Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The throne room doors open with a groaning of steel, and the wolf is brought in.

Six guards are required to handle him. Not because he struggles, he doesn’t, but because the weight of the chains demands it. Each link is thick enough to choke a man. Each shackle is double-locked, carved with royal glyphs, polished for display.

They want him to shine.

They want the court to see what kind of creature they own.

This entire thing is theatrical. A performance. A reminder of the beast they keep shackled underneath the palace.

Jungkook is barefoot, shirtless, dried blood crusted around the collar of his throat. His arms are bound behind his back, elbows drawn tight until the tension in his shoulders warps his posture. The muzzle is bolted into his jaw, iron bars caging his mouth in a twisted half-snarl. Dried saliva streaks the rusted hinges. Blood. 

His head hangs low.

Not in submission.

Never in submission.

But because the chains are too heavy to lift.

He is dragged to the center of the marble floor and forced to his knees. The guards make a show of it, yanking one chain, then another, until he drops with a dull, echoing sound. His knee hits stone. Then the other. His claws curl against the floor, but he doesn’t fight.

They whisper that he doesn’t scream anymore.

Not unless he scents an omega.

A beta herald steps forward. His voice is bright. It bounces off the pillars like an echo.

“Jeon Jungkook, feral-born alpha. Warhound. Beast of the East. Bondbutcher. Unmarked rogue. Today, you stand accused of the following,” his voice wobbles slightly, unnerved by the thickening scent of pine and steel in the air. It curled around the court like smog, choking and acrid. “Disrespect of the crown. Disobedience under imprisonment. Refusal to submit to court orders. Breathing unpermitted in the presence of a royal alpha. The sentence is demonstrative correction.”

He doesn’t look up. Not when the ceremonial rod is drawn. Not when it whistles through the air. Not when the first strike lands across his chest, right above the ribs. He doesn’t move. It doesn’t hurt. How could it? It had been years since he felt real pain. The last spark of any emotion other than anger or hatred… It was when his pack had been slaughtered in front of him. His own deafening screams were forever seared in his mind. The grief, the guilt, the ache of losing his pack. His brothers. 

The court watches. Dresses rustle. Mouths twitch.

Another strike.

And another.

And another.

Still nothing. Not a twitch of his mouth, not a tremble of his shoulders. 

They switch tools. Something thinner. More flexible. This time the cuts open slightly. Thin red lines bead and swell against already-scarred flesh. The court wants sound. They want movement.Jungkook gives them neither. Not even a little trickle of pain in his scent.

So of course, they escalate.

A branding iron is brought forward, but not heated. The metal is cold. It’s not meant to scar. It’s meant to remind. One of the guards presses the flat against his collarbone. “Still remember what this means, dog?” 

They laugh when he doesn’t respond.

A guard plants a boot on the back of his neck and shoves his head into the stone. “Show submission, beast.”

The muzzle clatters. Something cracks in his neck. Still no sound. His hair spills forward onto the marble. Long, matted, sticking to the sweat across his chest. His tail twitches once and falls still.

Then comes the hook.

A delicate, almost surgical blade. Thin and curved like a flensing knife. It’s used to peel flesh, not puncture. It slices the edge of his right ear. A slow, deep pull down through the cartilage. Not deep enough to maim. Just to bleed. Just enough to get some sort of reaction.

The blood rolls down his neck and pools in the hinge of the muzzle.

And finally, he growls.

It’s quiet. Instinctive. A sound that vibrates through the chain links. Not loud enough to hear, but deep enough to feel. Every handler tenses. The court holds its breath.

One of the guards reacts as expected. He kicks him in the ribs full force, boot driving into bone. Jungkook’s body folds. The muzzle hits the floor again. His head rings. His vision tunnels. Something wet trickles down his side.

Still no scream.

Still no resistance.

He kneels.

Chest heaving. Blood trailing down one thigh.

But he kneels.

Hanuel steps forward. The Crown Prince of Daemyrr.  Smirking. Casual. Voice like spoiled silk. “I have a better idea,” he says. “Since he’s so quiet? Let’s see what he does when we give him something he’s not supposed to want.”

He turns to the side.

His hand shoots out.

And shoves Jimin forward.

***

Jimin didn’t belong in the suffocating room that was the court. Full of so many intermingling scents. A dizzying combination of alpha musk, omega sweetness, and beta neutralizers. It hurt his nose. He had been dragged in at the last minute by his beta herald, Eunwon. “It’s a direct order from Crown Prince Haneul.” Was all that the beta gave him for an explanation, a worried furrow to his brow and his usual mint scent soured. 

A low growl sounded. Almost so quiet, that if the court weren’t holding their breath… It wouldn’t have been heard. 

Jimin peered up from where his head was ducked. His eyes scanned the large, brightly lit room before they landed on the figure right in the center. His nose scrunched as he tried to place the scent. /The cold wind before the first Winter’s snow./ His head cocked to the side, his downy ears tucking back but not disappearing into his hair.

What was going on? If it made Eunwon frazzled, it had to be something serious. 

The little lamb ducked his head once more.

It wasn’t his business. It was never his business. He was an omega. Omegas kept their heads ducked and their scents controlled. They showed deference. They never spoke unless spoken to. That meant no inquiring. 

For Jimin? It tore apart at his soul, sometimes. The prince had an unrivaled curiosity. Unmatched to any scholar in the court. Questions slipped from his pouty lips like exhaled air.

All of a sudden, the world around Jimin was moving. Spinning around him. Eunwon’s hand was gripped tight to his upper arm, his body being thrusted forward without his consent.

Jimin stumbles only slightly, catching himself, using Eunwon’s grip for help. His other hand shoots up to grip onto the beta’s wrist. His eyes are wide, nervous as they finally lock onto the figure kneeling before him.

The Blood Wolf of the East.

***

Jungkook was suffocating.

Until the scent hits him. It’s soft. Sweet. Unfamiliar. But not just unfamiliar, just wrong. Out of place. Like jasmine blooming in winter. Like sugar in blood. He doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t have to.

It finds him. That scent.

It wraps around the iron cage of his muzzle and slides down his throat like silk. Jasmine. Fresh cream. Something clean and young. Like rain in spring. Like prey.

His breath stutters. Not audibly. But his chest jolts once, like something in him is waking up that shouldn’t.

Another inhale.

Oh.

It’s not just prey. It’s omega. Not the spoiled, perfume-drenched omegas they use to mock him. Not synthetic. Not trained. This is real. This is heat just beginning to bloom beneath silk robes.

His ears twitch. His tail curls tight to his thigh. His hands clench, wrists twisting against iron bindings. Not to break free. Not yet. It’s the biggest reaction they’ve gotten from him yet. And they noticed. Hanuel noticed, if the cruel smile spreading across his ugly face was any indication. The harsh tightening of the chains attached to his wrists and collar was enough of a sign. 

They were preparing for him to lunge. To lunge at the omega.

He wouldn’t give them the liberty of that reaction. He doesn’t look up.

But his nose dips, instinct dragging him lower like a beast sniffing the earth. The scent is being carried by the air, wafting closer, too rich, too much. He can feel how it affects the omega, if the sweetening of their scent was anything to go by. They were flustered.

He growls again. This one isn’t defiance. It’s want. Not the rut kind. Not the alpha rage. Something worse.

There’s a sound. Fabric moving. Chains rattling. The court breathing too loud.

And then, that scent again, closer now. Sharp-edged sugar, soft like petals, wrong in a way that makes his teeth ache. Not because it offends him.

Because it hurts.

Then he hears it. A footstep. Light. Hesitant. The omega was moving closer. Close enough to have his silk clad lower half right in front of Jungkook’s kneeled figure.

The chime of bracelets, delicate and expensive. The quickening heartbeat of something terrified but not fighting. His eyes open. He doesn’t lift his head yet. 

But his gaze cuts forward and catches pale blue silk. It clings faintly to slender calves. Pools at the floor like water. There’s a ringed hand trembling just inches away. Held by a beta herald, skin pale. The hand is trying not to pull back.

His pupils blow wide.

That’s not bait. That’s not court mockery. That’s an omega. And not just any omega. This one is beautiful.

He stares at the ankle peeking through the robe, and something in his hindbrain howls. His shoulders twitch like he’s about to lunge but he doesn’t. He just inhales again. The scent punches through his ribs this time.

It is not heat. Not yet. But it’s building. He can feel it in his own body, as if it were his own. The omega is flushed, scared, head ducked. The scent is sugar-milk panic.

Downy ears tucked back. Not raised in defiance. A little lamb. Prey.

Shy. Small. And yet Haneul shoves him forward like a plaything.

The chains strain as Jungkook leans forward half an inch, breath low, dragging through the muzzle slats.

He growls.

This one is feral.

The beta herald holding the omega stumbles. Not because Jungkook moved. But because he felt it. That sound. That growl that said: Mine.

The little omega startles, but his scent doesn’t bloom with fear like Jungkook expected. 

The scent grows richer. Sweet turns ripe. The lamb’s eyes are locked onto the wolf’s now. Slightly glassy, hazy with something that looked like want. But swimming with confusion. Enough that Jungkook’s eyes snap away like it burned him.

No. No, no, no. They shouldn’t have brought him here.

Not the one who smells like wildflowers. Not the one who smells like home.

His fingers curl hard enough to split his own skin.

And for the first time since he was dragged from the battlefield? Jungkook bares his teeth.

It drags Jimin from his alpha musk induced haze. More like it violently tears him from it. He’s trembling, shoulders shaking, fingers twitching where they’re forced forward. 

The alpha was massive. And the alpha had growled at him, was baring his teeth through the slats of the muzzle strapped and bound to his jaw. Jimin didn’t understand the significance. He didn’t even understand why he was forced in front of the man. 

“H-Hanuel, please, l-let me-” Came his soft voice, a stutter wracking his words. He felt uncomfortable with the sudden heat blooming low in his belly. The way the alpha was looking at him, the way he was scenting. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt slick in his lower half, the pressure in his abdomen starting to overwhelm him. 

If anyone in the court noticed, no one dared speak a word. 

“Looks like the beast isn’t broken after all! Seems like little Jimin here is the push he needed to wake back up. How lovely.” Hanuel’s voice came from behind him, an icy hand gripping onto his shoulder.

“Eunwon, take Prince Jimin back to his quarters before he can shame himself any further.” 

Oh. Shame. Jimin had brought shame. But how? He hadn’t even moved, he hadn’t spoken, just to beg to be released. 

The little lamb dared to glance at the chained alpha kneeled in front of him again, a little frown on his plush lips. He really looked at the man this time, taking the precious moments he had before he would be forced away to solitude. 

Long, dark hair. Matted in some parts. Large charcoal ears. Dark, blood red eyes staring back at him. Countless scars, bruises, old injuries, new injuries littered his body. Something in Jimin’s chest broke open at the sight. No one deserved to be treated like this.

The confusion evident in the alpha’s eyes at the way his sweet scent morphed into something akin to sadness and guilt stayed with Jimin until the next morning.

Chapter Text

It was always wet down here.

Not just damp. Wet. As if the stone itself wept. Moisture ran in slick ribbons down the curved walls, pooling in the divots of the uneven floor. Mold bloomed in the creases where the torchlight never touched. The air hung thick with rot and old blood, each breath sticking in his throat like phlegm.

The cellar was buried so deep beneath the palace that time didn’t pass normally here. No sunlight. No clocks. Only the echo of footsteps overhead, the distant clang of metal from deeper corridors, and the creak of his own chains shifting when he forgot himself and moved.

