Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

December. 

The amount of ego being held in the hallway probably isn’t what it’s able to contain. 

But Jimin smiles anyway, the energy swelling around the two of their teams. Security, stylists, and production members bustle about. Jimin gets his makeup touched up once more. “A little pale,” his stylist frowns before dabbing at him with concealer. 

His stage partner is nowhere to be found. They’re due on stage, together, in fifty seconds and they haven’t spoken in weeks. He doesn’t think there was much speaking last time anyway. 

The bruise on his hip is still fading from when it was slammed into the door frame, pressed so hard into the handle as he was drove into over and over again by—

“Min Yoongi!” Jimin feigns happiness over the way he strolls in barely close to call time. “So kind of you to grace us with your presence, finally.” It comes out snappy. 

Yoongi smirks, eyes trailing in only a way that Jimin notices. He knows his thoughts. I want to take off those jeans. You need to ditch the stupid jacket. Leave the necklace on. Always. It had been a birthday gift three years ago. 

“You were waiting for me? So sweet, Park Jimin.” 

The alpha practically purrs. 

Jimin buzzes with anticipation of what this will mean for them later behind the closed doors of one of their hotel rooms.

He'll probably utter the same phrase. 

"You were waiting for me..." 

Jimin would probably never stop waiting.

They get in their positions. Rivals, taking the stage together. The media eats up this dance they’ve been doing since their debut years. They’re frenemies, if things are going cutely. 

They go cutely on stage, announcing an award then a performance of one of the newer groups that debuted last year. Jimin pokes at Yoongi’s dark rapper persona. Yoongi scoffs at the pretty boy energy Jimin is so accustomed to displaying. They walk off stage laughing, then part immediately as if they’re poles drawn in opposite directions when their teams are around. 

If only they knew. 

Yoongi is still standing close enough that Jimin can catch his scent, all woodsy but attempting to be restrained. His rut is coming in the next week or two. Jimin will get the call and he will go like always, because his heat has synced to him perfectly after so many years of doing whatever it is they do behind closed doors. 

Jimin doesn’t turn to look at him again. Neither does Yoongi. Their shoulders don’t brush, their breath doesn’t share any air. They’ve learned better than that. 

Someone snaps a photo anyway. 

Jimin hears it, the faint but mechanical shutter, the whisper of potential. In an hour there will be a thousand slow-motion edits dissecting the space between them. Their fans will fight. They will laugh at the social media comments later, when their legs are covered in nothing but post-sex sweat and hotel sheets.

Rivalry is such a useful narrative. It fills in all the blanks for people. They don’t search for everything that’s clearly lying directly under the surface. 

“Looking amazing, hyung!” Jungkook, one of the lead media specialists approaches Jimin. “You’re on in a few sets, right?” 

Jimin nods, posing effortlessly as Jungkook snaps a few pictures. Jungkook has been taking pictures of Jimin for years, writing good press about him, so much that he’s become someone Jimin calls a friend. The photos from this evening  will end up as some of the highlights from the evening, but only because of who’s looking at Jimin in the background. “Big night.” 

“Do you think you’ll get Album of the Year?” 

Jimin laughs, easy and bright. When he swivels, he notices that Yoongi has paused in the conversation he’s having with Namjoon, an artist from the same company. They’re close and known for that friendship. Both rappers, but not an ounce of rivalry between them. 

“Oh, I’m just happy to be here.” It’s a small lie, but Jungkook is filming now. He is happy to be here. But he both wants to win and is exhausted. He’s been preparing this performance for weeks and it still doesn’t feel as perfect as he’d like it to. Something is off. 

Under the lights, it’s easier to forget the quiet. It’s easier for Jimin to let the adrenaline do the work. He can field questions and wave at fans, blow kisses to the camera from the crowd. He can pretend as long as the noise continues to block it all out. He ends his conversation with Jungkook to get ready to dress down to something simpler, flowy for the stage. 

He doesn’t look for Yoongi as he goes. 

He doesn’t need to. 

The performance goes well. They always do. 

By the time Jimin’s team clears the stage and funnels back towards their respective dressing rooms, his ears are ringing and his pulse feels to big for his own body. Someone hands him a towel, another bottle of water. The deep swig makes his stomach swell uncomfortably in a way he’s not used to. He hands it back off and slips his in-ears into someone else’s hand. 

His phone vibrates as it’s passed back over to him. 

He doesn’t check it. 

That, too, has become a habit. 

Inside the dressing room, the noise drops off like a cliff might. He sheds his costume quickly with the help of one of the stylist Noonas. Another wipes at the sweaty makeup on his face. His manager, Hoseok, flops onto the couch with a heavy groan. “You did amazing.” 

Jimin hums while they dress him back up like the pretty doll everyone enjoys him to be. Hoseok is scrolling through live reactions, already chasing validation like it’s oxygen. 

Jimin sits, then stands again. The room feels too warm. 

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, glancing up from his phone. 

“Yeah,” Jimin replies automatically, smooth and practiced. “Just…hot.”

Hoseok hums, unconvinced. He gives him a deep look. 

“Hobi I’m fine,” he snags the water he thinks he was drinking earlier. It still taste off so he sets it back down. 

In his pocket, his phone vibrates again. 

This time, he checks it. 

MYG: you alive?

Jimin exhales through his nose before he can stop himself. He types back without looking at the screen. 

PJM: Barely. You?

There’s a pause. Yoongi must be getting ready to take the stage. He’s the final act before they announce Album of Year, which already means he’s going to win, because they usually save the last act for whose fans will stay up the longest waiting for them. Yoongi’s probably reading his message, really considering it. He’s probably deciding on how much of himself he’s allowed to give away in seven characters or fewer. Jimin knows how nervous he still gets when he goes on stage, not because he doesn’t think he’s good. He knows he’s the best. And he wants to live up to it. 

Jimin imagines he feels as nauseous as he does right now. What the fuck is wrong with him?

His phone buzzes. 

MYG: I’m good. 

Jimin locks his phone and leans into the table, taking a deep breath to settle himself. His eyeliner is at least smudged enough to soften his eyes. He looks good tonight. He knows that. He’s been told at least thirteen times in the last hour. 

He wonders if Yoongi noticed. 

He hates himself for wondering. 

The envelope opens so slowly, deliberately. Jimin wants to scream at Taehyung, known to the world as V, but Taehyungie to him, to hurry the fuck up. 

In his smooth tone, Taehyung reads the nominees names again. Jimin’s pulse is so loud he wonders if Hoseok can hear it next to him. It’s drowns almost everything out. But not the sound of his own name, followed by the name of his album, FACE, landing in a clear and unmistakable way. There’s a half-second where the room seems to tilt, like the world needs to recalibrate around the fact that he’s truly won. 

Album of the Year. 

The roar hits him all at once, zeroing back into a space full of sound. He breathes like he’s coming up for air from beneath the surface. Hoseok drags him into the standing position, pushing him to his feet. The lights find him immediately, hot and unforgiving, and Jimin smiles because he knows how. He bows. He walks. He does everything right. 

He does not look at Yoongi. He does not see him smiling in his direction, in a way that is proud. In a way that he is never supposed to in public. 

He knows better than that. 

Onstage, the award is heavier than he expects it to be. He’s won everything but this before. Why does that surprise him so much? He grips it with both hands, fingers tight around the cool glass, grounding himself from the heat that hasn’t seemed to stop clinging to him this evening. He thanks his team, Hoseok specifically, his parents, the fans who believed in him even when it wasn’t easy to be visible. He thanks the academy for allowing someone like him to have this reach. 

There’s a beat–a singular breath where he could say more about what it truly means to have an openly gay idol win something this prestigious, but he stops because there are already tears trailing down his cheeks. He’ll sob if he says another word. 

So he doesn't. 

Backstage after is chaos. Congratulations collide with logistics. Someone presses a drink into his hand that he takes the tiniest sip of and has to hold back a gag at the bite of alcohol. He sets it down. His phone buzzes in his pocket, relentless now, but he ignores it until the noise thins and he can breathe again. 

When he finally checks it, there’s only one message that matters. 

MYG: where are you?

No congratulations. No softening. 

Just direction. 

Jimin stares at the screen longer than necessary. Winning was supposed to feel like closure, like this proof that he hadn’t lost anything by being honest, by being himself. 

Instead, it feels like provocation. 

PJM: Dressing room. 

The reply is instant. 

MYG: the stairwell. ten minutes. 

Jimin swallows. He hates how his body is already drawn to the idea of it, his omega practically purring to be back in the alpha’s proximity again. 

PJM: No. Not here. 

Another pause. This one takes a moment and Jimin almost puts his phone away. He’s supposed to be celebrating, not pining for the one secret he still has to fucking keep. 

MYG: My hotel room. 

He drops the location. 

1am. Knock twice. 

Jimin’s knuckles meet the door once and then once more. It’s wrenched open before his skin has left the wood. 

Jimin barely has time to step inside before Yoongi is dragging him in, pulling at the loops of the jeans he’d slipped into to be more comfortable after the show. He closes the door with care that feels deliberate, controlled. He looks the same as he did all night, composed and unreadable. But there is something sharper in his eyes, stripped of the stage lights and distance. 

They just stare at each other, hands on each other’s waists. How long has it been? Almost two months?

“I might not have come,” Jimin says. 

“I knew you couldn’t stay away.” 

That’s true. It always has been. It’s been what, seven? years since they started this thing up. 

The space between them closes without any more discussion. Habit carries them forward, Yoongi’s hand going up to cup Jimin’s jaw. His mouth finds him like it’s something he’s practiced into muscle memory. Yoongi presses Jimin backwards until his knees meet the softness of the mattress. He guides him down like he’s something delicate. 

Jimin had been rushing so his shirt isn’t buttoned correctly. It slips up, revealing the soft skin of his stomach. His tattoo poking out already. And, another thing that makes Yoongi’s brow quirk up in surprise. The body chains from his performance dangle against smooth skin, glistening. Yoongi kisses his hip once before going back to his lips, trapping them in something that tastes like both adrenaline and restraint. It’s dangerously close to resentment. 

It’s always good. So good. That’s the problem. 

“You looked good up there tonight,” its murmured into his neck. So he did notice. 

Good. 

“I just looked good?” Jimin begs for more. More touch. More praise. More. More. More. 

Yoongi doesn’t look at him, he’s busy unbuttoning Jimin’s pants. They discard them. “What do you want me to say?”

Jimin laughs softly. “Congratulations. Maybe that it’s not killing you that you lost to me?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, miniscule, but it’s there. “This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it?” Jimin asks. “I mean I went up there and I thanked people for letting me be seen. And you-” he stops himself with a deep exhale, “you didn’t even look at me.” 

Silence stretches between them, familiar and heavy. Yoongi plays with one of the chains, still not meeting Jimin’s eyes. “You know how this works.” 

“Yeah,” Jimin says, taking off his shirt himself. He rolls his eyes. With one swift motion so that he’s straddling Yoongi’s hard cock. With practiced ease he lifts his weight and sinks down. “I do.”

Yoongi tried to pretend like when Jimin sank down on him his entire body hadn’t been begging for this exact moment all day. From the second he saw him backstage he’d wanted to fuck him. 

He wanted to hear his little pants and whimpers, his omega preening for him as Yoongi drove his hips harder and harder into Jimin’s ass before he became a puddle of release beneath him. 

Of course he had looked at him tonight. He had to tell himself a million times or more to stop looking at him. People would notice how he looked at him if he did it for too long. 

Jimin rides him slowly, too slowly and Yoongi shudders. “F-fuck, Park Jimin.” Jimin has his head thrown back and he isn't looking at him. His throat is exposed and his scent gland is practically pulsating, throwing that intoxicating mix of cardamom and vanilla into the room where it would seep into the sheets and probably stay for hours. Yoongi would smell him when he was gone. 

And he wanted to. 

Yoongi watches him bounce, his cock bobbing between their stomach’s, so hard it looks like it hurts. He’d wanted this too. He looks so close to coming undone. “F-fuck, I’m so close.”

And Yoongi is too, with Jimin’s tight hole squeezing around him, opening and closing as the speed picks up. He needed to flip Jimin over. He wanted to be deeper. He does, with the stamina he has left. His hand splays across the moonscape of his spine, holding him down as he drives into him. 

“Ahh, ahh–” Jimin cries out into the sheets, louder than he normally might. “I’m gonna–”

Yoongi is too. They still as Yoongi’s knot pops hard and fast, and Jimin’s gasps, a sob on the end of it. It was too quick and neither were ready. He doesn't always knot him. He squirms and it catches, but he spurts strings of come all over his own chest and the bed. He’s panting, keeping himself from whimpering pitifully as Yoongi’s knot pulsates inside of him. 

“Lie still, you’re fine, it’s okay–” Jimin wriggles once more, pushing his ass back and Yoongi feels like he’s orgasming again at the slick that leaks around his cock. “Fuck.” 

It takes ten minutes for the swell of his knot to come down, transferring to Jimin. Jimin’s stomach now rounded with a faint curve just below his navel, filled in a way that makes Yoongi look twice. He doesn't always notice the change when he knots him. 

He pulls out slowly, turning so that they were both on their backs, looking at the ceiling above. 

“You did good tonight,” Yoongi’s pinky rested against Jimin’s. “You should be proud of yourself.” His hand covers more, reaching slowly like he’s asking for permission even now with no one else around. It’s a touch that feels more intimate than anything that came before. There's so much more he wants to say. I wish I was as brave as you. How the hell do you carry all that weight? He settles for holding his hand. 

Jimin swallows. 

The words land too gently and he wants to push them away. Praise without presence. He allows their fingers to stay tangled anyway, keeping his eyes at the ceiling. His other hand rests against his abdomen. He should feel warm at Yoongi’s words. But there’s a strange heavy feeling sitting low in his body, an awareness he can’t quite name. He feels different than earlier–too full, maybe, or not settled right. He presses his palm there absentmindedly, just below his belly button. He stills when Yoongi’s fingers interlock with his. His eyes start to burn. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly after a moment. “I am.” 

It isn’t clear who he’s trying to convince. 

When Jimin leaves, Yoongi is left to a quiet he has both grown so accustomed to and feels crawl across his skin like minuscule parasites. He is so fucking lonely. 

But asking Jimin to stay would be a horrible idea. Their entire thing whatever it may be is already enough of a horrible idea that sleeping together, actually sleeping, feels like too much. 

Even though somewhere either inside his heart or inside his alpha, he already knows it’s too much. 

He sits on the balcony with a lit cigarette and more than half empty glass of whiskey. He’s not upset about losing tonight. At all. His album did more in sales than Jimin had, not that it was a measure of who was better at this whole thing. But the sales, the streams, the fans are what mattered to him. The awards and accolades were an added bonus. 

And Jimin cared about them so much. He was glad the big awards had gone to him. The person he was jealous of in all of this was Jimin’s manager. Not jealous in the way some people might think. Hoseok and Jimin were friends, the best of friends. And Hoseok was fucking Yoongi’s best friend, so it sandy that kind of jealousy. 

He was jealous that it was Hoseok who stood on the stage with Jimin to congratulate him tonight. Hoseok who wrapped Jimin in a strong hug, a cheek kiss where Yoongi would have gone for the lips. A simple “raise your glasses in congratulations” to the crowd when Yoongi would have made them all stand and then bow, “don’t you see who wonderful…how beautiful he is?” 

But instead, he clapped quietly. His face was schooled into an expression that was blank in a way that didn’t make him seem upset about the losses. Because the losses were not what was upsetting him at all. 

He takes an inhale too deep for his liking that has him stubbing out the cigarette in frustration. He briefly wonders if Namjoon’s still at the party they were all invited to. He could go. Make conversation. Stop feeling so fucking lonely. 

But he won’t. 

He downs his glass of whiskey in one gulp and goes into the room to refill from the fully stocked minibar. When he goes to the bed Jimin’s scent is there. 

He wants to press himself into the sheets and roll around like a dog in it. His alpha fucking loves Jimin’s scent. He takes a deep breath. There’s something different in it, he realizes when he lays down. 

On the nightstand his phone buzzes. He trades his already re-emptied glass for it. 

PJM: You did good tonight, too. 

You should be proud of yourself. 

Yoongi was proud, of the career he’d built, the performance he’d put on. That, he was always proud of. But as he’d watched Jimin so beautifully put on a performance that showcased his true self, win an award as authentically as he could, Yoongi realized there was something else he was jealous of that had nothing to do with the music. 

There was a part of himself, the part he only gave to Jimin, that for a reason he couldn’t figure out, he wasn’t very proud of at all. 

He tosses his phone to the end of the bed and taps the light off without a reply. 

Chapter Text

January. 

A week goes by and the New Year comes in without a word from Yoongi, which might have been easier if it felt unusual. 

Jimin tells himself it’s timing. They’ve just wrapped up Award Season. New schedules are starting. He’s outlining his next album. He’s focusing on endorsements and brand deals, allowing the music to rest for just a little while.

By the fourth day of his photoshoot for a commercial about toothpaste, Jimin’s body starts to misbehave. 

He tells himself it’s the cinnamon taste that’s off. It’s been in his mouth too many times. 

It’s nothing too dramatic. No sharp pain, nothing that demands attention–yet. There’s just a steady, low sense of wrongness that sits beneath everything else. The lights feel hotter than they normally do. The smell of his makeup, the powder and something chemical, burns his stomach in a way that makes him open his mouth slightly to breathe through his lips instead. 

And the fucking cinnamon. His throat gets tight. 

“Can we take five?” he asks so quickly the photographer pauses, lowering the camera. 

Jimin scampers off before anyone really gives him the permission. He snags a water bottle on his way to the dressing room. The set buzzes around him until he’s alone and everything just mutes. But behind the door, his unease sharpens. 

He takes a sip. He regrets it immediately. 

The nausea is so violent he thinks he’s going to lose it all over the floor. He holds his breath until it crests then finally recedes. When he feels like he can, he moves to the couch, a hand hovering on his stomach to hold it together. He falls with a plop. When did he get so goddamn exhausted?

A knock, just one, and then Hoseok is stepping inside. Concern doesn’t ever look well on his always sunshiney face. “What’s wrong?” 

Jimin shakes his head, brushing the feeling off. “Nothing. It just got hot. I just need five.”

He rolls his shoulders. They’re known to give him pain, he could chalk it up to that. 

“You sure? You look…” he scans. Hoseok and Jimin have been friends since they were 17 years old. He knows he can’t hide however he’s feeling for long. 

“Just tired, really, I’m good.”

After a break, they get a few more shots in before Jimin needs to change again. This next outfit is more fitted, a suit, which looks ridiculous for a toothpaste ad, but he slips into it anyway. 

The stylist Noona frowns as she goes in to button his pants. “Maybe I sent the tailoring over wrong,” they don’t quite fasten as loosely as they normally do. 

“Ugh,” Jimin looks down at the tight waistline. “I ate too many noodles last night again,” he’d been indulging lately since he wasn’t filming anything musically. “Too much salt. I didn’t think.” 

She makes a quick adjustment that loosens them slightly so they’re not so snug at his midsection. His ass, though, is another story. “Just don’t move too quickly,” she suggests. “But don’t worry, Jimin-ssi, you look healthy. It’s fine!”

The shoot ends just before 8pm. He’s in the van, his driver navigating the busy streets. It’s snowing outside so the route home is taking longer than normal. 

The city has shifted into evening, headlights smeared into long white lines by the falling snow. The heater hums beneath the floor. His driver apologies for the delay, there’s an accident ahead. Jimin murmurs that it’s fine. There’s nowhere he needs to be. 

Too warm, he shrugs out of his coat since it’s going to be awhile. The adrenaline from the day has finally bled off and he’s left with a bone-chilling exhaustion that makes him want to close his eyes. He reaches for his phone without thinking. 

Yoongi’s name is still there at the top of his pinned messages. 

Jimin scrolls. 

The texts are old enough to feel safe–weeks back, months, a year, so much that rereading them almost feels indulgent. Inside jokes that shouldn’t be funny anymore but still are. A photo of Tang, Yoongi’s black cat, perched on Yoongi’s lap as he tried to eat around him. A voice note that Jimin never deleted because Yoongi sounds half-asleep, slurring his words about how Jimin needed to hurry up and get over there.

When was the last time he’d been asked over? 

There’s a thread in particular that Jimin reads more often than others. A string of messages from when they were both on their respective tours, up at late hours in different cities with similar emotions. The high from the stage and packed arenas washed away to recede into the loneliness of empty hotel rooms. They had a city that overlapped, just once, for a night two months before. 

That night had been, careless. But they had a break because Yoongi’s team knew his rut schedule, and Jimin’s knew his heat could come around then. 

“Stroke yourself,” Yoongi had demanded as Jimin lay in the middle of the hotel bed, splayed out for all of him to see. “Slow, don’t come, don’t you dare.”

Jimin nodded and obeyed, because of course he did. Then he slipped one, two, fingers inside of himself, the slick already spurting out of him. He’d been on edge so much that day, knowing that he was suppressing his heat from fulling taking over until Yoongi was available. 

Yoongi growled when Jimin started fucking himself with his fingers. “No, me, mine,” he could barely get the words out. He crawled up the bed, gripping Jimin’s thighs roughly, tugging him down until their bodies met. 

Yoongi placed a hand at his hip, holding him down but holding him steady. He planned to fuck him so hard he saw stars. He planned to fuck him so hard his fingers would never do it for him again. 

Jimin could feel it, when the head of Yoongi’s cock bumped against his fluttering hole. His omega had been waiting for this all day. “Alpha,” he panted, stroking himself, “please.” 

Yoongi pressed in with rough, but calculated precision. The pressure built and built until he bottomed out completely, pulling Jimin’s knees higher for a better depth. Jimin felt impossibly full and still it wasn’t enough. “Knot, please, please, please,” he begged as he was rocked over and over. 

Yoongi tried to clear his head. He couldn’t knot him. Not here in this city when they only had one day together. But he should knot him because they only had one day together and the knot would end their cycles so they could go on about the rest of the tour, knowing they’d be unable to be together again until award season. 

“You’ll take a pill,” it was a command. “Yes, say you’ll take one.” 

“Of course,” Jimin said, “please just fucking knot me.” 

Yoongi adjusted his hips a little and on the next thrust he was slamming straight into Jimin’s prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through him. Jimin started coming, spurting messily into the air and back down onto his own stomach. But it still wasn’t enough. “Fucking–hell, please!” he was practically screaming for the knot. 

Yoongi’s thrusts became faster and Jimin was pushing himself further into him, meeting the resistance with his own movements. One hand went up to grip Yoongi’s shoulder, fucking himself harder on the alpha’s cock.  “I want to be closer, p-please,” Jimin was starting to get needy and whiny. 

Yoongi fucking loved it.

He adjusted them quickly, hoisting Jimin up so that he was sitting in his lap. Slick leaked onto his thighs. “You’re so fucking wet for me, baby.” He rocked up into Jimin’s body and pressed his nose into his scent gland. It was so fucking spiced, Jimin’s heat pulsing out of it. 

Jimin pressed his body down and Yoongi couldn’t take it. He whimpered. Pathetically, as Jimin latched on, coming again as Yoongi’s knot popped tightly inside of him. 

“I–I–” Yoongi crashed his mouth against Jimin’s to shut him up. He was going to say something they both regretted. Because Yoongi’s reply would be the exact same phrase. 

Kakao Message: October 27, 2025

$ Min Yoongi sent 75000KRW $

Good luck on the rest of the tour. 

Jimin scrolls through that thread now, landing on the last message at sits at the bottom of the screen. 

You did good tonight, too. Jimin had typed when he’d gotten home that night. You should be proud of yourself. 

Sent. Read. Unanswered. 

He stares at it longer than he means to. Long enough that the screen dims then goes dark. He taps it awake again. He reads the line once more, as if a new message might suddenly appear. 

It doesn’t. 

The van hits a patch of icy road, just subtle, but Jimin’s stomach lurches so hard he has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth. His driver apologizes and Jimin is focusing so much on not being sick he just holds up a hand. He tells himself it’s the motion. The phone. The heat in the back of the van. 

He locks his phone and sets it face-down on his thigh. 

The nausea settles heavily, a slow, curling sensation that is higher in his stomach that it was before. He adjusts his posture without realizing he’s doing it. He shifts, crossing one leg over another, then opens then immediately, leaning forward when that feels worse. His hand drifts to his stomach before he can stop it, fingers splayed briefly over the soft curve beneath his sweater. 

He pulls away quickly, exhaling through his nose. 

Jimin reaches for his phone again, thinking it might anchor him. As phones do sometimes it has scrolled up in the thread involuntarily. The light from the screen makes his head swim. He blinks hard and leans forward, one elbow braced on his knees. 

 $ Min Yoongi sent 75000KRW $

His nausea swells and crests higher, fuck. He swallows but this time his mouth responds by flooding with saliva, sharp and bitter in an unmistakable way. 

“Jiseok-hyung,” it comes out so miserably, he’s leaning forward towards the front seat. He gives a heavy pant. “Can you p–”

The words never get the chance to come out. 

Jimin fumbles for the small trash can that’s tucked in the door pocket at the van slows at a light. He barely manages to lift it to his chin before the nausea overwhelms him, sudden. He bends forward, shoulders curling tightly and retches hard, empty and unpleasant. 

There’s not much to bring up, he hadn’t eaten enough today. Still, his stomach insists, heaving harshly again, breath hitching at the tears spring to his eyes. He grips the edge of the seat with his free hand, phone having fallen to the floor. He gags again, bringing up what he can before cutting off. He’s gasping heavily. 

“Jimin-ssi are you—”

“I’m okay,” he tries to reassure his driver. “Just–” he fights back another gag. “Carsick.” He throws up again, feeling incredibly dramatic  

When the nausea finally eases enough that Jimin doesn’t feel like retching anymore, he isn’t really left with relief. 

He feels hollowed out and with exhaustion that he didn’t think was possible. 

He leans back against the seat, breath shallow, one hand still pressed against his stomach to ground himself. He’s trembling all over. 

His phone buzzes. He reaches down for it carefully, wincing at the tug in his stomach muscles. 

The text wasn’t from Yoongi but that thread is still open. 

 $ Min Yoongi sent 75000KRW $

Jimin stares. His stomach tightens–not with nausea this time, but something colder, heavier. He clicks it off. He remembers that day. The heat leaving his body because he’d been knotted in the perfect way an omega should. 

The pill dissolving bitterly on his tongue. He hated it. 

The van stops at a light. Jimin’s reflection stares back at him from the darkened window. He’s pale under the interior glow. 

Two months. 

The thought starts to settle in his chest with awful clarity. Not panic. Not disbelief. The dates snap into place. The changes–symptoms that he’d been feeling all start to make sense. Missed meals. Over indulgence. The fatigue. The yearning his body had been feeling for Yoongi’s lately. 

He presses a hand to the bottom swell of his stomach that he’s tried to ignore. 

“Oh.” It’s just a whisper. 

He hasn’t been feeling any preheat symptoms either. He should, his heat is due within a week or so. He and Yoongi’s cycles had synced to be every two and a half to three months, always depending upon how stressful their schedules were.

“Oh.”   

There’s a luxury convenience store located in the gated community where Jimin lives. He won’t be seen, he won’t be photographed. It couldn’t be talked about. He asks Jiseok to drop him off there, saying he’s going to get some ginger ale and apologizing about being sick.

His feet are quick as he steps out into the cold, methodical snow. Snow-dusted pavement crunches beneath his soles. Get in. Get out. Get upstairs. 

He pulls the collar of his coat higher, hands tucked into his pockets. He slips inside, nodding at the cashier. Ginger ale goes under his arm, a sleeve of crackers. He grabs three small boxes so quickly he can’t be sure they’re not tests for something else. 

He pays quickly, bag in hand, and back out to the snow. Flakes have grown larger now, sticking to the collar of his coat. He keeps his head down, even though no one can see him here. 

Upstairs. The elevator climbs. His throat hums. Into his apartment. Door closed. Only then does he finally let himself finally breathe. 

He sets the bag on his counter. His free hand hovers over the box for a moment before he snatches it out. He looks down at it, letting the anticipation coil tighter inside of him. Or maybe that’s the nausea. Maybe he’s going to throw up again. 

Every single instinct in him screams for him to run, hide, push it away. But that’s not who he is anymore. That’s not who he’s been for a long time. He won’t do that. Not if he wants to face what’s coming. 

So he stands there, frozen in quiet, staring down at the box in his hands. 

He thinks about the moments that got him here. 

7 years before. 

Jimin should have been nervous to be standing in a room full of people who had his same dreams. They were all going to be fighting for the same thing for the next eight weeks. A chance. There wasn’t even a promise of success at the end of it. 

But that’s all they wanted. A chance to be seen. 

It was the New Year, which meant for most people that they were making resolutions, eating grapes underneath tables, and refusing to shower for some odd reason that Jimin could never comprehend. For the twenty-three other trainee idols who were standing around the circular ‘Idol Island!’ stage it meant it was the start of either the end or the beginning. 

Jimin had already been a trainee under his company for three years at this point, scouted when he was just fifteen years old. Whereas some of the boys who stood next to him looked to be no older than fifteen, one even younger. 

It was the first competition of many that would allow them to advance past the initial selection level. Jimin was the only Busan born contestant out of boys from Seoul, and another nineteen year old from Daegu. His company and manager, Hoseok, had fought for his spot hard, weeks of build up on social media, making him the perfect candidate for a television role. 

They’d all been living in the dorms for three weeks at this point, taking various lessons ranging from dance, vocal, languages, media training, etc. while the production team built stories of each of them interesting enough for a national audience to care about. 

Park Jimin didn’t need a story built for him. His existence itself told people everything they wanted (or didn’t) want to know. 

It was risky, he knew, but he’d never cared. He’d always been honest with any executive about who he was. And for some reason whether it be his charm or his talent, or probably both, they always decided to take a chance on the openly and very obviously gay idol. 

Apparently, there was someone else who didn’t need his story built for him either. 

Min Yoongi scowled across Jimin in the semi-circle at the stage. His very being screamed grit, hard-work, and dontfuckwithme energy. 

As he waited his turn to film intro videos to make the fans fall in love with him and vote to keep him on the stage, he could very clearly see that Min Yoongi was his greatest competition. The only other person here not from Seoul, and one of few not already brought up in the industry. 

Every time it was his chance to talk about himself, or to fans he’d already earned from years in underground rapping and a popular social media career, Jimin understood why he was here. Why they found him. Musically, he was a genius, creating a craft that had been unseen before. 

They hated each other almost instantly, sunshine and moonlight being unable to exist in the same space at the same time. Behind the cameras, Min Yoongi was guarded and brooding. Jimin was who he always was, flamboyant for the world to see. 

They would nitpick about almost everything, taking too long in the shower, the kind of notebook Jimin used to write songs on, or how Yoongi smoked. 

“Yah, Park Jimin’s going first why?” Yoongi groaned to the producers as they got their order for filming. After they shot their songs they would earn free time for the rest of the evening. Jimin had the most practice points right now with the protocol team. So he earned filming first.

Truthfully, Jimin didn’t really want to go first. He’d like the free time, yes. But he’d also like the opportunity to practice his cover a little more. 

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” the lead producer sighed, “you are second, isn’t this enough?” 

“No.” Yoongi said. He wanted to be on top. Always. 

Jimin’s song went okay, he felt like he could have been stronger in the second chorus, but he earned applause from the multiple teams. He scampered off stage, passing over the mic and supplies to the tech crew. 

Yoongi stared him down as he held the pages to whatever rap cover he was doing for the first week. “Are you going to miss it?” He asked. 

Jimin thought he was talking about his performance. “Use my free time on watching you?” He rolled his eyes. 

“I meant the stage, Park Jimin. Since I’m sure that’s the last time you’ll have stepped on it. I’ll be taking you out the first week.” 

They were also the only two soloists out of groups of boys who’d come together to be the next k-pop group of the decade. 

Jimin growled, thankful that his required scent blockers masked how fucking insulted he truly was. “Fuck you,” he rolled his eyes. 

“Mm, not my type,” Yoongi looked him up and down, no more words before heading to the stage. 

Jimin was absolutely going to watch now, to see if his arrogance held up to anything respectable. 

Jimin was seething. 

You're still a baby, I’m the stroller that holds you back.

That’s right, you hardly have anything to show

You can obviously see that I won this game.

The lyrics of the diss track wouldn’t stop playing over and over again in his head. He left just before Yoongi got off the stage, exiting the production building and stalking towards the attached village that held the dorms they all stayed in. 

Who the fuck did Min Yoongi think he was? He didn’t know shit about Jimin at all. He’d looked at him as he’d rapped the words. You can obviously see that I won this game. 

Fuck if he did. 

Jimin strolled into the kitchen to fill himself a glass of water from the tap. He was thirsty from his brisk walk over to the dorms. It was eerily quiet, all of the other eight boys from their dorm out at the production company. 

For all of three minutes he was alone with his thoughts. Until the front door opened and clicked shut. 

Jimin turned and glared at Yoongi, who sauntered in like nothing. He locked the door behind him then kicked off his shoes into the huge pile next to the door that really needed to be tidied. He was paying attention to his phone so he didn’t notice Jimin was staring him down for several seconds. 

When he looked up, a smile stretched across his face. 

It made Jimin angrier. “What the fuck was that?” He spat. 

Yoongi pursed his lips, slipping his phone into his black jeans. “You liked my performance? I noticed you stayed.” 

Jimin was silent. He hated that he was giving those emotions to Min Yoongi of all people. What the hell did it matter that he’d performed a diss track about him? 

“Well?” Yoongi said. He’d closed the distance between them so that they were both standing in the middle of the common area of the dorms. 

“Well what?” 

“I asked if you liked it. Did you like what you saw?” There was a slight change in his voice when he rephrased. 

Jimin’s nostrils flared. “No! You’re an asshole. And you’re just doing it for numbers, trying to rile me me to get bigger engagements when the show debuts next week,” Jimin was yelling. But at that moment Yoongi’s scent shifted. Jimin’s omega reacted immediately. 

“Fuck you,” there wasn’t any weight behind it. 

“I tried to tell you, not my type—,” he paused, “but fuck it.” 

He cupped Jimin’s face rather harshly at first, pinching his chin as the distance between them became non-existent. He slotted their mouths together messily. Jimin could barely pause before his body was reacting. His back was pressed up against the wall and Yoongi’s leg slotted in between him. “Oh my god what are you d—” Jimin tied to break away to ask. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Yoongi groaned. “My god with a mouth this pretty, is it pretty because you use it so much? Park Jimin I've been wanting to shut you up for weeks. Hush, and let me fucking kiss you.” 

And so he did. Yoongi kissed him hard again, like he was hungry. Like he’d been thinking about it. The thought never crossed Jimin’s mind. He hadn’t even gotten a single hint that Yoongi liked guys. But in that moment, kissing Min Yoongi was all he could think about. 

And he liked it. He really fucking liked it. 

Yoongi rolled his pelvis into him, grinding up against Jimin’s front. Jimin couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his lips. 

Jimin slid his hands down Yoongi’s waist, going to undo the button of his jeans. He was swift, nimble fingers already practiced. “Have you ever had a guy—” he gestured to Yoongi’s crotch. 

He shook his head. Jimin grinned. He was going to fucking make this alpha come undone right then and there. Jimin took his cock out, already hard from just the bit of making out they’d done. Had Min Yoongi ever been with a guy? He marveled at the glistening precum for just a pause before taking the tip of him in his mouth. 

Yoongi gave an instant full body shutter. He froze, thighs tensing up under Jimin’s hold as Jimin took him deeper, lips wrapping around the girth easily, like he’d definitely done this before. When Jimin hummed with Yoongi’s dick in the back of his throat he heard the start of a whimper turn into a deep growl, “F-fuck.” 

He didn’t last long at all. Especially when Jimin started stroking him with one hand, saliva making the slip easy. He was stroking his own cock at the same exact time. “F-fuck, Park Jimin, move I’m gonna–”

He hummed again, nodding and bobbing at the same time to say ‘it’s okay’ and it would have to be because Yoongi was spilling down his throat, holding onto Jimin’s shoulder to stop himself from melting right into the fucking ground. Jimin came into his hand a moment later, careful not to spill onto the floor. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever done. 

He licked his bottom lip, then with his clean hand tugged on Yoongi’s boxers to tell him to pull them back up. Still dumbfounded, his mouth open slightly and breathing heavily, but he started to get dressed. 

Jimin pulled his own bottoms up with his freehand before rushing over to the kitchen to wash his hands. When he felt thoroughly clean he spun back around. Yoongi was still standing in the living room but he was sliding his shoes on and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He looked up when he felt Jimin staring. 

“Don’t tell a fucking soul.”

Yoongi didn’t wait for an answer. The door closed behind him with a harsh and final click. 

Jimin stood there longer than he probably should have, just beginning to learn the shape of a secret he hadn’t agreed to keep, but always would. 

Three plus signs stare up at Jimin from their respective tests on his bathroom counter. He’s probably going to throw up, again. 

He picks each one up, squinting at it, hoping by the trick of the light he can turn them into negatives. They don’t budge. 

Jimin sighs, turning from the bathroom, just carrying one with him. He feels a little gross carrying around a stick that he’d dipped his pee in, but he can’t stop staring at it. He is fucked. Royally and completely fucked.

But he doesn’t feel as panicked as he thought he might when thoughts of a situation like this used to plague him. But then the ringing in his ears starts because the ringing of his phone, the only tone that sounds when one specific person is messaging, starts too.

Jimin freezes. He stares down at the positive test. “Fuck,” his voice catches on a sob.

Chapter Text

Moodboard

January 

After the award show season wraps up and the New Year settles, Yoongi starts to map his next chapter. It allows the loneliness to fade slightly. It’s probably because he’s spending so much time in his studio. He’s got juniors in there who want advice, producers who want to hear his opinion on what’s hot right now, and Namjoon. 

Signing to Namjoon’s father’s label after Idol Island had been one of the greatest decisions Yoongi had ever made. Making him his best friend probably came out on top. 

Namjoon is scrolling through YouTube, trying to find some background noise. His algorithm is so all over the place and ridiculous that Yoongi laughs out loud. “Joon-ah, what do you spend your time doing?”

“Watching you lose Album of the Year to Park Jimin, apparently,” the video clip is right there. Jimin’s performance is attached to his speech. It’s dressed up, obviously someone has edited it to draw attention. Flags and colors, roy gee biv bleed on the screen as it auto-plays. 

Jimin’s face fills the screen. This is the third time Yoongi’s seen the speech. Once, the night after they were together, he turned it on when the studio beats didn’t do enough to fill the silence. The words wafted over him, coiling more jealousy in his stomach that he hated so much. 

To be so yourself with the entire world. He wanted that so much. And, he knew everything that was at stake if they knew an ounce of who he really was. He could never disgrace his family that way. His city. 

That’s why he liked hanging out with Namjoon, because he also got it. In their world, the rap world, to be..who they were? They’d lose everything. 

Namjoon was out with those it mattered to and closeted to the rest. 

