailing down onto the alpha’s upper body.
The scent of vanilla has completely taken over the cedarwood.
He almost feels ashamed and for a second he can’t meet Jungkook’s eyes. An apology is at the tip of his tongue when he finally does. But what he finds there steals the air from his lungs. Desire, dark and unrestrained, but beneath it something sharper, something that tightens his pulse with sudden clarity. Possessiveness. Not fleeting lust, not casual satisfaction, but a claiming intensity that feels far bigger than the moment they’ve just shared.
It’s that look, as if Jungkook has already decided something about him, that sobers Jimin more effectively than cold water ever could. The haze of pleasure thins, replaced by a sharp, lucid awareness of exactly what he’s stepped into.
He doesn’t regret it. That’s the unsettling part. He doesn’t regret how good it felt, how easily he unraveled. But the intensity of it, the way his body answered so completely, leaves him exposed in a way he isn’t used to.
And then there’s Jungkook.
That look hasn’t faded.
The awareness crawls over Jimin’s skin, and suddenly the room feels too small.
“I should—” His voice comes out hoarse. He clears it, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze as he steps back, adjusting his clothes with fingers that are steadier than he feels. “I should go.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He can’t.
Maybe it’s a saving grace that the alpha doesn’t give one.
Jungkook rises from where he kneels near the desk, unhurried, composed. He doesn’t rush to fix himself, doesn’t attempt to hide the evidence of what they’ve done. He simply leans back against the wood, arms loose at his sides, watching.
Watching.
That’s worse than if he’d responded. Worse than if he’d teased.
Jimin mumbles something about the club, about his friends waiting, excuses that sound thin even to his own ears. Jungkook doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to stop him.
He just lets him go.
But Jimin feels it the entire way down the hallway—the weight of that gaze between his shoulder blades, steady and certain, as if the alpha knows this isn’t finished.
When he steps back into the main floor, the thrum of the club feels distant, almost artificial. Hoseok is waiting near their booth, and Yoongi is there too, leaning casually against the wall. The sight of them hits Jimin with a strange wave of relief.
“I’m ready to leave,” he says a little too quickly.
Hoseok’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning him in that knowing way, while Yoongi’s gaze flicks over him once, assessing. Jimin ignores both of them. He smooths his expression into something neutral, something passable.
Neither of them presses.
For that, he’s grateful.
The drive home is quiet. The city lights blur past the window, and Jimin keeps his gaze fixed outside, pretending the cool glass against his forehead is enough to steady him. He can still feel the phantom imprint of Jungkook’s touch. Still hear the echo of his voice.
Still see that look.
And no matter how much distance grows between them with every passing streetlight, Jimin can’t shake the certainty that the alpha’s attention hasn’t wavered at all.
🔥
He’d been keeping a low profile.
Deliberately.
For weeks, Jimin had rearranged his life into something smaller, quieter. He stayed busy in ways that looked natural from the outside. Lunch dates with Seo-rae. Late-night movies tangled in blankets on her couch. Gossip sessions that stretched over way too long. He hadn’t told her about him. Not about the office. Not about how easily his body had unraveled under the alpha’s voice. Some things felt too volatile to share.
Staying at Seo-rae’s had been convenient. Safe. There were no sharp gazes tracking him from across a room. No unsettling awareness prickling along his skin.
No him.
He’d only returned home a few days ago, feigning illness when his parents began questioning his absence. A hand pressed to his temple. A faint cough. His alpha mother had looked worried. His dam had looked suspicious.
He hadn’t cared.
Anything was better than risking another encounter.
He’d even skipped mass the past two Sundays, which in hindsight was absurd. The chapel wasn’t his territory. And the last time Jimin had attended, the alpha hadn’t even been there.
Still, the possibility was there. The thought of kneeling in prayer only to feel that consuming gaze settle on him from across the pews had been enough to keep him away.
Avoidance had felt safe.
Until his alpha mother mentioned the event.
The morning his Park Hana brought up the event, Jimin was halfway through drinking his morning tea.
The kitchen was quiet.
His alpha mother sat across from him, scrolling through her phone, calm and composed as ever. His omega mother sat next to her, eyes assessing and expectant.
“There’s a gathering this Saturday,” she said at last, voice firm.
Jimin kept his gaze on his cup. “Mm.”
“All principal families will be attending.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the porcelain.
“It’s mandatory,” his omega mother continued, eyes locking onto his with an unyielding intensity.
The word settled heavily in the air.