He didn’t move often anymore.

His knees had long since fused to the cold stone, forced to remain kneeling by the iron bar that slotted through his shackles, bolted to a ring in the floor. His shoulders screamed from the unnatural bend behind his back, arms yanked up and secured too high, twisted until his collarbones ached with every breath. Muzzle still bolted in place. Scent gland exposed and vulnerable. He could barely get moisture from the air. Couldn’t even shift to ease the way the pressure burned through his spine.

His wrists had split days ago. The metal was never padded.

There had been no food since court. Seven days. No meat. No water. No sound except for that voice still crawling around his skull. That scent still tattooed across the roof of his mouth.

Jasmine. Rain. That trembling little omega with the downy ears and sugar-slick scent, shoved in front of him like a taunt. Only it hadn’t felt like a taunt. Not the way the others had. That one had hurt.

The lamb had looked at him like he wasn’t a monster. And that had been worse than any whip, any punishment.

Worse than the branding iron. The hook. The boot on the back of his neck.

He snarled through the muzzle, jaw aching. He was hungry. And it wasn’t food he needed.

Not really.

***

Jimin had spent the last seven days wondering about one thing. 

The Blood Wolf of the East. 

Being an omega, his tutors didn’t mention much about the second Daemyrrian War. They didn’t need to. When would Prince Jimin ever be involved in politics? He was simply a tool to forge an alliance with another kingdom to prevent war. 

The little omega arched his back in a stretch, sprawled out on pink silk sheets. Silk imported from Rhyll, their neighboring ally. His entire wardrobe was composed of the very same silk. Differing shades of pale pinks, blues, purples, and yellows. Had Jungkook ever felt silk before? Had he been granted the luxury? 

Jimin frowned. Probably not. He learned from his most trusted advisor, Yoongi, that Jeon Jungkook was a war dog through and through. He had once fought for Daemyrr. He was their secret weapon. Unleashed like a rabid beast onto the battlefield during one battle. It became the turning point of the entire war itself. So why had he been imprisoned?

Yoongi had refused to tell Jimin anything else, he didn’t budge even when the omega gave his signature pout. Even when his lower lip wobbled and tears filled his eyes. Jimin gave up rather quickly after that.

He decided that he would just have to ask the man himself. Yes, that was a good idea. Surely the alpha had seen the sadness and guilt in his eyes, had smelled it on him. Surely, he knew Jimin meant no harm. 

With that last thought in mind, the little lamb waited until night descended on the palace and prepared silently for his visit to the war dog.

***

The trek to the underground cellars unnerved Jimin. The air seemed to change, thickening and almost stealing the breath from the omega’s lungs. And it was cold, god. So, so cold. His shoulders trembled under the silk shift he had ventured down in. 

A thin layer of silk draped over his nightshirt and undergarments. Soft, fluffy slippers on his feet. 

The stone floors were slippery under his slipper clad feet, wet with something he couldn’t name. His nose crinkled as he descended the steep steps, doing down, down, down. It smelled like rot. There was no other way to describe the stink that seemed to be embedded in the stone. 

He nearly slipped once or twice getting down the stairs, clutching desperately onto the little silk bundle tucked under one of his arms. A sigh of relief escaped him as he finally reached a decrepit, wooden door. How did it even function? The hinges were rusted over, dark orange bleeding into the metal. Mold streaked through the rotting wood like paint. 

It creaked as he pushed it open, shoulders straining. The smell that spilled out hit him like wet fur and old blood, thick enough to chew. He strained to see inside, peeking his head through the doorway. It must’ve been a comical sight, a little omega peering inside.

Jimin just swallowed thickly and pulled the silk bundle to his chest for some semblance of courage, taking a few cautious steps inside. Each step felt like he was walking into a place he couldn’t escape. Each step had his heart thudding in his chest, threatening to escape.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, maybe he should turn back.

The thought flickered across his mind and before he could even act on it? 

He came into view.

Jimin’s shoulders sagged. 

He looked smaller than Jimin remembered. Weaker. 

“Excuse me?” His voice sounded, quiet and hesitant. “It’s me. From the court. Do you remember?” He sounded so stupid. He wanted to kick himself. Of course, the man wouldn’t remember him. 

Nothing.

No twitch. No growl. No flicker of those blood-red eyes.

But the alpha heard that voice. Felt it more than anything. A vibration through the chains, the floor, the marrow of his bones. That voice shouldn’t be here. That scent shouldn’t be here.

Jasmine and sugar again. Wildflowers blooming in a graveyard.

It clung to his throat, stuck to his ribs, curdled in the hollow of his belly.

Seven days without food. And now this. This wasn’t food. This was worse.

Jimin hesitated at the silence, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He clutched the little bundle tighter against his chest. His heart was pounding. His scent was growing stronger by the minute. He couldn’t find an explanation for the way his body responded to the alpha. Even after seven days of wondering aloud, of asking Yoongi and Taehyung. “I brought something. Well, food- I brought food.” 

Jungkook’s head snapping up at the mere mention of food was not what Jimin thought would happen. The movement was so sudden that the collar tightened around the alpha’s neck, the chain attached scraping against the ground in an ear-grating sound. 

His eyes weren’t fixed on the meat. They were fixed on the omega himself. 

The realization made Jimin jolt, nearly dropping the bundle in his arms. His slippers skidded on the wet stone, but he managed to catch it. 

He stared at Jungkook in silence for a few moments, trying to gather his next words. What could he even say? “It’s roasted venison and bread.” Jimin settled for, trying to operate in a sense of normalcy around the feral alpha. 

Jungkook didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe at first.

The scent hit harder than the words. Not meat. Not bread. Him.

Jasmine, rain, milk-sugar panic. Richer than before. Warmer. The scent of prey on trembling legs.

His jaw locked behind the muzzle, tongue pressed flat. A low sound built in his chest. Not a growl, not yet. Just breath. Controlled. Barely.

Jimin nearly dropped the bundle again, a panicked sound escaping him. He didn’t know why the way Jungkook looked at him made his knees feel weak. He was used to being looked at like he was beautiful by the court. Like something they wanted to use and tear apart. But the way this alpha looked at him felt different. 

He slowly moved to sit on the wet ground, as close as he could possibly get to Jungkook without being in lunging distance. He was naive, not stupid. He lowered the bundle onto the floor between them, pulling the ribbon he had tied it with free. 

Inside the silk bundle was a carefully wrapped parcel of roasted venison, still warm from the palace kitchens. The meat had been basted in honey and crushed herbs, browned at the edges and sliced thin for easy chewing. Next to it, two thick slices of sweet milk bread, soft and spongy, wrapped in waxed cloth to keep them dry. A tiny glass jar of rosehip jam nestled in the corner. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.” 

Jungkook couldn’t breathe. This was for him? He wasn’t sure what he liked? 

As if he was a person.

As if he was a man who could say thank you or no.

The chains groaned as he shifted just enough to scent it better. Not the food.

The omega.

Jimin’s breath hitched, eyes wide as they watched Jungkook’s every move. 

His scent was curling now. Thickening with something shy. Not fear. Not danger. Something worse. Something ripe.

The alpha leaned forward half an inch.

The sound that came out of him was low and rasping. Scraped through clenched teeth, dragged through the slats of the muzzle like metal over stone.

What happened next was instinctive. The sickeningly sweet scent of sugar filled the air, tinged with an undercurrent of blooming wildflowers. Jimin’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, the color spreading across the bridge of his nose. There was a low pull in his belly, as if something had come free. Pressure. Internal. Dampness in his silk shorts. A vicious sort of wetness.

Jimin froze, wide-eyed.

The warmth blooming between his legs shouldn’t have been there. Not here. Not in front of this chained thing that everyone said was a monster. It felt wrong. Shameful. But his body didn’t know that. His scent betrayed him first. Then his trembling fingers. Then the way his thighs pressed together like that might stop it. Like that might hide it.

Jungkook went still.

Then his pupils dilated.

The scent bloomed. Sweet. Salted. Slick.

“Do you want me to take the muzzle off? Y-You can’t eat with it on.” Jimin let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, cheeks rosy. He desperately tried to ignore the slick steadily trickling from him, holding his hands out in the space between them. 

Jungkook snarled. A real one this time.

Not a threat. A warning.

A plea.

To come closer, to do something. 

Jimin took it as a resounding yes. Even as his body trembled, even as his rational mind screamed at him to run, Jimin got onto his knees. He got onto his knees and he reached for the muzzle. His shaking fingers brushed along the cool, rusted metal of the bar locked around Jungkook’s jaw. Exploring, searching. Once they bumped into the two bolts holding it in place, Jimin grasped them and pulled them free with all the strength he held in his little body.

Thunk. Thunk.

The sound of them falling to the floor didn’t even startle him. He was a man on a mission. A suicide mission. His brain supplied helpfully. He tried to ignore the heat coming off of the strong body against him. Tried to ignore the worrying urge to tuck his face into the alpha’s neck and breathe. 

Jimin didn’t even realize he held his breath until it was releasing in a shuddery exhale as the leather muzzle finally hit the stone beneath them. 

The muzzle hit the ground with a soft clatter. A sound so small, so inconsequential.

But to Jungkook, it was thunder.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every muscle locked, trembling from restraint. His jaw hung open slightly, tongue thick and dry behind sharp teeth. He could taste the scent now, not just breathe it. Sweet. Innocent. Fertile.

The omega didn’t even realize what he’d done.

Didn’t know what it meant to bare the throat of a starving beast.

Didn’t understand what alphas like Jungkook were bred for.

Jimin knelt back slowly, eyes flickering across Jungkook’s face. His mouth. His lips, cracked and bruised. The long canines that glinted even without light. He looked like something forged in fire. In violence.

But he was beautiful.

Even chained, even ruined, the alpha was beautiful.

Jimin’s fingers twitched where they hovered in the air between them. He wanted to touch him. Wanted to soothe the angry red indent where the muzzle had sat too long. He almost reached again.

A snarl stopped him cold.

Not loud. Not feral. Not wild.

Low. Broken.

The sound of an animal begging not to be provoked. Of a man at the edge of himself, pleading not to fall.

Because if Jimin touched him now, Jungkook knew he wouldn’t stop.

He would sink his teeth into the scent blooming off this boy and mate him. Tear his silk and rut him raw into the stone. He would ruin this soft creature who didn’t know what kind of monster sat in front of him.

He didn’t want to ruin him.

Not him.

Jungkook’s throat bobbed. He swallowed down a sound that wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a whimper.

Jimin blinked slowly. “Do you want to eat first?” He whispered.

***

There was no answer. Just the low rasp of the alpha’s breathing, the heavy, uneven sound of it dragging through his chest like gravel. His shoulders trembled. Whether it was from hunger or restraint, Jimin couldn’t tell. He took it as another yes.

The bundle was still warm when he reached for it, the silk slightly damp at the edges where it had touched the floor. Jimin’s fingers trembled as he unwrapped one of the slices of venison, steam curling gently into the cold air like breath.

The meat was soft, pink in the center, browned at the edges. Basted in crushed herbs and honey. He had asked the kitchens to make it tender. Easy to chew. He didn’t know what state the alpha’s teeth were in.

He didn’t know anything. Still, he leaned forward carefully, cradling the slice between his fingers.

“You can’t hold anything, right?” He asked softly, as if that wasn’t obvious. As if the man wasn’t chained to the floor, arms twisted behind him, shoulders locked at a brutal angle.