It didn’t seem to kill him the same way it did Yoongi. 

Sometimes it almost fucking ate him alive. 

“Thank you, really,” Jimin’s voice coming out of Namjoon’s television speakers cuts through the thoughts. Yoongi’s eyes refocus.

“When I started working on this album, I kept thinking it was going to be about proving something,” he paused, “to myself. To the people who didn’t think I could. People who thought and still believe that I shouldn’t be allowed to. To the people who’ve already made up their minds about the kind of artist I am.” 

“But somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about proving anything to anyone other than myself.” 

Yoongi was most envious of that. He had. He’d watched it overtime, as Jimin, who was definitely out to the world and honest about who he was, became somehow so much more. It was almost like everything he was was tied to his sexuality, in the most refreshing of ways. 

“I am lucky,” Jimin says, “not just because I get to go home with this glorious new decoration,” the crowd had laughed, “but that I get to stand on this stage as myself and that there will always be people supporting me. I’m lucky to love loudly within reason. I get to make music that doesn’t hide.” He looked at his award. “I know that not everyone has that luxury.” 

Jimin wasn’t looking at the audience during this part of his speech, but Yoongi remembers it so well, because he was staring directly into the cameras. “So if there’s anyone watching tonight who feels like their truth is something they have to carry quietly – this award is yours too. You deserve the world.”

A longer pause and Yoongi remembers Jimin looked at him, so briefly, just once. “And to the artists in this category and on this stage tonight, who push me, who challenge me and make me better by just existing,” he put a hand over his heart, “thank you. Rivalry can be its own kind of respect.” 

Yoongi had wanted…so much. To kiss him. To hug him. To rush up to that stage and love him loudly without reason. 

“I’ll keep working hard,” Jimin finished softly. “I’ll keep being honest. To PRIZM, my dearest fans who are the reason I am here today, thank you. I love you and goodnight.”

The video cuts off. 

“I know you hate him,” Namjoon says, “and that it’s a little fucked that you didn’t win with higher album value, but he’s a good idol. He’s talented and smart. And he’s honest.” 

“Oh, sounds like you want to fuck him, then?” Yoongi suggests. 

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Hoseok would kill me. Jin would have me skinned. Hoseok would turn that skin into a fashion item. No, hyung, I will not be fucking Park Jimin. I’m just saying, he’s inspiring.”

Yoongi hums. “You’re inspiring me to go home and sleep. Are we going to write this hook or not?” 

Namjoon sighed. “Yes, hyung…” 

Yoongi did want to be fucking Park Jimin. Fucking. Laying next to. Tracing the lines of his tattoos. Kissing the small marks on his body that no one else was able to grow accustomed to. 

He left Namjoon’s an hour later, having finished most of what they needed for the yearly collaboration they put out. After five years of doing it, fans always said they should just do an album together. 

But they’d fight too much for that. Both of them were passionate about their craft and the song was such a fun but taxing time that any more might cause a rift. 

Yoongi drops his keys in the bowl next to the door. Tang’s quiet herumpff sounds from his bed by the window and he taps his little paws across the floor as he hurries to greet Yoongi with a rather loud meow. 

“Yah,” he complains, “I wasn’t even gone that long.” He scratches behind his ears affectionately but the cat stretches up his leg for more. He lifts easily. “You know most cats do not like to be held,” he says as he carries him through the house. 

It’s just after 9pm. He should get himself something to eat but he pours a glass of whiskey instead. Half full. 

His thoughts automatically go to Jimin. They always do. He takes his phone out as he sinks down on his couch, Tang climbing automatically into his lap. He goes to their kakao messages. 

He stares at the last text just like he’s done for the last seven nights. He didn’t know what to reply. Jimin shouldn’t be proud of him. He was hiding with no plans to ever change that. 

He doesn’t want to perseverate on missing him so he taps on the screen quickly then locks it. 

You should come over. 

Surprisingly and unlike Jimin, he never receives a reply. 

The first glass of whiskey is not the only one he has that night. 

January: Eight Weeks, two days. 

Jimin stifles a gag behind his palm, really hoping Hoseok isn’t going to notice. He clenches his teeth together and begs his body to just calm the fuck down. It’s a five minute car ride. 

A five minute car ride where he’s bundled in a long jacket, a sweater, jeans that pinch too tight at his navel, and a car sickness that he’s always sort of had. It has grown exponentially in the three days since Jimin discovered he was pregnant. 

His clothes are too hot. He wants them off, and because he can’t strip right now, he’s gagging about it. 

Pregnancy is interesting already. 

“Did you hear me? I said after the charity event tomorrow evening your schedule is clear for the next four days. Since your heat is due. Plus, take a break, Jiminie.” Hoseok looks at him. “You really look like you could use one.” 

Jimin pretends to wipe his nose but he’s got an alcohol pad tucked under his sleeve because the internet swore it would help with the nausea. The only thing it’s done is helped him not throw up all over the backseat of his transport van. 

“Oh. Good, okay. I’ll do some dance practices. Maybe do a live with the fans.” 

“Go to the doctor first,” Hoseok says. “I made you an appointment for tomorrow morning.” 

Jimin furrows his brow. “What? Why?” 

Hoseok sighs. “You’ve stopped eating, your face is losing weight again. You’re exhausted, because you’re not keeping up with the calories. Your tour is over, you don’t have another comeback for at least six months, Jimin-ah, you don’t need to—”

Jimin sticks a hand out. Even speaking makes him feel like he is going to lose the lunch he forced himself to eat during the photoshoot, but he pushes through. He pushes because Hoseok thinks he’s starving himself again. “Hobi, you don’t have to worry. I’m just tired from the tour. It’s nothing. I’ll be okay.” 

He hadn’t realized he wasn’t doing as good of a job hiding his condition as he thought he was. Hiding things wasn’t in his nature. But this wasn’t just his circumstance to tell. 

The van pulls into his community and finally into the underground garage. It idles at Jimin’s entrance as Hoseok places a hand on his arm. 

“I’m serious, Jiminie. You don’t look well. You’re sure you’re just tired?” 

Jimin nods. “Exhausted. I’ll go to the doctor, though. I’ll get the check up and you’ll see. Everything will be fine, promise.” 

Hoseok smiles. “Good. If you looked like you felt okay I’d say come over for a drink. Joonie and Seokjin-hyung miss you. But go get some rest. I’ll see you after your appointment tomorrow.” 

Jimin squeezes Hoseok’s hand before slipping out. The van pulls away and when it’s completely out of Jimin’s line of sight only then does he allow himself to spin and heave over the parking garage trash can. 

Fuck. 

7 years before. 

Jimin won the first week as a fan favorite on Idol Island. 

“Thank you, everybodyyyy,” his voice went higher up in octave as he recorded the video, a small bundle of flowers in his hand. “I will continue to work hard to not disappoint you. Idol Island, out!” He held up a peace sign, shaking it for the camera before the video cut off. 

“Thats good, Jiminie, they’ll love that,” Hoseok said, pocketing the camera. 

They were on the rooftop of the dorm building, and the breeze was light. Jimin felt good, calm, for the first time since he’d arrived. Getting through the first week was all he needed. An entire group had been eliminated last night, sending five people home. 

Jimin wanted to come out on top so bad. He knew he deserved it. 

“Do you want to go for a drink next week for your birthday?” Hoseok asked. 

Jimin thought about it. Most people his age lived for this moment, finally turning 19 so they could drink and go to karaoke rooms with their friends. 

“That could mess up my condition, I don’t know…”

Hoseok groaned. “Jimin, you’re so boring!! Don’t worry about your condition.” 

Jimin laughed and stared at the skyline before teasing. “You’re a terrible manager.” 

Hoseok shoved him lightly. 

He’s wasn’t. When Jimin signed to Limitless at the age of 15 he didn’t have a manager at first. His mom played that role. But as his prospects became more likely that he had what it took to be an idol his mother suggested he find someone who knew the business. Hoseok was only a year older than him, but his father was a music exec mogul. He knew the ins and outs of a world Jimin was just barely beginning to understand. It had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“You had two days break anyway from the show. You should let loose, Jiminie. Winning fan favorite during week one is just the beginning. You’re going to be a star. I just know you will.” 

Hoseok left after a little while but Jimin stayed on the roof. The night was chilly, but not overly so. He’d liked spending time on the roof once the cameras turned off. The dorm was loud and stuffy with the nine of them packed together. 

Sharing space wasn’t an issue. As a trainee for Limitless Jimin was used to a dorm filled with other people. But something about the Idol Island dorms, felt more tense. 

During that time, Jimin knew it had everything to do with Min Yoongi. 

They hadn’t spoken since Jimin had dropped to his knees and made the alpha shudder so hard it was surely a full bodied experience. Yoongi had been avoiding him. The only interactions they had was during dance practice, English class, or meal times, the latter of which Jimin often skipped. 

Rappers and vocalists didn’t overlap much. Until the production company announced the challenge for week four of the show. 

Collaboration Era. They would be split into teams to record then perform a song chosen for them by a producer. As the only two soloists, Jimin and Yoongi were paired together. The rest of the groups had their members swapped around to create new and interesting dynamics. 

The week working together wasn’t going well. Yoongi hated the lyrics Jimin offered. Jimin couldn’t sing to the heavy rap beat. It was relentless. At one point the executives thought they’d made a mistake. 

Finally, the studio producer threw his notebook in the middle of the floor. “That’s it! Enough! You’re both talented. But this bullshit—” he pointed between the two of them, “isn’t going to cut it in the industry. Learn how to work with unlikely partners, it garners interest.” He glared. “You have thirty minutes to figure this out or I’m telling the executives you’re disqualified from this round of performances. They’ll make up a story.” 

He slammed the small studio door on his way out. 

As soon as the click of the door came, Jimin shoved Yoongi up against the studio booth wall. He’d had enough too. “You are not going to keep fucking treating me like this!” He pushed his shoulders again, breathing heavy. They were the same height, Yoongi maybe a smidge taller. He was definitely broader, his alpha filling him out more. But Jimin didn’t care. 

Yoongi froze. He watched Jimin’s face, eyes darting back and forth. 

“You participated just as much as I did. And you regret it. That’s fucking fine. But stop taking your bullshit regret out on me. We can be rivals, great. That can be fun. But treating me like shit because you can’t figure your own out isn’t going to happen. You’re ruining the song and I’m not going to let you steal my chances at something I’m busting my ass for!” 

They were both breathing heavily. “You think I regret what we did?” His voice softened. 

“Obviously. You haven’t looked at me since it happened. And this collaboration is going horribly because of it.” 

“Park Jimin,” he groaned. His hand went down to Jimin's hip, holding him lightly. “I don’t regret what we did at all. I stayed away because because it’s fucking killing me not to touch you.” He surged forward kissing Jimin full on the mouth. He slotted his tongue inside, tasting the mint gum Jimin always chewed. “You just don’t understand the effect you already have on me.” 

Yoongi growled but Jimin did too. He pushed lightly on his chest, breaking the second kiss. “No. No, stop.” 

Yoongi chuckled. “Jimin, c’mon.” 

“No, you c’mon. You can’t just kiss me after treating me like that. You can't treat me like this!” 

He faltered. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. Fuck—I’m sorry. Look,” he slid down the wall into a squat. “Where I’m from. This—” he gestured between he and Jimin, “isn’t allowed.” 

Jimin exhaled, tiredly. He knew this. Daegu, especially, was unkind about male alphas and male omegas having relationships out in the open. Men sleeping together wasn’t rare, but it wasn’t advertised either. 

In the hundreds of years since society’s reproductive systems had evolved so bodies learned new ways to want, to carry, to make life and allow multiple genders to produce off-spring society hadn’t completely evolved with their standards. Desire was a preference. Identity was a liability. 

Jimin could easily afford honesty. Omega’s status did not carry the same weight in society and Busan was one of the most progressive cities. People would sigh, or speculate, or pretend it made sense because he was an omega. Yoongi couldn’t afford clarity. Not in Daegu. And not out in Seoul as a rapper. 

“My family…” Yoongi looked away. “They're traditional. I have an alpha mother and an alpha father. My brother is an alpha and his wife is an alpha. They expect me to be with an alpha woman as well. It’s the Daegu way,” he played with a stray string on his sweatshirt. “They’d disown me if they ever knew. I would be the laughing stock of the rap community.” 

Jimin stayed quiet for a moment. He couldn’t relate. He’d been raised in Busan, one of the most welcoming places in all of South Korea. His mothers, both omegas, almost expected him to be with a man, whether that man be another omega or an alpha didn’t matter. “Okay,” he said quietly. I understand.” 

“I have fought this part of myself for nineteen fucking years, but I can’t seem to pretend that I don’t fucking want you.” He looked at Jimin again. “It’s driving me crazy.” 

“I have that effect,” Jimin grinned. 

“Fuck you,” Yoongi replied with no bite. 

“You’d like that,” Jimin smirked. 

“Fuck off,” Yoongi finally laughed. Then his face turned serious again. “I would though. Not here. Not now, but…”

Jimin shifted closer so that his knee was resting against Yoongi’s. “Okay. But I don’t want to keep pretending between us like it didn’t happen.” 

“I won’t.” 

“You’ll look at me?” Jimin asked. “You won’t treat me like shit.” 

“I’m still going to kick your ass and win Idol Island,” Yoongi joked. “But I’ll look at you, sparingly.” 

“Sparingly?” Jimin’s eyes opened wider. “I’m fucking gorgeous!” 

“You are,” his voice was so soft as he leaned in, cupping Jimin’s cheek again. “But if I do it too long, I might never stop.” 

Jimin blushed. “If you’re about to kiss me again don’t act like imagined after.” 

“I won’t,” he started closing the distance. 

“We won’t label it,” Jimin said to give him an out. He could already feel within himself that it was all a bad idea. It would end horrible and it would hurt. But something in him also wanted to try this, whatever this might be, with Min Yoongi. He said it to give him an out. “I won’t tell a fucking soul,” he smirked. 

Yoongi’s mouth lifted in a slow smile against Jimin’s lips. “Good.” And then he dove in. He kissed Jimin hungrily, like he was the one starving for something. He pressed him back against the studio booth. “We have what, like? Fifteen minutes left?” 

Jimin slid down and dropped to his knees. His fingers went to Yoongi’s belt. “Then I better hurry up,” he smirked. 

Yoongi was already smitten over the brat. 

Their Tony Montana collaboration earned them the winning spot in the competition that week. In the following four weeks of Idol Island it became increasingly clear that the two of them would be coming out on top. 

—-

Jimin wakes slowly and then all at once. 

Yoongi had texted him last night but he was so exhausted from battling nausea all day he’d fallen asleep on his couch and didn’t see it until three in the morning. Yoongi was probably awake then too, always having had trouble sleeping right before his rut. But Jimin couldn’t reply. 

He knows he needs to tell him about the test. But he doesn’t know how. He figured maybe confirming the test’s validity at his appointment might help give him a push. Maybe it was faulty like the pill he’d taken. 

But probably not. What else could be the explanation for him throwing himself over the toilet every morning and evening, and being unable to button some of his best pants without feeling uncomfortable. 

His scent was also off. He could tell when he was at home and he was trying so hard to fucking suppress it. 

Jiseok drops Jimin off at the clinic. Jimin’s bodyguard hovers outside the private practice door. It’s a secluded office, for celebrities, that only takes a few appointments per day for everyone’s safety. If word got out they were visiting hospitals or doctors offices, no matter if it was their yearly physical, the media would spin a tale. 

The receptionist checks him in and Jimin only waits for less than five minutes before a nurse ushers him back. Every step of the appointment is agony. They check his weight, it’s down. His blood pressure, low. His heart rate, up. The doctor frowns at almost every number. 

“Jimin-ssi, can you tell me seriously if you’re having concerns with your diet again?” 

“I’m pregnant,” he says, and the words out loud feel…relieving. “I think. I mean I’m pretty sure. I took a test. My manager made the appointment because he thinks I’m struggling with my diet too. But I’m not. At least I’m not trying to on purpose.” 

Dr. Ahn places a palm against his arm. He’s been Jimin’s doctor for the past four years. He’s seen him at his best and worst body conditions. This is new. “Ahhh. Okay, okay,” his demeanor turns from serious to light. “Let’s discuss then. What’s really going on?” 

Jimin gives him a run down of his symptoms. The fatigue, the belly fullness, the intense nausea that makes everyone around him think he’s sick or starving. 

“When was your last heat?” 

“Eight weeks and three days ago. I’m due for one any day now but I have a feeling it’s not coming.” 

“Lets draw some blood to confirm and then see if obstetrics can get you in this morning to see what’s going on and go from there, shall we?” 

Jimin nods. “Thanks, Dr. Ahn.” 

—

Jimin stares at the picture of the ultrasound in his dressing room. It’s a small, square black and white photograph. A photograph of one singular blob that’s somehow changed his entire life today. 

The blood test that almost made Jimin pass out did in fact confirm his pregnancy. The swooshing sound of a heartbeat and his non-empty uterus on the screen solidified it all the more. 

“Just under nine weeks,” the obstetrician had said. “Heartbeat is strong. Everything looks great.” 

But it didn’t feel great. She prescribed a low dose of some medication that had a small chance to help. “There isn’t much testing for omega male pregnancies so it might not provide you any relief at all. I’d like you to try it though and I’d like to see you back next week as well, just to check in.” 

She sent him away with the photograph, a pamphlet, and an appointment card for seven days later. 

He hadn’t pulled it out again until he had a moment alone. A tiny blob was making him feel like he was going to collapse any second. Who would have thought? 

He planned tonight meticulously: avoid Yoongi at all costs, do not focus on the small blob that wasn’t going to wait for convenience or timing or PR schedules. The slow wave of nausea that curled in his stomach reminded him of that. He reached forward to grab the ginger ale he’d been sipping. The small blob was going to force him to make choices sooner or later. And Yoongi…Yoongi who was here tonight still didn’t know. 

He was a force in Jimin’s mind that no amount of avoidance could truly nullify. 

A knock on the door sends the photograph right back into his bag where it’s kept a secret. Hoseok steps in. “You look so good in that suit.” 

It’s true. Dior from head to toe, exposing his chest right down to his navel. It’s revealing enough to be sexy, and to hide the small swell that thankfully only he’s noticed. “Thanks, hyung. Is it time?” 

“It is!” 

The event itself is a little overwhelming. The cameras flash so hot. But Jimin smiles for each picture, poised and polished like always. Donors and organizers compliment him, his beauty, congratulate him on his big wins from last week. He feels like an actor in his own life. 

“Jiminie did you hear me?” Taehyung has his arm wrapped around his waist as Jungkook snaps pictures of the two of them. 

Jimin blinks. There’s a wave of dizziness that’s been making him feel disoriented. “Sorry, what?” 

“I said you should come over soon! Jungkookie got this new game, you’d love it. You have more time these days after the tour, right?” 

“Mhm,” Jimin nods, the world dips just like his chin. His knees buckle slightly and if Taehyung wasn’t holding him up he might fall. “Tae, can we go to your dressing room for a minute?” 

Taehyut must have heard the urgency or the change in his voice because he nods instantly. Jungkook follows as well. 

Jimin catches a glimpse of Yoongi as they head out of the main ballroom of the event. He looks, good. Too good as always. His stance is calm and collected, cool eyes that scan the room and inevitably end up on Jimin. He turns his head quickly away. It’s the swiftness of the head turn that overdoes it. 

The second the door opens to a mostly empty hallway, out of direct sight of everyone at the event it happens. Jimin gives a short, shallow gasp. A blurred moment of panic. And then darkness. 

When Jimin wakes he isn’t sure where he is. He comes to in a thankfully dimly lit dressing room. He's lying on one of the couches. 

“You gave us a scare, Jimin-ssi,” an EMT says as he blinks his eyes. “You’re okay. You just fainted.” 

Fainted. At an event. Fuck. Jimin turns his head and Hoseok is at his shoulder. He looks terrified. “Did I—did anyone see?” 

“No,” it’s Tae’s voice. “It was in the hallway. Jungkookie caught you. No one saw but…everyone knows.” 

Jimin wishes he could faint again. He throws an arm over his face. “The media?”

“I won’t be spreading anything but it might get out.” 

Jimin huffs. The EMT slowly guides him up into a sitting position. His head still feels swimmy. Around him are Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook. “Your manager says you haven’t been eating well lately. I think you’re dehydrated. I’m going to start an IV line.” 

“I went to the clinic this morning,” Jimin pauses, “I’m just having some…stomach issues.” 

It’s mostly true. 

“This will take about 20 minutes," the EMT says as she swipes his arm with alcohol,  "He should have some time alone to rest. I’ll stay in here to monitor him but he should probably head home and not finish the event.” 

“I’ll go speak to the donors and representatives. I’ll call the car too,” Hoseok squeezes Jimin’s shoulder, phone already in his other hand. “Just sit tight.” 

Taehyung and Jungkook give him hopeful smiles before slipping out. 

The IV pinches. And then makes Jimin feel so fucking cold his teeth start chattering. 

“It’s worth it,” the EMT says. “Your vitals were horrible. This will make you feel better.” 

She sits in a chair at the opposite side of the room tapping on a tablet, most likely writing a report about Jimin’s medical emergency. 

He’s so fucking embarrassed. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself down. He can feel his high heart rate behind his scent gland. His stomach rolls, a reminder of the nausea that got him here and he presses a hand to the bottom of his abdomen instinctively. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He hesitates to pick it up, but does so to distract his racing thoughts. 

MYG: you okay? 

Jimin groans. He’s not. He’s fucking terrified. He’d seen him just before everything went dark. He doesn’t want to admit how weak he’s still feeling. 

I’m fine. 

Yoongi’s reply is instant. 

MYG: don’t lie to me. I heard you collapsed in the hall. 

Jimin’s stomach twists again; nausea, nerves, and the undeniable weight pressing in his gut. 

I’m okay. He rephrases. Not exactly fine. The EMT is here. 

A pause. Another buzz. 

MYG: it’s killing me not to see for myself

The IV must be working because Jimin feels himself blush. He then realizes, Yoongi’s rut is coming. Of course it’s killing him. 

You can’t come in here. But…come over. After. 

MYG: I'll be to you in an hour. Don’t try to die before I get there. 

Yoongi had barely been able to let himself breathe when he saw Jimin go down. He hadn’t been told. He’d watched as he was exiting the ballroom with Taehyung and Jungkook flanking him. Yoongi was almost always watching. They thought they’d gotten the door closed quickly enough. 

But Yoongi saw as Jimin wilted near the ground, Jungkook almost did not react in time. It was the second time he'd ever seen him faint and the shock felt exactly the same. Panic surged like fire, exacerbated by rut beneath his skin like flame. Yoongi jumped so violently he spilled his glass of champagne on the ground. Conveniently, it helped distract others from Jimin’s incident in the hall. Only a few people saw but then word spread. 

Yoongi hovered near the hall, the primitive need to be near Jimin, hold him, press his lips to his neck and make sure he was okay was almost overwhelming. He fought it, breaths harsh, hands shaking as he typed quickly on his phone. He felt guilty for bothering him, because he’d just fucking fainted at a public event. 

But he needed a reply. He needed to know. 

And when when the reply came, sparse and detached in a way he wasn’t used to with Jimin he felt himself pressing for more. 

it’s killing me not to see for myself

He was honest in a way he usually reserved for in person conversations. His alpha was buzzing in a violent way. He needed to be with Jimin. Tonight. 

The ride with his driver to his own house, then driving by himself to Jimin’s feels too long. His alpha is on edge. What if Jimin hadn’t made it back yet? What if he needed to go to the hospital instead? Should he go to the hospital? Maybe Yoongi should make him go. 

After being let in by security to the hater community Yoongi drives to the underground garage beneath Jimin’s apartment building. He idles his car for a minute. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and his alpha down. Jimin is fine. He’s home. He’s safe. 

He climbs out of the car and heads towards the elevator so he can finally see for himself. 

Using the pin Jimin gave him last year, Yoongi lets himself inside. The apartment smells almost the same as he remembers, wrapped in Jimin’s fall scent. He takes a deep breath, inhaling it and letting it settle in his lungs. “Jimin-ah?” he calls, toeing his sneakers off at the door. 

“In the living room,” Jimin calls back. His voice sounds small. 

Yoongi pads down the familiar hallway into Jimin’s open apartment. Nothing has changed since the last time he was here before they started their tours. Jimin is in the corner of his white couch, a blanket loosely around his shoulders. He’s changed from the suit into something soft and comfortable. The sweatshirt is Yoongi’s. He remembers leaving it accidentally the last time he was here. 

It looks good on him. 

Yoongi leans up against the wall, just watching. He looks…okay. 

“You’re seeing for yourself?” Jimin asks, a lightness to his gentle voice. 

“I am. You do look okay. Tired, but, not dead. Thanks for not dying.” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I fainted. No need to be so dramatic.” 

Yoongi’s chest tightens. Jimin had fainted another time, the year they met, just a week before the end of Idol Island. He was pushing his body too hard to please others then and he was doing it again now. He thought he’d recovered from that battle with himself. “Jimin, you collapsed,” he says. “That is dramatic.” 

Jimin sighs. He pats the spot next to him and it’s almost comical how quickly Yoongi goes. He was in a weird headspace after the Award Show and he didn’t show Jimin enough affection and he’s regretted it ever since. So he does it now. He drops to his side and he turns to cup both of his cheeks. “You scared me.” 

Jimin closes his eyes and dips forward so that their noses are touching. “I’m fine,” his voice is trembling. 

Yoongi pecks his lips once, just gently. “What’s going on?” 

Jimin pulls away with a guarded expression. Yoongi knows it’s going to be an argument once he tightens his jaw. “Nothing. I said I’m fine.” 

Yoongi sighs. “Clearly you’re not. Are you sick? Are you stressed? Is that why you haven’t messaged me back?” 

Silence. Jimin shifts and the blanket falls off of one of his shoulders. 

“If something is wrong, if your condition isn’t good you can tell me. If you’re not eating again we can talk about it. I know what we have is casual but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how you’re doing!” He doesn’t mean to sound frustrated but his alpha is more on edge since he’s deflecting. 

Something in Jimin snaps. “Casual?” He bites. “Casual?” He elongates the word as he stands furiously. The blanket falls to the floor. He stomps away from the couch and disappears down the hall. 

Yoongi thinks he’s going to throw him out. It was clearly the wrong choice of word. And he didn’t mean how it came out. What they had was label-less, but so much fucking more than casual, god Min Yoongi felt like a fucking idiot. 

After about twenty seconds Jimin returns and he throws a slip of square paper at Yoongi’s lap. “Is it casual now?” He shouts, voice raw. 

Yoongi fumbles with the paper that tries to fall to the floor. For a second he doesn’t know what he’s looking at and then it hits him. The tiny black and white image is undeniable. He looks back up at Jimin who has a stray tear trailing down his face. 

He uncrosses his arms and wipes it with his shaky hand. When his eyes meet Yoongi's, his face crumples and he gasps like air has failed his lungs. Yoongi stands. He closes the distance and holds Jimin’s face, his thumbs brush tears away that won’t stop falling. 

“I’m so fucking scared,” Jimin’s chest tightens, a deep pressure that makes it hard to breathe. Tiny gasps come out of him. A ragged sob shakes his entire body into Yoongi’s embrace. “What the fuck am I’m going to do?” He cries. 

Hot tears dampen the collar of Yoongi’s shirt as he holds him. Jimin tries to speak as he works himself up. “I—I—” the way his sob catches makes Yoongi’s hairs stand on end. “Shhh,” he runs a hand up the back of his hair and keeps the other at his back, holding him close. “It will be okay. Shh,” he murmurs again. “We’ll figure it out.” 

Jimin’s chest rises and falls against him. He’s still trembling when he looks up at Yoongi. “I-” he takes a breath to try and steady his voice. “I took the pill. I swear I did. I’m fucking s—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize. C’mon. Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep. We’ll talk about things in the morning.” Yoongi starts to lead him towards his bedroom. 

Panic fills Jimin’s face. “You’re leaving?” 

Yoongi sighs, exhausted. “No. I’m putting you to bed in your nest because you need it, because it’s been a long day. And if you’ll have me, I’ll stay tonight.” 

Jimin’s breath stutters much like it does at the end of a crying session. 

“My rut is coming,” Yoongi continues, “and I have nothing to ask of you but your scent to keep my head straight.” 

Jimin studies him for a moment. Yoongi never stays. Not once in all the years they’ve been doing this. “Okay,” his voice is so hushed. 

Yoongi takes his hand and leads him down the hall to his bedroom. His scent is overwhelming here and it’s then that finally makes out the difference in it. There’s an underlying cream that’s never existed before. Subtly sweet. Of course. 

Jimin washes his face with a cool towel Yoongi has prepared for him. He brushes his teeth, only gritting once as he spits. 

Yoongi helps him into his nest without comment. His hands are careful, not to mess too many things up. There’s many blankets that look meticulously woven into each other. It’s the best nest he’s ever seen. His alpha is buzzing again, but this time it’s with anticipation. 

Jimin smooths out a spot next to him and his gentle tap is the only invitation Yoongi needs to climb in. He scoots close, latching onto Yoongi like an anchor. There’s crab tears at his lashes. 

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” 

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.” 

It’s not a promise. It’s a fact. 

Jimin nods once before his eyes slip closed. His breathing evens out, exhaustion drags him under. Yoongi stays awake for a while, watching him. The cream scent is especially strong here, unmistakable. 

Morning will come. And everything will change then. 

He lets himself hold Jimin through an entire night. 

Chapter Text

7 years before.

“Congratulations,” Jimin was practically pouting. 

Yoongi smirked. “Guess we’ll still be seeing each other next week.” 

Their collaboration had done well, they came in first for producer voting with the option to record Tony Montana for music platforms. Yoongi stole Jimin’s fan favorite spot that he’d been holding for three consecutive weeks. 

Jimin was fuming a little bit. He’d worked hard for that spot, filming videos when he should have been sleeping. He responded to comments on the company-approved social media account they created just for all of the contestants. He was cheeky, he was flirty. But most of all he was trying. In a way that Min Yoongi didn’t seem to have to. 

The fans effortlessly loved him. He ran his hand through his hair and there were gifs of it filling the timeline for hours. Yoongi oppa’s so HOT! 

Jimin understood. 

He gasped, sharply but low as Jimin stuck his hand down the front of the sweats Yoongi had worn for dance practice. “F-fuck, more.” He pressed himself into him. They were in the stairwell that led to the rooftop. Surprisingly, the other members of the dorm didn’t visit the secluded spot. Jimin liked it because it was the only place away from the cameras. 

Yoongi liked it because Jimin was there. 

Yoongi was supposed to be gone for 3 days. His rut was starting that evening and all alpha contestants who had a regular rut cycle were sent home. But Yoongi couldn’t leave without just one taste of Jimin. He licked a strip from his collarbone to his jugular, his scent gland pulsing beneath the skin. Jimin shuddered. 

“H-hyung, don’t,” he giggled breathlessly. “You’re too close to rut, you’re going to leave a scent.” 

Yoongi bucked into Jimin’s constant stroking, his back pressed tighter to the wall. “I can’t help it, you’re just so fucking delicious.” 

Another giggle cut off by Yoongi surging forward to kiss him again. Jimin could feel how warm he was, the energy of rut beneath his skin. His touches were rougher, firm. Yoongi gripped his chin as he kissed him, his touch almost scaling. 

Jimin loved it. 

He stroked faster, wanting to watch the alpha come apart like putty in his delicate hands. “F-fuck, Park Jimin.” His breaths came out harsher against his lips as he chased the orgasm he was being given. 

Not wanting to make a mess, Jimin broke the kiss and dropped down to his knees. Yoongi made a sound of disappointment but it was replaced by a gasp as Jimin took him whole inside his mouth. 

He didn’t stand a chance. Jimin wrapped his hand around him and stroked his dick into his mouth. 

“Ah!” Yoongi cried out. He didn’t spill, he shot blindly into the back of Jimin’s throat. He was so surprised by it his stance faltered, his knees becoming weak. 

Jimin wasn’t though. He ballooned his blushed cheeks and swallowed every drop, leaving nothing behind. When he pulled off the tip with a pop he smirked. He loved the power he was gaining, how much he could make this alpha feel. 

“I wish–” Jimin kissed the tip before he started to put Yoongi back into his pants. 

“I could fuck you,” Yoongi filled in. “God, I wish you could come home with me during this rut. I’d fuck you for hours.” 

Jimin stood up and met Yoongi’s gaze. He’d never said anything like that before. They’d been messing around for weeks and sure he knew Yoongi was attracted to him, but not enough to spend a rut or heat together. That was…more. 

Jimin just leaned his forehead against his, kissing him so Yoongi could taste himself. He opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the lower level door opening made them both freeze. 

“JIMIN-AH!” Hoseok’s voice bellowed as he began to run up the stairs.

The look on Yoongi’s face wiped away any declaration he could have. Anything they felt was suddenly replaced by fear. 

— 

Eight weeks, four days. 

Jimin wakes to fading morning light, a vibration beneath him, and Yoongi’s thick scent. He wants to keep his eyes closed and inhale it a little longer, pretending that he doesn’t have to get up and face the confession from last night. 

With the aftermath of his fainting spell and the emotions that came with it, his head is a little clearer now and he’s ashamed. He shouldn’t have reacted that way. He shouldn’t have revealed the pregnancy that way either. He knows what they haven’t isn’t just casual. Deep down, beneath all that Yoongi hides, he knows there’s more. 

He peers through one set of lashes and Yoongi is sitting up in the bed next to him on his phone. “You’re finally awake.” 

“What time is it?” His voice comes out hoarse so he clears it. 

“Just after eleven,” Yoongi sets his phone down to focus on Jimin. One of his hands combs through his hair gently. 

Jimin turns into his sheets, shame flashing. “Oh my god it’s so late.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been able to sleep that well in ages.” 

“It’s good. It’s okay, you needed the rest.” 

Propping on one elbow first, Jimin pushes up into a sitting position. The scene of his room tilts in a slanted way. The familiar curl of nausea coils in the middle of his belly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, it’s filled with Yoongi’s scent. His stomach settles slightly. “You’re in pre-rut,” he says. “And you’re in my nest,” he can’t help but smile a little. 

Yoongi makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. He nods lightly. “It’s helping keep the rut at bay I think.” 

He’s staring at Jimin so intently. His eyes are darting back and forth, searching for something. “You look like you’re going to throw up? Are you going to throw up? Should I dodge it?” He acts like he’s going to get out of the nest. “Am I in the spray zone?” 

Jimin laughs and winces, tugging Yoongi by his arm so that he’s pressed back against Jimin’s side. “Shut up. I’m not going to throw up right now. I’ll make sure you’re in the clear when it happens. Give you a warning and all.” He huffs. “Besides, I’d never throw up in my nest.” 

Yoongi relaxes and shifts so that Jimin is resting against his side. He puts his cheek on his arm.“Are you okay, though?” 

“Definitely not,” Jimin sighs. He wriggles even closer and clutches the fabric of Yoong’s long-sleeve t-shirt. He doesn’t know what to say so he just sighs again. There’s so much to talk about. To think through. And he has no clue where to start. 

Yoongi is still looking at him. His eyes have that dark ochre of pre-rut and Jimin wonders what he’s going to do. He could go home and go through the excruciating event alone. Since they’d been spending their cycles together for at least the last five years, going through a heat or rut without the other would be unimaginable. He could also stay. 

Jimin’s stomach rolls and he shivers. He closes his eyes. “I had to tell you first.” He swallows miserably. “I would have told you even if I hadn’t fainted. I’m keeping the pregnancy,” he opens his eyes when the worst of the wave fades, “by the way.” 

Yoongi nods. “Okay.” He doesn’t say anything else at first. He looks down at their hands that are next to each other. He taps Jimin with his pinky. “Okay,” he says a little breathless the second time. 

“I haven’t figured a single thing out yet, but I just knew that I was keeping it and I needed to tell you.” 

Yoongi smooths a hand over his chest. He can feel his heart beating a little more rapidly underneath. “Was it your last heat?” 

Jimin nods. 

Yoongi nods back slowly. That means in seven month’s time there would be a pup if everything went smoothly. Their pup. Yoongi reminds himself. His heart jumps in his throat. “Okay.” He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I can’t lie to you,” he looks at Jimin. “I’m scared to death.” 

Jimin chews on the inside left corner of his lip. “Me too.” 

“No one else knows?” 

“Nope,” Jimin answers immediately. “Just me and you like always.” It doesn’t come out bitter the way Jimin thought it might. He doesn’t know if he wanted it to. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi shudders and the morning is revealing cracks the way it always does. “I’m sorry, not fuck like—I don’t know…I just don’t know how to talk about this yet.” Jimin’s got tears going down his face again. Yoongi’s pinky taps him once more. “But I’m not going anywhere, okay?” 

Jimin’s face crumples. “Ok-kay,” he sobs. Yoongi’s pinky loops around Jimin’s and then wraps his fingers in his. He tugs him closer until Jimin’s in his lap. Jimin straddles him, full weight coming down on Yoongi. 

Yoongi holds him, even though Jimin is shaking. He holds him tighter because he knows it will calm the omega down. And that’s what his alpha needs right now, for both of them to calm down. “Whatever happens it’ll happen with the both of us.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jimin says into Yoongi’s neck. “I don’t expect anything from—”

“Jimin,” Yoongi warns. “If you didn’t expect me to do my part then you don’t know me at all.” 

Jimin sits up and looks Yoongi in the eyes. “Thats the thing,” his lip trembles and he holds his breath for a second, “I know you will. That’s why I told you first.” 

Yoongi holds his waist. “I need you to tell me when you’re feeling like shit too. No more fainting. You tell me, no matter where I am.” 

Jimin falters for a second. “You say that like it's not going to blow up your life.” 

“I’m saying it anyway.” He leans forward to kiss Jimin’s jaw. “I mean it. Tell me. So I can remind you that you need rest, water, and food and probably some vitamins or something. Did the doctor say vitamins?” 

Jimin whines and dips his head back into his neck. His scent is so strong with pre-rut, he wants to drink it in. “You sound like a pamphlet. Yes they said vitamins I need to take this morning and a pill that might or might not work but—” Jimin sits up and smushes his lips together. 

“But?” Yoongi raises a brow. 

Jimin starts to slowly climb off his lap. “But I feel like shit.” 

“You do?” Yoongi sits up after him. An itch begins under his skin. 

“Yeah I’m definitely about to throw up,” he rolls out of the nest, clambering towards his bathroom. 

And like he said he would, Yoongi follows. 

—-

Jimin is sitting on the floor in the bathroom. His hair is wet, his robe is tied around him, and Yoongi feels like the color of his skin is about three shades lighter than normal. 

“Can I come in?” He hovers just outside the door. 

“You’ll definitely be in the spray zone,” he presses a hand to his stomach. He sniffles and his lip starts to tremble. This is the second time he’s getting sick this morning.