Jimin set his cup down carefully, making sure it didn’t clink. “I’m still not feeling completely well,” he offered, keeping his voice mild. “I wouldn’t want to—”
“You’re fine,” his dam replied without looking up.
His alpha mother’s eyes lifted then, gentle but observant. “You’ve seemed distracted lately,” she said softly. “If something is troubling you, you can tell us.”
Jimin forced a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”
His omega mother finally looked at him.
“This isn’t optional,” she said. ““I expect your full participation. How you show up reflects on the family.”
His alpha mother’s silence spoke volumes.
Jimin forced a small smile. “Of course.”
The conversation moved on, seamlessly, to trade routes and a negotiation with the Han family. His parents resumed discussing strategy as if nothing significant had just occurred.
But Jimin’s appetite had vanished.
Saturday.
A hall full of alphas.
A room where avoiding one man would be nearly impossible.
He told himself it was coincidence. That there was no reason the alpha would even attend.
And if he did, there was no reason their paths would cross.
He lifted his tea again, though it had already gone cold.
For the first time in weeks, avoidance was no longer an option.
Later that evening, the omega stands in front of his wardrobe, hesitating. His mind debates the options, the careful consideration of how he will be seen, how he will move, how he might be noticed. A gown would be classic and undeniably gorgeous, but perhaps too much. Too attracting. Too much of an invitation for attention he isn’t ready to manage.
He settles instead on a mesh champagne blouse, delicate and soft against his skin, paired with slim trousers that accentuate his form. He reaches for heeled ankle boots, adding just enough height to balance poise with presence.
In front of the mirror, he begins styling his blond hair. He brushes, smooths, and sets each strand so that it falls perfectly into place. Small waves at the ends curl at the end, framing his face. He applies a touch of makeup, nothing heavy, just enough to highlight the soft curve of his cheekbones, the faint pink of his lips, the brightness in his eyes.
Jimin studies himself in the mirror, turning slightly, observing the way the fabric of his blouse clings and flows, the slight longation of his legs in the trousers, the way his posture shifts naturally with the heels. He adorns his pearl earrings, the cool weight a small comfort against the warmth rising in his chest.
He takes a deep breath, grounding himself, mentally rehearsing calm and composure, preparing to navigate the room where power and danger mingle as casually as conversation. He reminds himself to move deliberately, to smile politely, to breathe steadily.
From the hallway, he hears his parents calling for him. The time to loiter has passed. Jimin squares his shoulders, smooths the blouse one last time, and steps toward them, ready to face the gathering, ready to play the part required of him.
Families mingle politely, laughing, exchanging nods and smiles, the kind of social veneer designed to mask power and danger. Every gesture, every tilt of the head, every carefully modulated laugh is a statement of control. Jimin sits between his mothers, hands poking around his plate. His alpha mother scans the room. Beside her, his omega mother remains composed, gracefully greeting and chatting to whoever comes their way.
Across the hall, Hoseok sways lightly in his chair, laughing softly with his family and Yoongi, who leans back with a faint smirk at something Hoseok whispered. Two months pregnant, Hoseok has that ethereal glow omegas sometimes carry in the early stages, soft and luminous.
Jimin catches his eye for a brief second. The familiarity grounds him. It’s comforting, though not enough to calm the tension brewing in his stomach.
Jimin keeps his gaze trained on his plate, tracing the delicate patterns on it as if they could anchor him, keep his heartbeat steady. He feels a sudden shift in the room, impossible to ignore. Something pricks at the back of his mind, a tight pull in his chest. He dares a glance up.
Jungkook’s eyes are already on him, dark, unblinking, cutting through the formal haze of the room. The Alpha doesn’t need to move to dominate the space. The air seems to compress around him, a quiet gravity that drags Jimin’s focus to him.
His heart jumps, and a shiver curls along his spine. His scent spikes instinctively, betraying him, and for a moment he can barely breathe, caught between the magnetic pull and the shock of seeing the Alpha again.
Memories of their last encounter press against him like a physical weight: Jungkook’s touch between his legs, the pressure of his lips against his own, the slow pull of desire that both terrify and thrill him. He presses his thighs together, trying to soothe the desire that has already ignited.
He swallows and forces himself to look away, to refocus on his mothers, Hoseok, the comfort of his plush seat. But even as he does, he feels the pull of Jungkook’s gaze lingering on him, holding him in place, igniting every instinct he’s tried so hard to suppress.
The room is bustling with activity. Alphas discuss investments, contracts, and shared interests. Omegas whisper quietly to each other, exchanging observations that are often more revealing than any loud proclamation of power. Glasses clink lightly, laughter rises and falls around the room, and the aroma of expensive cologne and perfumes mix with the faint tang of fine whiskey and wines.