His only answer was breath. Heavy. Guttural. A sound scraped raw from somewhere deep. “I’ll feed you, then.” Jimin murmured, almost more to himself than the alpha. He brought the meat to Jungkook’s mouth.

The alpha didn’t move. Didn’t open. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared, red eyes locked on the omega with something unreadable in his gaze. Not gratitude. Not confusion. It looked like grief.

“Please?” Jimin said, gently, as if talking to a scared animal. “It’s venison. You’ll feel better after you eat, I promise.”

Jungkook’s mouth parted slowly.

His teeth didn’t move at first. His lips didn’t close. He just let Jimin place the food against his tongue, let him press it past his fangs. Warmth spread in Jimin’s chest like relief.

But then? Then the alpha let out a sound. A low, keening thing. It punched straight through Jimin’s ribcage. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t instinct. It sounded like someone remembering what kindness was after forgetting it entirely.

Jimin paused, hand hovering midair. His heart squeezed.

“Was it not good?” He whispered.

Jungkook didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He chewed slowly, deliberately, as if the act of accepting something so soft from someone so gentle was too much. As if it hurt more than it helped. Jimin reached for the next piece. “I brought jam too.” He offered. “It’s rosehip. I thought maybe you liked sweets.”

The alpha’s breath caught. Something in that sentence shattered him more than chains ever had. And Jimin didn’t know why. Didn’t understand.

He just kept feeding him. Bite after bite. Jam spread across sweet bread. Slices of venison. A careful wipe of a crumb from the corner of Jungkook’s mouth, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like they weren’t in a rotting tomb.

Like this wasn’t a wolf and a lamb.

Like the lamb wasn’t offering himself willingly.

Jimin didn’t know it, but his life had forever changed that night.

Chapter Text

It became a rhythm.

Every other night, when the palace was asleep and no one was watching him too closely, Jimin would disappear.

The guards never stopped him. They wouldn’t dare. And if they noticed the little silk bundle he always carried? They said nothing.

The trek never got easier. The stairs always cold. The air always heavy with mildew and iron. But the dread didn’t settle in his stomach anymore. Not like it used to.

Not when he knew who was waiting.

***

The second visit started with rabbit stew.

It was still light when Jimin tucked the ceramic jar into the crook of his elbow, readying himself for the second visit.

That felt dangerous enough on its own.

The sun had only just dipped behind the western edge of the palace, staining the halls gold and pink. Shadows hadn’t even settled yet when the omega ducked down the servants’ stairwell, cloak too long and sleeves still damp from his latest bath. He hadn’t even dried his hair all the way. It clung to the nape of his neck in soft curls, heavy from the rinse of lavender oil. His ears twitched, small, soft, downy. One flicked toward a sound. But no one followed.

If someone stopped him, asked where he was going? He didn’t know what he would’ve said. But no one did.

They never did.

The bundle was heavier today. Tucked into it was a thick wool wrap, woven by his youngest handmaid. She said it was meant for cool mornings on the garden balcony. Jimin had immediately decided it was for the alpha instead.

The wool was wrapped around a ceramic jar of rabbit stew.

Still warm.

It had simmered in the kitchens all afternoon. Slow-cooked with bone broth and sage, flecks of parsnip, slivers of wild onion. A chunk of barley bread tucked in beside it, soft and slightly sweet, the crust golden. And of course, the little glass jar of rosehip jam. He hadn’t even thought twice about including it.

It felt… required, now. Like a ritual. Jimin didn’t understand why.

The trip down to the cellar was easier this time. His hands didn’t shake as much. His slippers didn’t slip as often. The stink of the dungeon was just as bad as ever, but he swallowed through it quicker. Breathing through his mouth. Steeling his nerves. Holding that bundle close to his chest like it would save him from what waited on the other side of that rotting wooden door.

He cracked it open slowly.

And the scent hit first.

Jungkook stiffened. His ears flicked forwards against his will. His bones remembered that sweet scent. That boy. The one with soft hands and wildflower sugar in his breath. The one who’d knelt last time. Fed him by hand. The one who hadn’t run.

He didn’t move. Didn’t snarl.

He watched.

Watched as that scent got stronger. Softer. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be. His chest ached with it, the sharp press of it like something old trying to crawl out of his ribs.

Inside was silence. Dim light. Stone and bone and blood that had dried into the floor.

And him.

Jungkook.

He hadn’t moved since the last time. Still knelt, still bound, still leashed to the floor like a dog. But something about the air felt different. Not so heavy. Not so sharp.

The alpha didn’t growl when Jimin stepped inside. Didn’t flinch at the scent of jasmine, now sweetened with fresh linen and soap.

He simply raised his head. Ears perked.

Just slightly. But he looked.

That was new.

Jimin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He lowered himself again to the stone. Cross-legged, hands in his lap, placing the bundle down carefully in the space between them. He didn’t ask permission this time. He didn’t speak right away, either. Just unwrapped the wool slowly, exposing the soft bread first. Then the jar. He cracked the lid open with a little pop, and the smell of rabbit stew spilled out like steam. Rich. Herby. Homey.

Jungkook twitched.

Something sharp hit the back of his teeth. Saliva. Hunger. But it wasn’t just the food.

It was the omega’s calm. His quiet.

The way he moved like this was routine. Like this was safe.

“You’re not allergic to rabbit, right?” Jimin asked softly, tearing off a small piece of barley bread. “That would be incredibly tragic.”

He didn’t expect a laugh. He didn’t get one.

But Jungkook’s lip twitched. His eyes flicked down to the stew. Then back up.

A flicker. A pause.

It made Jimin brave.

He dipped the bread into the stew, let it soak for a second, and then leaned forward.

“I’ll feed you again,” he said, holding it up carefully. “Just like last time. If you want.”

Still no words.

But no resistance, either. Just a slow sway of Jungkook’s tail.

Jungkook didn’t breathe. Just watched the way Jimin’s fingers moved. Careful. Gentle.

The bread was held out like an offering. Like a prayer.

So he took it.

Mouth parted. Tongue against palm. He didn’t bite. He didn’t even graze with his teeth.

The taste hit like fire. Not the stew.

The boy.

Flesh. Warm and trembling.

He didn’t pull away.

Jimin didn’t breathe. His ears swiveled back. His tail, a little cotton tuft of a thing, flicked under the hem of his robe.

And then he fed the wolf again.

Another bite. Stew this time. He scooped it up with a small silver spoon from his pocket and held it up. Jungkook opened his mouth and took it with startling gentleness.

Again.

And again.

Each time, Jimin got a little closer. Just an inch. Just enough to see the way Jungkook’s throat worked when he swallowed. Just enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Each time, Jungkook leaned in a little more. His chains didn’t rattle like they had before. They didn’t need to. He wasn’t lunging. He was watching.

Careful.

Hungry.

Not for food.

The omega reached for the jam.

He opened the jar with delicate fingers, glancing up nervously. “I don’t know why I keep bringing this.” He murmured. “You probably don’t even like it.” Why would he? It was just jam.

Jungkook didn’t blink.

Of course he liked it.

Not the jam.

The way the omega’s voice went quiet when he held the jar. The way he scooped a bit onto his finger and offered it like that was normal. Like that wasn’t treachery against the crown.

His tongue dragged up Jimin’s thumb before the omega could think twice. Slow. Intentional. Up to the knuckle.

Soft. Slick.

Jimin froze.

Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t think.

The scent of slick hit the air again, faint but undeniable. Sweet and sharp and salt-wet.

Jungkook sat back, licking his lips.

He hadn’t meant to.

But he didn’t regret it either.

Jimin swallowed hard.

“That was…” His voice cracked. “That was very polite of you.”

No response.

Just that stare. That heat.

The jam tasted different now. Not rosehip.

Omega.

Jimin wiped his fingers on the edge of the wool, cleared his throat, and began repacking the bundle.

“Okay.” He said, voice a little higher than usual. “That’s it. I’ll—I’ll see you soon.” A pretty blush on his cheeks. His ears burning, tucked back submissively.

He stood. Slower this time. Shakier.

And as he left, Jungkook stayed still.

But his eyes tracked every inch of movement. Every shift of silk. Every damp curl brushing the back of Jimin’s neck. The almost imperceptible twitch of his tail under silk.

He didn’t lunge.

He didn’t growl.

But he wanted to.

Not to harm.

To beg.

He didn’t look away until the door clicked shut.

And when it did?

He curled around the lingering scent of rosehip jam and jasmine, pressed his cheek to the floor, and breathed.

Like he was trying to memorize it. Just in case.

In case it never came back.

***

The third visit started with fruit.

Jimin hadn’t planned it, exactly. It was just what the garden had offered that morning. The peach trees on the southern edge had ripened early this year, their branches heavy with golden flesh and soft fuzz. He’d picked the smallest, sweetest ones with his own hands, tucked them into a little linen sack, and left them in a bowl of cool water while he changed into something soft. Something clean.

Today, he wore a pale silk slip with long sleeves and a lace trim. The color was almost white, kissed with the faintest blush of rose. His ears flicked as he walked, soft and pale, alert for sounds. His tail, small and delicate, peeped out behind him as it always did, barely covered by the hem. His fingers were stained faintly with peach juice. So was his sleeve, where he’d wiped his mouth in a rush.

The air was thick today. Not hot, exactly, but warm enough that his scent had already started blooming before he even made it to the stairwell.

He didn’t think about it.

He didn’t think about how close they’d sat last time. How the alpha’s tongue had slid up to his knuckle. How he’d licked his lips like it wasn’t the first time he’d tasted omega. Like it might not be the last.

He didn’t think. He just walked.

By the time he reached the door, his hands were shaking again. Not badly. Just enough to fumble a bit pushing it open. The peaches were warm now, no longer cool from the water bowl, and they smelled too sweet in his arms. Almost dizzying. He cracked the door. And there he was.

Jungkook had been awake this time. He knew the omega was coming. His ears had picked up the sound of footsteps two minutes before the latch had ever turned. Small feet. Light feet. No fear. He remembered that rhythm. That scent.

That softness.

His ears flicked forward, low to his skull. His tail didn’t move. Not yet. He stayed still as bone. But his eyes tracked every movement. The sway of silk. The way curls clung damp at the nape of Jimin’s neck. The tremble in his arms as he pushed the door fully open. The bundle. The scent.

Not jasmine today. Not just jasmine. There was something… sweeter.

Something feral inside him shifted. He didn’t growl. He didn’t blink. He just watched.

Jimin knelt carefully again. The same way he had before. Same distance. Same little breath before he placed the bundle down between them. “I brought something lighter.” The omega said, voice just above a whisper. “I thought… maybe it would be easier to eat.”

He didn’t expect a response. Still hadn’t heard one. But it felt wrong to be silent. Too reverent, otherwise. Like prayer. Like offering.

The linen was peeled back slowly, revealing three round peaches. Their skins glowed golden-pink in the dim light, the faint fuzz catching the flicker of the torch on the wall. Juice already beaded at the base of one where it had bruised slightly in transit. Jimin picked that one.

He peeled it with his nails. Slowly. Gently. Pulling the skin off in thin ribbons. His fingers were already sticky when he offered the first slice, soft fruit pinched between thumb and forefinger.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. His ears twitched. But he didn’t lunge. He leaned forward.

A sliver of tongue caught the fruit before teeth. He didn’t bite Jimin. Didn’t even brush him, this time. Just took the peach. Sat back. Chewed. Swallowed. His tail moved once. Jimin blinked.