Yoongi doesn’t think twice about going in to sit next to him just like last time, especially when a tear trails down his pale cheek. “Hey—hey…” he draws it out. “I said it’ll be okay.” 

“I know, I’m crying because I want something to eat but I feel like I’m going to be so incredibly sick the idea of food sounding good is never going to happen again.” 

Yoongi frowns. “Here drink some water,” there’s a glass by the sink that Jimin uses to rinse after brushing his teeth, Yoongi moves to get it. Jimin’s hand darts out to grab the end of his T-shirt. 

“Please don’t move,” he pouts deeply and feels like the most miserable omega in the universe, “fuck. Can you just…rub my back?” 

His eyes are so teary. Yoongi nods. “Yeah, of course.” He scoots closer to him so they’re sharing the same space. He places a hand on Jimin’s back, spreading out as he rubs up and down. 

Jimin pitches forward, hiccuping miserably before he starts getting sick. Yoongi’s hand never leaves his spine, palm running from top to bottom slowly. He’s warm, not in a feverish way, but enough to notice. 

Jimin retches and then whimpers. Yoongi’s alpha feels like scenting him but he’s never allowed himself to do that before. He fights the urge but it’s almost unbearable. Yoongi murmurs softly while rubbing his back. “Just breathe, it’ll be over soon.” 

Soon lasts a little longer than they both expect. Jimin’s stomach just refuses to settle. Twenty minutes later, he is slumped over the closed lid sipping water through the straw Yoongi brought him. “I think I’ll die here.” 

“That would be a lot for me to clean up,” Yoongi replies. He sets the glass down when Jimin seems like he’s done. “Let’s get back to your nest, I’m sure that would feel better.” 

Jimin swallows. “Just a few more minutes, I’m very serious about not getting sick in the nest.” He runs a hand over his stomach. It’s not in an affectionate way, but an attempt to calm it. “You don’t have to stay and watch this. It’s not pretty and—” he takes a deep breath, “I hear it might get worse.” 

“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” Yoongi says. “Well maybe somewhere other than the bathroom floor,” he earns a laugh and Jimin’s tired smile, “but I want…no I need to be here with you.” 

Jimin smiles as he lays against his arms. He watches Yoongi. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers. The skin of his neck is turning more pink to match the tips of his ears. His rut will be settling deeply anytime soon. Jimin feels badly that he can’t do anything to make it better like he usually would. “Let’s go to the nest then, I think I’m done with the bathroom floor…for now.” 

Jimin falls asleep almost instantly after discarding his robe for a pair of pajama pants and another sweatshirt of Yoongi’s he must have swiped. Yoongi watches him for a little while. He sleeps like a child might, on his back, fists balled loosely. His breaths fall even so Yoongi feels like he can slip out. 

He rummages through Jimin’s kitchen and is disappointed with the lack of food he finds. A quick grocery delivery gets him everything he thinks he needs. 

While he waits, Yoongi looks around the place. He’s been in Jimin’s apartment plenty of times. Most often, they hook up at Yoongi’s house. But the times they’ve been here, Yoongi’s always been guarded. Being in an omega’s house in an intimate way has always felt like too much. 

It doesn’t this time. Yoongi allows himself to admire it. The small nest on Jimin’s couch. His scent, clinging to every single object. God, he loves his scent so much. It’s always been a shame they haven’t been able to share them with each other. 

The ultrasound photograph sits lonely on the coffee table, still there from the night before. Yoongi picks it up. The object inside the dark bubble is no bigger than his fingernail, but it feels bigger than the whole sky. 

Yoongi runs a thumb over it. Something inside of him feels dreadful but hopeful all in the same. This is all a nightmare and he has no idea what’s next. 

But he does know that he’s going to be there, for the both of them. 

His phone buzzing brings him out of his thoughts, signaling the delivery driver. He sets the photograph gently on the table before getting up to answer. 

The amount of food that Yoongi brings to the nest at dinner time is astounding. Jimin didn’t even know he had all of it in his kitchen. “Where did you even find these trays?” He asks as Yoongi sets one over his lap. 

There’s a bowl of steaming broth, a smaller one filled with rice. He’s got tea and crackers and a tall glass bottle of water and grapes too. 

“You don’t have to eat it all,” Yoongi notices how wide Jimin’s eyes are at the spread, “but you do need to eat something,” he softens his voice, his alpha is so on edge, “please.” 

Jimin does a spoonful of broth first, the warmth spreading all through him in a good way. The tiniest of smiles crosses over his lips and Yoongi feels like he can relax for the first time that morning. He sits on the edge of Jimin’s bed because even though he was invited into his nest last night doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to be in it this morning. 

“This is really good,” he sets down the cup of tea. “Did you eat something?”

Yoongi shakes his head. The rutwaves are deep at this time of day, stealing his appetite. “I will later.” 

Jimin eyes him as he munches a cracker. Several things pass over his features and then he sighs. Yoongi frowns as he opens his mouth. “I thought you’d be more mad.”

“Do you want me to be?” He lifts a curious brow. 

Jimin snorts and almost chokes on the spoonful of broth he’d taken in. “No!” 

Yoongi looks Jimin up and down seriously. “I can’t be mad at you for something I participated in too.”

“I know but–”

Yoongi shakes his head and it cuts him off. He swivels so he can get a better look at him. “We’ve been together during our cycles for years now. We both knew there was always a possibility.” 

Jimin chews a bite of rice slowly. He puts his spoon down. “Yeah, but fuck.” He sighs, shaking his head. 

“I’m with you, don’t worry so much. Focus right now on getting some food into you. You’re okay?”

Jimin nods. “I’m getting full and sleepy again. Are you okay? Do you need anything? How bad is it?”

Yoongi tsks and shifts a little. There’s an itch beneath his skin. He’s a little too focused on the fact that Jimin said he’s full after a total of five whole bites from the food. Omegas need to eat. Omegas growing pups need to eat more. Yoongi needs this omega growing their pup to really eat. “I’m fine. Eat a little more.” 

Jimin groans but he picks up the spoon. “Only if you come in,” he gestures to the spot next to him. 

Yoongi tries not to move too eagerly out of fear that he’ll spill something. But he sidles up next to Jimin so that their legs are pressed up next to each other. He sits quietly scrolling on his phone while JImin eats. 

Finally, after he hasn’t touched anything for several minutes Yoongi murmurs. “You’re warm.” He can feel the change in temperature from his skin. It’s like when he’s got his heat but less intense. Not fever but flush.

Jimin shakes his head and laughs. “I think that’s you. You’re so warm. It makes me want to sleep again.” 

Yoongi obliges, reaching over to the tray. “Wait for me?” 

Jimin nods. “Of course.” 

While Yoongi is cleaning up Jimin runs to his ensuite. He’s had to pee so much more lately he didn’t realize it was a symptom until he’d gotten the pamphlet he’d been obsessively referring back to since yesterday morning. 

It truly had only been twenty-four hours since the pup inside him had been confirmed. After washing his hands he stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself. He doesn’t really look any different yet. Paler. His face has slimmed a bit. 

He grabs the bottom hem of the grey sweatshirt and slides it up. His pajama pants rest at his hips so his entire torso is on display. It doesn’t really look much different. Gentler for sure, once sharp abs now less defined giving away to creamy soft skin skin. He turns to the side and it’s so subtle if he didn’t know his own body he’d miss it. It doesn’t look like much at all, probably bloated, but the tiniest of swells at the bottom of his abdomen. 

He looks back up in the mirror and Yoongi is standing in the doorway. They lock eyes. Jimin slips the sweatshirt down. His face is unreadable. “Let’s go to bed,” Jimin turns on his heel, leaving no room for discussion. 

Jimin is not sleeping. He’s fidgeting, adjusting fabrics every few seconds. Yoongi is on top of the covers. There’s a pillow in the wrong place. A blanket is rubbing up against his thigh the wrong way. And everything is so hot. He tosses and flips his body on his side, expecting Yoongi to be asleep but he’s looking at him with an amused smirk. 

“You thought I could sleep through that?” 

“My thoughts are too loud?” Jimin sighs and sits up, a hand through his hair. “Something feels wrong.” 

Yoongi sits up too. “I could get out. Go sleep on the c—”

“No! No stay, please. It’s not you.” 

He looks at the nest. Everything he likes is here. Even Yoongi. He should feel comfortable, happy. Then he realizes, that’s it. Yoongi. 

Yoongi is on top of the covers, not under them. He’s not pressed up against Jimin’s side like he was that morning. He’s got distance between them like he doesn’t want to touch. He frowns. “Maybe it is you. Why are you all the way over there?” 

Yoongi groans and knocks his head against the headboard. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” 

Jimin’s knee goes up and he drapes his head against it. “Is everything okay?” 

“I want to hold you, I–I actually need to but I didn’t want to make you too warm or uncomfortable. So I thought if I stayed over here my alpha would get over it but it’s kind of driving me crazy.” 

Jimin laughs and just scoots over. He positions himself in Yoongi’s lap again like hours ago, resting his head against his chest. “You can definitely hold me.” 

Yoongi’s entire body relaxes. “And do you always sleep with your bedroom door open? I mean that’s so dangerous what if–”

Jimin looks at him. “Someone gets through the secure gate, and the security team, and then my secure entrance, scan-enabled elevator and fingerprint door system?” Jimin laughs again. “Silly alpha, I’m fine.” 

Yoongi tugs him closer. Grumbling, a bit of a growl at the end of it. 

They settle slowly after that. Yoongi keeps an arm around Jimin’s waist as they sink down into the nest. His palm rests in the middle of his back. Jimin molds into him like his body has been waiting for permission to. 

The nest adjusts itself around them as they shift, fabrics finally feeling like they’re in the right places. 

Jimin’s breaths go even almost immediately. Yoongi stays awake longer than he should. He breathes in Jimin’s scent, especially since it’s everywhere. He stares at the ceiling. He’s never allowed himself to think about what something like this might be. He and Jimin together in a way they’ve never been able to be before. 

He wants so much with him. 

Every so often Jimin shifts, fidgets, but resettles in a way that shows he’s comfortable in sleep. Yoongi adjusts him without thought, tucking a blanket up his back and rubbing down his spine. 

Eventually, drunk off the omega’s scent, exhaustion finally wins. 

Morning does not come gently. Yoongi wakes already overheated, skin too tight, and foggy in a way that only comes with a full rut and a head that feels like it’s underwater. His alpha hums low and restless beneath his ribs, impatient. He doesn’t move at first. 

Jimin is still curled against him, warm and seeming smaller somehow. One hand is gripping Yoongi’s shirt like it belongs there. His scent is different in the morning, softer, with something so sweet that Yoongi’s never noticed before. 

Jimin stirs. 

It starts as a twitch. Then a sharp inhale that’s already unmistakable after just twenty-four hours together. Yoongi feels it before Jimin can even whimper, the way his body tightens, the way his breath comes out shallow. 

“Hey, shhh,” Yoongi murmurs, sitting the both of them up. His head swims too like he thinks Jimin’s might be, but he pushes through it. “Easy.” 

Jimin shakes his head and his face goes even paler. He squeezes his eyes shut. He swallows and Yoongi is already moving, guiding him out of the nest and into the ensuite. His hand stays steady at Jimin’s back, warm and firm. Jimin retches quietly, the sound small but relentless. Yoongi keeps his touches light, murmuring nonsense under his breath. “You’re okay, breathe, baby.” 

Jimin cuts off with a tiny sob, sagging forward, his forehead dropping briefly to the closed lid. Yoongi kisses the back of his warm neck. “You need water.” 

He gets it quickly, wanting to be at Jimin’s side. There’s a magnetic pull there that he’s never felt before. His alpha is completely unsettled. He needs Jimin to feel better instantly. 

Jimin sips and the color slowly comes back into his cheeks. Yoongi takes a deep breath. 

“You’re so fucking warm,” Jimin groans at Yoongi against his back, but when the alpha goes to move he uses one hand to keep him there, shaking his head. 

“I know, sorry.” 

Jimin shakes his head again. They wait for him to fully settle before standing. He swishes his mouth to replace the bitter taste with something minty. 

Yoongi confines him to the couch. He forces a bowl of rice and ginger tea on him. He finds the vitamins he’s been prescribed. Jimin curls in the smaller nest looking small but beautiful. Yoongi feels smitten with him in a way he’s never been before. 

Jimin dozes. Yoongi reads to make sure he’s okay. Exhaustion is normal. Sickness is normal. It’s normal, but Yoongi still feels on edge. He sits on the floor with his back against the couch, head dipped back against Jimin’s arm. He’s too warm for them to sit together. The heat makes Jimin feel worse. 

But Yoongi can’t stop touching him. His thoughts feel sluggish now, like they’re moving through syrup. His groin keeps building with a heat that would normally get him erect. He takes deep breaths to bring himself back down. Jimin’s scent is everywhere, sweet and light. 

But so is Yoongi’s. After an entire day together the space has grown into something that is so them. 

He listens to the sound of Jimin’s breathing, the faint rise and fall of his belly beneath Jimin’s splayed hand. He’d touched it yesterday in the bathroom, the small swell that showed itself. Yoongi has half a mind to press his nose to it now, scenting them both. His hand hovers, trembling. He shouldn’t. 

But Jimin must sense something even in his sleep, because he grabs his fingers, bringing Yoongi’s palm down to meet the soft fabric on his abdomen as he turns on his side. 

The buzz of Jimin’s doorbell cuts through the serenity of the quiet apartment. 

Sharp. Sudden. 

Yoongi’s eyes snap open. 

The intercom by the door chiles again, polite but insistent. 

Jimin stirs with a deep pout. “Did you–?” His voice trails off, confusion knitting his brows. 

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. 

He growls, alert and unhappy, heat spiking beneath his skin. The space is wrong for visitors. No one should be there right now. 

The intercom buzzes for a third time, the screen illuminating. 

“Jiminie,” Hoseok’s voice crackles through and Jimin sits up, Yoongi’s hand falling from his belly as he does so. “I’m just checking on you, you haven’t answered your phone and—”

Yoongi growls again. This is wrong. No one should be encroaching on their space. He looks around the room, at the nest on the couch, the way the apartment looks lived in. At Jimin, blinking sleepily at him, trusting and unguarded. The unmistakable overlap of their scents is going to be a dead giveaway. 

Jimin pushes himself up like he’s going to leave the nest and Yoongi reacts quickly. “Stay,” he murmurs, more instruction than comfort. He tugs the blankets back over Jimin’s belly, smoothing it a few times, telling his alpha that is enough protection. His hand lingers a second too long before he pulls it back to stand up. 

The intercom lights up again. “Jiminie, I’m going to call your security to let me in if you don’t, is everything okay?” 

Yoongi stands in the middle of the room, heat buzzing just underneath his skin. For a split second, he’s not in Jimin’s apartment. 

He’s seven years younger, pressed into a concrete stairwell. Jimin’s hovering in space, his mouth still swollen from a kiss they should have never shared. Footsteps echo too close. Hoseok’s voice — bright, unmistakable, drifting up the stairwell. 

He remembers the way his heart nearly tore itself out of his chest. The way he’d stepped in front of Jimin without thinking, throwing himself out the rooftop door. Concealed. 

The memory fades as quickly as it came. 

“Hyung?” Jimin murmurs as Yoongi’s hand goes to the intercom to answer. He’s quiet, but there’s no fear in the question, just wonder. 

Yoongi glances back at him. Jimin is half-sunk into the couch, blankets pooled around his torso, hair mussed and eyes still heavy with sleep and nausea. His hand is splayed where Yoongi’s just left moments before, across his belly, protectively. 

Mine. Yoongi’s alpha growls. 

He looks at Jimin once more before turning back to the intercom. He hesitates for a second before he presses the button. He knows exactly what it means to let him up.

Somewhere below, the elevator unlocks and begins its ascent.

Chapter Text

7 years before.

Jimin had been avoiding Yoongi and wasn’t doing a good job of it. He threw himself into the work of Idol Island, earning his number one spot back the following week. 

He told himself he was getting distracted and couldn’t afford to. He spent more time at dance practice, listened to the producers’ advice and actually took it. His voice was stronger than ever. His moves were solid. He was well on his way to winning the entire show. 

But Min Yoongi was at his heels. 

In the buzz of the finals weeks of the competition he revealed his final stage name, Agust D. It was a testament to the young boy from Daegu who grew to the young man that would live in Seoul. The audience devoured it. 

Jimin pushed harder. He skipped meals to sweat through his clothing in the practice rooms. He sat in on vocal sessions that weren’t scheduled. He might as well have been a trainee all over again. He was dedicated to his craft. But most importantly, he wasn’t spending time on the roof with Min Yoongi. 

And somehow, he was still everywhere. Elevators and stairways and vocal sessions too. Even though he was a rapper. Even though their worlds were completely different. 

This is what had Jimin ignoring Yoongi. After he literally pushed him away in the stairwell, slipping onto the roof to avoid being seen by Hoseok, Jimin had decided he wasn’t actually up for that. The sneaking, sloothing, being secretive. Being the secret. He didn’t want to date Min Yoongi, absolutely not. But he didn’t want to be his pariah either. 

So he stayed away. And Yoongi obviously noticed. When he came back to the dorm from his rut leave a few days later he tried to signal to Jimin to meet him upstairs, but Jimin acted like he didn’t see him. He hadn’t visited the rooftop since that night. And he had no plans to again. 

The choreographer called cut and Jimin slunk down the wall, feeling the sweat clinging to his body. His shirt was stuck to him in ways only jumping in a pool could cause. He was practically gasping as he tried to catch his breath. He squirted a bit of water in his mouth from a bottle and took a deep inhale. The exhale was shaky. 

He was preparing his final solo stage to blow the audience’s mind. But it was challenging. The song was fast and there was rapid footwork, but it was supposed to be sexy too. He was almost there, he could feel it. The film crew was clapping and congratulating him on working hard.

“Again?” He asked, looking at the instructor. When she nodded, Jimin put his palm to the floor to stand. His forearm almost buckled with the weight. He ignored it and popped up. His vision swam but he pushed that aside too, avoiding it like it hadn’t happened multiple times this week. 

As he stood, he realized some of the Idol Island boys were watching him. They all did it, eyeing their competition during practice hours to see what they were up against. He scanned the faces. Amongst them was Min Yoongi. 

Jimin frowned and looked away for a second. He shouldn’t even be here, the rappers were all in a different part of the production building for a photoshoot. But then the music started and Jimin snapped into position, that sultry backtrack that had been driving him all week long. He glanced at Yoongi again and smirked before he began. 

The song had been going well, he hit the right rhythm at the correct times. His movements were sharp and calculated. His hips rolled, his neck would beg the audience to desire his scent. He elongated his arm, dipping low to entice the audience with his aura. 

He was almost done. There were three spins, a floor motion and the ending. Spin one, the room kept tilting. Spin two, the black dots in his vision started to take over. He spun a third time in almost slow motion,  Yoongi’s blurry body surging forward was the last thing he saw as his body wilted to the floor. 

“Jiminie?” It was Hoseok’s voice. 

He kept his eyes shut because he could feel how bright the room was behind his lids. He turned his head to the side and groaned, it hurt. It felt like the floor was falling out from beneath him. His heart was hammering. What the fuck just happened? 

“Jimin, can you just open an eye for me please I need to check you out,” it was the production company’s medic. 

“Park Jimin—” Yoongi. He sounded so sad. Why was he sad?

Jimin cracked an eye open to half a dozen faces hovering over him. He only locked eyes with one. 

“Hey, give him some space,” Hoseok started to push everyone back as the medic started to check Jimin out. Yoongi stayed put just a beat longer. It looked like it pained him to go, or maybe Jimin was imagining things. He was shaking all over, panic rising. He’d just blacked out. Fuck. 

“I’m going to put this icepack under your neck, okay?” Siho, the medic said. He put a hand behind Jimin’s head, lifting slightly. Jimin sucked in a sharp breath. A few members from the show’s protocol team brought some other things, a metal respirator bottle, asking Jimin to breathe in fresh air. 

“I’m okay,” he tried to push the bottle away, turning his head to the side. All of the boys from the show were gathered in the doorway. Yoongi’s mouth hung open slightly, analyzing every single movement they made. Jimin wanted to keep looking at him but he was just so exhausted. His eyes slipped closed. 

“Jiminie, stay with me,” Hoseok leaned down, blocking his view at the door. 

“Tell th–him I’m okay,” Jimin was trying to move his neck to get around Hoseok’s body. 

“I did, I did, hush. Jimin, put that back on!” Hoseok was mad. He’d been telling him all week not to push himself too far. But Jimin didn’t listen. He wanted to win. He wanted to be number 1. 

He wanted Yoongi to know that he was the best. 

After a few moments they sat him up, making sure the room felt stable. “No practice for the rest of today,” Hoseok said, his tone scolding. 

Jimin sat forward with his head in his hands, unable to stop the tears from falling. He was so close. It was almost perfect. He sucked in three breaths back to back, a hiccup of a sob exiting. He heard Hoseok pushing everyone out of the practice rooms, taking away the cameras and the boys, and Yoongi… 

Hoseok plopped down next to him, their thighs touching. “Don’t cry, Jimin,” he put a hand on his shoulder, dipping his face down to look at him. “You can try again tomorrow after you get some rest, water, and food.” The way he said the last word Jimin knew he knew. 

He looked up, unable to hide his shame. “Hyung–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I thought you were just practicing hard. But it’s more, isn’t it?” He shook his head. He looked at him earnestly. “You have to know, my father is going to sign and debut you whether you win Idol Island or not. And we do not expect perfection.”

“But I d-do. My family does!” he cried. “My music, my dance…it’s everything. It has to be perfect. It has to be the best.” 

Hoseok clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He knew a little bit about the pressure that Jimin’s family was putting on him. The Blessed Boy from Busan. Though he already came from wealth, they wanted more. He reached forward and wiped a tear away from Jimin’s cheek. “You’re going to be the biggest star,” he whispered, “but if you run your body to the ground and almost kill yourself doing it, well then you’ll be nothing.” 

Jimin gasped. 

“I’m just saying, Jiminie,” Hoseok’s playful tone was back, “you weren’t born to be nothing.” 

No. He wasn’t. And he was going to prove it. 

Jimin hid away on the roof that night not wanting to face any of the boys in the dorm longer than their claps on the back and smiles of pity when he’d arrived. He felt stupid, letting his body get that far. To the point of almost breaking. His father thought he was too. In the event of a medical emergency they were required to notify the boys’ families. His father yelling in his ear that pushing his body too far wasn’t going to get him to win was exactly the opposite of what Jimin needed to hear. His mother was in a silent retreat. He wouldn’t hear from her  until the following day when they’d travel to watch the end of the competition live.  The cars drove by, the skyline bright against the blackness of the night. This was the only comfort he felt he had right now. 

The sound of the roof door opening was the only signal he got before Yoongi sat down next to him, holding out a triangle gimbap halfway unwrapped already. Jimin took it, staring at the snack. 

“Eat.” Yoongi said before unwrapping his own. He sat down two cans of milkis too, cracking them both before placing one between Jimin’s legs. He stared ahead at the skyline as he spoke. “You scared me,” he sounded different than usual, voice softer. “I don’t watch horror movies, I don’t step out of routine, I don’t do anything besides music and performing to get my pulse running.” he finally looked at Jimin, “because I don’t like to be scared.” He turned slightly, brushing a strand of his hair off of his cheek. “But everything with you feels terrifying and somehow I still can’t stop.” 

Jimin put the untouched snack down next to his drink and surged forward, pushing himself into Yoongi’s space. He kissed him harshly, hungry because he’d been starving in more ways than one. He whimpered as Yoongi deepened the kiss, pulling at the fabric at Jimin’s waist to get him closer. “I fucked up,” Jimin broke away. 

“You’ll rest tonight and you’ll pace yourself tomorrow.” 

“You just want to win,” Jimin shook his head, dipping it back in exasperation to look at the sky. 

“No,” Yoongi pecked his neck. “I want you at your best so you can beat me.”  He cupped both sides of his face, bringing his chin back down so he could look him in the eyes. “But you can’t beat me if your skin and bones, and falling apart.” 

Jimin’s bottom lip quivered. “I was so scared.” 

“I was scared,” Yoongi repeated it with only the kind of impact that came from someone who cared. “Don’t scare me like that again.” 

Jimin buried his face in Yoongi’s neck, allowing himself to be held for a second. 

They sat like that quietly for a while until Yoongi untangled them so that he could force Jimin to eat the snacks he brought. When he was finished chewing, Jimin said what he’d been fearing all week. Why he had really been avoiding him. “We only have three days left.” 

It was coming to an end and they’d both have successful and fast careers after this, there was no doubt about it. While Jimin was pushing Yoongi away all week, he was preparing himself, preparing his heart. 

Yoongi sighed. “Right. What’s your plan?” 

Jimin frowned. He hadn’t been meaning three days left on Idol Island. “I’ll go back to Hoseok’s father’s company. They’re going to sign me as a soloist. I’ll have my debut by the end of the year.” 

Yoongi nodded. “Namjoon’s father’s company sent me my contract yesterday. My album will be announced in my final stage. Apparently I’ll do music shows. A small opening tour act with Epik High.” 

“Wow, that’s amazing. That’s—”

“Everything I’ve worked for,” Yoongi said quietly. “So I can’t be what I am right here. And I hope you understand that I’m not looking for—” he sighed heavily and looked up at the sky for a second, lost for words in a way that he usually wasn’t. 

“Oh.” Jimin said, trying not to sound like the disappointment that settled in his bones. “Yeah. I—I’m not looking for anything serious either.” 

Yoongi’s shoulders fell into a relaxed position. “I don’t really want this to stop, though.” 

“Oh.” Jimin’s stomach plummeted. What the fuck did he mean by that?” 

“I was thinking what if…we just kept it casual. When he have time we—”

“Hook up?” Jimin suggested. 

“Right. Since we’ll both be in Seoul permanently, right?” 

“Yeah. Okay,” Jimin could get a little excited about the idea. He didn’t have to let this…let Yoongi go just yet. “So we keep in touch and when we have time we—”

“Fuck.” Yoongi said. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since before my rut.” 

Jimin sucked in a different kind of breath, his stomach swooping with warmth. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi replied honestly. “So in a few weeks when shit slows down, because I feel like after the finale everything’s going to be crazy for a while, we’ll meet up somewhere like a hotel outside of the city or whatever.” 

Jimin felt a little giddy about it. “Okay.” 

Casual. It would be nice. It would be easy. They’d keep it totally casual. 

Eight weeks, five days. 

Jimin looks back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok for the third time. Yoongi is still standing in the foyer, not quite blocking him from entering but creating a clear barrier. 

“You didn’t answer my texts…” Hoseok trails off, eyes flicking back from Jimin and staring at Yoongi. 

Jimin knows they’ve met before, Hoseok is dating Yoongi’s best friend. But everyone’s overlapping busy schedules have never allowed them true time to get to know one another. He and Yoongi talk about it sometimes, the almost missed connection.

He purses his lips and looks over Yoongi’s shoulder at Jimin once more. He’s practically pleading at him with his eyes. But then he sees it register. 

Hoseok takes in Yoongi—his bare feet, comfortable clothing. The way Yoongi is standing there like he belongs. And then Jimin. Jimin curled in his nest on the couch, fluffy and relaxed in the same space. 

“I’m sorry…my phone is…” Jimin looks around the living room. 

“Buried in the nest somewhere,” Yoongi says, gesturing to the tangle of blankets. 

Hoseok takes a deep breath and Yoongi can see when he catches the scent, a mix of both of them intertwined within the air. “He fainted and then he wasn’t answering my calls and I got worried and—”

“He’s okay,” Yoongi reassures both Hoseok and himself. 

Hoseok looks at Yoongi, meeting his gaze in a way an omega usually wouldn’t with an alpha. Yoongi understands what Namjoon means now about him being stubborn. His eyes narrow, frustration twitching in his nose. 

Yoongi can’t help the growl that rumbles in his throat when Hoseok goes an inch closer, toes crossing the threshold of the living room. His body pivots even more, blocking his path. Yoongi’s eyes go wide and he steps back. 

“Hyung—!” Jimin starts to protest. 

Yoongi gasps, clearing his throat. “Sorry—I’m sorry,” he repeats to Hoseok. He shifts his weight, shakes his head. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t leave, he steps back again, just enough to open the space. 

“I’ll go make tea,” he barely tears his gaze away from Jimin while he retreats to the kitchen like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. 

Jimin gives him a reassuring nod as he goes. 

Hoseok exhales slowly and practically tiptoes into a living room he’s spent more time in than his own. He opts for sitting on the edge of one of the chairs instead of the couch, keeping space without being asked. 

Jimin shifts, uncomfortable, one hand still resting gently over his stomach. He stares at the blanket for a long moment before he looks back up. “Thanks for checking on me, but I thought you thought it was my heat.” 

Hoseok purses his lips. “Your scent didn’t smell like your heat was coming at all this week.” 

Jimin’s finger draws a light line across his belly. He takes a shaky breath. He doesn’t know if the nausea is back because Yoongi left the room, he’s nervous about this conversation, or if it’s just his reality. But he pushes through it. “I went to that doctor’s appointment yesterday morning.” 

Hoseok hums, nodding gently. 

“They did an ultrasound,” it’s then that Jimin realizes it's still on the table. Hoseok follows his gaze, eyes locking with the black and white photograph. 

Jimin winces as he reaches forward to pick it up. His finger traces the small white circle. “I heard the heartbeat.”

Silence. It’s the kind that’s thick, not empty. But the judgment he thought he might receive is nowhere on Hoseok’s features. 

“I’m pregnant,” Jimin says quietly. It still feels so strange to say. “And I’m keeping it.” 

Hoseok inhales slowly through his nose, eyes dropping to his lap for a second before lifting again. “Okay.” He leans back in the chair, processing more. “Okay,” he repeats. Then more grounded, shaking his head, “okay.” 

The kettle in the kitchen screams, cutting through the silence. Hoseok perks back up, understanding and realization crossing over his features. “Oh my god.” 

“Hyung—” Jimin sits up. 

“Oh my god, Jimin?!” He whisper-yells, leaning forward. “Wait–” he looks towards the kitchen where Yoongi is, eyes going wider. 

“Yes.” Jimin says, confirming without explanation. 

Hoseok runs a hand through his hair. The freak out is there, Jimin sees it beneath the surface. But he never lets it arise. “Alright, fine. Okay,” he exhales heavily for a few seconds too long. “So, what about your schedules?” his voice goes gentler. “Because we’re definitely not going to be able to do the next month the way they’re written.” 

Jimin lets out a breath that’s half relief. “I don’t think so.” 

Hoseok gets out his phone, the manager in him taking over. “We’ll call it exhaustion. Dehydration. But not overwork because I absolutely can’t handle the fans speculating about that right now. We don’t even have to make an official announcement really that you’re—”

“Taking a rest,” Jimin fills in. “I desperately need to take a rest,” he swallows through the uneasiness in his stomach. 

“Right. It’s expected, you just did an album last year and finished a tour and won Album and Artist of the year. A rest is earned.” 

Jimin nods. 

Silence again as Hoseok’s fingers work. He’s probably taking notes and making to-do lists of all the things he’ll need to cancel or postpone. Because even though Jimin isn’t working on music right now and isn’t due for another album until the end of the year he still has commitments. Commitments he’ll be breaking. 

He sniffles. Hoseok pauses, looking up. Quietly, “are you scared?”

“...terrified,” Jimin answers honestly. The first tear hasn’t even rolled down his cheek before Yoongi emerges from the kitchen, a tray with tea in his hands. Jimin has no clue where he keeps finding all the goddamn trays anyway. He swipes away the liquid and sits a little higher. 

Yoongi sets the tray on the table quietly, pouring two cups of tea. He adjusts one of the blankets just slightly, pulling it a little more over Jimin’s stomach. Protected. He hands him his cup of tea, their fingers brush. 

Hoseok reaches for his own and quickly turns his head to look out the window, feeling like he’s encroaching on something. He says nothing. Everything is understood. 

“I’m going to shower, will you be okay?” Yoongi asks. 

Jimin nods. “Yeah, we’ll be good here,” he takes a sip of the tea. He hums happily, closing his eyes slowly like a kitten, “feeling better already.” 

Yoongi nods. He hesitates to leave the room. He looks at Hoseok with a light smile. “I hope you enjoy the tea,” he bows his head before shuffling out of the room.

When he’s finally out of earshot Jimin bursts into giggles. Hoseok looks at him, bewildered. Jimin shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him be so polite!” 

Hoseok’s head quirks to the left side, he purses his lips. He opens his mouth to ask a question then shakes his head. He opens it again, “Jiminie…you hate him!”

Jimin throws an arm over his face, his cheeks heating up. “I don’t hate him.” 

“One time in the studio you threw darts at his face because you couldn’t write a hook.” 

“He stole my number one spot on the chart that week!” he laughs. He looks at Hoseok with a smile but then he’s serious again. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

“We won’t,” Hoseok assures. “We don’t need to tell the stylists or the label. Not until you say.” 

“Okay,” Jimin says, “but I mean about him too. You can’t say anything to anyone. Not even Namjoon or Seokjin.” 

Hoseok sighs heavily and nods. “I figured as much. Okay. I’ll keep the secret, for now. You don’t have to decide anything right now, but soon.” 

Jimin places his hand back on his stomach. “Alright.”

“But can I just ask one question?” 

Jimin shrugs. “Sure.” 

“How long?” 

He chews his bottom lip and tries to keep himself from laughing. It’s a little ridiculous when he thinks about it. “Do you remember like halfway through Idol Island when you found me in the stairway to the roof and you asked why my cheeks were red and I said I’d just run up all the flights?” 

Hoseok’s mouth falls open. “No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Jimin, no! Seven years?!” He snags a pillow from the other chair next to him and lobs it in Jimin’s direction. “You’re kidding me!” 

Jimin giggles and dodges the blow. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

“Hell yeah we will. Fuck. No wonder you made sure your tours overlapped a city every single time.” 

“I just wanted to see who would sell out faster!” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Sure. And get your back blown out in between stops too.” 

It’s Jimin’s turn to throw the pillow back as they both burst into laughter. 

They go through Jimin’s schedule together for the next few weeks. Hoseok confirms he can move everything over the next few days to give Jimin some more time to settle with the news. Nothing mandatory is coming up until the end of the month. Jimin can live with that. If he can find a way to get the nausea under control he can return to some sort of work. 

The shower cuts off after a while. Hoseok stands, placing his empty tea cup on the table. He looks at the ultrasound one more time. “I’ll make the calls.”

“Thank you,” Jimin says. “I’d stand and give you a hug or walk you out but I’m so tired I feel like I’d just collapse.”

“Don’t do that,” he warns. 

Jimin laughs. “No promises.” 

“I mean it. Take care of yourself, Jiminie, and let yourself be taken care of too. You have a lot of pressure to do well, let that go for a little while. It’ll be okay.” 

Jimin really hopes he’s right.

Yoongi hovers in the hallway for a second, like his body hasn’t caught up yet. The rut hums underneath his skin, restless, protective, coiled tight. He was away for all of twelve minutes and he feels like he’s coming undone. 

Jimin shifts on the couch, a slight whimper. 

Yoongi surges forward immediately. Their eyes meet. 

“You didn’t have to leave,” Jimin says quietly. He’s alone in the living room now so Hoseok must have gone.

“I wanted to,” Yoongi answers honestly. 

Jimin studies his face from below. He looks paler than when he left, Yoongi thinks. He’s kicking himself for going. Jimin sighs and smiles. “Thank you.” 

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “For what?” 

“Just giving us a second,” he takes a beat and then starts to shift in the nest. “Come in.” 

It’s not an order. Not a plea. Yoongi obliges immediately. He climbs into the tangle of blankets until Jimin is resting against his chest, curling into his body. Yoongi wraps his arms around him, firm and grounding, hand resting warm against his back. He breaths in the sweet notes of Jimin’s refreshed scent. 

Chin against his shoulder, Jimin whispers, barely audible, “Everything feels different now.” 

Yoongi doesn’t lie. “Yeah,” he replies quietly. “It does.” 

They don’t talk about what that means. They don’t make any promises. 

Suddenly, Jimin giggles, a vibration against Yoongi’s chest. “I can’t believe you growled at him!” 

Yoongi buries his face in Jimin’s hair, ashamed. “Yah! I couldn’t help it,” he whines. “That’s a horrible first impression on your manager.” His nose trails down the length of Jimin’s scent gland. He wants so badly to drink him in. 

“He’s never going to forget about it,” Jimin laughs again. “But it’s okay. Are you okay? Is your rut—?”

“It’s bearable,” Yoongi says. He sits up to look at Jimin. He is pale, but he’s still so soft, so beautiful. “You make it bearable.” 

Jimin leans forward to peck his lips. Yoongi presses closer, deepening the kiss into something full but still gentle. He has an ache that just still won’t go away. Breaking off slowly, he asks for permission and Jimin nods. For a while until Jimin drifts into a listless sleep, Yoongi holds him. 

For the first time since the secret isn’t just theirs anymore, his scent starts to shift from himself onto Jimin. 

____

Yoongi wakes and he feels like he’s falling. He gasps and holds onto the only closest thing, Jimin. 

But it’s Jimin who’s moving, which made him wake in the first place. He’s trying to wriggle gently from Yoongi’s hold on his waist. 

“Where are you going…?” it comes out needy and rough. 

“Bathroom,” Jimin tugs again, finally slipping out. 

Yoongi’s up after him quickly, alpha needing him close. “Are you okay? Are you going to get sick?” 

Jimin whines. “No. I just need to go. I’m fine, I swear. Stay here.” 

Yoongi pouts, brows furrowed together. He waits outside the bathroom, practically holding his breath until Jimin comes back out. Jimin runs right into him. 

“Oh my goodness,” he laughs. “What’s wrong?” he reaches up to physically push the pout from Yoongi’s lips. 

“Need you,” Yoongi tugs him in, hands spread wide, coming down to cup the backs of his thighs. He hoists Jimin up without a warning. 

Jimin yelps and clings to him instantly, holding onto his neck. “What the hell!” He’s laughing so brightly. 

“I just wanna hold you,” Yoongi says, carrying Jimin towards his bedroom. He carries him to the nest, placing him in gently. Without much thought he shifts the blankets and fabrics around, rearranging them to his liking. Jimin lets him. 

Yoongi climbs in, pulling Jimin’s full weight on top of him so that he’s straddled. He presses his nose to his scent gland, growling triumphantly when he smells himself there. He kisses twice at Jimin’s jugular before settling. “Felt like I was on fire when you left.” 

“I went to the bathroom, baby,” Jimin whispers. 

A whimper comes out of him that he didn’t expect. He holds Jimin a little tighter. A rutwave comes and he rolls himself into Jimin’s body, gasping. 

Jimin starts to shush him, fingers gentle in his hair. “You’re okay, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere now.” He kisses Yoongi’s throat right over his scent gland because he’s never been allowed to before but right now it feels like he’s supposed to. “Are you sure this is enough we could maybe—”

Yoongi’s frustrated growl cuts off his thoughts. “Nn-no,” he shudders into Jimin’s skin. “Just need your scent. Your touch, closer,” he holds him tight. 