A small group of Alphas from the Han family passes near their table, bowing politely to Jimin’s parents. One of the younger brothers, overly confident, lingers a fraction too long over Jimin’s shoulder as he greets his Alpha mother. “All the omegas I’ve seen here could learn a thing or two from your beauty.”
Jimin stiffens imperceptibly, forcing a neutral expression. The compliment, though flattering, still carries the weight of scrutiny.
He smiles lightly, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” His voice is calm, even, betraying none of the rush of blood to his cheeks.
The brother’s gaze lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary before he steps away, and Jimin exhales quietly, the small interaction enough to set his nerves buzzing. He catches Hoseok’s eyes again, and Hoseok raises a brow and smiles faintly. Jimin offers the barest of nods in return, as if to say, I’m fine.
Seated across from them, the Lee family of Alphas whisper to each other, eyes flicking toward Jungkook, then toward Jimin. “I’ve heard rumors,” one mutters. “The Jeon son… in the past two years since he’s returned. He’s been ruthless. He hasn’t been seen much, but they say he’s untouchable.”
The words settle over Jimin like a brush of cold air. Untouchable. Dangerous. He feels the familiar coil of anxiety make itself known.
That same danger, that same recklessness he experienced with Jungkook the other night gnaws at him now.
Jimin’s fingers clench lightly around the edge of his napkin. He hadn’t planned to think about Jungkook again so soon, and yet the Alpha’s presence dominates the room like a gravitational pull.
He tries to focus on the conversation around him, discussions of trade agreements, negotiations of territory, careful acknowledgment of favors owed and debts recorded. Yet every movement at the far end of the hall reminds him of the magnetic danger he cannot fully understand.
Another group of Alphas passes by, this time the Hwang family. The father, stern and hardened with age, gives a slight nod to Jimin’s Alpha mother. “The city changes,” he says quietly, voice low. “Those who cannot adapt are left behind.”
Jimin’s omega instincts twitch. The threat is subtle, veiled beneath civility, but it is there, sharp and cold. He keeps his expression neutral, focusing instead on the rhythmic tapping of a knife against the edge of his plate. A small, grounding ritual.
Then, without warning, the calm veneer cracks. Choi Joowon rises from his seat at the head of the hall. Broad, imposing, the kind of Alpha who spent decades claiming territory, ensuring compliance, ensuring fear. His eyes sweep across the room before landing directly on Jungkook. Every head turns, conversation faltering.
“Respect is earned,” Joowon says, voice smooth but carrying steel beneath the surface. Every syllable is intentional, commanding attention. “You think you can just do what you want without answering to the rest of us?”
The hall seems to shrink around them. Eyes dart between the two Alphas, measuring, waiting, anticipating. The casual chatter and laughter evaporate, leaving only a tension so thick it is almost tangible.
Jungkook’s gaze lifts, slow, dark and unflinching. He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t raise his voice. And yet the room itself seems to bend slightly to his presence. Lethal, untouchable.
“I don’t need your respect,” he says quietly, voice low, sharp, like a blade slicing through the taut air.
Joowon’s lips twitch, a shadow of amusement or perhaps disbelief. “That’s exactly what your parents thought,” he spat, his tone hard, “and that’s exactly why they’re six feet under—”
BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG
The shots ring out, shattering the pretense of civility. Jimin freezes, stomach twisting, pulse hammering. Joowon’s challenge bleeds on the floor. Jungkook’s suit remains flawless, hair perfectly in place, expression unreadable. He returns to his chair as if nothing has happened, lifting his glass of whiskey to take a measured sip. The sheer nonchalance, the absolute calmness, makes Jimin’s stomach flip.
Across the room, the Kim brothers remain composed, acknowledgment passing between them. They don’t need to intervene; everyone knows Jungkook is untouchable.
The alpha sits there, not a speck of blood on his suit. Not a strand of hair out of place. He doesn’t look like he just emptied four clips into the man bleeding to death on the floor. What alarms Jimin most isn’t even him killing a man for disrespecting him, he has seen his mother kill people for far less. It is the complete lack of emotion in his eyes that scares Jimin. Not a trace of anger, just nonchalance, bored, even as he tucks his gun back into his suit. He looks as if this was a minor inconvenience, nothing more. He turns to his left and continues his previous conversation, as if he hasn’t just killed a man.
And Jimin remembers his mother’s words, echoing over the din of the frightened murmurs.
Jeon Jungkook is the most ruthless of them all.