Encouraged, he tore another slice free. Offered it again. Another. And another. Each time, a little slower. A little softer. Until peach juice had begun to trail down the alpha’s chin in a slow, golden ribbon.

Without thinking, Jimin reached out. He wiped it.

He actually wiped it. Just lifted his sleeve and swiped the back of it over Jungkook’s jaw like that was something he was allowed to do. Jungkook’s head didn’t snap back. His teeth didn’t bare.

He let it happen. Let the omega touch his face. His eyes were darker now. Heavy-lidded.

Jimin’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re not as scary when you eat.” he murmured, half to himself.

The alpha blinked. Then sniffed. And then leaned forward, just a little. Just an inch closer.

The scent that came off him had changed. It was no longer just old blood and despair. Something else lived beneath it now. Something like pine. Rain-wet stone. Faint and flickering, but unmistakable.

It hit Jimin in the chest like a blow. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t run. He just stilled. Felt it. Felt how close they were. Felt how warm it was down there that night. Felt the weight in his belly begin to shift. Slick. A low pull and heat simmering in his belly.

He shifted his weight from one thigh to the other, squeezing them together. It made the little lamb aware of one crucial fact. He was hard. For the first time in his life. Throbbing, pushing up rather obscenely against the silk of his slip.

He blinked once. Swallowed. Fumbled for another peach slice.

Too late.

His scent had already changed. The wolf’s eyes had already trailed down to his lap.

Jungkook’s pupils dilated.

It wasn’t heat. Not really. But it was enough. Enough to flood the small room with sugar-warm, damp-sweet omega. Enough to curl around his senses and make his claws twitch in the stone.

The alpha didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But his mouth parted. Not for fruit.

Jimin’s hand trembled. He pulled back slowly. Wiped his palm on his robe. “That’s all for today.” Jimin cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “Just a little snack. Something easy.”

He began rewrapping the fruit. Left one behind.

Jungkook didn’t speak. Still hadn’t. But his ears stayed forward, fixed on Jimin. His tail, thick and charcoal-dark, flicked once across the floor behind him. As the door closed, the scent of peaches and sugar clung in the air like steam.

And the peach he left behind? Jungkook didn’t eat it. He curled around it.

Like he could still smell the omega’s fingers in the skin. Like it had been fed to him from Jimin’s palm.

Like he could still taste it.

Because he could.

***

The fourth visit started with meat and potatoes.

It had been raining.

Not hard. Just enough to leave the garden slick and the stone paths glistening, dotted with curled leaves and the scent of wet dirt. Jimin had watched the drizzle from his bedroom window while the palace bustled with early evening chatter, distant harpsichord, clinking plates, the shuffle of slippers on marble. All of it faded when he bent over the low table to wrap tonight’s bundle.

He packed slowly.

A thick-cut piece of roast venison, still warm from the hearth. Salted, seared, and tender. A helping of buttery potatoes, crushed with cream and garlic. A pat of rosemary butter tucked between layers so it would melt by the time he arrived. The kitchen girls hadn’t asked questions. They never did. He always said it was for his own supper. Which technically wasn’t a lie.

The slick glass jar of rosehip jam went in last. He didn’t even think about it anymore. He just packed it.

And then he changed.

Tonight, he wore something soft again. A yellow silk robe, cinched just barely at the waist, slipping too easily over one shoulder. His ears twitched as he walked. Small. Downy. Pale like the rest of him, but warm at the tips. His tail, soft and curled like a cotton puff, twitched once under the hem and then stilled.

He didn’t try to fix the robe. Let it fall where it would.

His scent was quiet tonight. Not sharp like last time. Not heavy like the peaches. Just clean. Warm. A hint of clover from the balm he’d dabbed at his wrists. He knew it wouldn’t cover much.

He didn’t want it to.

Jungkook was already waiting when he arrived.

He always was now. The scrape of the latch, the tug of the iron hinges. It stirred something under his skin every time. His ears perked before the door had even opened. Thick, charcoal-gray, twitching against the shadows. His tail swept once across the floor, slow and silent.

The scent came first. Warm sugar. Clean skin. Sweet-spiced clover. Not enough to coat the air.

But enough to find him.

Enough to fill his nose and loosen his jaw.

He didn’t growl. Didn’t bare his teeth. Just watched.

Just waited.

Jimin slipped in without a word. He moved like he’d done this forever, not just three times. Lowered himself to the ground without the usual tremble in his fingers. His knees folded under him in one slow motion, thighs pressed together beneath the fall of linen. He untied the bundle with delicate care, lips parted slightly as the scent of garlic and roast meat bloomed into the room.

He didn’t look up yet.

Just unwrapped. Settled. Exhaled.

“You’re going to like this one.”

His voice was soft. Close to shy. Like he wasn’t sure whether he believed it himself.

The meal steamed faintly in the chill air. The rosemary butter had melted through the potatoes just as he’d hoped. Rich, creamy, fragrant. He pulled a small silver spoon from his sleeve, wiped it on his robe, and scooped a careful bite.

“Open.”

Still no words from the wolf. But his mouth did.

Jimin leaned forward. Slipped the spoon between parted lips. Watched.

Jungkook took it without flinching. The taste hit first. Salt and fat and something warm that had nothing to do with food. He swallowed slow. Eyes heavy-lidded. His ears flicked low.

Another bite. Another.

Jimin fed him like that for what felt like hours. One spoonful at a time. Then a piece of meat, cut with his fingers. He didn’t mind the mess. Wiped it on his robe when it dripped. Watched the wolf’s tongue flick up to catch the juice.

And then paused.

His wrist lingered, fingers slick with broth and butter. And Jungkook leaned forward. Not fast. Not wild. Just closer.

He licked it. One finger, then two. Sucked them clean with obscene patience. The heat of his mouth sent goosebumps up Jimin’s arm.

Jimin blinked. A breath hitched. His knees pressed tighter together. He could feel it. That weight in his belly again. That ache.

Slick. Not a flood. Not like heat. But slow. Damp. Like his body didn’t know better than to bloom at touch. At the sight of those eyes on him, low and burning. He exhaled through his nose. Swallowed. And reached for the jam.

“Don’t.” He whispered. A warning to himself.

But he opened the jar anyway. Scooped it with two fingers. Just a little. Meant to offer it. Meant to stay quiet. But his hand hesitated. Hung in the air between them.

And Jungkook moved.

He didn’t lunge. Didn’t bare teeth. But his tongue pressed to the omega’s fingers like he’d done it a hundred times before. Slow. From base to tip. Curling around the second digit before drawing it into his mouth. Jimin made a noise. A tiny sound. Somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

His scent hit the air again. Stronger now. That was all it took. Jungkook let the fingers slip free with a soft pop, but his nose didn’t pull away.

It dropped. To Jimin’s wrist. His palm. Down further.

A deep inhale. And then another. And Jimin’s whole body stilled.

He knew what the alpha was smelling. He could feel it, too. Thick and wet and slowly soaking the inside of his thighs.

He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. And then, the little lamb did the unthinkable.

“Do you…” He whispered, voice small. “Do you want to taste?”

The alpha looked up. Eyes black.

Jimin’s hand trembled. But he reached down.

Pressed fingers to the inside of his thigh. Dragged them slowly through the slick already dripping there.

Lifted them.

Offered them.

And Jungkook took them like a starving man. He didn’t bite. Didn’t growl.

He moaned.

Quiet. Like he didn’t mean to. Like it hurt.

Like the taste of slick on his tongue was the first good thing he’d had in years.

Jimin’s ears flattened. His face went pink. His legs shook. But he didn’t pull away. Not once. He fed him. Slowly. Finger by finger.

Until the scent in the room was thick enough to choke on, and the wolf had to lean back before he lost control.

Jimin cleaned his fingers on the edge of his robe. Tried to swallow. Failed.

He stood with difficulty. Tucked the half-eaten food away. Left the jam behind.

And said nothing.

As he slipped out the door, the wolf curled around the scent he’d left behind, mouth open, eyes closed.

Still hungry.

But not for meat.

Chapter Text

Something had shifted in Jimin’s behavior after the fourth visit. During his daily breakfasts with half brother, Seokjin, he seemed so far away that the elder couldn’t reach him altogether. 

They shared the same father, but not the same mother. Jimin’s mother was the King’s only Queen Consort. After she passed away, he never remarried, never even considered mating someone else. Haneul and Jimin were their only offspring. The King himself was a wolf, coming from a different bloodline than the Blood Wolf of the East. Jimin’s mother was a lamb.  King Haerang and Queen Consort Areum. Haneul inherited his father’s traits, a wolf. Jimin took after his mother, a soft, sweet-spoken lamb. She died during childbirth.

Prince Jimin was all King Haerang had left of his beloved mate. He loved and protected the little lamb fiercely.

Seokjin himself was a bastard. A royal, omega bastard. His mother was an allied general, a female beta from Rhyll. A wolf. Just like his father and older brother. Born from a singular night of passion long before Jimin had ever been conceived. 

He snapped back into his head at the sound of Jimin’s little whine. The lamb held a sugared plum up, his nose crinkled in an adorably disgruntled expression. “This plum is sour, hyung. Why do they call them sugared plums if they taste so bitter?” Would Jungkook like sugared plums? Jimin wondered, eyes wide and excited.

“The Blood Wolf of the East? What business does the beast have with sugared plums?” Came Seokjin’s airy, lilting voice.

Uh-oh. Jimin didn’t say that in his head, he said it outloud.

His soft ears folded back and he cast his eyes down. The picture of innocence and guilt, all wrapped into one. Seokjin just stared at him rather blankly. He leaned forward to scent the air, trying to place just what was going on. The slight scent of slick. Spicy and sugary. His baby brother had never smelled so ripe before. The elder shuddered in slight disgust, his nose scrunching.

Jimin had been around an unmated alpha. Regularly. That was the only explanation for his blooming scent. The little flush on his cheeks that seemed ever there, his fidgeting at the mention of the beast- Wait. No. No, Jimin wasn’t canoodling with Jeon Jungkook.

Impossible. The war criminal had been under intensive lock and key for five years. How would the little lamb even get down there? How did he even know which way to go?

“Jimin. Please don’t tell me you’ve been spending time with the wardog alone. How did you-” He stopped, rubbing a hand over his face. “How did you even find him? What have you two even been doing? It’s not like you can have riveting conversations with a beast like that-”

Jimin held up a hand, silencing Seokjin. The elder omega rose a single, perfectly manicured brow. That’s new.

“He’s not a beast, Seokjin. That is extremely mean-hearted of you to say. I never expected that from you.” Jimin’s voice was soft, wavering like he was holding back anger or tears. He didn’t know which. Seokjin simply leaned back in his plush chair, gesturing for Jimin to continue.

“I have been bringing Kookie food. Just food. Nothing more. I sit down, take his muzzle off, and I feed him whatever I brought that night. He’s surprisingly docile when he eats.” Seokjin’s brows looked like they could fly off his forehead with how high they were raised. 

So many emotions flickered across his elder brother’s face in the span of seconds. Shock, disbelief, anger, and finally, a brief flash of softness. How could he not regard the little lamb with tenderness? Jimin was simply being himself. Gentle, kind-hearted, and caring.

“Sweetness,” he started, leaning forward and resting his hand atop one of Jimin’s. “You are such a good person for doing those things, for treating him with kindness. But alphas like Jungkook are bred for violence, not hand-feeding and sweet omega princes. If he wasn’t shackled, he would tear you apart limb from limb.” Seokjin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the mere thought of his precious baby brother being harmed.