Jimin gives a throaty laugh. “You’re going to squish us both.” 

“Sorry, fuck,” he loosens his grip but doesn’t take Jimin out of his lap whatsoever. “M’sorry,” he leans his forehead against Jimin’s. 

Their breaths mix. Yoongi’s got sweat beading his upper lip and he’s staring so intently into Jimin’s eyes. Jimin searches them, watching as Yoongi tries to hold onto reality, forcing his alpha not to slip completely into rutspace. “I could just ride, slowly, for a little—”

“No.” Yoongi cuts him off firmly. “If I started fucking you I would not be able to stop. I’d be insatiable. I don’t want to hurt you. I swear your scent and this nest are all I need.” He shudders as another wave washes over him, his alpha begging him to let go. “Just talk to me.” 

They talk about nothing and everything at the same time. Yoongi misses the tour, the cheers still echo in his dreams at night. Jimin talks about his too, and how much he loves the stage. 

The height of Yoongi’s rut where he would usually be fucking Jimin under his whimper only sounds like his name, is instead used to scent him relentlessly. He does it over and over until the whole nest and room are bathed in only him. It becomes their nest. Their space. His omega. 

And all the while they just talk in a way they’ve never allowed themselves to do before. Jimin asks a million questions that graced the tip of his tongue for years. And Yoongi lets him.

“Are you sure that you’re okay that I’m going to stay pregnant?” Jimin asks when the moon hangs high in the sky. It’s light filters through the window. 

“Of course. It’s your body your—”

“If you want to start spouting pro-choice quotes at me then try something a little more original.” 

Yoongi runs a hand down his back. “I just mean that I’d go along with whatever you wanted. If you didn’t want to be pregnant that would be fine too.” 

“A baby is fine?” 

Yoongi hums. “I feel like if I say yes that’s downplaying it.” 

A deep breath and Jimin fidgets. He pushes up a little bit to look at Yoongi. “The timing sucks. But I don’t know,” he puts his palm at the bottom of his abdomen, “for me it’s a little more than fine.” 

“A little more than fine, yeah.” Yoongi agrees. 

They swap more stories until Jimin’s eyes are drooping and his speech is slurred in only a way that means he’s almost asleep. Yoongi runs a hand through his silky hair then down his back. He allows his body to relax into Jimin’s scent until he drifts for the night too. He falls asleep with Jimin clinging to his body, holding on like he never wants to let go. No one has ever held him like this before. 

Yoongi’s rut breaks the following evening after another lazy day in Jimin’s nest. They talked, they watched movies, and Yoongi followed Jimin everywhere he went including the bathroom. He rubbed his back through sickness spells and replenished him with foods he kept cooking. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you when you go,” Jimin says on Friday morning as he sits at the counter of his kitchen picking at a bowl of cereal his stomach doesn’t want. He sounds not quite sad, but unhappy in his tone. 

Yoongi sucks in a breath. He does have to go eventually. His rut leave is over and he has a studio session with a trio idol group from his company in just a few hours. He’s the lead producer on their album. Yoongi presses himself against Jimin’s spine, arms wrapping around his waist. His nose goes to his hair to inhale. “I know, me either.” 

“I know you have to go home to Tang but—”

“Do you want to meet me there tonight? Stay at my place,” he feels like he’s begging, the effects of his rut not completely gone yet. 

Jimin turns with a grin. “Yes. I’d like that.” 

Yoongi kisses him briefly before leaning forward to whisk the bowl of cereal away. “Great. Now let me make you something you might actually eat.” 

The afternoon passes slowly. Yoongi answers some emails while Jimin sleeps. The internet says exhaustion is normal at this stage, but Yoongi still can’t help but worry about just how tired he is. “I think I’m going to take a break,” Jimin blurts out from the nest on his couch. Yoongi turns, confused. He thought he was still asleep. “I think—,” he paused carefully. “I think I’d like the time. Two years or more maybe.” 

Yoongi frowns. “You’re at height of your career, you can’t do that.” He’s not thinking clearly because it comes out snappy. He slips his computer into his work backpack. He crosses the room and sits in one of the chairs across from him. 

Jimin pushes so he’s sitting up. “Yes, I can. Hyung, I’m exhausted running from country to country, throwing out album after album. Promotions, photoshoots, music shows. I mean I haven’t taken a proper break since we fucking left Idol Island. This is the perfect time to do it and the best reason too.” He’s getting upset. “I want to be there. Not half there. Not flying between schedules and pretending that it counts. I don’t want someone raising them when I’m on stage.” 

Yoongi has always been dedicated to his music and career, it’s come above absolutely everything. It’s one of the sole reasons he’s never come out. Not having his career and the reputation it gives him would feel like dying. “Jimin-ah, I think it’s too early to make such a rash decision. You are incredible and I’d hate to see what a break like this could do to your career.” 

Because Jimin’s always been dedicated to his too. It’s one of the things that initially attracted Yoongi to him, how serious and poised he was when it came to music. They breathed on the same wavelength that way. “The industry isn’t going to wait.” 

“I’m not asking them to. I’m stepping back.” 

“For a hypothetical future,” Yoongi’s frustration is slipping out in a way that he doesn’t mean for it to. “Based upon a situation that we haven’t even figured out how to navigate yet.” 

“You mean the baby.” 

Yoongi hesitates for a second but it’s too long. Jimin cracks. He’s glaring. His defiance is clear in the way he crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I’m going to be sick and you should go,” he stands, a protective hand over his stomach. 

“Jimin—” Yoongi reaches for him but Jimin slips out of his hold. 

He shakes his head, swallowing. He wants to say something, an argument at the top of his tongue but he can’t. The nausea hits too fast — sharp and sudden in a way that steals the air from Jimin’s lungs. He turns and heads to the bathroom, slamming the door with an audible lock. 

Rushing after him, Yoongi knocks gently. “C’mon, Jimin, please let me in. I’m sorry it came out wrong I didn’t mean it—”

His protest is met with a retch that makes Yoongi grimace and Jimin tiredly yelling “go!” Through the closed door. 

Jimin hugs his stomach and sobs, holding the sound in as best he can. He breathes through the nausea and something else that feels a lot like grief. 

Maybe it isn’t a little more than fine. 

Chapter Text

7 years before.

“Eomma Chaewon!” Jimin threw his arms around his mother, practically running into her arms. She stumbled ever so slightly, catching him. 

“My darling son,” she cupped his cheeks affectionately. He left her arms, only for a moment, to hug his other mother. “Eomma Sookja!” Her scent hit him like a thousand tons, so close to his own. He was every favorite part of her wrapped in one piece. 

“This is great!” One of the people from the protocol team was filming their greeting. Jimin hadn’t seen his mothers in almost five months. He felt like crying. 

“So fancy!” Chaewon looked around at the neighborhood where Idol Island was housed. “You’re so small, are they feeding you well?” 

Jimin blushed and looked at Hoseok, begging him with his eyes to shut up. “Of course. Come with me I’ll show you where you’re staying!” He tugged her hand. 

The guest dorms were a block from Jimin’s new solo dorm that the team had moved he and Yoongi to as other teams were eliminated from the island. As they entered the building, Jimin smashed the elevator button. 

“I’m so happy you’re here! We have time for dinner and then they want you to film some question and answer videos for the finale promo.” 

Jimin latched onto his mom’s arm, hanging on her like he did as a child. They’d devoted their entire lives into conceiving him and as an only child he was spoiled as such. He was proud to be their son and making it to the finale of Idol Island felt like he was finally paying them back for the life they’d given him. 

The elevator dinged and he surged forward, only to abruptly stop. Yoongi and his entire family had been descending. The air was covered in heavy alpha scents, causing Jimin to almost jump back. They were all dressed in evening attire, something Jimin had never seen Yoongi wear before. They sported the same features—pale skin, dark eyes and an intense gaze. 

Jimin and his moms stepped aside to let them exit. They didn’t give so much as a singular greeting as they left the building. 

“Oh, Jiminie,” Chaewon watched after them as the doors started to close. “No wonder you’re afraid of him.” 

Jimin gasped. “I’m not afraid of him!” 

Sookja squeezed him against her side. “You texted the first week acting like you were terrified.” 

They teased them all the way to their accommodations. 

They ate dinner together and Jimin felt like the energy he’d been buzzing with for weeks went dormant. He leaned into Eomma Chaewon’s side, soaking up her scent as much as he could gulp without being obvious. He missed them desperately. 

“How are your days here?” His mother asked, placing her chopsticks down to listen to him. He always felt at the center of attention, even with all that went on in their lives. 

He nodded. “They’re good. Tiring. Hard. But rewarding. I’ve learned so much I feel really ready to start my career and debut.” 

“We reviewed your contract with Hoseok’s father.” 

Jimin stifled a sigh. His mothers, both prominent omegas from their respective cities, were not strangers to the industry. From a young age Jimin was told he could be whatever he wanted, but there weren’t ever any questions that this was the path he’d choose. He came from carefully crafted cells turned into the art of humanity. 

And he deserved to be shown to the world. 

“Sit up straighter, stop slouching,” Yoongi’s mother said at the table of the restaurant. They were near to the neighborhood that the shown filmed in. Every so often, someone would recognize Yoongi as they entered. He would bow his head, acknowledge them and thank them quickly. 

Rather than be proud of their son, Yoongi’s parents frowned about the disturbances to their meal. His father sighed. “Should we have ordered in? Is this already what you’ve become? A spectacle?" 

“This is the fame that—”

“Will it be worth it? Will you win tomorrow?” His father’s stare was intense, daring him to say no. 

“Of course.” Arrogance, because anything else was weakness. 

Though, he was if that was  truly what he wanted. The following night was what he spent months preparing for, but if the contract sitting in his inbox was real and tangible, Idol Island was barely scratching the surface of what his career could be. And he wasn’t the only one who’d worked hard. 

Jimin had driven himself to the edge and back to get this far. Didn’t he deserve to win too? Would it really matter who was silver and who was gold in the end of it all? 

“You better,” his mother said. “Mins don’t lose.” 

Yoongi’s phone buzzed and he allowed himself to look down at it as they began to praise his brother for his recent promotion. 

PJM: my dorm in an hour? ditch the parents? 

He replied faster than he normally would. 

MYG: 👍🏼

In spite of the atmosphere that he was trapped in, it seemed Park Jimin might start to be his chance to come up for air. 

Eight weeks, seven days. 

Jimin cannot focus on what the executive is saying at all because he’s too busy focusing on not being sick. He feels nauseous in a way that is a full body experience. One wrong movement from his toes is going to send him fleeing from the room. He’s convinced he’s been cursed. For what reason he isn’t sure, but this pregnancy does not feel like it’s going to be kind to him. 

Someone from his protocol team to the left of him takes the lid off of her hot cup of coffee and that’s all it takes. Jimin pushes away from the table, taking a deep breath through his mouth because if he inhales through his nose and smells it again he isn’t going to be able to give this warning. “Excuse me. I’m sorry.” 

The bathroom feels so far though it’s only two doors down. His back has broken out into a cold sweat and his limbs feel like they’re trying to float away and detach from his body. He gags, hard. He claps a hand over his mouth and pushes his feet further, begging — no pleading with his stomach to calm down. He remembers the smell of the coffee and he gags again, pushing the door open with his free hand. He barely slams it shut before he’s diving towards the toilet. The idea of getting sick in the public bathroom makes it worse. He retches, spilling the meager amount of water he was able to stomach on the car ride over. 

He presses a hand to a higher point of his stomach, gagging. The smell of the coffee won’t get out of his nostrils. He can’t even emit his own scent right now because he feels too weak to do so. It takes ten minutes for him to stop throwing up. Hoseok has been knocking periodically for the last five. 

“I’m f—” he starts to say and heaves again one final time. 

“I told them you’re sick but the meeting is about your hiatus so we do unfortunately have to go back.” 

Jimin shakes his head. They’re sitting on one of the couches in the common space and Hoseok has handed him a bottle of water. “I can’t. The woman next to me is drinking c—” he stifles a gag that runs a shiver down his spine. “And there’s an alpha on that team and other alpha scents right now are just ruining everything for me.” 

“But Yoongi’s alpha scent is—”

“Shhhhh,” Jimin says, looking around the empty space. “You can’t just say that here.” 

Hoseok knows. He’s just teasing and no one is around. He pats Jimin’s leg. 

Jimin huffs sadly. “He texted me again this morning,” he reveals. “I didn’t reply.” 

It’s been two days since Yoongi left Jimin’s and he’s feeling the absence of him in more ways than emotional. His apartment only has the faint smell of the alpha left. There’s a pillow—the one he slept on, that’s scented with a combination of Yoongi’s musk and Jimin’s conditioner from when he went to bed with wet hair. He’s run the fabric over his nose so many times it almost hurts. He can barely stomach anything and he knows it’s because he’s been anxious, on edge, and missing him since he left. 

But he’s still upset.

“Isn’t your follow-up appointment tomorrow?” Hoseok asks, scrolling through Jimin’s calendar on his phone. 

“At 4pm.” 

Hoseok gives him a look. “And…are you going to invite him?” 

Jimin shrugs. “So that he can sit there and convince me to get rid of the pregnancy? No thanks.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Even your version of the story doesn’t sound like that’s what he said.” 

“He said that I was ruining the height of my career. You and I both know what that translates to.” 

Jimin receives a proper eye roll. Hoseok places a hand on his knee, giving it a tight squeeze. They’ve been friends long enough that he can speak so candidly with him, knowing he’s not going to get upset. But Jimin is shocked at what he says. “He’s not wrong. Well—” he puts a hand up, “ruining is maybe the wrong word. But you’re taking a big chance on your career taking a long break like this. And that’s okay,” he squeezes again. “I don’t speak alpha, because that would be barbaric,” this earns a corner raise of Jimin’s mouth, “but I’ll still bet he didn’t say ‘ruining’ and that maybe…just maybe your hormones are creating a story in your head that’s a bit more dramatic than how it happened.”

Jimin pouts, bottom lip quivering involuntarily. His hormones were driving him fucking crazy. He smoothes a hand down his stomach. “It feels like the right thing to do.” 

Hoseok nods. “Then let’s go do it, yeah? I don’t know how much longer they’ll be waiting.” 

Jimin huffs heavily. “Okay, but you have to trade spots with me! I am not sitting next to that coffee any longer!” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes and pulls him down the hall.

The conversation goes….differently than Jimin expected it to. When he originally thought that he’d like to take an extended break he wondered how the management team might take it. He and Hoseok had talked on the phone the day before with Jimin’s legal rep. Without disclosing his pregnancy, he can take the angle of a recurring medical condition that requires monitoring with medical recommendation to temporarily suspend all activities. This would only buy him around six months. When he felt more planned, they could ask for more. 

The Label CEO is the first to talk. “You were to write another album by the end of this year, what plans can we make to offset those projections?” 

Of course he doesn’t ask if he’s okay. Of course he doesn’t notice Jimin’s condition or how much it’s taking out of him to even sit in this meeting and act professional. 

Offset. 

Jimin keeps his hands flat on the conference room table so that no one sees them tremble. The room is glass on two sides, the city skyline blurred behind tinted panels. He stares at the sun instead of the label head for just a moment. He blinks before answering. 

“I can continue writing,” he says carefully, because he knows that this is a part of his brain he’ll never be able to shut off no matter what’s going on. “Recording will depend upon my condition.” 

The A&R director leans forward slightly. Her face is soft. It’s her coffee that was upsetting Jimin thirty minutes before, but her kind demeanor makes up for it. “We hope that you’ll be okay. Is this condition acute or chronic?” 

Chronic. The word sits in his throat like it’s something sharp. Long-lasting, lifechanging, mind-altering….

“Recurring,” Jimin rephrases again. “It’s manageable, but unpredictable at this time.” 

Beside him, Hoseok starts speaking again, going into more detail about what suspension of activities means. No filming. No performances. Limited visibility. Jimin feels an unwavering support even though if there is fallout it will land on Hoseok’s shoulders. 

If the CEO is frustrated, he doesn’t give it away completely. “And to clarify your physician is recommending a full suspension?”

“Yes.”

“Six months?”

“For now.” 

A pause that stretches. 

The head of Jimin’s PR team flips through the tablet in his hand. He’s been in charge of Jimin’s image for six years now, he’s sure he feels blindsided. “We can position this as medical rest. Or…mental health related? We need a statement that emphasizes proactive care. Fans respond well to responsibility.” 

Fans respond well. 

Jimin feels like slinking to the ground in his chair. This was the part he was dreading. He was going to upset PRIZM and make them worry. They’d been together in every facet of his life since the second he stepped off the Idol Island stage, maybe even before. He doesn’t know how he’ll leave them for so long. 

“You can address them via a letter, draft and send it to legal,” the label CEO suggests. 

Jimin shakes his head and looks at Hoseok. “I’d like to address them myself. A pre-recorded live. At least something that feels live. Intimate. Not overly produced.” 

The executives look at each other. The head of PR lifts his brows. “A video increases scrutiny,” she says. “Your fans will analyze your appearance, tone, body language.”

He knows and he’s counting on it. “That’s why it should come from me,” he replies evenly. “If we release a statement without my face attached, speculation is going to get worse. I don’t want anything negatively falling on the company,” he knows this is the right phrase, chosen by his legal rep. “If they see me calm, speaking clearly and acting as though I have nothing to hide they’ll settle.”

The A&R team lead asks gently, “you’re confident you can present well?”

“Yes.” It’s a small lie. Just the thought of addressing the fans brings heat to his eyes. There will be many takes involved. 

Hey-su from PR starts tapping on the tablet screen, dragging together a possible format. “We’ll stage it through your official platform. Pre-recorded but formatted for broadcast. Comments disabled initially. Multilingual captions ready within two hours.”

“Minimal styling,” Jimin adds. “No heavy makeup. I’d like to do it from home.”

Hoseok speaks. “I’ll do the monitoring.”

They continue to throw together ideas. Soft lighting. Casual wear. No visible fatigue.” 

No visible fatigue is going to be hard. He can feel himself fading already and it’s only been an hour. 

The Business Director interjects. “We’ll need to approve the script.”

“I’m not reading a script,” Jimin says before he can stop himself. 

The room stills slightly. 

Sharpened gazes, not angry — assessing. 

“You can outline key points. Legal phrasing must remain intact.” 

That’s the compromise. Jimin nods once. 

“Within an hour of the live video we’ll make an official announcement. A temporary hiatus for medical reasons. Gratitude to fans. Commitment to return,” Hye-su recites. “No timeline specifics beyond ‘approximately six months pending recovery.”

He hates how nuanced this is but he’s keeping this to himself. He runs a hand down his stomach. His pup deserves that. “Don’t say six months,” he responds quietly. “Say until I’ve recovered fully.” 

“That invites speculation,” the CEO speaks up. Jimin pities Manshik a little bit. He has to hold everything to such high standards. 

“It invites flexibility,” Hoseok defends. 

A beat. 

The Executive Producer considers it. “We can omit a fixed date. Internally six months. Publicly, you can have an open-ended recovery.” 

Manshik nods, liking the suggestion. “Agreed.” 

It’s unsettling how smoothly it all rearranges itself. 

Hoseok is sitting next to him on the drive back where Jimin has just asked the driver to pull over halfway through the trip. “You have to film this thing in forty-eight hours. Are you sure you’re going to be able to do it?”

Jimin wipes his mouth on the napkin that’s passed over. He nods, swallowing. “I can do it.” 

“You’re sure?”

“I have to be. If they see me,” he presses a palm against his  abdomen, “they’ll believe I’m fine.”

He just has to get over his hormones and talk to Yoongi. 

PJM: Can I just send you a meme and you can laugh and we can move on like I didn’t kick you out of my apartment? 

Yoongi snorts when the text comes through. It’s evening and he’s in the studio because he hasn’t been able to get himself to do any other part of his career. “Can I call you?” 

PJM: can you just come over? 

He doesn’t even turn off the computer screen. 

Jimin looks soft in loose sweats and a creamy cropped sweater that reveals the smallest sliver of supple skin. Yoongi tugs on his pants, pulling him into his arms. He smells incredible. 

“M’ sorry,” Jimin mumbles into his neck. “I can’t say that it’s not going to happen again. But I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi runs a hand down his back until it rests in the curve in his spine. “I support you. Whatever you choose. I’m sorry it didn’t seem like I was.” He feels himself take a real, deep, and steady breath for the first time in forty-eight hours. He had no idea what it was like to miss someone so much. 

Jimin sniffles. He pulls away so he can stare at Yoongi. He’s always been so pretty. Yoongi hates to be called that, but it’s the word Jimin’s always thought of whenever he got the chance to stare at him a few seconds too long. Dark lashes and darker droopy bangs to match. They’re long right now, falling into his face. Pouty pink lips and Jimin presses forward to kiss. He’s the prettiest alpha he’s ever seen. 

Jimin tangles himself in Yoongi the moment they hit the couch. Yoongi adjusts the blankets and fabrics of the nest to drape over both of them. His scent seeps into the air involuntarily. Jimin starts to purr. 

They lay quietly for a little while, only the sound of the YouTube show Jimin was watching. Yoongi feels him relax into his body as he straddles him. “Falling asleep?” He teases. 

“I’m exhausted all the time,” Jimin speaks slowly against his shoulder. “And you’re here now.” He yawns, pressing a little closer, nose tapping at Yoongi’s scent gland. He takes a deep inhale and goes limp. 

He spent the last two days planning his life around Jimin and their baby, even if Jimin didn’t think that’s what he would do. He is releasing an album soon, but he could do that slowly. He could go on a surprise second leg of his tour in Q4, or he could stay in town and be a producer for a new group and executive on the seventh season of Idol Island. When he’d been offered it a part of him had hoped Jimin was offered too. He jumped at any excuse to intertwine their public lives. 

But now, their lives are intertwined forever. It felt like the most terrifying thing in the world. Somehow, more than the pup, being together was scarier. 

As if fate were listening, Yoongi’s father calls while Jimin sleeps. He and his mother called once a week, not like clockwork, never on the same day, and never when it was convenient for his son. He couldn’t move but he answered anyway like he always did. 

“You haven’t visited home,” is the first thing he says when Yoongi answers. Not congratulations on the awards he’d won, nor the grand tour he finished or the sales that broke records around the world. Never “we’re proud of you, son.” 

The words were reserved for Minjae. 

“Your mother’s birthday dinner is in two weeks. Come home for the weekend.” 

He stifles a groan and speaks softly. “Okay.” 

“Have you cut your hair yet? It looked too long on stage.” 

So they did watch the awards. He’d invited them but Minjae’s firm was having a late holiday party. He’d received dozens of congratulatory messages but nothing from them. “No,” he replies softly, pulling at one of the loose strands that have fallen out of the bun at his nape. 

His father hums in an annoyed way. “Why are you being so quiet? Speak up.” 

“I’m a bit busy,” Jimin stirs beneath him, whimpering slightly in sleep. Yoongi covers his speaker. 

“Oh. I’ve disturbed you. Too busy to call home or visit or anything, we see.” It’s so cold the way he whips his tone. 

“Father no—”

“I’ll let you go then. Dinner is the following weekend. Arrive Friday evening. Do not be late.” 

The line goes dead. 

Yoongi sighs heavily. 

“Your father?” Jimin mumbles, sleep clinging to his vocal cords. He’s been there for a conversation or two before. He’s seen them, the way his family is. It’s nothing like Jimin’s. No warmth surrounding. 

Yoongi nods. He pushes the phone away and then the thoughts. He tugs Jimin close, dipping his chin to kiss him once. He places a hand against his cheek which is flushed from being on Yoongi’s chest. He cups him so gently. Jimin is warmth personified. He brings their lips together again, deeper, hungrier than before. He wants so much with Jimin and he’s terrified of all of it. 

He should tell him what he was thinking. 

Jimin bucks his hips forward and then rolls them down against Yoongi’s crotch. Yoongi holds his neck steady. “W-wait—”

“I’m fine,” Jimin breathes heavily against his throat. “I feel really good right now. Let’s take advantage of it.” His hands go to the bottom of his sweater before he can protest again. Yoongi knee-walks him backward until Jimin is on his back. Yoongi cradles his waist with one arm and tugs off his own top with the other. 

“You’re sure?” 

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes. “Oh my god. Please c’mon….” He’s begging for it in the way that Yoongi loves. He gives in. 

Jimin’s pants go off and Yoongi pins him down with one hand as he wraps his hand then his lips around Jimin’s cock. Jimin shutters and whines. “I want you to fuck me…”

Yoongi laughs with Jimin’s cock in his mouth. He pulls off for a second. “I will, I’m just making sure you’re up for it.” 

Jimin pays him back by bucking up inside his mouth after a few strokes. Yoongi just sucks harder, pumping his fist faster. If he makes Jimin come like this he’ll be too exhausted for sex. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to fuck Jimin. He does. Every day. All day if they had the time. But he feels too fragile to fuck right now. That doesn’t mean he didn’t want his omega satisfied. 

“H-hyung—” Jimin pants. “Please ... Yoongi,” his hips snap up, gagging Yoongi accidentally. His hands in Yoongi’s hair are tight. He throws them back down at the same time Yoongi pulls off. “Oh my god I’m sorry!” 

Yoongi laughs, swiping at his bottom lip. “You’re going to suffocate me if I don’t fuck you, is that your angle?” 

Jimin whines. “No, but I’m literally going to start crying,” and he’s not lying. There’s tears glistening in his eyes. He starts to scramble forward, tugging on Yoongi’s arm. “Please, Hyung—” he gasps with his first sob, “please!” 

Yoongi cups his neck, sliding Jimin into his lap. “Shush, baby. It’s okay, don’t cry. We shouldn’t—you haven’t been feeling well and—”

“Please, just quickly. Please. I need your knot, alpha,” there’s tears starting to fall and trail down his face.

It’s reminiscent of a time Yoongi took too long to get to Jimin’s hotel room one time during a heat. His plane had landed late from  his shooting schedule. He was almost in rut himself but by the time he got to Jimin he was writhing in pain and begging to be knotted. It took twenty minutes just to calm him down enough so they could fuck. 

“I promise it’s okay. I promise. Please. I’ll be so good, Yoongi please. Please—I need you,” his scent is soaking the air around them. 

Yoongi can’t resist. “Okay, okay hush. It’s okay,” he wipes his face. He slips his pants off then goes to lay Jimin back down. 

Jimin shakes his head. “No—wanna be close.” It’s a good thing Yoongi’s almost fully hard. Jimin lifts himself and slowly sinks down. 

“Fuck!” Jimin’s so warm. He rolls his hips once, adjusting. Strong hands lift Jimin, helping him create a steady pace. He tries to go slow at first but it’s not enough. Using Yoongi’s shoulder as an anchor he picks himself up and slams back down. Yoongi’s growl rips from his chest. 

He can’t take it anymore. He starts thrusting up inside of him, meeting Jimin’s rhythm easily. They’re so used to each other that fucking like this is second nature. Jimin chases his orgasm faster. “H-hyung—hyung—” he picks up the pace, riding. 

Yoongi kisses his neck, rumbling against his throat. His alpha is begging to mate this pregnant omega. But he knows he can’t. He tips his head back instead, eyes rolling. 

The heat starts in Jimin’s lower belly the way it always does. His abdomen muscles tighten involuntarily, so, so close. For a second he mistakes it for that coiling anticipation that he’s been clawing after for the last thirty minutes — the kind that makes his breath catch and his thighs tighten. 

It rolls low and heavy, swelling upward in a slow wave. He braces one hand against Yoongi’s neck, panting heavily and digging his fingers into his skin. Yoongi sucks a sharp breath in. “Fuck, m’ so close.” 

The warmth doesn't spread like it usually does, it swells and sharpens. Too much, too fast. He almost pauses but shakes his head. He pushes through, rolling his hips forward. He’s almost there he can feel it. His muscles tighten but it’s entirely different. 

Chills burst along his spine. He gasps at the first drop that twists inside him. “No, no, no,” he sobs, slowing down. 

Yoongi puts his head back up, opening his eyes. “What—”

He can’t get his question out. Jimin’s too quick as he lifts one leg, pulling off. He rolls to the floor, dragging his sweatpants over his body before bolting to the bathroom. 

Yoongi’s head hits the couch in defeat. 

By the time Yoongi joins Jimin in the bathroom and wraps his hands around his waist he’s done. He gives one last dry heave before turning into his bare chest. Little sobs gasp in and out of him. “I’m so s—”

“Do not apologize,” Yoongi chastises. 

“I’m not!” Jimin cries. “I’m so so fucking mad,” he sobs. “I was this close” he pinches two fingers together,  “this is so unfair.” 

Yoongi chuckles. 

Jimin glares at him. “It’s not funny!” 

He wipes a tear away, giving him a pitiful pout. He laughs again. “It kind of is, crying over sex.” 

Jimin sniffles and puts his nose into Yoongi’s scent gland, breathing deeply. It starts to settle him. He’s just upset. He hasn’t felt like himself in weeks and the one time he tries it ends poorly. He’s hormonal and sick and he’s already a little tired of it. But he wants this. He truly does. 

“I’m going to arrange my schedule to match whatever you need,” Yoongi says. He pulls Jimin’s head off his shoulder. He looks at him deeply. “Starting with tomorrow’s appointment. Let’s go together and find a solution to this, yeah?” 

“Yeah?” Jimin says, lip quivering all over again. 

“I’ll be at everything. I want to. Jimin, fuck,” Yoongi takes a shuttering breath. 

Yoongi spends the night making Jimin feel better physically and mentally. He draws a soapy bath in his jetted tub. He tidies his house. He orders takeout that he hopes will be easy on his stomach. He stuffs his worn clothes in the nest on Jimin’s bed then grabs himself shorts from Jimin’s closet. 

“I was turning into a prune!” Jimin calls from the bathroom. He’s wrapped in one of his soft robes and is shaking the towel against his hair. The color has returned and his cheeks are that light rosy color that used to drive Yoongi wild when he watched him in the practice room all those years ago. 

He drops on the couch next to Yoongi. “This smells amazing.” 

“It’s from one of my favorite places. Eat. We’ll watch one of your variety shows and then sleep.” 

He comically leans down before Jimin digs in. “And you—” he speaks to his stomach. “Be nice in there.” 

Nine weeks. 

Jimin wakes the next morning the way he has for almost the last two weeks, to greet the bathroom. But he’s met with a surprise, blankets and pillows that surround so he’s got a soft place to sit. It makes him cry and that’s how Yoongi finds him. 

“Ahh, shit, I thought I had more time,” he’s hurrying in with a steaming cup of tea. He sets it on the counter and crouches down. 

“How did you know?” Jimin sniffles, falling into him. 

“Your scent shifts in your sleep right before you wake up. I noticed it a few days ago but didn’t put two and two together. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Are you okay?” 

Jimin nuzzles into his neck. “I am now.” 

An hour later they slip into Jimin’s car together for the first time. It feels strange. Jimin keeps stealing glances at his driver Daejung. The same driver he’s had for the past five years knows just about everything about Jimin’s life—what temperature he needs the car, what snacks to have stocked, and what route to take home at night so he can view the whole skyline. 

But he doesn’t know the part of Jimin’s life that is Yoongi. 

No one does. 

Yoongi passes him a gummy candy from the stash of snacks in front of them, coaxing Jimin into keeping something in his mouth. “So,” he starts hesitantly, “is the entrance—?”

“Undisclosed,” Jimin says. “Many idols visit this practice. It’s covered. No media allowed.” 

Yoongi nods. He’s clearly deep in thought but not sharing them. He glances at his phone every few seconds like he’s waiting for a text or a call. To the outside world, to his followers and fans, Yoongi appears incredibly calm. But Jimin knows parts of him that he doesn’t allow anyone else to see. The part of him that fidgets when he’s on edge. The part of him that bites his nails, his thumb blooming red right now. 

He reaches in the space between them and intertwines their fingers together. 

Yoongi’s hands are shaky when the doctor comes in and he’s just an observer. She’s petite and polite as she flits around the room happily. 

“It’s good to see you back!” the obstetrician says. Yoongi looks at her badge, Dr. Noh. She looks young to be a doctor. “Did the medication I prescribed provide you any relief?” 

Jimin shakes his head, the white paper beneath him rustles as he shifts. “Not really.” 

She frowns. “Any more fainting spells? Dizziness?”

“Dizziness, yes,” Yoongi furrows his brows, he hadn’t told him about that. 

“I’ll draw some blood today too, then. I’d like to check your levels,” she smiles. It’s then as if she realizes that Yoongi is in the room with them. “Oh! You are–”

“The pup’s alpha father,” Yoongi confirms. It feels so….clinical. “Min Yoongi,” he bows to her. 

“Nice to meet you,” if she recognizes who he really is she doesn’t give it away. “Alphas have the ability to provide much relief to their omegas too during this first trimester when things feel hard. Growing pups is a lot on the body. When you spend time together do you notice the sickness before it comes?”

Yoongi nods. “His scent shifts.” 

“Great, well,” she readies some testing vials, “not great is it, Jimin-ssi? But it’s great that you notice. Use that to your advantage. The pup can sense your scent, your comfort. It can help. It’s definitely not a cure and I’m sorry to say that this might just be a challenging few weeks. But small meals, water intake, and your alpha’s scent are what you can focus on to ease some of the symptoms.” 

“What about the fatigue?” Yoongi asks. During his rut he counted and Jimin spent almost seventeen hours sleeping one day. 

“That he shouldn’t fight. Nap when you can. Get good sleep at night.”

Jimin nods. “Sleeping is no problem, I love to sleep,” he grins. 

Dr. Noh turns back around. “Let’s draw some blood and send it off to labs to see what’s going on. 

Jimin scoots to the edge of the vinyl, crinkling the paper even more. Why does it sound so fucking loud? He rolls his sleeve up, jaw tight. Blood draws don’t usually have him so nervous. But he’s felt so bad lately he’s afraid that something’s wrong. 

Yoongi is standing now, not too close, but close enough to touch, far enough not to crowd. 

Dr. Noh explains all that they’re looking for — hcg levels, iron, thyroid, all routine. “It might not be fun, many omegas experience a blood pressure drop. If that happens, now would be a good time to help him out,” she suggests to Yoongi. 

Yoongi’s eyes sharpen slightly. 

Dr. Noh nods. “Lower, calmer,” her nose twitches. “Not overwhelming, just there.”

The tourniquet tightens over Jimin’s arm, he doesn’t look, staring at the oddly bright wall. The needle slides in. For a second, nothing happens. He’s had blood drawn multiple times a year to check his health. 

Yoongi growls as he watches it happen. She’s quick, taking two vials and fleeing from the room. Then everything shifts. 

Jimin’s shoulders are rigid while they wait, his breath stutters — once, twice — then thins. The color starts to drain from his face like someone has turned on a dimmer switch. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi inches closer. 

“I’m fine,” it’s an automatic response to swat away worry, but the words are slurred at the edges. The room tilts dangerously. Jimin swallows hard. The nausea spikes in the most violent way, dizzying and hot. “H-hyung,” his resolve falters as he whispers. 

That’s all it takes. 

Yoongi steps in, one hand going to his waist, the other at the curve of his spine, steadying him so he doesn’t slide down the table. 

“Easy,” Yoongi murmurs and if Jimin weren’t in the state he was, he’d be able to focus on how gentle he’s being with him. Jimin’s pulse races. 

“Lightheaded,” Jimin breathes. “I’m going to—”

Yoongi crowds in a way that doesn’t feel overwhelming, his nose going to Jimin’s scent gland. “You’re not, shhh,” he runs a hand down his back. “You’re okay.” Lower. Calmer. He leans in again not possessively, just deliberate. He presses his nose lightly to the back of Jimin’s neck where the skin is warm and vulnerable. He exhales slow and controlled. 

He lets his scent shift in the gentlest way, warm and deep. Cedarwood and pine soften into something almost sweet. 

Jimin shudders. His breathing stutters once more then syncs with Yoongi’s. Inhale. Exhale. Instinctively, he reaches to spread one hand over Jimin’s lower belly, protective. His voice is soft in his ear. “Match me,” he murmurs, “slow.” 

The spinning lessens. The nausea doesn’t disappear – it rarely does – but it stops climbing. Jimin’s fingers, which had been gripping the side of the vinyl table finally loosen. 

“Y-you’re scenting me,” he whispers weakly. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi’s voice catches. 

“...Okay.” Permission. 

His head drops on Yoongi’s shoulder as they shift, Yoongi planting his stance between Jimin’s legs. He continues scenting until Jimin’s breaths are the exact cadence of his own, until the color returns, and he can lift his head up again. After a long moment, Jimin swallows. 

“Don’t let go yet,” he says, barely above a breath. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi says, searching his eyes for understanding, it’s a promise that carries a bigger weight. 

They sit like that until Dr. Noh comes back for the ultrasound. She promises that things look well and Jimin’s levels are consistent with a healthy nine week pregnancy. She preps her materials. 

The gel is warm again like last time, Jimin remembers that but he still flinches at the sticky substance. 

Dr. Noh murmurs an apology, already focused on the screen as she moves the wand slowly over his belly. The lights have been dimmed, giving the room a quieter feel than before, other than the soft hum of the machine. 

Yoongi stands near Jimin’s shoulder. He’s nine weeks along and it feels theoretical in Yoongi’s head. Just numbers on a chart. 

But not for long–

The screen flickers and Dr. Noh tilts the wand slightly, “there,” she says softly.

Jimin’s seen it but he still finds himself reaching for the sleeve of Yoongi’s shirt. On the monitor, in a blur of gray and shadows, the blob that was the announcement that Yoongi received starts moving. Something tiny pulses. It’s not shaped like a baby at all, just a curved little form. A bean, small enough to fit in the palm of Yoongi’s hand. 

There’s a tiny little flutter in the middle of the screen, rapid and seeming impossible. 

Dr. Noh taps a few things and then the room bursts with sound. A fast, rhythmic thudding like a bird caught inside a ribcage. 

Yoongi stops breathing. It’s a staccato, it’s a snare roll before the drop, it’s a pertissimo passage, too fast to count but beautiful its—

“A strong heartbeat,” Dr. Noh says. “Really strong, no wonder you feel unwell, your baby is growing with all their might. 170 beats per minute, that’s amazing this early on.” 

Yoongi’s own heartbeat has always been measured, slower — a producer’s tempo that becomes suddenly loud in his ears. He becomes aware of it the way he becomes aware of a metronome when he’s sat in the silence of the studio for too long. Their baby’s runs ahead of him, a raw signal, unmatched. But it feels like everything. 

The sound captures the space between them and he exchanges his sleeve for his own fingers in Jimin’s hand. He begins to feel the way he does when the first bar of a track feels right, one that’s going to change everything. 

Jimin makes a quiet, broken noise that brings him out of his thoughts. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob. Yoongi finally looks at him. His eyes are glassy, wide and luminous in the dim light. 