Jimin’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout at Seokjin’s words. Seokjin was wrong. Jungkook would never hurt him, never. And Jimin would prove it, tonight. All he needed was to sneak some keys off of a guard and he’d be set.

Tonight would be the night Jimin would release Jungkook from his shackles.

***

Something seemed different tonight, off, even. Why was the little lamb trembling so much standing before him? Where was the little bundle he brought with him every visit?

Jungkook released a low huff, a breathy, deep sound. Hoarse.

His tail swept across the stone floor, sending dust and dirt flying into the air behind him. His ears perked high and alert atop his head. His blood-red eyes were focused solely on Jimin, tracking to see his next movement.

Jimin himself was shitting bricks. His fingers were grasped tightly around a set of rusty keys, clunky in his delicate palm. Was he really going to do this? If Seokjin was right, Jimin would die. If Jimin was right… What would happen? Would Jungkook stay still, confused? Or would he step towards Jimin, touch him, maybe taste his slick from the source- Oh gods, what was he thinking?

He shook his head as if trying to clear the dirty thoughts from his mind. Shameful.

Jungkook regarded him curiously, ever silent. Jimin undone his muzzle within moments of stepping into the cellar, tossing it far off to the side like there would be no further use for it. He scented the air, head tilted back slightly to catch it.

Sugar. Deep notes of jasmine, something creamier underneath it all. 

A low sound rumbled in his chest as he leaned forward to try and catch a deeper whiff, causing Jimin to giggle and nearly drop the keys. Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him. He was like an overgrown puppy.

And with that thought in mind, Jimin stepped closer. Closer than he had ever been to Jungkook. The alpha sucked in a sharp breath, lips parted. The omega’s scent invaded his senses, burning through his chest like a wildfire. A whine left the alpha before he could stop himself, his eyes heavily lidded as he regarded the omega.

Jimin simply held the keys up for Jungkook to see, then stepped around him, kneeling down behind him to get to work unshackling him.

Alarm bells started blaring in Jungkook’s mind. The omega was going to unchain him, free him. 

He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready.

The rusted collar hadn’t been taken off in five years. The manacles around his wrists, those had become bone. The chains, the tension in his shoulders, the instinct to stay low to the ground, these were muscle memory now. To be released meant... what? Freedom? No. It meant movement. Possibility. Risk.

It meant hurting someone.

Hurting him.

A soft omega scent curled through his lungs. Sugar, jasmine, something rawer now. Richer. Sweetened with something alive.

His body responded before his mind could stop it. His pupils blew wide, his muscles coiled like rope pulled too tight. His ears flattened low and his tail thumped once, warning.

But the little lamb was kneeling behind him already. Where he couldn't see, where he couldn’t control it if-

Click.

The first shackle came loose with a tug.

Jimin reached to the next, his delicate fingers slipping around the iron cuff and brushed his wrist.

Jungkook snapped.

Not forward. Back.

A guttural snarl tore up his throat, jaws snapping wide for a fraction of a second before his spine curved away violently, scraping metal against stone. The remaining chain yanked taut. His body trembled where it was anchored, hackles raised. It wasn’t a threat. It was a reflex.

Jimin made a small startled noise, froze in place.

“Sorry.” He whispered, even though the alpha hadn’t spoken. Even though he didn’t owe an apology.

The trembling hand stayed. “Sorry, Kookie.”

And for some unfathomable reason… Jungkook calmed.

The name hit like balm. The fingers stayed light and gentle.

He made a low, unsure sound deep in his chest. Not a growl, but something closer to a whimper.

Jimin had released his grip, moving around to Jungkook’s front to get the last restraint loose.

He got the final shackle undone. That one had rusted worse than the others, and it took both hands. He tugged too hard then slipped. The little lamb lost his balance, slippers sliding on the wet stone. He fell forward and landed right up against Jungkook. 

Just right there. His palms were splayed over the alpha’s chest. His cheek pressed, nose brushing against a patch of bare collarbone. A startled, breathless sound escaped him as he blinked up, eyes wide. Too close. Every inch of his front was flush with the alpha’s heat. His silk robe was bunched between them. One of his little ears twitched wildly against Jungkook’s jaw.

The alpha did not move. Did not breathe. Did not bite.

His heart was a thunderous thing, pounding beneath Jimin’s palm like a creature caged. But not lunging. Not threatening.

The scent in the room shifted again. Not jasmine. Not even sugar.

Slick.

Hot and sharp and instinctual.

Jimin’s thighs pressed together without thinking. He tried to push up, tried to move away but Jungkook's hand moved before either of them could think. He was unshackled now, he could move freely. It was heavy and warm. The alpha didn’t grab at Jimin, he just– He steadied. His fingers pressed lightly against the omega’s waist. 

Touch, not take.

Jimin whimpered before he could stop himself.

His palms were still flat against Jungkook’s chest, silk bunched between them, his entire body flush with heat that wasn’t his own. He could feel the alpha’s heartbeat thundering beneath skin, fast, powerful, alive. It rattled through him like a second pulse. His own heart pounded high in his throat, shallow and fluttering and absolutely out of his control. He hadn’t meant to fall. Gods, he hadn’t meant to fall.

But he didn’t pull away.

And Jungkook didn’t move.

Not at first.

The alpha’s ears twitched once, then again, low and uncertain. His body was motionless but his breath wasn’t. It dragged in slowly, ragged. His nose flared, scenting, hungry for something he hadn’t had in years. Not since he was imprisoned. Not this willing. Not this close.

He could smell Jimin’s slick.

It wasn’t even subtle. It was rich and full and sweet as sugarcane, syrupy under the jasmine. It pulsed like a heartbeat, blooming from the little lamb’s core and settling between them in the air like a fog. It curled around Jungkook’s instincts and squeezed.

His tail dragged slowly across the ground behind him, a low, sweeping thump. His ears perked as high as they could go. But he didn’t pounce on the omega, he didn’t growl in response to the slick.

He just felt.

Jimin trembled. His fingers curled unconsciously where they rested over warm skin. He could barely breathe, chest rising and falling too quickly. The scent was everywhere now. He was so embarrassed he thought he might die.

And still, he didn’t pull away.

He felt Jungkook move first.

Not his whole body. Just one hand, lifting slowly from the floor, hesitant. Shaking, almost. It hovered near Jimin’s waist, paused, then landed so softly it was barely a touch at all.

Just fingers brushing the curve of his hip.

It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t rough.

It was… reverent.

Like the alpha couldn’t believe something so soft had chosen to be here with him. A beast, a mindless war dog. 

Jimin’s throat worked as he swallowed. His ears twitched, folding back slightly against the underside of Jungkook’s jaw. He leaned back just enough to see him, chest still heaving, cheeks burning with shame. His voice, when it came, was quiet and meek

“I-I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t- It’s not your fault.”

He couldn’t meet his eyes. He sat back onto his heels, tucking his legs under him, silk robes pooling around his knees like water. He folded his hands into his lap like he could hide the scent there.

But it didn’t go away.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not out loud. But his body moved again.

Slow. Controlled.

He shifted forward on hands and knees, cautious as if he were approaching a scared animal, tail low but ears perked, the charcoal fur of them catching the dim light. His head tilted slightly. He moved not with hunger but with awe. Like the scent had him entranced.

He crawled, inch by inch, until his nose brushed Jimin’s cheek. Just barely. A nuzzle, feather-soft. Then the underside of his jaw, then his throat.

He breathed in deep, and a low sound escaped him, barely a murmur.

Jimin didn’t move. His entire body buzzed, heat flooding him from the inside out. He could feel it building low and aching, shameful and alive.

Jungkook didn’t know what made him do it. Maybe it was the scent, the way it curled thicker with every breath, cloying and sweet like sugar-slick jasmine, too rich to ignore. Maybe it was the way Jimin stayed still, even as his chest fluttered with each inhale. Or maybe it was just the silence, heavy and golden, wrapped around them like dusk.

Jungkook dropped lower.

Not fast. Not wild. He didn’t lunge. He crawled. One hand, then the other, knuckles grazing the floor, the tremble in his limbs barely restrained. The soft drag of chains still echoed through his bones even though they were gone. He moved like he expected to be pulled back. But no one stopped him.

No one ever had to stop him before.

His nose skimmed the delicate curve of Jimin’s throat. The scent gland there pulsed. Not exposed. Not bitten. Just present. Just real. He hovered for a moment, breathing in slow and deep, dragging that scent through his lungs until his chest ached.

And then lower.

Lower, lower, down the front of the little lamb’s robe. Past his collarbone. Past the silk knot tied loosely at his waist. The fabric had fallen with his movement, shifting just enough to reveal a patch of pale thigh where the robe had parted at the hem.

Jungkook froze.

It wasn’t even slick that he saw first. It was the trembling curve of skin just beneath the fold. A soft dip. Silken, pale. Damp.

The scent hit harder here. Thicker. Tangled with warmth and skin and something else, something instinct said was meant for him. Not heat. But close. Close enough to make his mouth water.

The alpha leaned in.

His nose brushed the inside of Jimin’s thigh, where the robe had stuck damply to his skin. A breath shuddered out of him, low and strained, the sound of restraint on a fraying leash. And then-

He licked.

Just the tip of his tongue, one long, slow drag up the inner thigh. A thin trail of slick had bloomed there, invisible to the eye but not to his tongue. It coated his mouth like honey. Thick. Salty. Sweet. He moaned.

Not loud. Not sharp. Just a muffled, aching sound pressed into skin.

Jimin jolted. Not away. Just a tremble, his breath catching, fingers twitching where they were knotted in the silk at his lap. His thighs pressed closer together.

Jungkook whined. His hands clenched at his sides, claws digging into the stone to keep himself from grabbing, from pulling, from taking. He didn’t. He just ducked again and licked a second time, this one slower, tongue pressed flat against skin as he followed the faint trail upward.

It was slick again. More than before.

He pressed his mouth to the inner crease of Jimin’s thigh and exhaled, scenting hard. His breath fogged against the skin. He didn’t move, didn’t ask for more. Just nuzzled once, the bridge of his nose brushing where thigh met groin through the silk.

The scent of omega was unbearable here.

He didn’t deserve to be this close.

But the omega wasn’t stopping him.

So he licked again.

And again.

He mouthed along the damp inside of Jimin’s thigh like he was memorizing it. Like each swipe of his tongue might be the last. The robe slipped slightly with each pass, falling open at the hem, baring more skin to the dim, flickering light. His tongue moved slower now. Not greedy. Devotional. The kind of hunger that broke something open in the chest and called it sacred.

Jimin’s scent was blooming, spreading in waves. Thick. Hot. Humid.

The little lamb let out a shaky exhale, barely a sound, his fingers slipping loose in his lap.

And Jungkook groaned again, soft, hoarse, like he was grateful.

Another breath. Another taste.

Jungkook’s tongue dragged along the slick trail again, following the curve of Jimin’s inner thigh, just shy of where the scent pulsed the strongest. He didn’t press forward. He didn’t tear the silk away. He just licked. Again. And again. Slow.

Each pass of his tongue was soaked in salt-sweet. Milk-slick. Shame-soft.

He whimpered, actually whimpered, into the skin, the sound raw and shaky. It didn’t sound like hunger anymore. It sounded like grief.

Because it was.

This was something no one had ever offered him. Not this close. Not this gently. Not like it meant something.

His jaw ached from restraint. His claws trembled against the stone, scraping just slightly, leaving tiny half-moons in the floor as he gripped hard to keep himself there. Low. Kneeling. Tongue out. Worshiping the skin of the only omega who had ever knelt for him.

And then the softest shift.

Jimin’s thighs parted.

Not wide. Not enough to be deliberate. Just a slight movement, like he was adjusting, like the robe was too warm, like his legs couldn’t stay pressed together any longer because of the heat between them.

But to Jungkook?

It was a door creaking open.

A single petal falling.

An invitation he didn’t deserve.

His head dropped lower.

His nose pushed under the hem of silk now bunched above Jimin’s knees. Damp heat kissed his face before his mouth even touched skin again. The scent, gods, the scent- It cracked something open behind his ribs. This was where it lived. Where it spilled from. Where his name had been written in sugar.

Not a mate. Not a heat. Just him. Wanting. Willing.

He groaned into the crease of Jimin’s thigh, muffled and feral and desperate.

His tongue pressed flat, lower this time.

Right where slick had run down in a trembling line.

He licked it up.

A long, slow swipe from the edge of Jimin’s entrance up to the soft dip of his thigh. Not between, not yet. Just the spill. Just the part that soaked into skin.

Jimin gasped.

The softest, most helpless sound.

His hands shot out, he didn’t even know where to put them. They hovered in the air above Jungkook’s head, then dropped, fluttering for his shoulders, but not gripping. Not pushing. Just… there.

“Ah-” He breathed, voice cracked open. “Jungkook-”

Jungkook moaned again at the sound. Louder now. His tongue pressed back to the same spot, licking the other thigh this time, where a twin trail of slick had smeared. He licked it clean. He savored it.

One hand slid to the floor beside Jimin’s hip. The other gripped the stone. But he didn’t move between his legs. He didn’t push the robe further. He just kept his face buried against the inside of his thighs, breathing like he was drowning and this was the only thing that would save him.

Jimin trembled. Slick bloomed again, he could feel it, hot and aching. He couldn’t stop it.

His body shifted once more, thighs opening another inch, silk dragging higher.

And Jungkook’s tongue paused just short of where scent met skin.

He breathed.

And finally, he mouthed directly over the center of that heat. Not pressing in. Not parting. Just pressing his mouth to it through the silk.

A prayer.

A plea.

His lips moved in slow, aching passes over the soaked fabric. It was soaked. The robe clung between Jimin’s legs now, almost translucent where slick had drenched through. Jungkook could see the faint curve of him beneath it. Could smell it. Could taste it just through touch alone.

“Please.” Jimin whispered.

He didn’t even know what he was asking for.

But Jungkook did.

The robe clung like a second skin now.

Soaked straight through. Almost see-through where it stretched between Jimin’s legs. The silk had darkened with slick, the sweet-smelling stain spread wide, blooming like a flower right where his folds pressed soft and trembling against the stone beneath him. Jungkook stared. Just for a second.

He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Not soft in the way others meant it. Not fragile. Ripe. Sacred.

His hands didn’t move. He could have touched. Gods, he could have torn that robe in half, but he didn’t. He just breathed. Just took in the sight. The scent.

And then?

He nosed forward.

Pressed his face in, slow, slow, letting the silk drag over his cheek. The scent was dizzying now. Raw. Heavy. It didn’t just sit in the air. It clung. To his tongue. His throat. His bones.

He nudged the hem of the robe with his nose, gently, carefully. It rose.

And Jimin didn’t stop him.

Didn’t close his legs. Didn’t flinch.

His hands gripped his own knees, head tipped back, silk falling from his shoulder, a tremble running through his entire body.

So Jungkook parted the fabric.

A slow, reverent drag upward with the bridge of his nose, letting the silk fall to the sides, baring Jimin to the torchlight and his gaze both.

And there it was.

Slick. Wet. Pink and swollen and already glistening, the folds parting slightly under the weight of it, the scent punching through the air like perfume. Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t deserve this.

But he had it.

So he bowed.

He leaned in.

And he licked.

From bottom to top, one slow drag of his tongue through Jimin’s folds, firm and warm and soaking in every ounce of slick he could reach. He moaned into it, actually moaned, the sound buried between Jimin’s thighs, vibrating against his cunt like prayer.

Jimin gasped. Loud. The sound of it echoed off the stone. His hips twitched.

But he didn’t pull away.

So Jungkook did it again.

And again.

He flattened his tongue and lapped at him like he was something divine. Like he was the first meal after war. Like he didn’t know how to stop. Every pass was slower than the last, deliberate, savoring.

His tongue slid through slick, parting folds, gathering everything offered.

And when his lips finally wrapped around the little bud at the top, swollen and twitching?

Jimin choked on a moan, both hands flying to Jungkook’s head, fingers tangling in his hair.

Not pushing him away.

Pulling him in.

Jungkook groaned deep in his chest and suckled. Gentle, then firmer, then back again. His tongue moved in slow, lazy circles, tasting the very center of that pulsing heat. And gods, the way it spilled for him. Slick poured with every second, hot and sweet and raw. He licked it all.

Every drop.

His nose nuzzled deeper, mouth sliding lower, tongue dipping just inside, not fucking, not pushing. Just tasting. Just enough to feel the heat.

Jimin was shaking now, thighs quivering where they were still tucked beneath him, silk falling from his body in bunches. He tried to keep still, to stay seated, but his hips rocked once. Just once.

And Jungkook growled.

Not in warning.

In praise.

His hands finally moved. Careful, so careful, and slid to either side of Jimin’s thighs. He didn’t grip. Didn’t hold him down. Just held. Anchored.

So he could lean in deeper.

So he could eat.

Slick covered his mouth now, his chin, his lips. His tongue worked slow and steady through folds soaked with arousal, licking in slow passes, suckling gently, drinking down everything Jimin gave him. The omega whimpered above him, thighs trembling, scent blooming so thick in the air it could’ve drowned them both.

He was close. Jimin was close.

But Jungkook didn’t speed up.

He didn’t rut. He didn’t bite. He didn’t break.

He just worshipped.

Right from the source.

The slick was endless.

It soaked Jungkook’s tongue, his lips, the scruff of his jaw where it smeared slick across his skin. It dripped, warm and clinging, from the soft folds he lapped between. Dribbled down his chin, wetting the stone beneath him. It tasted like heat and honey, like sugar pulled tight and breaking.

It tasted like Jimin.

The omega was trembling now. Not subtly. Not softly. His whole body quaked like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling blooming inside him. His thighs shifted. Still tucked under, but not held tight anymore. They parted wider, knees sliding outward instinctively, hips tilting just enough that his soaked cunt pressed forward into Jungkook’s mouth without even meaning to.

Jungkook moaned, mouth full, tongue stroking reverently through the slick, swollen center of the little lamb’s heat. He dragged slow circles around the swollen bud at the top, then dipped back down, lapping in smooth, slick passes through his folds, mouth wide, nose buried in the mess.

His hands stayed where they were.

Braced on either side of Jimin’s thighs, not pinning, not dragging. Just there. Holding space. Steadying.

Because Jimin was the one moving now.

His hands had found Jungkook’s hair, trembling fingers tangled at the roots. His breath was breaking. Short, high little exhales. His hips rocked again just slightly, trying to chase each flick of Jungkook’s tongue. His body didn’t know how to hold still anymore.

And Jungkook? He didn’t want him to.

He wanted the squirming. Wanted the shaking. Wanted to feel Jimin fall apart on his tongue.

So he moved lower.

One pass. Two. His tongue slid through those folds like worship, and this time? He stayed at the bottom. Right where slick was pooling.

And he fucked his tongue inside.

Jimin cried out.

A full sound this time. Loud. Sharp. Broken.

His hips jerked forward, slick coating Jungkook’s tongue as he licked deep, past the soft muscle that pulsed around him, tasting the core of where that scent lived. He didn’t thrust. Didn’t drive. Just held it there, tongue curled, mouth sealed, drinking him in.

He moaned again.

It echoed off stone. Low. Hungry. Almost worshipful.

Above him, Jimin was unraveling. His back arched, neck tipped back, lips parted around a soft, choked sound that made something in Jungkook’s chest ache.

He pulled back, just a little.

Just enough to suck again at that swollen clit, tongue flicking slow and precise, pressure changing with each pass.

Jimin was gasping.

Each one higher than the last. Each moan sweeter. Softer. Desperate.

“P-Please!” He breathed, barely audible. “I- Jungkook- Ah- Oh-“

The sound cracked like glass.

And Jungkook knew.

He could feel it. In the scent. In the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs tightened. The way slick bloomed again, hotter. Sharper. The way his little hands clutched at his hair, pulling but not hurting, just holding on.

So Jungkook gave it to him.

One long, slow lick, base to tip, then a kiss to his clit.

And Jimin broke.

He came with a cry, high and soft, like a whimper torn from somewhere too deep to name. His whole body shook, folds twitching, slick pouring out of him in wet waves that slicked Jungkook’s tongue and jaw and chest.

And Jungkook held him through it.

Licked him through it.

Didn’t stop.

He nuzzled, he licked, he kissed soft and slow and steady, letting Jimin ride it out, letting him fall apart in his mouth. The omega shook, sobbed out a breath, hips rocking helplessly, thighs quivering on either side of his face.

When it faded, when Jimin finally sagged, slumped forward with his head bowed and his chest heaving. Jungkook pulled back.

His mouth glistened. His chin dripped. His eyes were black and wide and reverent.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t reach.

He just settled back on his knees. And curled.

Curled around the scent. Curled around the slick still wet on his face. Curled around the knowledge that the little lamb had let him taste heaven.

Jimin’s legs didn’t feel real.

Not at first.

They shook beneath him, soft knees still folded under his thighs, silk clinging damp to the backs of them. He couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t breathe right either. His chest rose in uneven stutters.

His robe was half open. Slick coated his thighs. His own scent soaked the air like honey left in the sun.

Jimin blinked slowly.

He looked down.

Jungkook was on his knees, a few inches back now, hands in his lap, body curled slightly forward like he didn’t know where to go. His mouth and his jaw, his neck, his chest was shining. Glossed with slick. With Jimin’s slick.

And his eyes.

Red. Deep. Quiet.

Not feral.

Not angry.

Not aroused, even.

Just… ruined.

Jimin’s breath caught again.

A sob almost formed, not from fear. From the way that alpha was looking at him like he was something sacred. Like he hadn’t just had his face buried between Jimin’s thighs, hadn’t just licked him raw, hadn’t just moaned like it was the only good thing left in the world.

The shame rushed in second. That soft, prickling kind that started in his throat and spread down to his gut. His ears twitched, pressed flat against his head as he lowered his gaze. His hands dropped from Jungkook’s hair to his lap, trembling, unsure of what to do with them now.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I didn’t mean-”

He tried to stand.

Or at least, unfold. Tried to tuck his legs beneath himself and lift.

His thighs gave out immediately.

A high, pathetic sound left him, more gasp than cry, and he stumbled forward, off-balance, landing on his palms. His robe slipped open more. His chest heaved. His entire body flushed pink with humiliation.

He couldn’t even move.

Gods.

Gods, what had he done?

He curled slightly, drawing his knees back under, trying to re-tie the sash of his robe with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. He couldn’t look at Jungkook. He couldn’t bear to.

But he felt the shift in the air the second it happened.

Jungkook moved.

He moved like he was trying not to scare a bird.