Something inside Yoongi shifts. 

Up until this moment, every part of this has felt like a problem to solve. He couldn’t think about rearranging schedules. He couldn’t fathom sharing a public life with Jimin, coming out to his parents. None of it. But this is not logistical. This is a heartbeat. This is life. 

And he wants all of it with Jimin, with the both of them. “That’s ours,” he says, and his voice sounds rough to his own ears. 

Jimin nods, unable to look away from the screen. A tear slips sideways down his cheek. 

Yoongi has spent his entire life understanding the world through sound. He knows rhythm instinctively. He builds meaning out of tempo and silence, but this chaotic and racing percussion hits deeper than any melody he could have ever written. 

And he wants it so desperately it aches. 

Dr. Noh lowers the volume after a moment but leaves to give them privacy in the dim room. 

Yoongi takes advantage of the moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead lightly to Jimin’s temple. He gets it now. “I’m all in,” he says and pecks his lips. “All of it. I want to be there with you for it all. I’m in if you’ll have me. I–I’m terrified as hell, Jimin I can’t lie about that but this–fuck,” his lips are trembling. “I want this, with you.” 

Chapter Text

Jimin isn’t prepared for the domesticity that follows Yoongi’s declaration of ‘all in.’ 

“Would you feel comfortable staying at my place tonight? I didn’t leave enough food out for Seoltang and Namjoon or my manager are going to get concerned if I ask them one more time this week to go over and feed him.” Namjoon living in the same building makes the favor convenient.

Jimin has never stayed the night at Yoongi’s house before. He’s been there, a handful of times. But staying the night has always been off the table. Namjoon living in the building also challenges the secrecy they’ve always kept. The additional complications of Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin all being in a relationship made it even more off limits. 

Jimin nods. “I’d like that. Do you think we can get in without getting caught?” He’s holding Yoongi’s hand on the way back from the clinic, he plays with his fingers. “I don’t know where Hoseok and Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung are right now.” 

Yoongi pulls out his phone. “Namjoon is at the studio.”

Jimin’s face splits into a smile. “Oh, so you have his location?” 

“Of course.” 

“Does he have yours?”

“Of course not,” he deadpans. “Sneaking around all these years would have never happened.” 

Jimin laughs. He feels so light. They still have much to figure out and there’s been no talk of telling their friends or their family and definitely not the world—but just holding his hand in a car that they’re sharing on the way to Yoongi’s apartment feels like enough for this moment. “So how could I get your location?” 

Yoongi purses his lips. “Now why would you need that if I don’t plan on leaving your side?” He lifts his hand to bring it to his lips and Jimin just about goddamn swoons. 

Jimin feels overwhelmed with giddiness when he sits on Yoongi’s dark leather couch and Tang hops up and plants himself gently in Jimin’s lap. The alpha’s scent is everywhere, it feels amazing. The cat pushes at his hand a few times, begging for affection and then rests his nose at Jimin’s stomach when he’s content. His purring is about as loud as Jimin’s when he’s in heat. “Such a good boy. A beautiful boy aren’t you, Tang?” He coos. 

Yoongi is trying to figure out what to order for food as he lightly paces the length of the floor to ceiling windows. 

Jimin’s phone buzzes with an incoming call. Tae’s face illuminates the screen, a silly selfie the two of them took together on a travel show they filmed last year. He answers immediately. “You’re not dead!” 

Jimin laughs. “No, Tae, I’m not dead.” 

“Jungkook was starting to worry that maybe you did hit your head when you fainted and he’s convinced himself that something is really wrong. I said I’d call so he can hear your voice. Let him hear it.” 

“Hi Jungkookie!” Jimin adjusts Tang who meows in protest, pressing his face back into his stomach. 

“Jiminie, is that a cat? Did you finally get one?” Jungkook asks. 

“Oh no! I’m um at a friend's house—” before he can finish his sentence a request for a video call comes through. Jimin panics, looking up at Yoongi with wide eyes. 

He cannot show this cat. Tang is one of the most famous internet cats in all of Seoul. Even without the fact that Yoongi is his cat dad, his pictures are everywhere. Each week Yoongi dresses Tang in a new outfit, posting a series of photos that get millions of likes from people all over the world. If Jimin ever wanted anyone to know that he and Yoongi were spending time together, all he’d have to do was snap a picture of this cat. 

He declines the request. “Sorry Jungkookie. I’ve got to go, but both of you should come over soon!” 

They promise to carve out the time and Jimin quickly hangs up, dodging the cat reveal request. 

Yoongi plops down, cuddling himself up to the both of them. He tugs Jimin into his space and pets Tang absentmindedly. “I still can’t believe you’re friends with Taehyung.” There’s petulance in his voice. 

Jimin rolls his eyes playfully. “Your long-standing preschool beef with Taehyung has got to end. Daegu breakout stardom is big enough for the both of you.” 

“He couldn’t even follow directions in preschool! He just sat in the fields picking flowers and decorating everyone’s hair with them and now he’s—”

–One of the largest and most talented actors in all of South Korea and Jimin’s very best friend. They met through their shared talent agency experiences and have pretty much been attached at the hip whenever possible ever since. Yoongi and Taehyung being preschool foes was an unlikely connection, one that Jimin cannot help teasing Yoongi about often. 

“And now he’s what? Go on, say something nice about him.” 

Yoongi moans in annoyance. Jimin teases him more about it through the evening. 

Yoongi is dead asleep when Jimin starts shaking his shoulder. He sits up immediately, thinking something must be wrong, it’s clearly still the middle of the night. 

“Hyung,” there’s panic in Jimin’s voice, “did you know that if I get the flu while I’m pregnant then our pup is 7 times more likely to develop schizophrenia later in life?”

Yoongi turns on one of the lamps at his bedside. “What?” His voice is heavy with sleep. 

Jimin’s phone screen is illuminating his face. Yoongi looks for the time and it’s just after 2 in the morning. “This article here says that if I catch the flu that our baby is 7 times more likely to develop schizophrenia.” 

Yoongi yawns. “Why are you reading about our pup developing schizophrenia? Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

Jimin shifts, eyes still locked on the screen. “I can’t sleep. I can’t get comfortable and I don’t feel very well,” he’s pouting in a way that Yoongi finds so adorable he can’t even be mad he’s been woken up.  “So then I was reading about that to see if I have some weird mutant morning sickness and apparently this is just normal. But then I got to onto an expecting omega article on Naver and it was talking about all of the very not normal things about pregnancy and so I stumbled onto this other article and—”

Yoongi’s so endeared. He just loves that Jimin is here…in his bed…in the middle of the night babbling on with worries about their future baby. Weeks ago this wasn’t imaginable. Yoongi’s face splits into a wide smile. 

“What?” Jimin frowns, putting the phone down. 

“You’re so cute,” he moves the phone out of the way and tugs on Jimin’s shirt until he’s laying closer to him. “You probably won’t catch the flu because you always say you have a good immune system. And if you did catch the flu our baby probably will not develop schizophrenia, it’s hereditary and doesn’t run on my side does it run on yours?” 

“Well no but—”

Yoongi runs his nose down Jimin’s neck, back and forth gently over his scent gland. “But nothing. Let me scent you into feeling better so that you can sleep or worry about normal things like your video tomorrow.” 

Jimin gasps. “I am going to worry about that now!” 

“Tell me your worries, then.” 

Jimin takes a deep breath of Yoongi’s scent that’s getting more potent by the second. His omega will be purring any minute now if he keeps it up. “I just don’t want to disappoint them, ya know?” He looks at Yoongi. “They are the reason I have…everything. This feels selfish and I just—,” his bottom lip starts to quiver, “I don’t want them to leave me.” 

“Your fans organized a campaign in front of your company building for you on more than one occasion. If you publicly come out yourself to say you’re taking a break in a way that’s as honest as you’re willing to be, they’ll still be there.” 

More scent. Jimin inhales slowly, a vibration beginning in his sternum, eyes dropping low. “I’d like to document it for them, the fans, if you’re okay with that? I think it might be nice…” he’s fading quickly. 

Yoongi focuses on pushing more of the warming notes out. “It does sound nice. Of course, whatever you want.” 

“Okay. Thank you,” Jimin whispers before sleep finally takes over. 

Yoongi watches him for a while. He understands it. Jimin has always been incredibly dedicated to his fanbase. This makes sense that he’d like to keep this to himself for now but give parts of it to them later. 

As he keeps watching, Yoongi thinks that he’s never going to get over how beautiful Park Jimin is. In sleep when he’s peaceful and soft, with light breath and a scent that’s more Yoongi’s than his own right now. There’s a happiness that’s starting to bloom. A happiness Yoongi has never allowed himself to feel before. 

He’s both excited and terrified. 

Seven years before. 

Idol Island Finale

The stage lights had never felt hotter. The cameras weren’t rolling yet so Jimin had a moment to stand there. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of that stage one last time. This was really the end. Whatever happened after this, he knew it was going to be big. He knew he was going to be grand. 

He turned to the left, catching a glimpse of Yoongi backstage. They’d just parted that morning. He was half dressed in his performance outfit, three buttons at the top of his shirt left open. Smooth skin that Jimin had just kissed last night. 

What’s going to happen to us? He hadn’t dared to ask. 

He’d slid down on the length of him, Yoongi reacting with a full body shudder. Jimin felt power thrum inside of him. Proud of the response he was earning. 

“Baby alpha,” Jimin tsk’d. “You’ve never fucked this good before, have you?” 

Yoongi growled. He felt like blacking out with the impending orgasm. He hadn’t. All those girls…those alpha women had been nothing compared to the beauty that was Park Jimin. 

Fuck. What was going to happen to them? He hadn’t dared to ask. He just tugged Jimin down by his neck, capturing his lips harshly as he thrust up to meet the friction between them. 

Jimin locked eyes with him on the stage. His in-ears signaled the thirty-second count down to his opening. He closed his eyes, envisioning Yoongi behind them. Would he be proud of him too?

Jimin’s family sat in the VIP section of the audience, proud and beaming. His mothers and aunties and cousins cheered his praises. They were louder than the gaggle of fans at Jimin’s front. They cheered for him, chanting his name over and over in a cacophony of sound that was the syllables of his name. Park Ji-min, Park Ji-min. He couldn’t help the sob that came out of him. 

Even if he didn’t win, this moment? This was worth it. 

He blew kisses to the live audience before flitting off of the stage. 

He was whisked into the momentum of changing immediately. His stage outfit was replaced with something glittering and revealing for the final, final stage where they’d announce the winner. As they touched up his makeup and hair Jimin monitored Yoongi’s performance. 

He looked good. His dark hair was made darker by the dye he’d previously added to it. His all black outfit clung to his frame in a good way. 

Yoongi looked for his own family in the audience. The four of them — mother, father, brother and his brother’s wife sat in a row towards the back, spines straight and features unreadable. Nothing like the joy he’d seen in Jimin’s family as they cheered for him on stage. 

He had to win. This moment was everything. He needed to leave Daegu. He needed to be in the spotlight. He needed to stand on his own two feet and show his family that his “silly little dream” was so much bigger. 

The track started. Traditional instruments swelled in sound around him and then he exploded. His stage presence was bigger than Idol Island could hold. He jumped, bounced, and hoppedthrough the space matching every beat in sync. He felt alive because he knew this was it. It was this moment that would take him higher. 

The screams that erupted when he took center stage, dancing in perfect synchronicity with six backups to match him, was nothing like the live audience had ever presented before. The sound bled through his in-ears forcing a smile onto his face that would go viral for years to come. He’d unlocked something brand new, crossing the boundaries of traditional rap. 

And they loved it. 

Min Yoon-gi! Min Yoon-gi! 

“A to the G to U to the STD!” The newfans hollered and it was there that night his fanchant was born. 

He hurried off stage with an adrenaline that couldn’t be measured. His team swarmed around him, patting the sweat from his face, taking layers off and congratulating him, but his eyes were locked on Jimin. He’d been waiting in the wings of the back stage area, watching. For a moment, the sound in the space dulled and it was just them. 

Life would never be the same after that night. They would never be the same, separate nor together. Jimin tore his eyes away first, turning and smiling at something his manager was saying. His heart jumped. 

Yoongi knew it then. They’d never get back what they had in those six weeks together, a secret shared just between the two of them. But something would always lie there. And Yoongi would want it to. The ache that had crawled its way beneath his ribs and nestled itself there, the ache that would fester and pulse when he was away from him, would always be a reminder that those six weeks were real. 

Yoongi thought that being announced as the winner would make him feel on top of the world. And in some ways it did. He was the first rapper to win an idol elimination show in the history of the k-pop industry. He was the first in his family to break out of the mold of their small business. 

Which meant their disappointment showed. They’d allowed him to go on the show. But they never thought he would win. 

After the buzz of the live announcement on stage, his encore performance, and a montage of their time there, they all filed backstage where their families were waiting. Members from the teams the weeks before had come back too and were congratulating him. But it was Jimin’s mothers’ congratulations that were the loudest. 

They had giant bouquets of flowers they were thrusting at their son. Yoongi caught glimpses of them all crying together. Jimin’s mother, who looked to be a few years older than the other, just kept repeating how proud she was of him. Yoongi watched his kindness, that was made from her, in practice in real time. As he stood alone because his family hadn’t dared to come backstage with everyone else, the Park family turned to him. 

Jimin allowed himself to reach out and cup Yoongi’s shoulder, “congratulations, Yoongi-hyung. You deserve it.” 

All he could do was bow silently, stunned. He knew how much Jimin wanted to win. If the tables were reversed, he didn’t know if he’d be able to be so humble. 

“You’re so talented,” Jimin’s mother, the smaller and younger one, grinned at him. Jimin’s smile was 

an exact replica of hers, right down to the slight imperfection of the top row. “You’re going to be an incredible artist.” 

“Yes,” Jimin’s other mother agreed, “we look forward to watching your career.” 

“So do I,” Jimin whispered. He and Yoongi held gazes for a few moments too long and in that space they realized. This was it. Jimin’s eyes sparkled for a singular second before he blinked and put on his mother’s smile. “I’ll see you around.” He turned softly in his heel before rejoining the embrace of his family. 

Without Jimin standing next to him Yoongi realized for the first time that winning and being at the top was lonely. It might be the loneliest place in the world. 

It would be seven months before he saw Park Jimin again and the whole time his ribs would ache with loneliness. 

Jimin’s mothers call him while Yoongi is picking clothes from his closet to wear the following morning. “Eomma!” His voice is bright and cheery as he answers without hesitation. 

They’re on speaker because Jimin is stuck in a cycle of rearranging pillows on Yoongi’s bed to make himself more comfortable. “Oh Jiminie, it’s so good to hear your voice is stronger, are you feeling better? You sounded so ill yesterday.” 

Right. Jimin talks to his mothers everyday. Yoongi has been privy to many conversations. It always felt a little foreign to him. How do they have something new to talk about every single day? 

“I am yes. A friend,” he looks over at Yoongi with a smirk, “got me some food and company. I feel a lot better this morning.” 

“Good, Jiminie. Eomma Chaewon and I want to make sure it’s still okay for us to visit this weekend? You won’t be too busy right?” 

Yoongi drops a shoe too loudly. Jimin startles then freezes. 

“Of course yes. Eomma can I call you back in a little while? My friend—”

“Oh yes, tell Taehyungie we say hello, we’re loving his new drama!” 

He hangs up the phone as Yoongi is tugging a t-shirt over his frame. When he re-emerges Jimin is in the middle of his bed looking distressed. 

“My mothers are coming in town this weekend,” he huffs and runs a hand through the blond hair that could use a bit of lightning touch up. “They’re going to learn about my conditions through the same message as  everyone else will and I’m not sure that’s something I want them to worry about.” He frowns. 

“Can you postpone the video announcement?” Yoongi suggests. 

Jimin ponders. He probably could convince the executives to give him until Monday to post it. He’ll film it today still, so it’s off his chest, but explain that his family deserves to know before the public. “That’s a good idea.”

“Do you want to tell them you’re pregnant?” he tugs his t-shirt over his head as he asks so nonchalantly. 

Jimin thinks for a few beats. “Yes.” He then looks at Yoongi with too much honesty. “I’d like to tell them about you too.” His body begs Yoongi to climb onto the bed to be near him, reaching out with needy-grabby hands. He almost sags in relief when he sits, sharing space. Jimin fits himself in Yoongi’s lap, thighs pushing together to feel small. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You don’t have to meet them when they come. I don’t have to tell them all of the details, but I’d like to be honest with them. I never lie to my mothers.” 

They’ve been lying, or rather omitting information from their friends for years. Jimin’s mothers don’t ask much about his love life past the occasional “are you seeing anyone? Are you lonely?” No and yes. But he couldn’t share either answer with them. 

“I can come up with something else if you’re not okay with that, I just—” he runs a hand down his stomach with a long sigh, “I can’t keep this from them.” 

Yoongi grabs Jimin’s hand and brings his knuckles to his lips. He brushes each one of them across his mouth. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Jimin’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“Okay, you can tell them about us. And I’d like to meet them. We did once at Idol Island. And I see them sometimes when you bring them to events but,” he takes an equally long sigh. “I’d like to meet them as your…boyfriend.” 

Jimin is taken aback, he cannot help the bursting giggle that blossoms from his chest. “Boyfriend?” 

Yoongi tips his head back, cheeks going ever so pink. Scent spiking with something warm and homey. “Yeah if you’re cool with that?” 

God he’s so shy about it. Jimin thinks about pushing him back right then and there and kissing him until they have no breath left. “Yeah, I think I’m cool with that.” 

Jimin’s mothers arrive the following morning only after Yoongi has left the apartment, whining a bit about the time apart. He kept Jimin in the nest all morning, not letting him lift a single finger. He was fed breakfast in the nest, cuddled and scented deeply all within the nest. Spending the next two nights with Yoongi not by his side was going to feel hard. It has only been a few days, but Jimin has grown used to his presence. 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go out for dinner?” Yoongi asked again as he tracked how far his driver was from picking him up. 

Jimin shook his head. “No, they’ll want to cook. You’ll learn that my family appreciates simplicity.”

“Simplicity?” Yoongi looked around the room. Jimin’s apartment is nicer than his, more updated, the finest and most expensive things fill the space. “Are you sure?”

Jimin shoved his shoulder gently. “Hush! I said my family appreciates simplicity, I appreciate the amazing quality of the finer things in life.” He was kissed three times before the alpha slipped out of the apartment, promising to be back in a few hours. 

His Eomma Chaewon wraps him so tightly in her arms as she steps through the door it makes Jimin a little breathless. It’s been five months since they were all together. They’d come to a few of his shows of course, but he never got to spend much time with them. It was only a weekend, but it felt like more time than they’d had in the last year. He was going to soak in every moment of it. 

Mama Park, as all of Jimin’s friends called her because when he was little it was hard to distinguish between the two, was next to hug her son. Sookja, who carried him until her body couldn’t hold him inside anymore held her son for several moments. Jimin feels his body relaxing, molding into her the way he used to when he was just a pup, always searching for affection and scenting. It’s a moment too long as she freezes, her own scent shifting sour with curiosity. She holds her son out in front of her, eyes scanning. 

“You are with pup,” her hands are gently around his arms, keeping him still so he can’t turn away from the question. 

Jimin’s body flashes with warmth, his cheeks heating up instantly. “I–”

His other mother Chaewon steps forward and she sniffs the air. “There’s been an alpha here?”

Sookja lets her son go and the two of them stand together, looking at him. He can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes as he’s too stunned to reply. He should have known she’d catch it in his scent. Catch Yoongi in his scent. But as quickly as the surprise had appeared in her tone, their gazes turn gentle. 

“Aigoo,” they both reach out at the same time and wrap their family in a hug. Chaewon brushes a hand through Jimin’s hair. “Don’t cry, Jiminie, we’re not upset,” she looks at her wife to confirm, “we’re just–”

“Taken aback, surprised, but so happy,” she hugs him tighter. “Happy? Right? You are with pup, our noses aren’t getting old, right?”

Jimin laughs as they pull away, swiping at the tears on his face. “No. I mean yes, I am with pup. Nine weeks this week. I wanted to tell you this weekend. I didn’t expect you to notice so soon.”

“Jiminie, when you hid things from us when you were young your scent was always a dead giveaway. It’s always been a little bit…” she pauses and Soojka fills in, “sensitive.”

They pile onto the couch, limb over limb as the omega family fits back together again. “I just thought it was important for you to know before I make an announcement that I am taking an official break.” 

The mood in the room shifts slightly but they listen as he explains the plan he and his company have devised. That is where Jimin has always felt lucky. While he’d been a relatively easy child, there were still times where his mothers disagreed with him. But they gave him space and time and understanding, but most importantly they listened. 

“And this will have no negative impact on your career?” his Mama asks. 

Jimin shrugs. “I am sure there will be some. But from the company standpoint and contracts no.”

They nod. Jimin can tell there’s more questions they want to ask, suggestions to give but they pause. “So,” Chaewon eyes him carefully, “who is the alpha father and has he made a commitment to you and the pup? Please tell us you haven’t had to deal with all of this alone.” 

Jimin takes a deep breath. “Well, no, I haven’t. There’s an alpha,” he feels warm again, playing with his fingers as a distraction, he feels more nervous about this than telling them he’s pregnant. “I’m sure you don’t remember him, it’s been so long since you formerly met, but then again maybe you do…” he takes a long pause, “do you both remember Min Yoongi-ssi, the rapper who won Idol Island?” 

Sookja gets up from the couch abruptly, walking over to the bags that Jimin’s door attendant had placed inside his apartment when he’d helped them upstairs. She rummages in her purse for a few moments before pulling something out. Turning, he realizes she’s holding about 5000 won in her hand. In a fit of annoyance she approaches the couch and slaps it into Chaewon’s outstretched hand. 

“I can’t believe this,” Soojka says, shaking her head. 

Jimin’s confused until Chaewon laughs with her whole body just like Jimin does. “Finally!” She cheers. “Oh, Jiminie, finally,” she cups her son’s cheeks with the money still in her hand, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ve just won our longest standing bet.” 

Soojka is crossing her arms in feigned annoyance. 

Jimin sits up straight, his mouth agape. He looks between the both of them, completely bewildered. “Excuse me, bet? Have you been betting that I would get pregnant?

“Oh absolutely not, darling,” Chaewon says. “We bet on how long it would be until you and Min Yoongi would figure it all out.” She’s grinning from ear to ear. “Your scent gives you away, more than anything else.”

“Seven years ago when you introduced him to us after he won…” Sookja sighs and sits back down, “we knew then.”

“Knew..?” Jimin’s confused. 

“We knew you’d fallen for him, in one way or another,” Chaewon cuts in, “and the way he watched you look away. Well, Jiminie, I’ve only seen yearning like that in dramas. We thought the two of you might get together right away but when you didn’t, we understood, your careers were busy.” She continues to explain, “but each time we would be with you and you’d cross paths at an event your scent would shift. We went back and forth on whether it was jealousy, because he’d won and you hadn’t, but the way he would just watch you, or his eyes would find you in those crowded rooms, we knew. It wasn’t jealousy at all, it was connection.”

Jimin’s shoulders slump. He thought he’d done a good job hiding it, how incredibly deep he was in it with feelings for Min Yoongi. But of course his omega betrayed him. He tucks his knees close to his chest. “So what, Mama Park didn’t think so?”

“Oh no,” she defends, “I believed too. I just thought it would take a few more years.”

“You bet on the years!” Jimin explodes in disbelief. He hides his face in his hands in humiliation. This is so not the way he thought this conversation was going to go today. He looks back up. “He’s coming over and you can’t tell him,” Jimin starts to beg, “you have to act like you’re surprised. Like you didn’t suspect a thing. Because he doesn’t know,” Jimin says, “we’re freshly dating, but he–he’s never suspected a thing,” Jimin’s always been so sure of that. He thought he’d been careful. Careful so that Yoongi would never decide that this whole casual thing that they were doing would have to end.

“Suspected what, Jiminie?” Mama Park asks, her tone etched in gentle curiosity. 

Jimin can’t even look up from his hands as he confesses, “That I’m in love with him.” 

Chapter Text

seven months post idol island. 

Inkigayo, jimin’s debut stage. 

Jimin stared up at the building from the blacked out windows of his private SUV. His heart hammered so far up his throat he felt like it was going to come out. 

“Jimin-ah, did you hear me?” Hoseok asked, fingers tapping quickly on the phone screen. “We need to go in now.” 

Jimin attempted to take a deep breath but his lungs wouldn’t fill completely. He’d had this struggle for the last two months leading up to his album release (one week ago), his debut stage (six days ago), and his tour announcement at the end of his Inkigayo stage (two hours from now). Breathing comes naturally for a body, so much that you hardly notice that you’re doing it. But when you do notice, when the brain registers that the lungs exist, it’s as if they begin to work against one another. His breath stuttered, it got caught, it held itself until the lungs screamed. His brain had been hyperaware for months and he hadn’t taken a natural breath in ages. 

His newly hired bodyguard, Chenwoo, opened the door calmly. Jimin hadn’t thought he would have started his career off with the need for a bodyguard. But the success of Idol Island had its advantages and disadvantages. When a fan found Jimin at the convenience store after practice one night and tried to follow him all the way back to his home, taking a video the whole way, and a few other fans “ran into” him at his local gym, his mothers insisted. They hired Chenwoo themselves, begging Jimin to understand he was living as a very open Omega and needed to take his safety more seriously. 

Inkigayo was busier than Jimin imagined or maybe he was just overwhelmed. Had he ever been just whelmed? Not in a long time. A producing assistant ran them through the filming schedule. It would go well into the morning with how much he had to get through. Soon enough he was pushed down into the makeup chair with multiple hands in his hair and on his face. At the time, he didn’t know when he was supposed to get used to all of this. 

His first album, Kaleidoscope was doing incredible. He scrolled his phone looking at reactions and fans' commentary as they prepared him for the stage where he’d finally see them again. Through his album raffle a select number of them were able to come to the filming. PRIZM, he’d named them, for the English word prism, meaning celestial light. They were the light he’d been searching for in the dark all those years. The stage was where he belonged. He couldn’t wait to announce his tour and get out there. It felt like he was waiting to see the whole world and it was finally happening. 

Jimin sat scrolling through his phone looking through album reactions. Fans were making little videos, posting hashtags, and trending topics to celebrate him. He didn’t feel worthy of so much love. He sent off a quick message exclaiming his excitement for the music show and was caught up in the replies when he saw one that stuck out. 

@ymisland: he’s probably excited for the show to see the host again ! 

Jimin’s heart rate climbed higher. The rivalry he had with the alpha from Idol Island seven months before was still going strong. It had ramped up in the last few weeks after Jimin’s album came out. Agust D had released first, a self titled album that was bold for a debut. But he’d been living up to it. The album climbed the charts, his scowling face was plastered all over Seoul. At the time, it made Jimin work harder. He practiced longer. He re-recorded mixes until his company said he couldn’t anymore. 

He didn’t know why it was so important to beat him. Maybe because he’d come in second during the show? But it almost consumed him. He found himself monitoring his performances at night or early morning when he returned back home after a full day. His stage presence was huge. When he smiled at the camera, Jimin himself felt like a fan might. As if the smile was just for him. 

Kaleidoscope had broken Agust D’s first day record by just two hundred streams. 

Jimin almost messaged him. Something neither of them had dared to do after the show ended. They’d talked about getting together, something casual, something chill. Yoongi had told him he wanted to fuck him and Jimin would never admit to a single soul that when he was panting in pain during his heat cycle he thought of the alpha to bring himself some relief. 

He recognized Yoongi by scent first, earthy and warm. He took a slow, deep, and effortless breath. Jimin looked up from the phone and met the alpha’s eyes for a millisecond before they darted away. “Jimin-ssi,” his voice was rougher than he remembered. Possibly from overuse after weeks of his own debut performances. 

“Yoongi-ssi,” Jimin bowed his head politely. He turned to the stylists and artists in the room with quick glances and they all dispersed further away, giving the two of them space. 

Jimin looked at himself in the mirror. His makeup was perfect. His hair was jet black. His earrings dangled as he came up from the last bow. 

“Have they given you a tour of the artist pre-show area?” Yoongi met his gaze in the mirror, swallowing as he asked the question. Jimin controlled his breathing, he wasn’t going to let him rile him up that easily. Seven months had gone by, his effect couldn’t be that strong still, could it? 

Jimin shook his head, telling himself he was preserving his voice for the show. 

Yoongi tsk’d, the sound sharp on his tiny teeth. “Follow me.” 

The heat that pooled in the lower part of Jimin’s stomach pulled him towards the alpha like a taut string. He would have gone anywhere he asked. 

Yoongi slammed him into the wall harshly, wide fingers spread across his throat before trapping his lips with his own hot mouth. Jimin could only pant, frozen under his hold. He allowed himself to be kissed, no matter how perfect his makeup had been moments before. He slipped his tongue in Yoongi’s mouth, whimpering as Yoongi’s knee came between his thigh, grinding against him immediately. Yoongi’s precise grip got tighter, the pads of his fingers pressed gently but calculated against his throat. “Be still,” his voice was low, not a growl but a warning. 

Jimin almost whined, high-pitched and frustrated. He’d been thinking of the alpha more often than he’d admit to anyone, even himself. He bucked his hips forward, chasing the friction. 

“I have a hotel in the area,” Yoongi said. His eyes were lidded as he looked at the omega before him. “I want to fuck you tonight.” 

Jimin gasped when Yoongi stuck his hand down the front of his loose sweats. He cupped Jimin for a second, slipping underneath his balls to find his way towards his hole. Yoongi chuckled. “Already so wet and you’ve barely been touched.” 

Jimin squirmed, holding his breath. “P-please,” he didn’t even know what he was begging for. He just knew that almost every week for the last seven months he’d thought about Yoongi bringing him to orgasm again. Sometimes more than once a week. So many times he almost picked up the phone to ask to meet up (with what time?) to have phone or video sex. He’d tried hooking up with the same alpha he’d slept with a few times before Idol Island but it wasn’t the same. 

Yoongi had taken the time to learn his body in those short weeks they messed around, and he’d never even knotted him before. Yoongi kissed him, middle finger playing in the slick between his cheeks. He broke it off, earning a deep pout as his hand came back out of Jimin’s pants. “You’ll do amazing on stage and I’ll reward you after.” 

Jimin almost sobbed. He was painfully hard now, still contained inside his pants. “Hyung, please just anything—” he froze as Yoongi sucked his fingers, tasting Jimin. He smiled, spit glistening on his lower lip as he pulled his fingers back out of his mouth. “It will be a reward for me too. Don’t think I haven’t been thinking of you. If you do well on your stage, which you will, you’ll have earned it.” 

He tied Jimin’s sweats back up, patted at his crotch before planting a chaste kiss at his throat. “I’ll see you on stage later.” 

He left Jimin in his wake with a boner, a frustration, and the drive to do well. 

Jimin was making Min Yoongi crazy. It was clearly on purpose. When they were at Idol Island the omegas were required to mask their scents and suppress their heats to keep things tame. The alphas were required to go away during their rut so there wouldn’t be any incidents. Seeing him after seven months with his scent on full display was sending Yoongi into pre-rut a week before his rut was due. But he had a show to host. He’d only agreed to host this weekend of Inkigayo when he learned that Jimin would be doing his debut showcase. The idol world wasn’t exactly what he’d been picturing as he signed his contracts and wrote his rap melodies. But his company was dead set on making him the first Rapper Idol to succeed among the K-pop Idols of his same generation. He was dead set on being the best. 

But the little omega with the flowery scent and tight ass was getting in the way of that in more ways than one. He kicked Yoongi’s debut album off the charts and garnered more online traction than any debut the industry had ever seen, save for Yoongi’s a few weeks before. His stage set was elaborate, designed to bounce refracted light around the room like the kaleidoscopic his album was named for. His chest was on full display while he dropped to his knees at the end of the song, breathing heavily with sweat glistening on skin Yoongi had once pressed his lips to. 

Would he breathe like that when he fucked him? Yoongi wanted to know. He wanted to pin him down and make his legs shake like he’d just performed an entire set without pause. He wanted to hear his voice pitch in octaves that they couldn’t reach in the sound booth. He wanted to make him come undone. Min Yoongi wanted to take all of Park Jimin, over and over and over again. 

“Please welcome—-” the line died flat in Yoongi’s throat. Jimin had stepped onto stage wearing nothing but tight jeans and a lace kimono, exposing pretty, naked skin. He could count his moles from where he stood. 

“Yoongi-ssi,” one of the production managers gawked at him. 

He bowed, apologizing. They started recording again, thankful that this was a practice run. “It’s been months since we’ve shared the stage. Here with me again tonight….” he took a breath before he said his name, not uttering aloud in too long, “Jimin.” 

The music crept into a slow dance track. He’d gotten better already. In just seven months he already seemed stronger, more polished. He was almost perfect, and Yoongi both envied and admired it. He stood behind the camera watching the final run through, which meant Jimin was facing him head on. Had his eyes become more sultry in the second stage than the first? Yoongi was surprised by the aerial kick, Jimin landing perfectly only to drop down on spread knees once more. One of the back up dancer's hands roamed over his body from behind, fingers trailing down pretty skin. 

Yoongi felt an impending growl in his throat. He should be touching him like that. He tore his gaze away from the stage, pretending to focus on the teleprompter to get ready for his next line. He was going to devour him this evening in a way that would make Jimin never want to be touched by anyone else again. 

Jimin owned the live set like he understood attention instinctively. His smile never faltered. He flirted with the crowd and the camera both equally, garnering the loudest screams Yoongi had heard in weeks from both alphas and omegas alike. Jimin’s audience is exactly who he wanted it to be, people who accepted him. He was all fluid hips and sharp lines, looking like he was something sculpted meticulously and carefully by the gods. His soft lips stayed parted or plumped while he sang, beckoning everyone with his mouth. 

It drove Yoongi insane. He stood offstage pretending to be bored or uninterested. He failed miserably. Each time Jimin ran by to change his scent was strong, usually masked by makeup and sweat and perfume. But Yoongi’s pre-rut nostrils captured every pheromone. He smelled so warm. Like flowersin autumn with a hint of spice underneath the surface. 

Jimin noticed how he affected him which made it worse. When slipping back onto stage he purposefully pressed against Yoongi, whispering wide-eyed faux apologies. By the end of the show, Yoongi felt feverish. He kept pulling at his collar and thinking about anything but pressing Jimin against the expensive sheets of the hotel bed. 

He stood right next to him at the end of the show, waiting for the results of the fan-voting. All the performers from the evening were to bow and then they would announce. There was no doubt his debut title track blue would win. Jimin had practically eye fucked every spectator during the song, were they as I toxicated by him as Yoongi felt? As they both dipped forward their shoulders brushed and Yoongi nearly stumbled. Jimin’s scent spiked hard, that spice from earlier burning his nose. Omega instinct responding to alpha instinct in real time. 

On live fucking television. 

Yoongi tried not to be obvious as he shuffled a few steps away, pretending to give the stage to the performers as the screen behind them flashed the voting results. blue had won by a complete landslide. The crowd erupted. Jimin was lost in the chaos of the win, staff bringing out flowers, his title track playing loudly as he broke back into the choreography for an encore stage. Choreography that was perfect and precise.

Yoongi bid the viewers farewell. He was backstage, in ears discarded, already shrugging out of his stage clothes before Jimin looked his way again. 

He texted the name of the hotel, the floor and the room number. He felt like his entire body was buzzing with anxiety and anticipation. His car took him away quickly and in his hotel room he waited. 

“You really want to take your own car?” Hoseok asked. He was holding some of the bouquets of flowers that Jimin had been given. Plus a cake. Plus an overly expensive gift from the executive of the show. There was more in the car. 

“I don’t think there’s even room for me in there,” Jimin chuckled. “Just have the staff take it back to the company office. I’m going to sleep. You should go home too, isn’t your boyfriend waiting?” 

Hoseok rolled his eyes. Seokjin was waiting. Happily waiting, playing video games waiting. He told Hoseok he didn’t mind the waiting. This was just the beginning of it, so he hoped that would still ring true. He really loved Seokjin. “Yes but don’t you want to go for a drink, to celebrate? Jiminie, this is huge!” 

Jimin grinned and stretched his body. He knew he should be going for a drink with Hobi and the staff, but someone was waiting for him too. He didn’t know how much longer he would wait. 

“I’m exhausted, it’s two in the morning. We can go for a drink next week. Promise. I just want to sleep.” 

Hoseok passed the items over to a staff member to place in one of the company vehicles. He turned back around and brought Jimin in for a hug. “Okay, fine. But we’re celebrating next week. A company dinner.” 

Jimin allowed himself to let go and nodded. “Of course. Yes.” 

Hoseok eyed him carefully. The long bridge of his nose turned up every so slightly. “Jimin-ah, is your heat coming?” 

Jimin flushed from his neck to the dip in his back. It was. It had been erratic in these last few months, coming late or not coming at all because he was so stressed. So of course he’d slipped into pre-heat on the day of his debut show. “I think so. It’s off a little. It should even back out is what the company physician said.” 

Hoseok sighed. “You can’t let yourself work this hard this soon so much that your body is out of wack. We have a slow weekend on purpose, you have some social media stuff scheduled for Sunday but I can clear your schedule for tomorrow if needed.” 

Jimin replied with a rapid nod. “Please. I’ll call you when I’m through it.” 

Hoseok patted him on his shoulder. Realistically, an omega’s heat could last anywhere from 1-4 days depending upon the amount of hormones released and orgasms they were brought to. It was no secret that Jimin had always holed himself up to get through his heat as quickly as possible to return to his practice and schedules. It wasn’t great for his body, but it was worth it. He booed with the help of an alpha, a specific alpha to be exact, would make it over much faster. 

Private entrance. Discreet clothing. Cap and mask over his face. Jimin slipped into and through the hotel with ease. He didn’t know where Yoongi lived. Did he have a residence in both Seoul and Daegu? Or just one back home so maybe his performance schedules were spent between hotel rooms and long stay accommodations. It must have been lonely. 

Jimin stood in the hall in a black hoodie and mask pulled up to his bottom eyelids. His hair underneath was still finely styled. Yoongi could smell his scent and sweat, so he hadn’t showered after the show. Good. His eyes lifted towards Yoongi as he opened the door and that sultry gaze from early hit him tenfold. The pull at his gut made him reach out to grab him by the sweatshirt and tug him inside. He pounced immediately. 

With Yoongi in pre-rut and Jimin in pre-heat, their movements quickly became feral. Yoongi had their clothes off in record time. He was thankful to be in pre-rut so that the nervousness of their first time fucking was mostly out of his mind. He knew enough of the logistics, how hard could it be to stick a cock up an omega’s ass anyway? Naively, he thought it might be quick. But as he went to pin Jimin to the mattress, the tiniest growls of protest seeped from the omega’s throat. He looked up at him with lidded eyes and pursed lips, a palm on Yoongi’s bare chest not to keep him away but to make him pause. 

Park Jimin was going to make him work for it.

There’s a methodical way to spend your first rut and heat cycle with someone. If you’re going to mate, the details aren’t so important. But if you’re not, several steps must be taken in order to come out safe and unscathed. 

“You can’t mark me,” Jimin lazily pushed at Yoongi’s warm cheek as he attempted to bloom a bruise into his skin. It was normal for an alpha to mark their omega under any circumstances, it was out of desperation during rut. Yoongi growled low in his throat, rolling his eyes. He’d never been with anyone during his rut before, alpha nor female, but he knew instinctually what he wanted it to be like. Jimin and his omega had a different vision, a clearer vision. 

Of course, he’d probably been with plenty of people during his heat cycle before. Yoongi tried to keep the jealous thoughts out of his head. Heats without fucking can be unbearable for omegas, which is why so many of them take suppresants to keep the cycle away until necessary. A rut without an omega was just annoying. Yoongi had shaken his head to push the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to know or think anything about Jimin having been with someone else before. 

Yoongi’s cock pulsed, the heat ramping up as Jimin stroked him. He didn’t want to come anytime soon and he didn’t want to pop a knot either. He gently moved Jimin’s hands, pushing the omega onto his back, the hotel sheets shifting underneath him. “Still,” he commanded, parting his Jimin’s legs. He pushed his knees high and cupped his thighs. As he dipped down to blow the airiest breath at his hole, Jimin shuddered, a high gasp coming out. Yoongi chuckled, “I haven’t even touched you yet, pretty thing.” 

Jimin hummed, pleased with the praise. But it wasn’t just praise, it was the truth. Jimin was so incredibly pretty he felt otherworldly when Yoongi looked at him. The pink of his flesh as he kneeled lower, pressing his tongue inside, was pretty too. It was unfair for the world to have a being like Jimin exist among others. Yoongi traced the tight circle with his tongue, running over the ridges of taut muscle. Jimin’s thighs squeezed under Yoongi’s hold. He ate eagerly, devouring him just like he promised himself he would. The slick gushed quickly, the rim overly sensitive with the hormones flowing through him. Yoongi puckered his lips, slurping and lapping.

 Jimin’s heat exploded. 

He writhed under Yoongi’s hold when he inserted his first and then second finger. “Please, please, p–please,” Jimin whined, high-pitched and aching. He kept trying to sit up to pull Yoongi closer to him, needing to have him inside in that instant. But Yoongi’s alpha knew that this was an omega to be earned. He split his fingers, creating more movement and Jimin was begging to be fucked. 

“Shh,” Yoongi was trying his hardest to prep him the right way. He was certain the second he entered his rut would take over and he didn’t want to hurt him or mark him or something more permanent. He put a hand on his lower belly, “relax.” In between his fingers he placed his tongue back again, licking a thorough stripe over the entire fluttering hole.

Jimin whimpered in impatience. He slipped out of Yoongi’s hold before he knew what was happening. He pushed the alpha down in annoyance, but then placed his ass right above his face. Letting Yoongi take literally only one moment to realize what was going on, Jimin’s mouth sunk down over his cock. 

The rut wave crested high and spilled over, the scent too overwhelming and intoxicating for him to handle. Jimin knew exactly what he was doing and he was going to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was to be fucked. 

With a thick condom prepared and slicked down from everything that managed to leak out of Jimin when Yoongi brought him to his first orgasm, from behind Yoongi entered slowly. He kept his hand in the curve of Jimin’s back to steady himself and focused on his pretty skin and not how warm his ass felt around his cock. Jimin’s cheek lay flat against the mattress, but he kept scooting back to meet Yoongi’s slow thrusts. 

As he thought he might, Yoongi picked up speed quickly. His alpha chased every gasp, whimper, and moan the omega was offering. “You’re so good,” Jimin would pant and roll his hips back in the same rhythm as Yoongi. His scent was making him feel more drunk than he’d been able to get in months. His teeth ached to press deep into the soft skin to drink the scent from the source. He chose correctly to be far away from Jimin’s neck. 

The slap of skin between them became constant. Jimin had to change positions, using his elbows as leverage as Yoongi fucked him hardet. His large hands around his waist did something to Jimin that he wasn’t expecting. His omega took over. “I need your knot,” he begged. 

Yoongi stilled for a moment, he was still there, barely, his alpha threatening to make him lose the little control he had left when Jimin uttered the need. “Jimin-ah–”

“Please,” he pressed his ass back, wiggling it against Yoongi’s crotch. “I’ll be so good, please–please—please,” he took a gasping breath between each word as he begged. “It’s not enough, I need more.” 

With the little conscience still there, Yoongi knew he couldn’t knot him. The condom could break with the expansion, the knot could catch wrong. He did the only thing he could think of at the moment and he pulled out with a loud squelch, slick dripping down Jimin’s thighs. 

Jimin screamed, scrambling towards his body. His movements were no longer his own, but the omega’s inside of him. Yoongi turned him over and the scent slapped him in the face as Jimin shifted it to something so alluring his alpha and himself stopped thinking rationally. 

Showing him exactly what he needed, Jimin climbed in Yoongi’s lap. He straddled himself on both sides of Yoongi’s thighs, his rock hard cock in between them. He slid down with so much ease and grace that Yoongi wouldn’t be able to forget what it felt like without Jimin on him. 

Their lips ghosted over each other while Jimin rocked his hips. Maybe a little bit of himself had come back because his movements were more calculated. He wasn’t chasing a knot anymore, he was chasing depth and connection. He draped himself onto Yoongi, nose brushing softly against his cheek. Yoongi kissed him first, tugging on his hair a bit before sliding his hands back down to hold him. He focused for a second on the way Jimin rolled and grinding into him before bucking up to meet with similar thrusts. 

“Yes, yes—” Jimin came undone like putty in his hands. His nails pressed into Yoongi’s shoulders accidentally as he tried his hardest to hold onto reality. He sobbed, dropping his mouth to Yoongi’s shoulder and stifling the sound of his name as the orgasm overtook his entire body. The cum was sticky and warm between their stomachs and when Yoongi thrusted up another time, the amount of slick that leaked out was enough to make his knot start to swell. 

But Jimin, who is so quick witted and experienced, knew exactly what to do. He pulled off, tugging the condom away and tossing it somewhere in the hotel room. With warm pursed lips and an open throat Jimin swallowed him. He sucked vigorously, daring the knot to expand in his mouth, but it never did. Rather than making the alpha feel as though they were being denied something, Jimin did quite the opposite. He sucked and sucked until the knot had nothing to swell with as he brought Yoongi to climax with just the pulse of his mouth and the stroke of his hands. 

Yoongi should have known then, on that first night they spent together, going round after round until both slipping into rut and heat fucked slumber, that Jimin had ruined him for anyone else forever. It wasn’t until much much later that he’d even remembered his intention was for it to be the other way around.

Ten Weeks. 

“I’ll be back this evening,” Yoongi kisses Jimin at the doorway of his apartment. His mothers have left for their trip back to Busan and they’re alone again, even if only for a moment before Yoongi heads to the studio. The weekend was long and awkward with only a few moments shared together with Jimin’s mothers around. He presses more scent into him, wondering how he can transfer a whole day’s worth to help him feel at his best during something so big. “You’ll do great.” 

Jimin nods aggressively, anxiously. He pecks his lips a few times whining at the end. “I wish you could stay.” 

“I know, me too.” Their fingers are tangled together, two beings unwilling to part even though they know it’s temporary. 

Jimin is the last to let go, dropping Yoongi’s pinky as he turns. He’s so surprised at the immediate ache that follows. He takes a deep breath, bringing in the scent that’s left near his doorway and turns on his heel. He can do this. 

His makeup is done. Then ruined. Fixed, then smeared down his cheeks again. He’s tried filming the video four different times. Hoseok is the only member from Jimin’s entire team still left in the small room in his apartment he allows official content to be filmed in. Everyone else left once they thought Jimin was presentable enough for the camera. 

But he can’t seem to get the words out. I’m leaving. I’m resting. I’ll….come back to you? 

“You don’t have to do this, they really will draft something,” Hoseok has his hands on Jimin’s shaking shoulders. “Write it instead of filming, Jiminie, you’re torturing yourself.”

“No,” he hiccups slightly. “It’s just hormones. I can do it, I swear. I just need to let them know I’ll come back to the s-stage,” he crumples into tears once more. He places a hand over his stomach, trying not to sob as loud as he might if Hoseok weren’t here. He’s still so conflicted in all that he’s feeling. Contentment about the baby, grief about pausing the career he’s built, guilt about leaving the fans that love him so much. And yet, any moment he thinks about making a different choice it feels wrong. 

He knows this break is necessary, but he can’t help but wonder if he’s going to make it back from it. If they’ll welcome him when he tries. He’s given his whole life to the world as the idol Park Jimin. This is something for himself. For just Jimin. And now Yoongi too.. He wipes his face gently, trying not to smear the remaining makeup. He takes a deep breath, centering himself. “Let’s do this.” 

Hours later after the drafts are sent to the media team for editing and polishes and Jimin’s notice is written, he’s laying on the couch in the dark of the evening. Exhausted emotionally and physically from the day he’s been drifting in and out of sleep. He only wakes to feel unwell and allows himself to be drug back under. 

The vibration of his phone and the door buzzer startle Jimin into the pitch black living room. He scrambles for his device, lost in the small nest. When he finally finds it, the call has stopped, but his screen is filled with four missed ones from Yoongi and some messages too. He swipes up immediately. 

“Shit, sorry, hyung I wasn’t feeling well and I fell asleep and I’m sorry–” he doesn’t know why he feels so panicked. 

Yoongi’s voice is so calm just the sound of it helps Jimin settle. “It’s okay, I just didn’t want to go home without trying. I tried to get security to just let me up, beings that we came and left together recently but he wouldn’t budge. The alpha in me kind of appreciates it.”

Jimin laughs. Barefoot, he pads across the cool wood floors to let Yoongi up to his apartment. The minutes that go by until he’s able to slip himself into his arms feel long, but he’s finally there. 

“You say you’re not feeling well, hm?” Yoongi’s nose brushes lightly at his scent gland, igniting tiny goosebumps across Jimin’s skin. “I can help with that.” His touch is featherlight as his large palm goes to rest on Jimin’s stomach. His scent comes out thick, coating the air around them and Jimin at the same time. The sourness of Jimin’s nausea begins to fade and Yoongi feels satisfied to smell only himself. 

It’s only at midnight when Jimin has been scented, fed, fucked, and tucked into a warm nest when he realizes he’s never felt so safe in his entire life before. He feels so lucky. 

Jimin wakes to the scent of Yoongi before the sound of him. It’s earthy in a calming way, like visiting an old worn but elegant hanok on the outside of the city. Jimin tips his nose inside of the crook between Yoongi’s chest and chin, drinking in the smell from the source. His stomach, which is what woke him in the first place, is in terrible knots. He’d been tossing and turning for the last few hours, the nausea never truly letting him slip back into the deep slumber he’d gotten the night before. 

Yoongi’s scent is unfortunately not helping as quickly as he’d like. Jimin tries again, pressing his nose there this time. The slightest amount of stubble grazes the tip of his nose. He doesn’t care. He needs more. He buries his face, almost suffocating at how little space there is between him and Yoongi’s skin. He whimpers, nosing deeper as he begs for relief from the one thing that helps him feel not so shitty. Yoongi rouses, a deep hum tickling against Jimin’s face as he groans low in his throat. 

Jimin hadn’t realized he’d been emitting his own scent while searching for Yoongi’s. This was still so new for him, he’d never been scented or hunted for an alpha’s scent before Yoongi. They fucked relentlessly for years, but never allowed themselves to cross that line. Yoongi must have caught it in his sleep because he stills as Jimin squirms against his front, trying to find the right angle at his scent gland. Jimin shifts again and Yoongi’s bulge presses into his ass where he’s straddling him. Jimin rolls his hips, not to arouse him more, but to help himself get higher. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath, his hands going to Jimin’s waist. Jimin freezes and lifts his head to meet Yoongi’s gaze. 

“H-hyung,” Jimin suddenly feels shy. 

Yoongi’s hands go beneath his shirt, traveling gently up the sides, creating goosebumps across his skin. He notes the smallest of swells of skin. Somehow, knowing he’d pupped Jimin makes him want him even more. Jimin rolls his hips in response. Yoongi’s dick strains against his soft sleep shorts, moistening with precum already. “Do you—”

“Yes,” Jimin begs, his breath hitching. 

Yoongi removes both of their pants quickly, kicking them to the end of the bed where they fall gently to the floor. Slick has started to leak out of Jimin’s hole and drip down the inner curve of his ass. Yoongi starts to flip him over but Jimin shakes his head, gripping tighter to his shoulders. “Close,” he feels lost for words. 

Yoongi knows what he means. Jimin wants to feel all of him as they fuck. He wants to cling to Yoongi, melting their bodies together. Holding onto his waist, Yoongi scoots so that his back is against the headboard of Jimin’s bed. The blankets and fabrics of the nest surround them. He helps Jimin lift one leg before carefully sliding him down over the length of his dick. 

“F—fucking h—hell,” Jimin shudders. Using Yoongi’s shoulders as leverage he adjusts until he feels like he’s in the best position. He’s sunk down so far that if Yoongi thrusts up at all he swears he’ll feel him in his gut. Yoongi guides him, strong hands on his hips. It starts slow, rocking together. Jimin puts his nose back at Yoongi’s scent gland. With his dick trapped between their stomachs, Jimin begins to fuck himself on Yoongi. 

Yoongi lifts a hand from his waist to Jimin’s neck to bring his mouth up for a kiss. It’s warm, wet, and intoxicating. Jimin goes faster, rolling his ass and riding so that he takes Yoongi deeper. The alpha pants, bringing their heads together as he gasps as Jimin rocks hard into him. Jimin feels like he’s going to come any second. He’d read that increased libido and sensitivity could occur during pregnancy, but he was surprised. He’d always had incredible stamina. Yoongi had almost driven himself crazy one night trying to bring Jimin to orgasm, that he was purposefully withholding from him after forgetting to reply to his texts for a month. 

Jimin isn’t withholding now. He couldn’t if he tried. When Yoongi’s hips snap up to meet Jimin’s friction he takes a shaky breath against his lips. “Hyung—I think,” he swallows. The warmth of an impending orgasm pools low in his belly. He whimpers as Yoongi grabs his hips again, bringing him up and slamming him down. Jimin does feel him in his gut, and not in a good way. 

The warmth spreads up into the middle of his stomach climbing higher and higher. Jimin freezes. “S-stop,” his breath hitches. He pushes at Yoongi’s shoulders,  feeling the close contact they’ve had for the last ten minutes break. He whimpers in disappointment. 

“Jimin—what—” Yoongi can’t finish his question because Jimin is lifting his leg, sliding up and off Yoongi’s very hard and almost-knotted cock. He’s pushing away even more as Yoongi tries to help, confused and a little bit hurt. “Jiminie, what’s going on?” 

Jimin scrambles off the bed, hand pressed tightly against his belly. It clicks. Yoongi catches the soiled scent in the sheets. Of course. He watches Jimin snag a discarded robe from one of his chairs and push into his attached bathroom, the door clanging loudly against the wall. The slam of the toilet lid opening echos in the bedroom. Yoongi is up and after him. 

Jimin’s knees are sure to bruise with how hard he’s dropped onto the bathroom floor. He feels delirious and dizzy as he pitches forward and harshly throws up. 

Yoongi is there almost immediately with comfort. He rubs Jimin’s lower back and holds his long fringe off of his forehead. He pushes pheromones out, thickening the air with calm. But it’s not working. Jimin’s stomach keeps hitching. Even when he gets a break, he sniffles and whines in discomfort. Fifteen minutes go by before he finally closes the lid and lays down on top of it. 

He’s quiet. Yoongi’s fingers play delicately in Jimin’s hair. It’s so long and blonde right now, covering two and a half of the moons on his back. Yoongi had a best friend in grade school who didn’t have a mother. Little girls would show up at the playground with their hair pulled back into ponytails and pretty braids. Sunchae’s hair was long and unruly. Yoongi taught her and himself to tame it. 

Braiding Jimin’s hair hadn’t been the original plan, but it needed to be out of his face. By the scent he was giving off he wasn’t finished being sick and his forehead was drenched from the heat of itself. With one hand still on his back, Yoongi rummaged in the drawer until he found clear elastics. 

Delicate fingers comb through Jimin’s blond locks. He’s been blond for so long that Yoongi would sometimes forget it wasn’t his natural hair color. Crossing one strand of golden hair over the other, he braids gently, not wanting it to be too tight, but secure enough not to slip out. He hums while he does, the tune of the most recent track he’s working on never really leaving his brain. He hums to calm Jimin’s nervous system in the hopes of changing the outcome of his soured scent. He reminds his alpha that this is normal, that sickness often means a well growing pup. Braiding Jimin’s hair isn’t only for his benefit but Yoongi’s. Because if his hands weren’t busy in the tendrils of the peach-scented strands he would be searching the earth for the remedies to make his omega better. 

By the time Jimin sits back up, a tear trailing down the bridge of his nose as he readies himself to get sick again, his hair is finished. Yoongi thinks he looks like the most ethereal being he’s ever laid eyes on. Even when he isn’t feeling well. 

Fuck. He is so in love with him. 

Jimin sobs when he thinks he’s finally finished. Yoongi holds him, murmuring things to calm him down. He must feel so strange being so out of control of what’s going on with his body. Even pressed against him now he can feel the tiny swell that is the bump that’s starting to form. Jimin is doing something amazing, building a tiny human each day. Yoongi hates seeing how bad it makes him feel. But then Jimin surprises him by laughing. 

“I just wanted an orgasm this morning,” he sniffles, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his robe. “I should have known…when I woke up I was feeling so rough, but I still wanted it.” He laughs a little more which makes the alpha chill slightly. 

Yoongi chuckles back. “I wanted to give it to you.” He helps him up and instead of returning back to what they were doing, Yoongi draws them a bath. Jimin lowers himself in as the jets run, warmth spreading all over his body. It’s not until Yoongi is settled behind him, fingers unbraiding his hair to wash it that Jimin truly feels better. But there’s an ache too that hasn’t seemed to let up for a while now. 

Jimin loves him, with every breath he takes in his presence he loves him more and more. It’s consuming. And Jimin is terrified, because trying this feels like it’s out of convenience, though he knows Yoongi cares about him. But it’s a horror in his mind that his love is going to be too much, and not met with the same conviction. And that for some reason, this could all end. 

But he tells himself to settle, to focus on Yoongi’s hands in his hair, or large palms on his back as he massages his body. He tells himself that even if it is out of convenience, and that Yoongi might wake up one day if the world finds out and tries to turn against him, to realize he’s made a mistake and leave, that every moment will be worth it. 

The news of Jimin’s hiatus breaks in an explosive way. He hides away in his apartment reading article after article, comment after scathing comment asking what will come of him at the end of it. Will he rise back to the fame he grew? Will he return at all? Will they accept him if he does. If he doesn’t? The curtains in his apartment are drawn so that the hours between day and night blur. The outside world as Jimin knows it only exists within his phone. 

And it’s tormenting him. 

Two full days after the news has come out and there is still a new headline scrutinizing his letter or his video, where they’ve said he looks the most exhausted he ever has in his life, Yoongi tries to pull him out of the darkness. 

He enters Jimin’s apartment, after being texted a special code that allows him to come and go as he pleases, to silence. It’s two in the afternoon. He hadn’t stayed the night before because he had a late night session with a rookie girl group he was mentoring. One of their members was turning out to be a strong rapper and she dripped with an eagerness to learn that Yoongi hadn’t seen in such a long time. He’d ended up falling asleep in his studio after she left with a crook in his neck and an ache in his back. Sleeping in his studio was definitely something he couldn’t do at this age anymore. 

Jimin isn’t on the couch, Yoongi notices. The scent is stale in the living room, like it hadn’t been graced by his presence in a few days. It’s dark, though it’s afternoon, and there’s a small pile of mail that’s untouched which means Jimin hasn’t come out since the day before yesterday when the company mailed him the final copy of his adjusted leave contract. He’d sobbed and let Yoongi hold him. 

Yoongi sets the bags of takeout on the kitchen counter, the dishes show that at least Jimin has been attempting to feed himself. So he’s got that going for him. “Jiminie,” Yoongi calls lightly, hoping just the sound of his voice will make him emerge from wherever he is in the apartment. He’s plated the food, poured drinks, and washed a few dishes before he gives up busying himself and goes off to find Jimin. 

He doesn’t find him at first. He’s not in the bedroom nor the bathroom. His nest is empty and judging by the scent, it has been for a while. Yoongi searches all the rooms of the house, calling Jimin’s name gently as he does. His media room that he knows Jimin uses for work is empty also. Panicked, he tries calling out to him just one more time but it’s futile. He leans into the frantic alpha inside himself, searching by scent. 

Eventually, he finds Jimin sitting on the floor of his walk-in closet in complete darkness, wrapped in the hoodie Yoongi had discarded on the floor a few days ago. 

His phone battery has died and the room is silent, but so loud at the same time. Jimin isn’t crying…anymore,  but judging by the redness of his eyes that Yoongi can see, he has been. “You hiding from me?” Yoongi asks, kneeling in front of him and reaching out gently, not wanting to fracture anything else.

Jimin gives the tiniest shake of his head. “The windows,” his voice is rough from disuse. “I just didn’t want to fucking look outside,” his resolve is starting to break already so Yoongi pivots. 

 “Have you eaten?”

Jimin shakes his head, which tracks true because in his search through the house Yoongi hadn’t seen any dishes, smelled any food, just a half-empty water bottle. “I wasn’t hungry,” he leans into Yoongi and closes his eyes, body melting a little bit. Yoongi adjusts his legs to hold him better. 

“When I left yesterday…” he says slowly, “...I meant to come back last night. You said it was fine, but maybe it wasn’t? That rookie I told you about finally got one of her verses right.”

“I’m glad.”

Yoongi searches his face, running a hand down his back. He feels a little frail. He saw the latest story that went up this morning, running headlines that made it sound like Jimin was an idiot of the industry stepping away at a time like this. “It took her six hours, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  The words come easily enough that they almost sound convincing. Yoongi lets the silence settle between them as Jimin tucks himself a little deeper into his chest. The darkness of the walk-in closet might become their place. It is quiet here. Jimin has always been good at silence, something that made Yoongi admire him because he didn’t feel the need to fill every space with sound. 

He brushes absent circles between Jimin’s shoulder blades. “She reminds me so much of somebody the way she’s so eager.”

Jimin’s lips twitch against Yoongi’s neck, his chin having fallen into the divot of his collarbone. “Me?”

Yoongi’s body shakes with a gentle  laugh. “No, me.” 

“Hm.”

“She’s relentless and doesn’t know how to quit. She’s carrying the group for sure,  but doesn’t seem to mind. She enjoys her members, I think. Groups are different…you never know if anyone is as dedicated to this whole thing as you. But she gets one thing wrong and wants to stay another five hours until it’s right.”

Jimin sits up and the light from the bedroom is at least seeping in a bit so Yoongi can see his smile, though it’s faint. “You like people like that.”

Yoongi nods. 

“I used to be like that.”

The sentence is so soft that Yoongi almost doesn’t catch it. His hand stills on Jimin’s spine, which moon is he hovering over? 

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice the shift in the conversation, or if he does he keeps going anyway, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the wall of the closet now. “I’d wake up with a melody in my head and spend the whole day chasing it, wondering where it might land, until I figured out where it wanted to go. I’d dance the steps until it felt like my feet themselves might just fall off.”

“You still do,” Yoongi pauses, “and you will again.”

Jimin shrugs. “For now I wake up and wonder if I can keep breakfast down,” he forces a tiny laugh that sounds a little more pitiful than he intends it to. 

Yoongi wants to say something that will contradict what he’s saying. They’re only in the beginning of this, with so long to go and much uncertainty in between. He wants to tell Jimin that he’ll write again and dance and fill the stadiums in the way he loves, because music doesn’t leave people like Jimin. But sitting here in the dark, where Jimin is hiding from a world that adored him, with curtains he knows haven’t been opened in days, reassurance feels too easy and so fake. So instead, quietly he responds, “I’ll wait,” and even more gently as he pulls him back in against his chest. “And so will they.” 

Jimin settles into Yoongi and allows a few more tears to escape. He knows, deeply underneath the feelings that are bursting from the surface right now, that Yoongi is probably right. That’s not really the fear. He would choose this baby every single time. Even if it’ll cost him every stage he’d ever stood on, every award on every shelf, every screaming area and headline with the songs attached to his name. 

He would grieve it all. But he would still choose this. He would still choose Yoongi. 

Yoongi gets Jimin out of the closet and gets him to at least pick at the food he brought for lunch. He lets him plug in his phone and curl into his body in the nest. He falls asleep against him so easily, breathing slowly and even, one set of fingers fisting Yoongi’s shirt as if Jimin is the infant. The light shifts into evening.

Yoongi lies there for so long before falling asleep himself. 

Outside, the city keeps going. Schedules keep filling. Songs keep getting written and dreams keep beginning. Eventually, he’ll have to leave again. There will be another session, another deadline, another room full of people who will never know him better than the man asleep his chest ever publicly will. It strikes him too suddenly that there are so many hours in a day. And somehow, despite wanting nothing more than to be here with Jimin, he already isn’t. 

The thought styles uncomfortably and he can’t tell if it’s guilt or something else entirely. 

He sleeps. 

Chapter Text

min yoongi, summer of fourteen.

Yoongi can easily remember the first time he rejected who he truly was. Fourteen years old, his second summer at the English Village immersion camp, something his parents forced on him, nothing that he wanted. What he wanted to be doing was dissecting the lyrics of the latest Yoon Mirae’s release for Lineage II and playing that exact game at the PC cafe near his house with Jungwan. 

Instead, he had a teacher whacking his pointer finger for his tongue’s mispronunciation of coexist. They were not coexisting well together. When he moved his hand for the third time to dodge being hit the old man sighed and told him to go face the wall. 

This is where Yoongi felt attraction towards an omega for the first time that he was willing to admit it to himself. A boy, with a name he’d never utter aloud, but also never forget because they swore the immersive summer was theirs and theirs only, stood next to him that day. They were supposed to be standing at the wall with their hands up until the teacher came back around to tell them they could stop. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Always a little rebellious, Yoongi was no stranger to staring at the wall. 

“It makes the time go faster if you imagine yourself in your head with your favorite idol,” a soft voice came. If they were caught speaking the time they were designated to stand (which was never real in the first place) would double. So Yoongi ignored him. He kept staring at the wall, but was becoming distracted too easily. At fourteen as teens were just presenting their full subgenders fully their scents often became out of control. Daegu was a place where alpha scents were almost the only aroma citizens could catch, omegas were forced to suppress almost the moment they came of age. 

So as the candy-sweet like rose syrup scent kept flashing and flaring in the small space between the two of them, Yoongi couldn’t help but take small breaths of it. Micro-doses of something so enticing that he’d never been allowed to have before. And never would be. 

“I imagine myself with Eunhyuk,” out of the corner of his eye Yoongi could see him smirk. “Eunhyuk is—” Yoongi knew exactly who he was, one of the most popular new alphas from a group that had debuted a few years before. Omegas were not openly allowed to want alphas in Daegu. 

He continued to ignore him, almost stretching his arms higher to focus on the strain of his muscles rather than the scent that was making him feel the same way he’d felt when Jina was dared to kiss him at a classmate’s noraebang party a few months ago, but this time he felt a little more. He continued to ignore the omega no matter how much he poked and prodded at him during their time on the wall. He asked Yoongi where he was from, revealed he was from a few towns over but just moved here. He asked why Yoongi had to go to the wall, he was placed there twenty minutes before because he’d forgotten to clean up a napkin after himself during lunch. 

The longer he talked, the thicker his scent got, so much that Yoongi wondered how old he was because he hadn’t even gotten that good at projecting by that age. The thicker his scent got, the more Yoongi wanted it. The more he wanted, the angrier he was. 

He couldn’t wait until the teacher released them both from punishment to return to English practice. He forced out coexist in the clearest way possible, swearing to himself that he’d never do anything to be trapped over there with him again. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but he hated it. 

In the evening, when he snuck out of his dorm to sit by the quiet lake and listen to the Wonderful with the brand new mp3 he’d begged to bring to camp. If they were going to send him away for six weeks, he swore to his mom he didn’t even care as long as he had his music. The mosquitos were annoying, but he was alone which was better than being in the dorm with three other boys who all seemed to come from the same school or Hagwon. No one from last summer was here and those were the people Yoongi had actually made friends with. 

The song transitioned to Midnight Fantasy Eunhyuk’s voice dripped out in playful English. 

When I see you my heart skips a beat

I'm getting ready to tell you how I feel

“I thought I was the only one who snuck out of the dorms,” a familiar voice startled Yoongi so much that he dropped his mp3 on the ground between the two of them. He looked up from the mp3 to be met with the shadowed face of the omega from earlier. Panicked, he reached down to grab it at the same time that the omega bent down as well. Their hands touched, dainty fingers brushing his own. He pressed the mp3 into his hand as he looked into his eyes, mere centimeters apart. The rose syrup wafted thickly into his nose. 

It wasn’t until after his back was pressed to the tree behind him that he realized he was being kissed. His eyes popped open immediately, shoving the omega off then looking around frantically to make sure no one else was around. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled. 

Yoongi’s mother always said swearing was unintelligent and beneath them so he wasn’t allowed to do so, but in a moment where his brain was short circuiting fuck felt really good to say. The omega in front of him smirked just like earlier, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “I know you could smell me earlier,” he looked proud of himself, “and I could smell you too. I wondered if you might feel–”

“I feel nothing,” he stepped away and swiped his wrist over his mouth harshly. “I don’t know what you think you smelled, but you’re wrong. I’m an alpha for alphas,” he spat, “stay the fuck away from me.” Before a reply could come he stalked back towards the dorms. Falling asleep that night was hard because though it had been brief, he kept thinking about the softer lips pressed to his. He liked it. 

And that terrified him. 

Days passed without the two crossing paths long enough to even catch the other’s eye. Yoongi was a model student during this time, working on pronunciation during down time. He swore that English and the music in his mp3 would be the only thing he would focus on. Not how pretty the omega looked during swim time that morning at the lake, the way the drips of water seemed to glisten down his delicate neck. Not the way he would focus on his voice in class, hand raised in the back row where Yoongi couldn’t see him, but he somehow always knew exactly where he was. 

When he went back to the lake, sneaking out again close to midnight he almost didn’t approach the spot he usually sat in. The omega was there, legs sprawled out in front of him, picking flowers from the ground one by one and making a pile of them between his thighs. Not really realizing his actions as they happened, Yoongi picked one from a few meters away, it was bigger than the others and pink in a way they were not. He dropped it on top of the pile before plopping down next to him, their shoulders brushing. 

“So maybe I do feel—” he was cut off by a giddy squeal and a very energetic and sloppy kiss, much like the ones he’d seen in the movies. He felt himself shaking all over uttering it aloud as peck after peck was pressed gently into his cheek, nose, bottom of his chin. 

“I knew it,” he smiled and Yoongi let himself feel a little breathless, a little happy that the smile was given to him. He was very cute. “I know you’re from here, I know what it can cost to be like me. I won’t ever ask you to be that in front of other people, but if you want to you can be yourself with me. You can feel just like I do.” 

Away from his family for four more weeks, Yoongi thought it might be nice to try. He’d always pushed it down before, when he caught his gaze lingering on omegas before. He was from one of the strongest alpha for alpha families in Daegu. He’d never be able to be who he truly was when he left immersion camp. But for those four weeks, he was going to let himself live just a little. 

They quickly became inseparable in the secretive ways they could. Choosing the same extracurricular, eating at the same table at lunch, even if they weren’t next to each other, but around each other knowing how the other felt was good. When he laughed, Yoongi’s stomach swooped in a new way he wasn’t used to. When he told him about it he was laughed at, then kissed. Oh, I give you butterflies. It felt like so much more than butterflies, it felt like a hurricane inside of him. 

They snuck away in the night together, meeting up at the lake almost every evening after their dorm mates fell asleep. It was harder for him to get away because the omega dorms were further from the lake. Sometimes, Yoongi thought he wasn’t going to show up. But then as the thought of leaving entered his mind, he would come jogging over, gasping for breath and throwing himself into Yoongi’s lap. “Sorry, the supervisor took so long to go to the bathroom this time! I’m going to need to slip a laxative or green tea in that mug he drinks that I know has soju in it.” 

Yoongi would just shake his head and kiss him, because kissing him became one of his favorite activities that summer. They couldn’t mark each other at all because fraternizing wasn’t allowed at camp no matter who you were attracted to. But they’d lie next to each other in the grass, lips changing pace every so often. Yoongi likes to think of that as the summer he learned how to kiss well. But more than kiss, they talked. 

Yoongi learned from him what it was like to be an omega in a town where you could be yourself, having two lesbian omega mothers sounded like a dream that Yoongi couldn’t have imagined. He loved and respected his parents, of course, but they could never truly know him in the way he wanted them to. Yoongi talked about that too, never really allowing himself to explore this version of who he was because it was simply forbidden. He was looked at with so much sadness, followed by the gentlest of kisses. 

“One day, when you’re so much older I’m sure you’ll find a way to be who you want to be.” Yoongi’s chest ached because he knew that would never happen. But for a second, he wanted it to be true. 

They should have known not to become so bold in the final week of camp. Rather than sitting away from each other at lunch they were now next to each other, surrounded by the acquaintances they’d made of course, but still together. Yoongi would hook a pinky around his underneath the table where he swore no one could see them. They paired up in activities together, volunteering to have conversations in English during class. Their time together was coming to a close and it scared Yoongi more than he wanted to admit, because as soon as he went home, he’d go back to suppressing who he was like an omega in Daegu was required to suppress their scent and heat. 

It started to rain on one of their last nights together. The storm picked up quickly and Yoongi wouldn’t let him walk back to the dorm alone no matter how much he said he’d be fine. His alpha was too attached at this point, the need to protect and care for the omega was too strong. Finally, he relented. “You can walk me to the tree line but no further.” 

They still walked slowly, even though it was pouring because they knew their moments together were dwindling. Yoongi had been sullen that week and was called out on it. “This summer is ours, no matter what. They can’t take it from us.” But they could. 

Yoongi was too immersed in the kiss, his hand on the wet skin of the omega’s back beneath the t-shirt that clung to him. Their breaths were starting to come out harsh and the rose syrup scent was infiltrating the nerve-endings of his alphas senses. They didn’t hear the supervisor open the door. They didn’t know they were caught until the flashlight shined on them, but splitting apart didn’t come quickly enough. They were caught, and they were in trouble. Rather than act like it wasn’t happening, the omega grabbed his hand, squeezing it. He was trying to tell him the same thing he’d said a few days before, but it was clear in the supervisor’s eyes how big of trouble they were in. 

Yoongi’s parents arrived the next morning four days ahead of schedule. His belongings had been packed by a staff member while they sat in the office and the Director told them that he was not to return the following summer for breaking several rules, including fraternizing with an omega in the middle of the night. The dread in his stomach was enough to make him sick, the butterflies indeed had been a hurricane, and it was set out to destroy him. He sat silently the entire time as they dished out the insults about how embarrassing this was for their family, how sorry they were, and how much of a contribution they were willing to give in order to keep this off official records. 

Yoongi was able to excuse himself away to the bathroom just before he was set to get in the car and face the hour-long drive back home. Inho was washing his hands when Yoongi walked in. He almost turned on his heel, but Inho’s scent was so distressed he couldn’t. He shut and locked the door immediately. “I—” the words died on his tongue. What could he even say? He was sorry? He shouldn’t have walked him to the dorm?

“I’m going to miss you,” Yoongi said instead. “I’m really, really going to miss you,” his bottom lip quivered and his vision became blurry in a way he wasn’t used to. “Fuck, Inho—how, how am I supposed to go back there and be….” he cut off and shook his head, tears falling at their feet. 

Inho, whose name Yoongi doesn’t utter to this day because the ache will always be there, lifted his chin. “One day you’re going to wake up next to someone who unfortunately won’t be me which is devastating for us both,” he chuckled but he was crying too, “and he’s going to be exactly who and what you need him to be. This summer is going to remind you of that. They can’t take this summer from you, and they can’t take the future either. You have to remember that, Yoongi-hyung.” 

They kissed for the last time. Inho stayed in the bathroom so they couldn’t get caught together again, their pinkies hooked until the door closed. 

As Yoongi’s driver took the family back home he sat stone faced and silent as his parents hurled disappointment after disappointment speeches at him. They made him swear he’d never disgrace them like that again, that his exploration phase was over. All he did was nod and say yes ma’am, yes sir in return. He was grounded for the remainder of the summer, forced to visit the office with one of his parents each day so they or their staff could keep an eye on him. They did it under the guise that he was studying them, learning the ropes to become a successful alpha for alpha businessman just like the rest of his family. 

They never spoke about that summer and what happened after they arrived home again. But Yoongi felt it in him. Each time he smelled roses that weren’t sweet enough, he remembered that summer. He pushed the feelings down every single time, almost praying for them to go away. They allowed him to study music on top of business because he would show them the videos of the alpha for alpha rappers, noting their assertiveness in the way they rapped their verses. The only reason he was even able to go on Idol Island was because he never reminded them of that summer ever again, stuffing down who he was from every moment on. 

Until he met Park Jimin. 

Eleven weeks. 

Jimin’s purr is so loud Yoongi can’t possibly sleep any longer. He’s warm against his side, chest and belly vibrating with the continuous sound. He chuckles, his omega is so happy. Yoongi had returned late into the morning so Jimin was already asleep. He’d thought about going home, not wanting to wake him, but he couldn’t really get himself to do that. Now that Jimin had started to slightly show, his alpha was even more protective and clingy towards him. Jimin was clingy too, barely letting go of Yoongi when he was around. Like now, one leg is thrown over Yoongi’s stomach, nose pressing to his scent gland, hand gripping his shirt while the other is tucked under Yoongi’s back. He didn’t really understand how this was comfortable for him, but he’d woken up to Jimin like this for the past four mornings. 

He really couldn’t think of any other way he would have liked to awake. Yoongi shifts just slightly and the purr goes up in octave to a whine. He pushes his calming scent out and feels Jimin breathe deeply, taking it in even while he’s sleeping. He should try to get himself to fall back asleep, he hadn’t been out that long. But the restlessness inside him had been so present lately. His thoughts running the marathons his legs didn’t have the time to carry. He was supposed to leave in two days to go see his family for his mother’s birthday weekend and he’d yet to tell Jimin. He wasn’t even trying to keep it from him, he was trying to avoid it as much as possible. He would have rather been a rookie rapper begging on the street for someone to buy his demo for bus fare than spend forty-eight hours at home. He’d never even experienced that kind of lifestyle before, but in the grand scheme it still seemed better than visiting Daegu. 