Slow. Quiet. Chest aching.

He didn’t lunge. Didn’t crawl forward.

He just lifted a hand.

His first real movement since Jimin came. Since he tasted him. Since that sweetness blessed his mouth and shattered whatever was left of his mind.

He hadn’t meant to break him.

He just hadn’t known how to stop.

The omega had fallen forward, trembling, robe parted like an open gift he’d never asked to unwrap. And now he was kneeling, hands clumsy, trying to hide himself again.

Jungkook’s heart cracked.

He lifted that hand and hovered it near Jimin’s thigh.

Not touching.

Just offering.

The gesture said: Let me help you sit.

Let me steady you.

Let me make this less shameful.

Jimin blinked, eyes wide and glassy.

And after a second, he nodded.

So Jungkook touched him.

The alpha’s palm cupped the outside of one thigh, warm and steady, and helped guide him backward, back into a seated position with his legs tucked under once more. Jimin still wobbled. Still trembled. But he stayed upright.

And then- He looked at him.

For the first time since it happened.

Not scared. Not angry.

Just… bare.

Jungkook’s throat worked. He swallowed a sound that wasn’t quite a growl and wasn’t quite a whimper.

His hand fell away.

But his gaze didn’t.

He stared at Jimin like he was something holy.

And then he knelt again. Just in front of him. Not close enough to touch.

And bowed his head.

Not to beg.

Not to grovel.

To thank.

Because the lamb had given him a kindness that no chain, no muzzle, no punishment had ever allowed- Softness.

And he didn’t know how to return it.

Not yet.

But he would.

He would earn that sweetness. Even if it killed him.

Jimin didn’t know why he reached.

Maybe it was guilt.

Or gratitude.

Or the aching silence that stretched between them like an open wound.

But after a long moment, after the heat of it had started to ease, and the trembling in his limbs had quieted just slightly. Jimin looked down at the alpha kneeling before him and lifted his hand.

His fingers were still shaking.

But he reached anyway.

Jungkook didn’t move.

Not when Jimin leaned forward on his knees, not when silk rustled, not when that small hand hovered just inches from his jaw.

Not even when it landed.

Soft. Shy. Just beneath his chin.

Jimin’s thumb brushed across his mouth.

And his heart stuttered at the feeling.

He hadn’t realized how wet his face still was.

Slick shimmered over the alpha’s lips, his chin, the edge of his jaw. It clung to him like scent. Like memory. Like evidence.

Jimin flushed.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand moved slowly, brushing back a bit of hair that had fallen into Jungkook’s eyes, curling it behind the charcoal ear atop his head. The ear twitched once beneath his touch.

Not pulled away.

Not flattened.

Just… responded.

Jimin exhaled.

The air still smelled like shame. Like heat. Like the quiet after something irreversible.

But when he looked at the alpha again, really looked, eyes locking- He saw nothing cruel in his expression.

Just quiet.

Just longing.

He hesitated.

Then whispered, voice barely a breath. “You didn’t hurt me.”

The alpha didn’t speak.

But his chest shook on an exhale.

And slowly, slowly, he leaned in just enough to press his cheek into the small hand still cupping his jaw.

Not pushing.

Not pleading.

Just touching.

Like he wanted to remember what kindness felt like. Skin against skin. Warm and real.

Jimin’s fingers tightened just barely.

And for a moment, just one, the silence between them didn’t ache.

It settled.

Soft.

Fragile.

Earned.

Chapter Text

Morning came slowly.

Not with sunlight, there was none. His chambers were buried too deep inside the palace for that. But with the hush of servants beyond the door, the faint rustle of slippers on marble, the low chime of dishes being cleared from the early court breakfast.

Jimin lay very still.

His sheets clung to his thighs. Damp. Cooling. He didn’t look down.

The scent in the air was still him. Still sweet . Still heavy with omega slick and something else he didn’t know how to name. It wrapped around him like velvet and wouldn’t leave. No matter how much he shifted beneath the covers. No matter how tightly he squeezed his legs together.

He could still feel it.

The heat in his chest. The soreness at the crease of his thighs. The mouth that had been pressed to him like worship.

He squeezed his eyes shut and curled tighter.

He didn’t mean to let it happen, but he hadn’t stopped it.

He rose late. Slow.

The water in the basin was cold. He poured lavender oil into it anyway, dunked the washcloth, and scrubbed between his legs until the skin stung.

It didn’t help. The scent still bloomed, flushed and thick and aching.

His hand trembled as he lifted the cloth again.

He remembered the sound, the one the alpha made when he first tasted him. That broken, low moan into the slick-soft inside of his thigh. That sound shouldn’t have been beautiful, but it was.

And that made it worse.

“An omega’s body is sacred,” his tutor had once whispered, folding his hands over Jimin’s own when he caught him squirming in his seat. “It is not yours to offer. It is a gift to be earned. Someday, your mate will deserve it.”

Jimin had been fourteen.

And still flushed pink with guilt.

He pulled his robe tighter around him and sank into the chaise by the window.

The sunlight through the stained glass didn’t reach him. But it painted the marble in pale blush and soft gold. His fingertips twitched against the cushion.

He remembered Jungkook’s face. His eyes . Not wild. Not violent. Just- Wrecked.

Like tasting him had broken something open that had been locked shut for years.

Jimin felt sick. What if he’d taken advantage of him? He had unshackled him. He’d fallen on him. Sat in his lap, body slick and mouth parted and robe pushed back. Jungkook hadn’t pounced.

He hadn’t even touched him without being asked. But Jimin… He had let him taste. And now? He couldn’t even look at himself.

***

The breakfast room was too quiet.

Not peacefully so, not like the mornings they used to share, when the soft rustle of linens and gentle clatter of cutlery were layered under conversation, shared glances, sugar cubes dropped into tea with lamb-soft giggles.

This silence was heavier.

Still, unmoving.

The air hung thick with it, and even the summer breeze rattling against the tall windows couldn’t carry it away. It didn’t reach the end of the long table, where Jimin sat curled in on himself, slippered feet tucked beneath his chair, robe tied carefully at the waist.

The sleeves were long, down to his wrists.

And in the warmth of the room, it looked wrong.

Like armor.

His hair was still damp, curling at his temples from his morning bath. His cheeks were freshly scrubbed pink. He looked sweet, innocent.

Untouched.

But Seokjin knew better.

He sat across from him, tea cooling in his untouched cup, spoon resting undisturbed beside a half-eaten peach scone. He hadn’t taken a bite in several minutes. Hadn’t even moved.

Because Jimin hadn’t moved either.

Not really.

He just sat there, small and still. His plate was full and pristine, nothing disturbed but a single slice of peach he had been pushing in slow, circling patterns with the edge of his fork.

He wasn’t eating, or speaking.

He wasn’t here.

But his scent was.

That was what gave him away.

Seokjin’s nostrils flared faintly as it crept through the room like a bloom just beginning to open. Not the usual soft trace of sugar and powdered tea cakes. It was deeper now, richer. Not heat, not quite, but ripe. Full-bodied. Instinctual.

Animalic.

It made Seokjin's nose twitch.

He set his cup down gently, fingers light on the porcelain, then cleared his throat.

“Sweetness.”

Jimin didn’t look up.

Seokjin tried again.

“Did something happen?”

Nothing.

A long pause.

Then, quietly, so soft he almost missed it-

“No.”

It was a lie. And it sat heavy between them.

Seokjin leaned forward, folding his hands neatly on the tablecloth.

“You know I can smell you, right?”

Jimin flinched, just slightly.

His lamb ears gave a faint twitch, and Seokjin’s heart twisted.

“You’ve always smelled a little like sugar,” Seokjin said gently. “But today…”

His voice dropped, quiet, brother-soft.

“You smell like something bloomed.”

Jimin’s shoulders tensed beneath the silk of his robe.

Seokjin’s tone gentled further, losing all trace of teasing or nobility. It was just him now, not Prince Seokjin, only hyung.

“Jimin. Did something happen with the war dog?”

The silence cracked.

Jimin’s fork slipped from his hand, clattering against the plate, and he didn’t move to pick it up. Just stared down at it, lips parted slightly, breath uneven.

“Yes,” he said.

One word.

Small, but heavy.

Seokjin froze.

“He touched you?” he asked, voice cautious, slow. He was preparing himself. For anger. For grief.

Jimin shook his head.

“No. I touched him.”

Another beat.

“What?”

“I unshackled him.”

Stillness.

“I fell.” Jimin continued, voice shaking. “And he didn’t take anything. He didn’t ask. But he started, and I…”

He swallowed hard.

“I let him.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows rose, his expression flickering.

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Pressed his lips together, exhaled slowly through his nose.

“You’re telling me,” he said, quieter now, “that you unchained Jeon Jungkook, the most dangerous alpha Daemyrr has ever bred, sat in front of him covered in slick, and he just…”

He took another breath.

“Tasted you. And then what, left you alone?”

Jimin nodded, miserable.

“He bowed.”

Seokjin blinked, hard.

“Bowed.” He repeated.

Another nod.

Seokjin leaned back in his chair like he’d been physically struck. He said nothing for a long time.

Then finally, quietly: “ That’s not normal.”

Jimin flinched again. “He didn’t mark me,” he said quickly. “Didn’t touch me anywhere else. Just ate. And then knelt like-”

“Like a bonded alpha?” Seokjin finished, voice strange. Flat. Almost breathless.

They stared at each other across the table.

Jimin’s hands curled together in his lap, small and tight.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

But Seokjin just looked at him. Not angry. Not disgusted. Only stunned.

Because war dogs didn’t bond.

They didn’t kneel.

They didn’t show restraint.

They killed.

And gods help them all, but Seokjin could already tell- The war dog would never let him go.

***

The cellar had never been kind, but it had never felt cruel like this.

Jungkook had survived years here, alone and forgotten, shackled like a beast beneath the stone. He’d endured iron against his wrists, rot clinging to the walls, and the taste of blood on his tongue when hunger grew too sharp to ignore. He’d survived silence, deep and endless.

But now the silence felt personal.

Three nights. Three whole nights, and the little lamb hadn’t come back.

No scent, no bundle left on the ground, no voice whispering soft nonsense into the dark. The slick stain on the stone had dried, and the breathless tremble of sweetness in the air had faded to nothing but a phantom. A memory. And memories, he was learning, were crueler than hunger.

The ache that bloomed in his chest had no shape, no clear name. It wasn’t rage—rage was quick, hot, blinding. This was something slower, something that dragged behind his ribs like dull teeth. He felt it most when he exhaled, when his shoulders lifted for breath and dropped again into stillness.

When there was nothing left.

Just stone, and him, and the place where Jimin had knelt still faintly warm in his mind.

The first night, he’d waited. He curled where the scent was thickest, cheek pressed flat to the floor, breathing in what little remained like it might call the boy back. He watched the door, eyes wide, ears twitching with every muffled sound above, each step, each creak of the floorboards. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He didn’t move. The scent lingered, faint and curling at the edges, soaked into the grooves of the stone, jasmine, slick, shame, and the memory of a warm, trembling hand cupping his cheek.

He hadn’t deserved that touch.

But he wanted it back.

The second night, it settled deeper. He stretched, cautiously, testing the absence of shackles. His wrists moved freely now, and they didn’t feel like they belonged to him. Without the weight of chains, he didn’t know how to exist. He didn’t crawl to the door or pace the perimeter. He just sat, knees tucked beneath him, back straight, ears low, tail still.