And there were the thoughts of Jimin, the constant ones that swirled in his head and took up space not only there but throughout his body too. The love he had, now that he was allowing the secret to at least exist inside himself, felt a little like a broken rib not quite healed right. But the kind of rib you break when you are young and adventurous and when it’s cold outside the ache it gives you reminds you of how good the adventure was. Loving Jimin, holding him like this, feeling his purr against his chest and his sweet scent never truly leaving his nostrils, felt good. It felt amazing, even. But the ache was there too, because he knew he was silently taking something from him by asking him to keep his secret for an indefinite amount of time. He didn’t know what it would be like at all to let anyone in on it.

His thoughts must be too loud for only himself because Jimin wakes, blinking up at him in a way he thinks a baby might. He hasn’t spent much time around babies, another web in the occupations of his brain. “Hi,” Jimin smiles lazily, a sleepy little yawn coming out of him that is so cute Yoongi just has to lean down to kiss him. Jimin pulls away from the kiss way too quickly, causing Yoongi to frown. Jimin shakes his head and sits up slowly. “Sorry, hyung, but we’ve got to brush our teeth before kissing,” his face pales for a second and he makes a blegh sound, shivering for a moment. He gets out of bed and slides into slippers. When Yoongi doesn’t move he’s the one to frown. “C’mon, hyung, don’t you want to kiss me?” He waggles his eyebrows scampering away like a brat. 

Yoongi chuckles, staring after him for only a beat longer before climbing out of the nest. Fuck. He loves him. 

Yoongi makes the two of them breakfast and they chat about Jimin’s newest fixation that has been seeming to help him feel better and busier these days. He’d mentioned it once before, documenting things for his fans to show them well after their pup was born. Hoseok had come over the day before to set up some of the technology they used when Jimin filmed at-home content. Yoongi never allowed his company to do any of his promotions from his actual home, always renting something if he was showing something more mundane. So he wasn’t used to so many devices being around, it felt a little strange, even though he was used to filming too, to have a camera placed between them at the table. 

“I’m having fun with it, soon, when I tell them, I’m going to need Jungkookie to come over and help me edit things.”

Jimin was able to film in ways that didn’t include Yoongi, but every once in a while he would pause and ask gently if he wanted to be included, not to show the world, but to show their baby some day. A part of Yoongi screamed yes, but his fear won each time and he’d just shake his head and snag a hand-held, pointing it at Jimin. Why would our baby want to see me when you’re the most beautiful? 

Jimin never pushed. Yoongi was grateful for that. 

They’re just about finished when Jimin gags hard and pushes the bowl away suddenly, shaking his head. “Nope, no, absolutely not, our pup hates eggs.” He turns his nose up and gags again. This makes Yoongi whisk the bowl away towards the trash can. “You ate almost all of them, though?”

But it’s too late, the taste is in Jimin’s mouth and he can’t stop smelling it. Jimin doesn’t think he’ll make it to the bathroom so he gently hip bumps Yoongi out of the way to lean over the trash. His stomach hitches violently, discarding the eggs and small amount of rice he’d gotten in. A gentle hand comes down between his shoulder blades as he retches again, one hand braced against the counter for leverage. His other hand hugs his middle trying to give himself any comfort he can. It’s relentless and lasts far too long. 

He’s shaky when he’s finished, so much that Yoongi helps him into the living room and onto the couch. He tries not to flop with heavy weight when the backs of his thighs meet the soft material. “Hyung—“ his voice is wrecked like he’d just come off tour. 

“I’ll stay with you today,” Yoongi’s voice is so calm, but Jimin can see in his eyes how panicked he is. “Gonna grab you some water, don’t pass out on me.” 

“I’ll try,” Jimin whispers and means it, he feels himself fading a little bit. Yoongi hasn’t spent a full day off here with him since they got together. Jimin hasn’t actually been all that forthcoming about how much he struggles during the day. The kitchen fiasco is just one of many times. He has read over and over again on Naver threads how normal it is how he feels, but he can’t help but be exhausted by it. It’s supposed to subside after next week or two and he really hopes it does. Another thing he’s worried about if he does have Jungkook help him edit things how many times he’s going to have to edit out Jimin getting sick. 

Yoongi returns with both water and a steaming mug of a mint-sweet tea that he’d picked up a few days ago. Jimin hadn’t tried it yet, even though Yoongi kept swearing to him that it was supposed to make him feel better. Jimin sips the water and then takes a gentle sip of tea too. It settles warmly in his belly. Yoongi picks up Jimin’s thighs, draping them over his lap to sit close to him on the couch. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Jimin is talking with his eyes closed, the color is slowly returning. 

“Don’t be sorry, your body is busy putting our pup’s ears into position and separating their toes,” he gives one of Jimin’s a squeeze, “it’s a lot to do. I want to help where I can.”

Jimin opens his eyes and he’s wearing his fond smile. “Did you really read the week by week omega guide I sent you at 3am the other day?” 

Yoongi nods, rubbing his thigh, “Of course I did. Kokona had stepped out of the booth for a few minutes to go work with another producer on some vocal techniques. I needed something to keep me awake.” 

“How long until the album is done?” Jimin asks, not trying to put any emotion into his voice. Yoongi has lit up any time he’s talked about it, excited to finally have the time to produce another artists’ album. The girls are new and exciting, the maknae member and rapper having caught most of Yoongi’s attention. Jimin isn’t jealous, he reminds himself almost every day. 

Yoongi hums as the soft caressing he was doing switches to deeper, massage-like movements. Jimin sips his tea and his alpha feels satisfied. “This is their first full length album after last year’s singles success, so a while. Probably two more months of writing and recording, then re-recording, concept shoots and such.”

“Are you participating in the concept building too?” Jimin loved that part of creating an album. He and one of the Creative Managers would pour over books, poems, and art for weeks on end to come up with things that would stick. 

Yoongi’s scoots as his hands travel further up Jimin’s body, massaging his hips lightly because he’d mentioned some soreness at the bottom of them and his bump yesterday. “A little. They’ve done a lot of it. It’s a darker album, focusing a lot on their struggles. They’re highlighting each members’ individuality too.” 

“So is Ko–” Jimin pauses, trying to remember her name

“Kokona…” Yoongi fills in. 

“Right, Kokona. Is she your focus if it’s based upon individuality?”

Yoongi’s thumbs rub slow circles into Jimin’s lower belly. “Yes and no. Kokona feels most comfortable with me, but I work with the whole group.” Jimin hums and Yoongi’s thumbs still, he looks up to meet his eyes. “Jiminie, are you….jealous?” 

Jimin can feel his traitorous ears burn. “No.” 

Yoongi is smirking. He slides his hand a little lower, finger ghosting the waistband of Jimin’s sleep shorts. Jimin sets his mug of tea down. “Jiminie, baby….” Yoongi whispers. “You’ve got nothing to be jealous over.” 

His movements are calculated as he plants tiny but wet nips along the line. He dips his nose into the curve where his groin and hip meet, inhaling at one of the scent sources. He licks and begins to suckle at the spot, earning a sharp breath from the omega. He works a red blossom into the spot that will turn into a maroon mark by the end of the day, and he swears he can taste how sweet Jimin’s scent is. All the while he marks him Jimin grows harder and harder, his sounds coming out louder too. 

“Hyung, please,” he whines, squirming. 

“Please, what my jealous baby,” Yoongi chuckles, reaching a hand in to stroke him. His shorts are already a mess of pre-cum and slick, his omega so sensitive in his eleventh week. “You really think I have wants for anyone else but you?” He strokes up with a quick snap. 

Jimin gasps. “No!” He’s pushing his ass lower, “it’s me. I’m so good for you, right, I’ll be so good I swear please.” His voice is strained. 

“Please, what? What do you want? Should hyung fuck you? It could be nice and slow,” his hand movements become more languid. “Or I could eat you out, not stopping until your legs are shaking and there isn’t any more slick for me to devour.” Jimin’s shorts are off now so Yoongi blows at the tip of Jimin’s cock. “We could be quick and I could take care you with my mouth, too?” 

Jimin is panting, his omega taking over more of his mind than he expected. “Fuck me, please, hyung. Fill me please, I want—-I need you inside of me.”

Yoongi doesn’t ask anymore questions. He discards his own pants and preps Jimin with his fingers quickly. Jimin is already gushing more slick into his couch, the nice thing is that they’re positioned in the small nest so anything that needs to be washed could be. He enters slowly and is surprised at just how warm Jimin’s walls feel around him. It’s not usually like that, and it feels so fucking good. Later, Yoongi will wonder if it’s because of the change in Jimin’s hormones. For now, he focuses on making them both feel good. 

Jimin comes first just like he has every time they’ve fucked lately. It’s so much sooner than Yoongi is used to and it causes Jimin extra over stimulation. By the time Yoongi is close to orgasm Jimin’s nails have dug into his back repeatedly, trying to hold onto something in desperation. His high pitched wails only serve to help Yoongi thrust harder. He’s so close, he’s not going to knot this time but he’s going to come hard. 

The air shifts so quickly if he were in rut he wouldn’t have caught it. One moment Jimin was holding onto him tightly, the next his grip started to slip off Yoongi’s back. Yoongi stared, watching his eyes flutter. Yoongi stills immediately. “Jiminie?” 

Jimin pants. “I just feel—-” his words come out slow, “dizzy.” 

Yoongi tries not to move inside him too much, extending one arm to get a better look at him. Jimin’s sweating intensely, blond hair stuck to his face and back of his neck. Yoongi’s pulse picks up. He starts gently blowing on him. “Okay, Jimin, baby, stay with me okay? I think your body is trying to pass out.” 

Jimin gives an exhausted chuckle. “You fucked me a little too good.” 

Yoongi tugs off his shirt, exposing Jimin’s skin to the cool air of his apartment. “Not funny.” 

“It’s okay, hyung, I’ll be okay just,” his eyes flutter once more, his grip going entirely slack but he’s still awake. 

“Should I have you sit up and drink some water or—”

Jimin moans, “no. Sitting would be worse. Just,—-” he sighs sort of like he does just before he’s about to fall asleep, “blow again.” 

Yoongi does. His lips purse to push cool air onto Jimin wherever he can. Slowly, Jimin’s body responds. He doesn’t end up fainting fully. Yoongi turns him on his slide slightly, blowing more cool air onto his body. The better Jimin appears, the slower Yoongi’s heartrate gets. 

He dresses them both from the bottom up and scampers off into the house to find a fan. Jimin is sitting up and sipping water when he returns. He’s also carrying a can of fresh air that they often use on tour. He plugs the fan in and points it directly at Jimin. “Here.” 

Jimin laughs at the fresh air can and pushes it away slightly. “I’m not coming off the stage, Hyung.” 

“Well!” Yoongi throws his hands up. “I thought it might help. You scared the fuck out of me why didn’t you say anything?” 

Jimin finishes his water and sets the glass down. “It happened too quickly. I thought it was just a high from multiple orgasms, thanks to whatever got into you, hyung,” Yoongi does not look amused, “and if already slipped too far before I could even mention it.” 

Yoongi grabs Jimin’s phone off the table, holding it in front of Jimin’s face to unlock it. 

“What are—-” 

“I’m calling your omega doctor’s office. I can’t believe my dick almost killed you,” his thumb slams down on the contact before puts the phone to his ear. 

Jimin is giggling with his hand over his mouth because Yoongi still looks panicked and just as shaky as he still feels. “Your dick did not almost kill me…if anything you fu—-”

He cuts off when Yoongi turns the phone on speaker. “Yes, hello. Can we speak to Doctor X immediately, her patient Park Jimin, eleven weeks pregnant just almost fainted and I’m wondering if I should take him to the hospital.” 

Jimin slaps his forehead. “We do not need to go to the hospital!” 

Yoongi shoots him a look that makes his omega cower a bit and he shuts his mouth. 

It takes several minutes of waiting to finally get her on the phone. As they do, Yoongi refills Jimin’s water and makes him drink more. He pushes the fan closer even though Jimin tries to swat it away and complains that now he’s cold. By the time she’d finally on the line Yoongi almost had a mind to just get his keys and drive him anyway. 

“I’m so sorry for the long wait I was in an examination. My charge nurse told me you almost fainted, Jimin-ssi. Tell me what happened?” 

“He just got really hot,” Yoongi pauses, “this is Min Yoongi by the way, the pup’s other father. But he got really hot and his eyes were fluttering and he almost fainted.” 

“Okay, can you tell me what he was doing when this happened? Did he go from sitting to standing? Was he exerting energy by working out or maybe Jimin are you working and doing practice schedules?” 

Jimin frowns. “No, im not working. I was exerting energy yes.” 

“Okay, were you working out? Maybe jogging or doing Pilates?” 

“I was working out a little bit maybe,” he says and puts his hand over his mouth with a giggle. He feels much better now that he’s cooler and a little like a teenager making this ridiculous call. 

“Min Yoongi-ssi what kind of exercise were the two of you doing when Jimin almost passed out?” 

Yoongi pauses and Jimin shakes his head. He’s mouthing to lie to make something up because he feels like he’s calling his mom to tell her that he’s lost his virginity or something. But Yoongi shakes his head back. “We were having sex.” 

“Oh!” Dr. Noh exclaims rsther happily in the way the two of them didn’t expect, “that’s great you’re feeling well enough for intercourse. Jimin I thought with the morning sickness struggles we’d talked about in the video chat check in last week you wouldn’t be feeling better for at least a few more weeks.” 

It was Jimin’s turn to pause. He hadn’t told Yoongi it had gotten bad enough that he requested a video chat appointment because the idea of getting in a car to go see what was wrong made him feel even sicker at the time. 

“Well….” Jimin huffs. “I still feel sick. I got sick maybe thirty minutes before we—” why the hell does he feel so shy about this, she’s a doctor?? 

“Ahh, this makes more sense. I’m assuming you didn’t eat in between.” 

“No,” Yoongi replies. 

“And did you orgasm fully?” 

Jimin chokes on the sip of water he’d just taken to distract himself. 

“Oh he did,” Yoongi says and now his tone is lighter because Dr. Noh doesn’t seem concerned and he’s got something on Jimin. “Multiple times.” 

“And he was on his back or—”

“I was laying down. Dr. Noh can you please skip to telling us if this is normal and if I should go to the hospital or not?” 

Her tone is light as well. “I just need all the details to give a more definitive answer. To put it short it’s not normal per say, but not concerning either. Your hormones are in an extended amount of overdrive. That paired with laying on your back, compressing some important blood flow, a drastic change in blood pressure,  and un replenished untried could all cause a syncope response.” 

“What?” Jimin scrunches his eyebrows together. 

“It’s a rush your body gets when you experience an orgasm. In normal circumstances you don’t feel faint or pass out. In pregnancy, there are small chances.” 

“So we can’t have sex?” Jimin is suddenly not bashful anymore and terrified at the idea. “But Dr. Noh—forgive me but I need to have sex.” 

Yoongi smirks proudly. 

“You can, of course, continue having intercourse and while giving intercourse tips is not my expertise I do have a few suggestions.” 

She wraps up the conversation confirming that Jimin does not need to go to the hospital but should focus heavily on fluid and nutrient replenishment and retention. No sex early in the morning before at least something in his stomach. Adding vitamins in as well to help balance hormones. No intercourse when he’s gone too long without eating, has recently been sick, or when he’s just generally feeling unwell. When she hears that he still isn’t going out she recommends light exercise, like daily walks.  She lets them both know that she’ll do a full panel at his 2nd trimester appointment. 

She said they could have sex but by the end of the conversation when Jimin’s nausea has returned he feels like it will never happen again. 

Yoongi makes Jimin eat for the second time that day, thrusting whatever at him that he swears he’ll be able to stomach. It’s an array of foods and drinks and it looks like Jimin’s kitchen has exploded all over his island. Yoongi pushes another blueberry into his mouth while he stirs a bowl of yogurt. 

“Hyung, I swear I’m fine, I’m full.” 

Yoongi shoots him a nervous look. “Just a little yogurt. The probiotics are good and—”

Jimin places his hand over Yoongi’s. “Hyung…” his voice is so soft. 

Yoongi sighs. “I’m at work all day and all night and I don’t even know what you’re going through.” 

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not okay, Jimin,” Yoongi sits on the stool and slides a leg between Jimin’s. He holds his hand gently. “You have to tell me when things are bad. I can come take care of you, or send food in, or call Hoseok even.” 

“You’re busy. This producing thing is huge for you, and you’re so happy. I didn’t want to add any stress to your already full plate.” 

“We’re together, Jimin, aren’t we?” His looks at him searching for any doubts. “I know that you are so used to hiding any weakness and taking all your challenges on yourself. But you can’t do that with me. You have to let me in too.”

“We’re together. We are. I want this to go well, hyung I—” his lip quivers and he swears he could tell him right then and there how much he loves him. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it. It won’t happen again.” 

“I‘ll step away if you need me to,” Yoongi says, “I can pass this album off to someone else in house.” 

“No!” Jimin scrambles in his lap. The deep depression of his choice has lifted and there’s still a melancholic sadness that clouds him as he transitions into what his new life will be. He can’t imagine asking Yoongi to make the same sacrifice. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you’re just here in your apartment suffering alone.”

“I don’t,” it’s half true. “You’re here every night when you can be.” 

Yoongi huffs and pecks his lips softly. “Then I need to know what goes on in the daytime too. All of it, I mean it.” 

“I send you pictures every time I throw up,” Jimin jokes. 

Yoongi grimaces. “Well…not that—”

Jimin laughs and tucks himself inside of Yoongi. “I’ll keep you better updated, I swear.” He yawns and nuzzles at Yoongi’s scent gland, trying to relax them both. 

Yoongi rubs his back, playing with the strands of his hair. “Let’s nap for a while in the nest.” 

Jimin is almost asleep when he looks over at Yoongi. “I do feel a little lonely, not always and it’s not bad. But I just,” he pauses, “I really miss my friends.” 

Yoongi misses his too. It’s only been a few weeks since they have allowed themselves to get so wrapped up in each other and cut off almost everyone else. Yoongi hadn’t gone to Namjoon’s for a drink in ages. Jimin is asleep before he can reply. The gnawing feeling that this is his fault comes back like it often does when the nest is quiet. 

He finally feels like he’s got an idea to do something to make it a little better. He just hopes it doesn’t cost either of them anymore. 

Jimin makes good on his promise to let Yoongi know how the pregnancy feels and what’s on his mind almost immediately….at two in the morning. 

Yoongi wakes up feeling like he’s falling because Jimin is shaking him. The room is draped in complete darkness, there isn’t a full moon to let in light. Yoongi gasps as he comes to. 

“Hyungggg,” Jimin is whining, “oh my god.” 

He sits up, worried that something is wrong. “What’s going on?” 

Jimin replies by climbing in his lap, straddling him and pressing himself into Yoongi. “I need you.” His scent is alluring, thick with hints of spice. It’s the same scent he often uses when he’s asking Yoongi to go for a second round they don’t have time for. 

“Right now?” The clock on the dresser reads 2:03. “You should be s-sss,” he hisses when Jimin sucks his neck. He’s already hard and Yoongi wonders how long he’d been debating on waking him. 

“I can’t sleep. I can’t. I’ve been trying for hours. All I keep thinking about is how you didn’t get to come earlier and I really wanted you to come inside me and you were so close and you couldn’t.” 

Jimin is rolling his hips already, still suckling at Yoongi’s neck. He’s left marks before and it’s not like it was a secret that Yoongi slept around (the world with Jimin and no one else) so leaving a hickey shouldn’t be a problem. “You deserve to come, hyung.” Jimin’s sultry voice is dripping like honey, “I can be fast so you can go back to sleep. I tried so hard not to wake you, hyung,” he rubs the spot behind Yoongi’s ear that never fails to turn him on more, “but I couldn’t think about anything but your knot.” 

“Fuck,” Yoongi sighs. “But it’s late you ate like six hours ago and—”

“I just grabbed like three crackers from my nightstand because you put all that food there before bed, hyung please. I’m literally begging, please. I’ll be on top, I’ll be quick, I’ll make you feel so good please, please I just need your knot.” He’s crying, fresh tears trailing down his cheeks. 

And what is an alpha to do? Deny their omega a knot? Yoongi would never be that kind of alpha. “Okay, baby, shh,” Yoongi swipes at his face. “Of course you can have my knot.” 

Jimin preens. He makes good on his promise. When Yoongi finally enters he finds the stretch to feel better than normal. “I tried fucking myself with one of my knot toys for a little bit hyung only yours will do.” He bats pretty lashes. 

Fucking hell. 

“There’s a new movie out on Netflix that everyone is talking about,” Yoongi starts casual conversation while Jimin lays in the nest and he gets ready to head into the company office. He has to film an ad and do a writing session for a single he's supposed to release next month. 

“Oh?” Jimin yawns. He’s tired, rightfully so after making good on his promise to let Yoongi knot him and then immediately falling asleep on it. Yoongi ended up cleaning them both up gently before dosing off for a few extra hours. 

“I was thinking we should watch it tonight, I’ll be home early.” 

Jimin likes the way that Yoongi calls his place home even though they’re not officially living together. He tries not to read into it too much. “That might be nice.” 

Yoongi buckles his black belt over his oversized black jeans. He’s got a t-shirt on which is showing his very milky, thick arms, that Jimin would rather be wrapped in than these blankets. “I was thinking maybe our friends could come watch too.” 

Jimin sits up. “Hyung—” his eyes immediately well with fresh tears. 

Yoongi sits on the edge of the bed but Jimin crawls to him. He looks down at their hands overlapping. He was the one who couldn’t sleep last night after Jimin finally went down. He kept thinking about their conversation and just wanted some way to make Jimin’s days a little better. Especially since he would be leaving for Daegu the day after. “Just a few. Close ones. I’m supposed to have lunch with Namjoon today because he’s been nagging me and I thought about telling him about us.” Yoongi takes a shaky breath. “If you’re okay with that?” 

Jimin hugs him tightly, kissing him in quick succession. “Only if you’re okay with it. Are you sure?” 

“No. But I imagine it will be fine.” 

“Okay, but it doesn’t have to be everyone if that’s okay to feel like too much? You tell Namjoon and then we can invite Namjoon and Hoseok to movie night.” 

“Jin-hyung would murder us for being left out.” 

“Okay so invite Jin-ssi too,” Jimin offers. 

Yoongi sighs. “So the issue with that is the alpha to and omega ratio is off and realistically there’s no way my alpha can handle that in your condition right now.” 

Jimin giggles and pecks his lips again. Even this laugh feels like a reward to Yoongi. 

“That’s why you’re asking me to invite Tae and Jungkook. That way there’s four omegas to three alphas,” Jimin smiles. “But you know that means Taehyung will be here, right? In the house? With you?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m doing this for you, I’ll suffer quietly in his presence.” Another magical giggle is earned. “I just kept thinking about how I want to make you happy. I can’t—it’s not everything. It’s not public but I thought maybe—”

Jimin doesn’t let him finish. He kisses him fully, tackling him so that Yoongi has fallen onto the bed. He wraps himself in him for just a moment before breaking away. “You are too good to me, Min Yoongi.” 

Yoongi places a hand on Jimin’s belly. It’s a barely there bump, so small no one would even notice the swell of skin. But Yoongi does. And every time he thinks about the sacrifice that Jimin is making to grow their pup he thinks about a way to give him the whole world. “You deserve everything.” 

Yoongi heads into the office feeling lighter because Jimin’s got a smile on his face. He was already texting his friends to make sure they were free to come over that evening. He was then calling a caterer to plan a light meal for the evening and the grocer for movie snacks. It was a little bit of an ache to leave him, but Yoongi was just glad to leave him happy. 

Jimin thinks he feels more nervous than Yoongi will. He knows his friends are going to be supportive. Jungkook and Tae both immediately said yes to the invitation for a movie night. They’d both been reaching out to Jimin after the hiatus announcement and he just said he’d explain when he could. It wasn’t the idea of telling them or revealing his relationship with Yoongi that was making him worried. It was blending their two worlds. 

Yoongi and Jimin had existed as Yoongi and Jimin separately for the last seven years. To exist together was one thing, a new and wonderful thing. To exist together with their friends as witness was another. 

“I don’t think I want to tell them about the pup yet,” Jimin says. “We’re not through the first trimester.” 

Yoongi has just finished getting dressed and he smells so good. Jimin cuddles up against him at his island counter. Yoongi pecks his lips gently, holding his chin. “Are you sure?” 

“What if something happens?” 

Yoongi nuzzles his nose at Jimin’s scent gland to calm both of their nerves. “Wouldn’t you rather have their support?” 

Jimin sighs. “You’re right. I thought exposing us and the pup would be a lot.” 

“Besides, everything is fine so far. I don’t want you to keep reading those forums in the middle of the night with the horror stories of losing our pup.” 

Jimin really loves the way Yoongi says our pup. He placed Yoongi’s large palm on his belly, bump so small his fingertips completely cover it. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi leans in for a kiss that he immediately deepens. One of his hands cards slowly through Jimin’s long hair. He has half of it tied up this evening. They’re so lost in each other they don’t hear the beep of Jimin’s door being opened. 

“Jimin-hyung what alpha have you had here because he smells delicious and—-OH MY GOD?!” They’re cut off by Taehyung’s yelling. “What the hell?” 

Jimin and Yoongi part slowly to see that not only has Taehyung arrived but so have Hoseok, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jungkook. Which makes sense to how they got in Jimin once his brain catches up. He looks at Yoongi and the panic Jimin felt earlier has transferred to Yoongi. Because all but Hoseok and Namjoon are staring at them like they’ve sprouted extra heads and said music was all made by the devil. They’re not staring at them in a way that looks accepting and Jimin knows this is Yoongi’s worst nightmare. 

“This is what the two of you were whispering about on the drive over here?” Seokjin says. “I’m getting older,” he places a hand over his heart, “you’ve got to give a guy a heads up.” 

Jimin slides his hand down Yoongi's arm to interlace their fingers. He gives him a tight squeeze of support. “We’ve got a lot of explaining to do but maybe let’s start a round of drinks for um….everyone?” He pulls Yoongi away towards his large dining area and everyone has no choice but to follow. He hopes this is going to go well. 

Yoongi didn’t really feel nervous telling Namjoon about he and Jimin over lunch up until right before the words came out. Namjoon was running late, because he’d just gotten his drivers license recently and drove 10kmph under the speed limit on purpose like he was 80 years old. 

He sat down in a hurry and took a sip from the drink yoongi had ordered for him. Then he got back up and patted Yoongi’s side in a quick hug before plopping back down. “Hyung, you haven’t answered my texts in weeks and your requests to feed Tang have gone on for a while now. What the hell is going on?” 

Yoongi huffed. He could see the media through the window snapping pictures at them the way they always did anytime Yoongi was in public. He realized why Jimin was hiding away still because for him it had always been so much worse. “I’ve been busy at work a lot and actually—”

“Why are you working so hard? You heard about Jimin’s hiatus, right? Hoseok won’t give me a single detail no matter how much Seokjin and I beg. But you’re pretty much guaranteed all the top spots for the foreseeable future!” Namjoon was always so humble about himself even though he was as equally as successful as Yoongi in the rap scene. Sometimes even more with his more r&b tracks reaching across the globe. 

“Joon-ah, actually that’s what I want to talk about.” 

Namjoon paused. He gave Yoongi a look. His hyung always looked serious, known for masking emotions. His anxiety was too present. “What? You’re not thinking about going on a hiatus too? Hyung—that would be, well forgive me but a really bad idea.” 

Yoongi pressed his lips together. “Namjoon, will you let me speak?” Namjoon nodded apologetically. “I don’t really know how to say this because when you told me you were really drunk and I haven’t had a drink so I’ll probably just come out with it,” he took another breath. “I got Jimin pregnant.” He was  surprised by himself that that’s what came out first. Namjoon looked confused. “I mean I’m gay. And I’ve been sleeping with Jimin. For like, a really long time, and I got him pregnant.” 

They were in a private room but Yoongi still looked around like someone was going to be able to hear them. Namjoon took a few seconds to process, taking a sip of his drink, putting it down, then picking up a glass of water. 

“Uh—” Yoongi went to fill in the silent space. 

“How long is a really long time? And did you mean to get him pregnant? You just said sleeping so are you a couple? How long have you been gay? I told you I was gay we could have been gay together, Hyung, I mean not like together-together no offense but you’re not my type.” 

“Namjoon, for the love of god did you do drugs today? So many questions!” 

Namjoon laughed. “You spring all this on me and expect me to not have questions?” 

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair. He should probably cut it soon but Jimin liked it long. “Let me talk.” 

“Lips sealed.” 

“And for the record, I’m everyone’s type. I didn’t write those lyrics as a lie.” His joke is met with a playful glare. 

“Okay so what I learned this afternoon is let them talk and not ask any questions until the end…there’s a lot to cover.” Namjoon announces to the table once everyone is sat with wine in hand. 

“Oh, and definitely don’t get too close to Jimin right now because Yoongi-ssi will growl at you,” Hoseok teases. 

“I said I was sorry for that!” Yoongi replies miserably. “I was in rut I didn’t mean it.” 

Jungkook’s doe eyes get impossibly larger. “Jimin-hyung you what, help him through his rut? Yoongi-ssi you’re from Daegu though, Taehyung always said we had to be careful because—”

Jimin puts a hand on Yoongi’s. It’s really Yoongi’s story to tell and he lets him. 

“We hooked up during Idol Island—-”

“Seven years?!” Seokjin exclaims. It’s Namjoon’s turn to hold his mate’s hand. “Shh, hyung let him talk.” 

Yoongi continues. “I’ve known since before Idol Island that I’m not like the rest of my family. Like most of us from Daegu. I fought it for a long time and got really good at hiding it. But then Jimin,” he takes a breath, “it just happened back then.” 

“And apparently it kept happening for seven years?” Taehyung quips but daggers from Jimin shut him up. 

“Off and on, yeah. You all get it, we’re busy. Taehyung you shoot 9 out of 12 months of the year. Namjoon, you’re in the studio sometimes three days straight before coming out again. But still we’ve found our way to still come back to something…someone when we really need to. Jimin and I just became that for each other.” Yoongi looks at him fondly. “But I’m not..I can’t just be who I want to be for the rest of the world.” 

“So we thought it would be nice if we could start with all of you,” Jimin assists in the conversation. 

“Especially since Jimin is going to need some extra support these days,” Yoongi adds. 

They’ve all been munching through dinner but several forks get set down. “Jimin-hyung,” Jungkook has always looked so innocent and kind, with soft words and an even softer heart for the alpha he is. “What’s going on? We thought you were inviting us over to talk about your hiatus announcement.” 

“We did,” Jimin nods, “it just required you understanding Yoongi-hyung and I first.” Jimin reaches into Yoongi’s oversized sweatshirt pocket and tugs out the ultrasound, placing it in the middle of the table. “We’re having a pup.” 

Hoseok and Namjoon are both already smiling and it only takes Taehyung three more seconds before he’s flying out of his chair and running over to hug his best friend. He yanks Jimin from his chair, squeezing tight. “Oh, Jiminie, I love babies!” He sniffles, always the overly sensitive one. He pulls away grinning. “You absolutely could have chosen a better alpha but I’m so happy for you!” He teases. 

“Yah!” Yoongi whines. “Taehyung-ssi, that hurts.” 

“I’m only teasing,” his hand hovers over Jimin’s belly and it’s Yoongi he looks at for permission. When he receives a gentle nod only then does Taehyung place his long palm on top of it. “Oh baby pup you’re going to be so spoiled this is amazing.” 

Everyone gets up to hug both Jimin and Yoongi, passing around butt pats and squeezing Jimin so tight Yoongi gives Seokjin a warning. He then apologizes because Seokjin is his hyung but his protectiveness over Jimin and their pup outshines all respect. 

Later on, when everyone is piled in Jimin’s den watching the movie, he’s clinging to Yoongi. Yoongi can’t help but notice how sweet his scent smells, he’s happy. Happier than he’s been in weeks. And so is Yoongi. He’s going to cling to this feeling when he leaves this bubble for forty-eight hours, but for now he pushes those thoughts and settles in deeper on the couch. He just lets himself feel happy. 

Chapter Text

Two and a half years post idol island. 

In the winter, SBS Gayon Daejun was being held in Daegu. Jimin had just wrapped promotions for his latest single that changed the trajectory of his career for the following year. He was bigger than they ever believed he could be. 

His team was notably nervous about him attending the production in Daegu. Though being who he was, so out, so proud, wasn’t technically illegal within the confines of their city limits, it was certainly frowned upon. Daegu made it no secret that it was an alpha for alpha and omega for omega kind of society. Status was everything to them. 

The status Jimin had, rising on the charts even there, but it was who he was and who he loved loudly that was the problem. 

On the car ride from the airport to the event center he and Hoseok went over the distinct changes to his performances. “I refuse to dial back who I am,” Jimin had reminded the team the week before. 

“We’re not asking you to do that,” Hoseok, playing the perfect middleman between Jimin and the company, “we are just designing performances that focus most on the music and the production for this event. Your contemporary dance. Your killer choreography, those will be the highlights.” 

Jimin wasn’t going to argue because to even be invited to perform at SBS Gayo Daejun within Daegu was a surprise from the start. But he wasn’t going to pretend to be someone he wasn’t either. As they pulled up to the event center, Jimin couldn’t help but wonder what Yoongi was doing. His name was on the lineup too, as the headlining act because Daegu belonged to him after all. Jimin wondered if he felt pressure here like he did when he performed back in Busan. 

Someone else who was leading that weekend, was Jimin’s very best friend and omega companion, Taehyung. Actors and actresses joined to present small awards and announce performances. It was no coincidence their cars arrived at the same time having flown in together on Tae’s jet. He’d just won actor of the season the month before and they were capitalizing on the boosts of fame from it. Jimin did know the pressure he felt in Daegu where he did pretend not to be himself. In Seoul, he could date and get a knot from any alpha he wanted without fear of judgment or slander. In Daegu, he spent all of his time hiding that part of himself. But as their SUVs pulled to the curb and Taehyung trotted out to meet Jimin so all the cameras and fans could see, Jimin couldn’t help but feel relieved that he at least wasn’t going to try to hide their friendship, even if it cost him a little bit. 

Jimin had texted Yoongi yesterday asking what time he was arriving to Daegu and to do…other things. When he didn’t receive a response, he figured maybe he was already there to spend extra time with his family. 

Jimin and Taehyung ate lunch together at the event center cafe. Other idols, groups, and entertainers filled the place. It was a weekend full of practices, performance rehearsals and filmings, and intentional connection building too. “Will your parents visit this weekend?” Jimin picked at the salad in front of him.  

Taehyung nodded. “Absolutely. My Appas should be here this evening to do dinner with me. I have to practice my lines a little bit and film something with another actress but I should get some time with them.” 

They often shared with each other how challenging it was to leave home so young, especially leaving homes full of love to put themselves out into a world where they had to fight for that feeling. 

Jimin’s mothers hadn’t traveled for this event and were instead on vacation celebrating their anniversary. He was happy for them, but admittedly missed them a little bit. Tagging along to things had started to taper off. 

Jimin and Taehyung were sharing excitement about the weekend, waving hello to other acquaintances in the industry when Jimin noticed Yoongi walk in. He had a hat on and a mask pulled up over his nose, but his dark hair and thin eyes were unmistakable. So he had arrived in town already? He hated how much he loved that stupid new red wine hair color Yoongi was sporting. It made his skin look impossibly more pale and yet more pretty. He refocused his attention onto Taehyung and tried not to feel annoyed by the lack of response to his message or the flutter in his chest now that Yoongi was in his presence. 

Yoongi was on edge. It helped that he was immensely busy and didn’t have much time to give to his parents during the weekend, but knowing any downtime he did have was owed to them was frustrating. During rehearsals and bonding moments that SBS set up, Yoongi had to refuse invitations for drinks out or gaming sessions in someone’s hotel room. He didn’t want it to seem like he wasn’t interested in making friends in the industry, but his parents required his presence whenever they were around. 

Especially, since they’d planned an investors gala on the very night he arrived in town. Dressed in a fitted dark suit and tie that pinched too much because their stylist didn’t get his size right, Yoongi felt bored and ridiculous. He’d slipped into his father’s study to grab a more expensive bottle of whiskey and have silence for just a moment. He was tired of the rich and snobbish crowd his parents hung around, pretending to care about his music career. They didn’t care about the music at all but they loved that he was successful. 

“Another alpha family from a partner firm was just going to introduce their daughter to you,” Yoongi’s father came in and shut the door. He approached his son and tugged at the collar of his suit jacket to smooth it out. “She’s young, studying to be a nurse at Yonsei. She’d be closer to you.” 

Yoongi swallowed a sip. “I’m too busy to find a mate right now.” It was true and the fact that she was an alpha female made him completely uninterested. Deep down his father had to know this, right? But they were never allowed to speak of it again. “I’m sure she’s nice, Abeoji.” 

His father’s eyes narrowed. “There is a necessary deal to be made. One evening with her tonight won’t do harm, right?” 

Yoongi held his breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to entertain the alpha daughter of someone’s alpha family in order to appease them and get his family the deal or services they wanted. He thought that maybe since he’d moved away and was making a name for himself he wouldn’t have to anymore. 

“My contract contains a dating clause—” Yoongi tried to argue. 

“Great. Then you won’t date her. You’ll just give her a tour of the house this evening, show interest, maybe share this good whiskey since you’re stealing it from me anyway, and when I’ve gotten her father to agree to sign my contract, your job will be done. I don’t care if you don’t speak to her again, just do as you ‘re told this evening.” 

His father turned around and exited the office, holding the door open and expecting his son to follow. At that same moment, Yoongi’s phone buzzed exactly three times, signaling Jimin’s unique messaging alert. 

In town yet?

Was going to see if you wanted to hook up this weekend ~

Attached was an image of Jimin naked, hair dripping at the ends, in the reflection of what was clearly a hotel mirror. 

His father cleared his throat impatiently. Yoongi quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket, planning to control his scent and frustration for the remainder of the night. 

Yuna was a pretty alpha, Yoongi had to give her that. She was his same height, with a thin nose and large eyes. Her hair was icy, clearly dyed but didn’t look unnatural. She didn’t smile when they were initially introduced, their fathers exchanging simply their names and sending them off. 

“A tour of the estate?” Yoongi asked, snagging two champagne flutes from a nearby waiter with a bumlegum-like scent. He locked eyes with the omega for the briefest of seconds before redirecting his attention back to placing a flute in Yuna’s hand. 

Yoongi explained the estate the same way he always did, a home inherited by his family after his mother’s grandfather had inherited it from his gold-mine striking father. The home had been passed down to the alpha family heads for years. His grandparents, who were still alive at the time, had retired to a small, private village custom built on the outside of Daegu. As he pointed out the light fixtures, the worn but pristine conditioned wood of the home Yuna just looked….bored. 

Yoongi was taught to use charm to his advantage at a young age, coming from a long line of business-minded alphas. He downed his champagne and froze on the main staircase, the gala could still be heard in the entertainment hall a few rooms away. “Should we go find something stronger than this?” he rose a brow. 

A smirk replaced Yuna’s blank stare. “I was wondering how long it would take you to drop the facade. Hell yes, what’ve you got?”

Yoongi hadn’t lived at home since his debut year, but he still had a bedroom at the estate. A large room in the east wing, overlooking the garden his mother paid groundsmen to keep in the most beautiful conditions. The room was always untouched, his stale and youthful scent still pressed into the walls nevertheless. He rummaged in a clothing drawer, pulling out two bottles of soju. 

Looking impressed and pleased, Yuna clinked her bottle with his before cracking it open and taking a swig. She surprised him immediately with her next phrase, “Our fathers are expecting sparks to fly but I’ll have to be quite frank, my alpha girlfriend is back on Yonsei campus waiting for me, and she doesn't like to share.”

They slunk down into two chairs out on Yoongi’s balcony. The night was cool for summertime. “Thank goodness.” 

“You’re not my type, anyway,” Yuna said with a teasing tone in her voice, “my father truly cannot accept how much I loathe alpha men.” 

Yoongi snorted, taking a deep pull. Soju wasn’t his drink of choice,  but the warmth was doing its job. “I’m everyone’s type.”

“So you say in your music.”

“Oh, you’re a fan?”

Yuna laughed, loud and real. Had Yoongi laughed like that lately? “Not an anti, but not a fan. Just curious. I followed Idol Island while you were on it. I was rooting for Jimin.”

So was Yoongi. The nude photograph from earlier flashed behind his lids. Jimin’s new golden blond hair looked good on him. Too good. Would he wait in his hotel room if he could slip out of here? Even though there was no way in hell he could ever risk something like that in Daegu. 

“Hmmm,” Yoongi hummed low in his throat. “You’re into pop music? Surprising.”

Yuna sat her bottle down and leaned forward a bit, her long hair cascaded over her back. She stretched her arms out in front of her, gripping the railing. “What assumptions have you already made about me?”

Yoongi had always hated this cultural part of being an alpha from Daegu. All assumptions or associations should be strong, even-mannered, and leader-like. He knew that wasn’t initially what he gave away. He shrugged. “You’re studying at Yonsei, making your family proud, I bet? Business like your father or business management like your mother?” He remembered her mother owned a successful skincare brand. 

Yuna blew a burst of air through her nose. “Neither, but they’d never know that. Do you find it too that you can be whoever you want in Seoul now that you’re away from your family?” Their bottles of soju were emptying quickly, making for easy depth in conversation. 

Yes, Yoongi almost said with a moan. “Of course,” he replied instead. “The music industry in Seoul functions nothing like here so I have to.” 

“Exactly,” Yuna said. “I met my girlfriend the second week of school, I was supposed to be upgrading my laptop to be able to get some new calculating system integrated into it but I stopped for coffee first. She worked behind the counter, she’s an alpha so she was the manager, but she was an alpha born in Seoul.”

Alphas born in Seoul had certain luxuries that alphas from other provinces didn’t have, like choosing unlikely pathways simply for the fact that they were allowed to make up their own minds. “What does she study?”

“Art History, she opened my eyes up to all these new and old worlds in a way that the shit we learned here in school never could have.” 

Yoongi finished off his bottle. He really wanted a cigarette but his mother forbade smoking at the estate, claiming it would warp the original wood. He fidgeted with his fingers instead, still listening to Yuna speak. 

“I want to be an art teacher,” she confessed. “Gaeil, that’s my girlfriend, her hyung has a three year old daughter that she watches sometimes. I liked seeing how her brain works. I changed my major to education and I’m minoring in art and they’re never going to be able to know.” 

Yoongi looked at her, the pain in her features looked so much like the pain he possessed, knowing his parents would never truly know him either. The shared agony was present in both of them. “My family is deadset on me mating with an alpha business woman, I don’t think you’re my type either, then,” he joked. 

“No, I think the omega waiter who smells like candy and sunshine is more your speed.” 

It was as if the floor of the balcony caved in. Yoongi felt like he was falling, limbs lifting away like jello. “What?” he couldn’t even pretend to be confused, he genuinely was. He’d looked at him for half a second. 

“It’s not obvious, don’t worry. Only for someone like us probably, who looks the opposite way our families want us to. There’s a longing in the stare, no matter how brief. Gaeil used to say I looked at her like she was going to slip away.” 

Yoongi definitely needed a cigarette and another drink, and to get the hell out of here. His company had booked him a hotel at the event center anyway because he was performing tomorrow. He should leave and run far away from Yuna and her accusations. 

“I didn’t know what she was talking about until we were rewatching clips of Idol Island together, your season is truly the best one the show has ever made.” 

“What about Idol Island made you understand what your girlfriend was talking about?”

Yuna smiled and she put a strong hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Jimin looked at you like that.” 

His father closed the deal by the end of the night. Yuna and Yoongi hugged before her family left, promising to meet up in Seoul. Why? Their families didn’t need to know. Yuna said that if Yoongi ever wanted to explore his options she had friends to introduce him to that would be safe. 

He couldn’t tell her that never in a million years did he plan to explore his options with anyone else but Jimin. He couldn’t make it to the hotel room that night, it was too risky. But he couldn’t help but think about the omega for the remainder of the night. 

Jimin spotted Yoongi with his team towards the end of the long hallway. He was being tied into a shirt and having powder brushed across his nose. It was in moments like those that Jimin could allow himself to notice how pretty Yoongi was. For an alpha, he was quite dainty in height and figure, but his strong arms and wide shoulders made up for that. A makeup artist swiped something blush-colored over Yoongi’s lips, pinking them up. It was the same color they’d turned last time he’d taken Jimin’s cock so long—

“Jiminie, did you hear me?” Hoseok snapped in front of his face, bringing him out of his thoughts. When Jimin gave a light shake of his head Hoseok sighed. “I said you’re on third, right before Agust D. So the two of you will present an award together.” 

Jimin nodded quietly, trying to school his features into something that didn’t look like excitement. Yoongi still hadn’t replied to his text message from last night. His omega was feeling a bit rejected and stupid not having any attention back, he was dripping wet for god sake. “Sounds fine,” Jimin replied, “as long as he cooperates.”

Hoseok laughed. “Did you hear about him leaving one of his events here in Daegu early last week because a producer pissed him off?” 

Jimin had. The producer made an offensive joke about omegas, Yoongi had told him when he called him drunk and angry at two in the morning about it. He pulled his feature from the variety show citing “creative differences” but it was still a scandal. 

“I did,” Jimin said. “So hopefully this all goes fine.”

It wasn’t going fine. They weren’t even officially filming, just practicing the timing and transitions and Yoongi had still refused to look in Jimin’s direction. He stood far away from him, making Jimin feel like he had some sort of plague. He checked his own scent three times, making sure he wasn’t giving off any deterring pheromones. When it was time for the two of them to head to the stage to practice announcing the Creative Performance award from this summer’s SBS series, the director had to keep asking Yoongi to scoot closer to Jimin at the podium because he couldn’t be seen in view. 

“I won’t bite you here,” Jimin teased him playfully. The glare he received in response made shame rush through his body. Yoongi was not amused. 

Jimin went through the motions of the remainder of the day stagnantly. They filmed the award, only using the exact script given to them. Yoongi left the stage immediately after.  Even the final filming of his performance he didn’t think went well. The flow was off, his in-ear wasn’t cooperating, and he almost slipped on the petals that fell to the floor around him. 

The director called cut, ripping his headphones off in frustration. “Jimin-ssi, we do not have time for another practice. This is it, this will be what is aired.” 

Jimin nodded quietly, bowing his head. “I’m so sorry, I did not do my best.”

The director sighed. He looked to one of the managers to his left. “Omegas,” he rolled his eyes. “You can leave the stage. Next!” 

Jimin’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, turning from shame to annoyance instantly. “Excuse me?” He whipped back around, dragging the in-ear out of his ear. 

The director paused in surprise. “Omegas usually don’t try their best. The determination isn’t there. It’s not your fault, but your gender incompetence will not impact the quality of the show.” 

“My gender incompetence—” Jimin was fuming. He crossed the stage, approaching the director. He liked to think he’d become more level headed, a retired crash out if you will, but he wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to like this. “Do you even know who I am?” Jimin raised his voice slightly. There were other groups around by this point, wondering what the commotion was. “Because I guarantee you the views your SBS Summer Gayon will achieve this year will be bigger than any of them ever before and it won’t be because your name is attached as director you feral,  bland, and no-nothing knothead!”

Jimin wasn’t finished but Hoseok had just emerged from the crowd. He wrapped his arm around Jimin’s waist, clapping a hand over his mouth to drag him away before he could hurl more insults in the director’s way.

Hoseok didn’t let go until they were in a dressing room far away from the filming stage. “You didn’t need to take me away did you hear what he said?” Jimin was breathing heavily. 

“I did need to take you away before they threw you out, Jiminie, what the fuck?”
 

“He said omegas were gender incompetent!” he still hadn’t calmed down. “I don’t understand what the hell it is about Daegu that makes alphas feel the need to have some superiority complex but I won’t be treated like that.”

Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re going to be fined. Your segment is probably going to be cut and then you’re never going to be invited back,” he was starting to spiral. 

“Good!” Jimin threw his hands up. “I’m never stepping foot in this fucking city ever again.”

And maybe he was taking his feelings out on the only alpha in Daegu who was speaking to him at the time. Maybe his public outburst was a little unprofessional and against the way he presented himself as an artist. But Jimin knew one thing for certain. He truly was never going back to Daegu ever again. 

In the end he was fined for inappropriate conduct, but his segment wasn’t cut because the contracts had already been written and his fans would have made a bigger deal over that than they were about the news of the outburst being released. The public was calling him arrogant and hot-headed. It was one of the first real times he’d received widespread negative press. It felt awful and sent him into a spiral. 

The worst part about all of it, was that Yoongi never even reached out. Jimin would have thought he out of anyone would have, since he’d just gotten similar negativity not even a full week before. But as the weeks went by since SBS Summer, it was nothing but crickets from the alpha. 

Jimin was convinced that when his heat was going to arrive in a few days he was going to have to spend it alone. He’d spent a few alone over the last two years since they’d started up, their schedules not always aligning. But Yoongi would at least send videos or video call him to get them both through it. 

Yoongi’s text message with a hotel address the evening that Jimin’s pre-heat was threatening to make him writhe out of his skin was a huge surprise. The rational part of him didn’t want to go. But his hormones wouldn’t allow him to stay away. He needed a knot. Not just anyone’s knot, either. Yoongi’s knot was so good, he couldn’t simply settle for anything else. 

Masked and covered with a beanie even though it was still the middle of the summer, Jimin slipped through the lower level entrance of a hotel. Taking the back hallways rather than the elevator, he went until he reached the fourth floor. He could smell Yoongi at the end of the hallway. He hated how much his omega was yearning for it. 

The hotel suite was the same way it always was. Expensive and impersonal. It was also fucking freezing. It was the kind of space Yoongi always seemed to end up in. Jimin stood in front of room 779 for a full minute before tapping in the code, questioning why he’d even come. 

Realistically, he could still leave. He’d gotten in undetected, no one would even know he was there. 

He must have typed the code wrong because the door swung open and suddenly leaving wasn’t an option anymore. Yoongi looked tired, irritating Jimin immediately. It had been weeks since Daegu. Weeks before that since they’d had their last real conversation. Weeks of ignored messages and pretending like the silence didn’t eat him alive. 

And yet, somehow Yoongi got to look exhausted as if he was the one who’d been carrying all of this shit around. 

“You’re late,” Yoongi said, stepping aside to let Jimin come in. No hello. No asking if he’d arrived okay, no thanks for coming. Just an insult. 

Jimin laughed, kicking off his shoes at the door. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Yoongi’s expression immediately darkened as he poured them both a drink. Jimin was even more annoyed because he smelled fucking delicious. His rut always smelled cool, warm like spice and inviting. “What?” He looked so natural and relaxed it made Jimin’s blood boil. 

“You could have at least said hello,” as if ignoring Jimin required absolutely no effort at all. 

Yoongi sighed immediately and the feelings from weeks ago came rushing back. Jimin would never be a retired crash out no matter how hard he tried. That fucking sigh. His jaw tightened. 

“Seriously?” Jimin snatched the drink off the island bar, downing the soju in one gulp before picking up the bottle and pouring himself another. 

“I’m confused. What’s going on? What do you want me to say?” Yoongi hadn’t touched his whiskey. 

“Anything would be great at this point.” 

For a moment neither of them spoke. The silence in the suite was too loud. Jimin’s pre-heat was starting to ache again, and he was afraid he was going to lose his resolve to his hormones before he could truly get it out. 

“I’ve been busy,” Yoongi said. 

The excuse landed between them. It was thin and pathetic and they both knew it. 

Jimin laughed, short and pointed, nodding before taking another swig. “You were busy.”

Yoongi traced the rim of his glass with his finger. “I was working.” 

“So was I,” Jimin replied, but he didn’t receive an answer and somehow that made it worse. Because the silence is what had been bothering him all along. A hot cramp ran through his lower belly and he hissed, spitting out, “do you know how stupid you made me feel?”

Fuck his hormones for letting something so vulnerable slip out. Yoongi’s expression changed immediately, softening just slightly. “I was trying not to look at you.” 

Jimin stared, arms crossed over his chest. “Congratualtions.” 

“You know what I mean, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi pushed his glass away. “I told you what it’s like.” 

“No, you didn’t! So why don’t you fucking englightening me?” 

It was Yoongi’s turn to get angry as Jimin dredged up the feelings he hated talking about. That’s why this worked for them, because he didn’t have to talk about it. They could fuck, they could laugh, they could be whoever they wanted inside these hotel rooms. One text of is there somewhere you can meet me and all the shit that Yoongi could stuff down everyday could come out of him as he and Jimin fucked. 

Yoongi sighed, sitting on one of the stools. “You know that Daegu’s different.”

“Now I fucking do,” Jimin shot back. “You didn’t even warn me.”

“Warn you about what?”

“About the fact that I apparently wasn’t even allowed to look in your direction.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, pissing Jimin off even more. They were getting nowhere. “Come on, Jimin,” he tried reaching forward for him but Jimin stepped back. 

“No,” Jimin pointed at him, “don’t fucking do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Act like I’m being dramatic.” 

“You are being a tad bit dramatic,” Yoongi pinched his fingers together, smiling at his joke. 

Jimin laughed, but he didn’t find it funny. It made him feel like shit. He started pacing because standing that close to Yoongi was starting to cloud his head and standing still felt impossible. “You just so easily spent an entire weekend acting like we didn’t even know each other.”

“We were working,” Yoongi replied. 

“We’re always working!” 

“Not there.”

Jimin froze. He looked at Yoongi and his expression had changed again. He was staring out the window instead of having his eyes on Jimin. “Yoongi….”

“I did not do it easily. Nothing I do there is easy. I have to think about all of it. Every room, every… every single picture or video that’s taken and documented. I can’t afford a slip up. My f-family, our friends, the industry—” Yoongi cut off with a shake of his head. 

Jimin felt some of his anger start to slip away, not completely, the alpha wouldn’t be let off so easily. But Yoongi’s explanation was reasonable and reasonable was harder to argue with. “So you had to pretend I didn’t even exist? You couldn’t reply to my private text, or laugh at my joke, or return a fucking smile?

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “You know that’s not what I was doing.”

“I don’t know anything, actually,” Jimin replied. 

“You’re right, you don’t know anything, because no one expects you to hide.” 

Warmth turned into heat and Jimin nearly doubled over in pain. The argument was turning his pre-heat into something more. It suddenly became too much. Jimin snapped. “Your issue is that you want both.” He finally stepped closer. 

Yoongi stayed quiet. 

“You want me,” it came out like a beckoning call,” but you want your image too.” He stepped closer. “You want me, but you want plausible deniability. You want to be Min Yoongi, Agust D, the big bad alpha boy of Daegu.” 

Yoongi clenched his jaw, real anger for the first time that evening. “That’s not fair.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

There was no defensiveness in his tone anymore. “You think this is convenient?” Jimin was frozen, unable to reply because Yoongi was moving too. He started closing the distance he’d been maintaining for weeks. “You think I enjoy any of this?” 

His voice dropped to something dangerously calm. Jimin hated how aware he was of almost every part of him, his scent, his skin, his own want. 

“You think I enjoy fucking pretending how bad I want you?”

“Then stop,” Jimin snapped back. 

Yoongi surged. He lunged forward, tugging the bottom hem of Jimin’s shirt over his head. His pretty, pretty warm skin was finally beneath his palms again. Jimin undid his own belt then Yoongi’s. 

Their clothes came off and Yoongi threw them both into the bed. He kissed Jimin like he was the oxygen his brain and blood was lacking for weeks. His scent exploded everywhere, sweet and creamy and wanting. Yoongi wanted Jimin, so bad. Every single fucking day that had gone by he wanted him. 

And it terrified him. Because that weekend was the exact proof that he wasn’t allowed to have it. 

After they finished Jimin was lying naked on top of him. “You don’t ever get to treat me like that again, do you hear me? I’ll find another alpha, Yoongi, I swear to fucking god I will.” 

Yoongi blew out a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t about you,” which was a lie in itself because it was about him, how bad he wanted him, how bad his alpha yearned for an omega he wasn’t allowed to have. “If we’re ever in Daegu together again–”

“We won’t be,” Jimin plucked the cigarette from Yoongi’s fingers, taking a deep drag. He blew the smoke right into his face. “I am never, ever going back there again.”

End of eleven weeks. 

The flight from Seoul to Daegu takes just over an hour. Since the party begins at 8pm, Yoongi doesn’t have his jet leaving the tarmac until 6:30. This means he’s got 12 hours with Jimin before he goes. Probably 10 hours until he should realistically tell him. 

It’s early, because he drank a lot the evening before he’s awake anyway. There was always something about drinking heavily that made his internal clock awake hours before he’d realistically need to in order to recoup. He hasn’t been a good sleeper in years, averaging 4-6 hours, 7 if he’s lucky. It’s worse when he drinks, but the sleep he gets is heavy so it’s something. 

Jimin is not awake. He’s curled with his arms around Yoongi’s waist and his face buried in his stomach. His breaths are coming out so soft it takes Yoongi a moment to hear them correctly to make sure his omega is in fact breathing. He’s sleeping well. He made Yoongi keep the white noise machine on and it seemed to be helping. Yoongi feels grateful, Jimin was so happy last night. He laughed with his friends and ate up the attention they were given. He never faltered at the questions they asked, happily revealing more—yes they had been sleeping together for years as just sex, but they were trying this out, and Jimin liked it (so far). He held Yoongi’s hand and let himself fall asleep on his shoulder during the movie. He sleepily waved goodbye to each guest as they went. 

And then he turned into Yoongi and simply hugged him. His arms went around his waist, his nose in his neck and he inhaled to get the deepest whiff of scent. When he pulled his face away he was smiling so big Yoongi thought it was hurting his cheeks. “Thank you,” was all Jimin whispered before kissing him. 

He hadn’t stopped hugging Yoongi since then. 

Yoongi doesn’t want to wake him, but he needs to use the bathroom. Gingerly, he attempts to peel Jimin’s arms one at a time from around his body, replacing the space with a pillow from the nest. But Jimin whines nevertheless, loud and whimpering for the alpha. Yoongi is torn as his bladder is pulling him in one direction and his omega is pulling him in another. 

“I’ll be right back, Jiminie baby, I promise,” Yoongi whispers. Jimin hasn’t even opened his eyes but he’s protesting. 

“I need you,” Jimin sounds desperate, close to tears. 

Yoongi relents, reminding himself he’s held his bladder for longer during stages. He climbs back in the bed and pulls Jimin immediately into his arms, scenting him. “You should go back to sleep.” 

He can feel Jimin shake his head against his chest. “Not tired anymore,” his voice is still clouded with impending tears. 

“Jimin-ah, what’s wrong?” 

Jimin sits up, sniffling and trying to stop himself from crying. But the second he has to face Yoongi he crumples. He takes a deep breath but it exhales as a wracking sob that bends him forward. Yoongi catches him, heart rate spiking immediately. He runs his hand through Jimin’s unruly hair, it’s gotten so much thicker over the last few weeks. Jimin stutters for a few breaths and mumbles something into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“What baby?” Yoongi uses the gentlest voice. 

“I said—” Jimin sits back up and looks at Yoongi with tears streaming down now splotchy cheeks, “you were going to leave me!” 

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I was going to the bathroom and then—”

“What if I wanted to go to the bathroom with you?” Jimin sobs. “What if I didn’t want to stay in the nest by myself?” 

Yoongi tries not to laugh, but he can’t help the smile that splits across his face. “Jiminie, baby—”

“It’s not funny, hyung!” Jimin is sobbing all over again, tucking himself into Yoongi’s chest. “I just  don’t want to be without you today, you don't have to go anywhere, right? Please promise you’ll stay with me today.” 

When Yoongi doesn’t reply automatically, Jimin sits back up to look at him. He looks absolutely heartbroken, like Yoongi has just told him that he’s never allowed to pet puppies ever again. Or worse, that Yoongi has said he is leaving him. He weighs his words. He could confess right now, that yes he is going to need to go somewhere today, somewhere quite far actually, where Jimin has refused to visit in five years. He could also lie. He’s afraid to do both. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he settles for the lie, pulling Jimin into his chest because if he’s already this upset, no need to make it worse until he has to. 

Jimin exhales deeply, he pushes his nose at Yoongi’s scent gland. “Okay, good. Good,” he repeats like he’s trying to convince himself, “thank you, hyung. I’m sorry,” he hiccups, “I just feel like I really need you today.”

Yoongi rubs his back, staring ahead and arguing with himself. He could just cancel. This would inevitably make his mother upset at him for months, or maybe even a whole year until her next birthday. But having his mother upset with him didn’t seem as scary as having Jimin upset with him right now. But he knows he can’t cancel. He’s agreed to visit a few times per year when he has the time, and denying them now doesn’t seem like the best idea. So, he decides he’ll tell Jimin later this afternoon, maybe, hopefully, when his hormones have leveled out. 

Yoongi makes a breakfast that Jimin barely picks at, but he’s pleased he got in a few bites, his vitamins, and his prenatal. He hopes it sticks, he hates seeing Jimin so sick. He hopes it truly does go away by twelve or thirteen weeks like Dr. Noh keeps mentioning. 

“I have to go to the company on Monday,” Jimin says quietly as he and Yoongi read through both of their emails. “There’s some last minute things to wrap up and I’d like to clean my studio since I won’t be using it for a while.” He doesn’t sound as sad as Yoongi thought he might, but it’s still there. 

Yoongi will be returning from Daegu on Monday morning, his flight getting in early. Maybe he can slip into Jimin’s bed before he has to go to the office.

“What time?” He asks. 

Jimin looks at the schedule Hoseok sent over. “Around eleven,” his eyes leave the computer screen and he closes them, taking a shallow breath. 

Yoongi notices that he’s off instantly. He steps away from his own laptop, placing a hand on Jimin’s arm. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes are still closed. “Dizzy,” he exhales another breath. 

“Do you want to lay down?” Yoongi asks, starting to guide him away from the table. Jimin protests though. 

“No. I don’t want to lay down. I’m so tired of laying down,” he’s close to tears for the second time that morning. “I just want to feel better,” his pout is so pitiful. 

Yoongi helps him stand, tugging him away from the computer because maybe it’s the lights making him dizzy. He places a hand over the small swell of Jimin’s stomach. “I know,” he sympathizes with him, “and you will, soon. You’re so strong for our pup, Jimin,” he kisses the underside of his jaw, “your body is doing something so amazing growing them so well.” 

Jimin melts into Yoongi’s touch. “I’m so glad you’re here, hyung,” he looks at him with sparkling eyes of unshed tears. “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t get Jimin to lay down right away. Instead, Jimin asks to take a walk in the building’s private garden. Yoongi only agrees because the fresh air might do him well. They walk and talk, recapping the previous night with their friends. 

“Do you really feel okay with them knowing?” Jimin says. “That was a really big step for you.” They’re holding hands so he squeezes Yoongi’s. 

Yoongi nods. It feels…only a little strange knowing that something he’s kept inside for so long is mildly out there. But those people feel safe. They’re all like him in one way or another. “Do you really feel okay if it’s just them?”

Jimin nods back. “You, my eommas, our friends, and baby pup is all I need.” He nuzzles into Yoongi’s side as they walk, the sun hitting him and shining gold into his hair. “And PRIZM of course, but they will have to wait a while.” 

The more days that went by, the more Jimin seemed content with his decision to take a pause. Yoongi hopes it continues. “How’s the vlogging coming?”

Jimin gasps happily. “Good! I keep watching other people’s vlogs to see if there are things I should be doing or adding. It’s all kind of boring since I mostly sleep, try to eat, and get sick all day. But I’m hoping during the second trimester when I feel comfortable buying things and pup starts moving I can share more.” 

“Do you want to head over to my house for a bit, I need to check on some things and Tang. We can eat lunch there and nap, maybe?”

Jimin grins happily. “I’d love to see Tang!” 

Jimin is breathing through a deep wave of nausea as Yoongi lets himself into his apartment. He’s got his shoes off and keys hung on the hook before Jimin’s even moved. The ride over has threatened all good progress for the day. Jimin begs his stomach to settle before he steps in, slowly. 

He leans against the wall, eyes closed. Tang is already at his feet, pushing into Jimin’s legs, begging for attention. Jimin wants to reach down, but this wave demands stillness from him. 

Yoongi can tell because his face has gone the all too familiar shade of pale that makes light summer freckles stand out across the skin of his nose. “Baby, maybe you should sit down?” He offers quietly. 

Jimin gives a tiny shake of his head, “Mhm. Standing.” 

“You’ve been standing since we got out of the car,” Yoongi jokes. He scoops Tang up from the floor, patting his belly firmly the way the cat likes. “Yah Tang-ah, such a big boy!” He scratches behind the cat’s ears. “You don’t get extra points for delaying the inevitable.” 

Jimin places a hand over his stomach, opens his eyes, and exhales. “Oh, but I do.” A tiny laugh-like huff escapes him as he finally peels himself away from the wall and wanders further into Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi heads to the kitchen, dropping Tang gently in front of his food bowl and pushes the button to fill it. 

As Tang eats lunch, he makes theirs. Jimin is off somewhere in his apartment, and it’s quiet so he’s either fallen asleep or gone so deep that Yoongi can’t hear what he’s doing. By the time he finishes lunch, a bowl of ginger-based broth, fruit, and rice, Jimin still hasn’t come to join him. 

He finds him exactly where he expected he might be, curled on top of Yoongi’s bed. He isn’t covered by any blankets, just lying diagonally across the duvet with one arm wrapped around Yoongi’s pillow, breathing slowly through his nose. He’s not asleep, but looks like he could be any minute. 

“You always steal that one,” Yoongi chuckles, sitting softly next to him. He runs a hand through Jimin’s hair. 

Jimin doesn’t bother opening his eyes, his cheeks have regained a bit of color, but not all. “Smells like you,” he mumbles into the fabric. Yoongi’s surprised by his honesty. Whether it be the pregnancy, the hormones, or the fact that they were comfortably together, Jimin’s usual pride has slipped away. Months ago he would have made up an excuse, saying it was fluffier or the first one he found. Now, he simply burrows his face deeper into the pillow, a lazy smile on his face. 

“You should stay here this weekend,” Yoongi blurts before he’d even decided to say it.

Jimin blinks a singular eye open, barely. “Hmm?”

“You’ve barely gotten good rest all week. You just seem to rest better here in my space.”

“I rest better anywhere that isn’t upright, Hyung,” he sighs. He looks tired but he opens both eyes, realizing Yoongi is serious and isn’t going to give up. He looks around the room. He hasn’t stayed often, but he does feel a bit more at ease here. “My place has a bed too.”

“Yeah, and a nest too, but you could make one here. Because I guarantee no matter how many times I scent, how much I leave behind, it could never feel like this one.” It comes out so cocky that Yoongi regrets it immediately. 

Jimin’s ears pink. He sighs and pouts. “I hate when you’re right,” he inhales the pillow again. His eyes droop closed. Yoongi should really get him up to have him eat the lunch that’s getting cold on the table. But as his breaths even, he just looks so peaceful. 

The sight should be reassuring, calming to his alpha that finally their omega is feeling well enough to get some much needed rest. Instead, it makes something heavy settle in Yoongi’s chest. If Jimin agrees to stay, he has to tell him. If Jimin doesn’t stay, he’s going to spend the entire flight to Daegu wondering if he’ll be okay in his own apartment alone. 

Yoongi packs while Jimin dozes, because it’s his only opportunity. He does so quietly and out of the view of the bed, stowing just a weekend’s worth of clothing in a leather overnight bag. Each time he crosses the threshold of the bedroom to grab something he holds his breath and listens to Jimin’s. Slow, and even. 

At one point, Yoongi pauses as the light cascades over the bed and through Jimin. He’s wearing one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts that he hardly takes off these days. The way he’s laying has made it ride up just a bit, revealing a narrow strip of skin above the waistband of his pants. Eleven weeks. Other people who have not had similar opportunities to explore every inch of Jimin’s body probably wouldn’t have noticed the change. But Yoongi does, the softness in the middle. The way he curled in on himself each time he slept now, somehow folding in by pure exhaustion at building a body. It was so strange to Yoongi how someone could look so fragile by being so impossibly stubborn. 

“You’re staring,” Jimin mumbles into the pillow. He stretches much like Tang who is cuddled up near Jimin’s belly. “It’s creepy.” 

Yoongi laughs. “I was thinking.” 

“Oh! The alpha brain works,” Jimin teases. 

“Yah!” Yoongi whines back, earning Jimin’s music laugh. 

But it comes at a price. A grimace chases it away almost immediately, and Jimin swallows hard. He squeezes his eyes shut again and breathes carefully through his nose. Yoongi doesn’t want to shuffle the bed so he pushes his scent into the air. “Breathe, Jiminie.”

After a minute in a half the wave passes. Jimin looks exhausted like he hadn’t just slept for an hour. “I hate this,” the deep pout has returned. 

Yoongi finally goes to him, he rubs his side. “I know.”

“I also hate hearing you say ‘I know’,” Jimin rolls his eyes, wincing as he moves. 

“I know,” Yoongi pokes, hoping he’s still within joking margin. When Jimin glares pointedly in his direction, tossing a small pillow at him Yoongi laughs quietly. “Ahh, there’s that attitude. I thought he was gone.”

“I almost threw it all up,” Jimin jokes. He pushes himself into a sitting position. 

Yoongi rubs his knee affectionately. “Good to see you’ve still got some left.” 

“Barely,” Jimin huffs. He looks around like he isn’t aware what time it is. Yoongi only has a few hours left before his flight. He had to tell him. 

“So…,” Yoongi starts. 

Jimin perks up, “Finally.” 

Yoongi furrows his brows together. “Finally?” 

Jimin nods. “You’ve been weird all day. So I’m assuming you’re finally going to tell me why.” 

“I have not been weird all day,” Yoongi deflects. “You’ve been asleep for—”

“Hyung.” 

Yoongi sighs. “My mother’s birthday is today,” he looks down at the bed because it’s easier than looking at Jimin while he tells him. “Almost every year, unless I’m on tour, I travel to Daegu for the weekend of my mother’s birthday.” 

Jimin is silent. 

Yoongi’s eyes go to Jimin’s legs. One of his hands is resting on his knee. His fingers are shaking. Yoongi squeezes gently. “It’s just forty-eight hours and—”

Jimin sniffs. “How long has this been planned? You’ve known your mother’s birthday all year, I mean probably all your life but…” Jimin trails off. 

My father called a few weeks ago. It was right after you told me about the pup. I was going to let you know eventually and then you woke up this morning and it was like you already knew. 

“My body knew.”

Yoongi takes a long exhale. “I’ve been working up the courage to tell you all day,” he finally looks up at Jimin and he hates that there’s tears in his eyes. “I just didn’t know how to say it.” 

Jimin’s bottom lip quivers. “You could have just…said it.” Jimin’s fingers have curled themselves in the sleeve of Yoongi’s long t-shirt. They tighten and it’s so miniscule Yoongi could have missed it, but he didn’t. “When?”

“Party is at 8. I’ll arrive a little late,” he pauses, “fashionably,” as Jimin has always said that is the only excuse for arriving late to a party. Yoongi’s excuse is that he doesn’t want to leave this bed. Leave this person. 

“So coming here…” Jimin gestures around Yoongi’s room. 

“I thought it might help for the time being. The scent. And Tang, you both need someone not to feel so lonely.” 

Yoongi can see the wheels turning, Jimin’s blank stare. It always indicates that he’s trying to think and he’s trying to hide his emotions. Yoongi wishes he didn’t feel like he had to. “I’ll stay here, then,” he replies quietly. It’s not ‘Can I come?’ or ‘I’ll join you.’ Not because Jimin didn’t want to, and not because Yoongi didn’t want him by his side. Because they both knew he couldn’t. 

That night years ago Jimin had sworn he was never going back and he held to it. He never toured in Daegu, didn’t attend any events or awards there. He would never ask him to go back on that. 

Yoongi spends the remainder of his time ordering groceries, whipping up a few dishes, and letting Jimin know where things are in the house. Jimin does a lot of listening, which makes Yoongi feel like shit, because he’s always been so chatty. But he just brushes a hand over his back or down his arm when he has the chance, pressing scent into him with each touch. 

At half past six, Yoongi’s driver calls to say he’s arrived to take him to the tarmac. Yoongi stands at the door with his bag and looks at Jimin who is standing there with Tang in his  arms, clearly petting him for a distraction. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi says. 

Tears spring immediately to his eyes and Yoongi crosses the threshold. He tugs Jimin into his arms so hard they earn an annoyed mewl from Tang as he jumps from Jimin’s embrace. “I’m just going to miss you,” he’s smiling but he’s also sobbing. 

“Two days,” Yoongi breathes against his neck. 

“I don’t understand why this feels so hard, we’ve gone months before,” Jimin whimpers. “Can you s-scent me, please?”

Yoongi obliges immediately. His driver is going to need to wait a little longer. His flight is going to leave a little off schedule. He’ll arrive to the party a little late. But he doesn’t care. He holds Jimin in his arms, trailing his nose over all the exposed inches of his skin. He marks his neck, just next to his scent gland. Jimin is still crying, but quieter as Yoongi scents him. He pushes as much out as possible, begging it to last the next forty-eight hours. 

The chef slides the knife cleanly through the filet without resistance. It’s one of Yoongi’s favorite cuts, and his mother’s too. Across the table, his father continues to discuss a merger he’s been excited about all weekend as though this were a business dinner and not a family dinner for his mother’s birthday. 

The party the evening before was uneventful. Elegant, poised and good natured the way his family preferred it. Too many people were tipsy on what Yoongi thought was shitty champagne. His mother was happy to see him, even though he was late. She even told him so. 

“I thought you might not make it this year,” she hugged her son. It was the most positive interaction of the entire evening. Yoongi spent the rest of it only speaking when spoken to, being shown off as usual and talking about his accolades as if they belonged to his parents as well. They were proud of him, in some ways. But his success, he knew, was always a reflection of theirs. 

Someone appears next to him to swap out his empty water glass before he’s realized it’s been touched. He takes another spoonful of miyeokguk. His grandmother has been long gone since he was little, but the house cooks still make her exact recipe for everyone’s birthday. 

“You did say you passed on the artist you didn’t think was going to be the strongest, right?” Yoongi’s father asks. 

Yoongi cues himself back into the commotion of the conversation once he realizes the question was directed at him. “Oh, yes. I haven’t chosen anyone to represent yet.”

“Good idea,” his brother chimes in. “Better to continue to build your own career first.” His own wife, an impossibly quiet alpha woman he met in business school, is round next to him with their second child. Their first, a little boy, is off playing with a nanny. Yoongi had taken glances at her all weekend, wondering what Jimin might look when he was that far along. 

Yoongi’s phone rests beneath the edge of the table, balanced on his thigh where only his eyes could see. It was a habit he’d picked up over the years, a way to keep in contact. He taps it again, lighting up the empty screen. He hasn’t stopped checking his messages all weekend. 

Having gotten his number from Jimin, his first text from Hoseok had come during breakfast. “Does Jimin always refuse to eat what you make him?”

An hour later— “Maybe he should have refused in the end….yuck.” 

Jimin had messaged too, mostly pictures of Tang who hadn’t seemed to leave his side since Yoongi had. He felt even more grateful for his midnight companion. His last message at lunch time was that Seokjin was trying to “nausea remedy him to death,” with a spread of different soups and broths laid out on Yoongi’s dining table. 

He wished he were with them. 

“Yoongi,” his mother sets down her fork. “You’ve drifted.” 

Yoongi blinks. “I’m listening,” he gives his best tight lipped smile. 

“You were not,” she replies, a bit of a smirk on her face because she’s not truly upset. 

“You were asking me about my Japan tour,” his bowl is taken away to have the main course placed in front of him. The filet is done to perfection. 

“I asked you about Thailand,” she sighs with no real malice behind it. 

His father finishes chewing the bite he’s taken and speaks up, Yoongi already knows he isn’t going to like whatever is going to come out of his mouth so he focuses on his own plate. “If working is becoming too distracting, too much, perhaps you should consider taking a break, slowing down,” he pauses, “even coming back home for a little while and oh, I don’t know…settling down?”

Yoongi chokes on his bite of asparagus. He masks it by taking several gulps of water. The only response is the scraping of forks and knives over plates. The toddler fusses loudly from the living room. Yoongi opens his own mouth to say what he doesn’t know, but he’s cut off by his phone vibrating against his thigh. It continues, signaling a call rather than a text message. 

Namjoon. 

Yoongi pushes back from the table. “I’ve got to take this call from…Seoul,” he fills in. His father starts to protest that they’re at dinner but Yoongi is already rushing down the hall and out the side balcony doors before he can finish. His thumb answers before the final ring. 

“Hyung?” Namjoon’s voice comes out low. 

Yoongi’s heart is in his throat. “Namjoon…”

The thing that Yoongi has always admired, envied, and been a little bit annoyed with is his inability to sugar coat or beat around the bush. “Jimin’s in the hospital.” 

The garden tilts in front of him, so much that he has to place a hand on the railing to steady himself. “What happened?” 

“He’s stable, so is the baby,” those words still don’t relieve him, “doctors’ say it’s severe dehydration and low blood pressure. They’ve got him on fluids and monitoring overnight.” 

Yoongi closes his eyes. I’m just going to miss you.

“He um—” Namjoon pauses, “he keeps asking where you are.” 

Something inside cracks cleanly in two. His cell shifts to the space between his shoulder and cheek, his hands go inside the pocket of his dark slacks, retrieving his work cell. He’s fired off a combined message to both his driver and his pilot to get him from his parents and be wheels up in thirty minutes. 

Namjoon continues and nothing he says makes Yoongi feel any better. “He isn’t confused, he knows you’re in Daegu he just…keeps asking.”