He hadn’t spoken since whispering into skin. He hadn’t howled.

He could have.

But some quiet part of him whispered that doing so would drive Jimin further away.

And gods, if he never came back…

Jungkook swallowed hard, throat working around something thick. He didn’t even know what he was grieving. He hadn’t lost anything. Not officially. But it felt like he had. Like something had slipped between his fingers before he could even name it. The only thing that had touched him like he was more than a weapon, more than an animal.

More than a cage.

By the third night, the cold had settled into his chest. Not the cold of the stone floor, or the damp that soaked his knees. Something colder, something older, curling behind his ribs and pressing outward with every breath like instinct trying to claw free. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t bitten. Hadn’t taken. Hadn’t even touched.

He hadn’t even pulled him closer.

The lamb had leaned in, had bled slick between his thighs and let Jungkook drink like he was worthy. Had fallen into his lap like he belonged there.

And Jungkook, he had bowed.

That meant something. He didn’t know what, but it was all he had to offer, and he’d given it.

Now the scent was gone.

And his instincts were beginning to eat themselves.

They told him to wait, to stay low, to stay soft. He’ll come back, they said. You didn’t scare him. He’ll come back.

But the longer the door stayed closed, the quieter that voice became, fading beneath the weight of time and silence, until all that remained was the echo of breathing through silk, the twitch of trembling fingers, the taste of shame and sugar lingering on his tongue.

And the quiet truth he couldn’t shake, he had loved it.

Loved him.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the problem. Maybe Jungkook had ruined it by wanting more.

That night, as the third round of footsteps passed overhead and the torches in the wall flickered low, Jungkook lowered himself to the ground. Not sprawled in defeat, not surrendered, just… low. Face to the stone, arms tucked beneath his chest, tail curled tight along his thigh. He pressed his nose to the place where jasmine still lingered.

It smelled like sadness now.

Like something lost.

“Come back.” He whispered, voice too quiet for anyone but the floor to hear. It cracked at the edges, rough from disuse and restraint. “I’ll stay still. I’ll stay good. I didn’t mean to… ”

He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Didn’t know what he had done.

But if the lamb didn’t return soon, he would forget the warmth of hands, the sound of his name, the sweetness of being seen. And this time, he knew it wouldn’t be the chains that broke him.

It would be the absence.

***

The palace kitchen had sent up his favorite.

Rosewater cakes, honey-glazed figs, toasted milk bread still warm from the oven, served with a dish of apricot jam. A delicate pot of floral tea steeped beside a glass pitcher filled with crushed ice, already beading condensation onto the tray.

But Jimin didn’t touch a single bite.

He sat in his usual chair at the breakfast table, legs crossed beneath the drape of the tablecloth, robe cinched carefully at his waist, every detail in place. His hair was braided today, the small, uneven plaits twisted with trembling fingers he hadn’t quite been able to steady. He hadn’t asked the attendants for help. He hadn’t wanted anyone else to touch him.

Seokjin was already halfway through his second cup of tea. He hadn’t said much. Just sat quietly, sipping, eyes flicking between the window and the small figure across the table. He watched the way Jimin’s gaze drifted again and again toward the hearth, toward the clock mounted above it, waiting for something that didn’t chime.

And when it didn’t, Jimin’s lips pressed tighter.

Seokjin exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, not quite a sigh and not quite amused.

“So,” he said, swirling his spoon in the cup, “when exactly were you planning to go back down there?”

Jimin didn’t jump, but Seokjin saw the flinch. Just a twitch of one hand in his lap, the quick blink of lashes, the subtle shift in his scent, jasmine thinning at the edges and turning faintly sour with shame.

“I’m not.” Jimin whispered. A pause, then quieter still. “I can’t.”

Seokjin set his spoon down gently, the faint clink against the porcelain sharper than the words that followed. “I’m going to say something.” He said, folding his hands on the tablecloth. “And you’re going to try not to cry about it.”

Jimin looked up, startled, wide eyes blinking slowly.

Seokjin’s expression didn’t match his tone. It was soft, his voice steady, his presence something grounded and warm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jimin stared, as if he hadn’t heard right, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.

“You hear me, sweetness?” Seokjin leaned in just a little, voice low and unwavering. “Whatever happened that night, it wasn’t wrong.”

“I-” Jimin’s throat caught. “I wanted it.”

Seokjin didn’t even blink. “Good.”

That stopped Jimin short. His brows pinched in confusion. “I- What?”

“Good.” Seokjin said again, gentler this time, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You wanted it. That’s what should matter.”

“But we’re not supposed to-”

“Oh, fuck that .” Seokjin’s voice sharpened, the edge of a growl curling at the end of his words. His brow arched, mouth twisting. “We are not vessels , Jimin. We’re not meant to sit pretty in corners and wait to be given permission to exist. To be touched. To be loved.”

Jimin swallowed, the tremble in his throat visible now. “But it was me. I didn’t stop him. I let him taste me and I liked it and-”

Seokjin reached out, fingers wrapping over Jimin’s hand, steadying the spiral. “You were not wrong for wanting. And you were not wrong for letting him love you with his mouth.”

Jimin went still, entirely still, the world narrowing to the place their hands met. His scent shifted, pink blooming in the air around him, fragile and sweet. Trembling.

Seokjin held tighter, grounding him.

“The shame you feel?” He said softly. “ That’s not yours. That was taught to you. Be a good omega, don’t bloom too early, don’t raise your voice, don’t want too much. Sit down, stay soft, wait for someone to decide you’re worth the effort.” He scoffed. “They dress us in silk and train us to be ornaments, then act surprised when we flinch from kindness.”

Jimin’s lip trembled, but he didn’t pull away. Seokjin’s thumb brushed gently across his knuckles, as if to anchor him in the moment. “I know you.” He said again. “If you had said no, would he have stopped?” Jimin nodded, slowly.

“Did he touch you anywhere you didn’t want?”

“No.”

“Did he take more than what you offered?”

“No.” He whispered.

Seokjin exhaled, long and low. “Then you did nothing wrong.”

The silence that followed felt warmer. Quieter. Like something had finally loosened around Jimin’s chest. His lashes fluttered, breath catching as if he’d been holding it all morning.

But before he could say anything else, Seokjin added, voice firmer again: “You’re not going back alone.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “You’re… letting me?”

“I’m going with you.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“I thought-”

“You’re still my baby brother.” Seokjin said with a small, crooked smile, wolfish and full of teeth. “But I’d rather walk you into the lion’s den than let you sit up here thinking you’re a monster for wanting him.”

Jimin’s breath left him in a soft, shivery gasp.

And for the first time in days, his lips curved. Not fully. Not widely.

But it was a smile.

And it stayed.

***

Jungkook was curled around the last of the scent like it was fire in winter, like it could thaw the ache behind his ribs if he just stayed still long enough. One arm tucked beneath his head, the other folded tight across his stomach, his knees pulled inward not quite protectively but not open either. A neutral sort of posture. Not quite fear. Not quite rest. His ears hadn’t twitched in hours, his tail lay motionless at the curve of his thigh. The bread left by one of the guards the night before still sat untouched in the corner, stale and dry. It smelled like dust, tasted like nothing.

The only thing he could taste was memory.

Sweetness, in pieces. The slow press of trembling fingers brushing his lips, the way silk had brushed across his cheek like breath. The warmth of a small body shifting gently in his lap, the flicker of a lamb’s tail grazing his knee. The scent that had poured off the boy like something sacred and wild, slick and shame and want braided tight into jasmine, thorns hidden in a field of clover. A gift too delicate to understand. A moment too real to forget.

But that scent had vanished three nights ago.

And something inside him had gone quiet with it.

He didn’t know the name of the feeling that had taken its place. It wasn’t the rage that used to live in his bones, nor the numbness that followed years of silence. It was something different, something older, something colder. It sat low in his chest like stone, pressing up behind his ribs, clawing its way up his throat when he swallowed. It didn’t make him shake. It didn’t make him cry. It just made him still. Too still. His muscles ached from staying curled, spine tight, legs locked into a shape that didn’t feel like rest, but moving would mean doing something and doing something would break the silence and if he broke the silence—

Maybe the scent wouldn’t come back.

Maybe the silence would swallow it for good.

And maybe he deserved that.

Maybe whatever warmth had flickered to life between them had only ever been borrowed, temporary, a kindness he should’ve known better than to taste.

That’s when he felt it.

Not heard. Not yet.

Felt.

The faintest tremor in the stone beneath his belly, a pulse so slight it might have been imagined. But his ears lifted anyway, slow and stiff, twitching toward the faint disturbance above. Something brushed the air. A ripple. A shift.

Footsteps.

Two sets.

One light. The other heavier.

His heart lurched once in his chest before settling into a tense, expectant rhythm.

Familiar.

Familiar.

He pushed himself upright slowly, carefully, pressing his palms flat to the floor, shoulders hunched low, weight balanced across his haunches like something unsure whether it would be struck or fed. He didn’t move toward the door, and didn't rise fully. He just lifted his head enough to see the light begin to shift, a golden thread unspooling across the stone as the lock clicked and the heavy door began to open.

Soft morning light poured into the cellar, gold and warm, cutting through the dark like a promise.

And in it- Jimin.

The boy stepped through like a ghost, his shape backlit and haloed by the glow. His lamb ears were low, almost pinned, the soft curve of them trembling slightly. His little cotton tail twitched beneath the hem of his robe, a flicker and then stillness. Just a pale robe cinched tightly at the waist, slippers scuffing gently across the stone.

And his scent- Gods.

Jungkook’s throat closed.

It hit like a wave crashing over him, jasmine and grief and the unmistakable shimmer of fear. But beneath it all, there was something else. Something alive. Something still reaching . His lungs seized. His instincts surged, all of them screaming at once, crawl forward, bow down, touch him , don’t let him leave again , but he held still, locked in place by a different kind of hunger.

The hunger not to scare him.

Not again.

So he sat. Back low, posture open but not dominant, his arms resting loose at his sides. His ears tilted back but not flattened, a position of softness, of waiting. He didn’t lift his tail. Didn’t drop his chin. Didn’t move a single inch closer.

He just watched.

And let the boy decide.

Let him choose this time.

Then another scent followed, cutting through the warmth like snow. Sharper, colder, unmistakably wolf.

Seokjin.

The older omega stepped down into the cellar like a storm kept leashed by its own calm. Tall and composed, his white ears perked with precision, his pale tail flicking once behind him in a controlled arc. He didn’t smell of anger. Not quite. But there was steel behind the jasmine, an edge Jungkook recognized in his bones.

A protector.

Jungkook dropped his head slightly, not in submission, not out of fear. But out of instinct, old and ingrained. A gesture for the boy’s sake. For the lamb trembling beside the wolf. If this was punishment, if this was consequence, if Seokjin had come to take him away or to put an end to whatever had bloomed in the dark.

He would accept it. So long as Jimin didn’t leave afraid.

But the boy didn’t retreat. Didn’t flinch. He stepped forward. Then again. One careful foot after another. His scent trembled as much as he did, but he kept moving. His hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of his robe. His slippers scuffed with every step. His breath was fast.

Jungkook’s body was still strung tight with restraint, every nerve lit like a match. He wanted to reach for him. To lower his head and press it to the boy’s knees and stay there. To wrap his arms around his legs and never let go.

But he didn’t.

He waited.

And then, softly, “You waited for me.”

The words barely made it past Jimin’s lips, so fragile they almost dissolved into the air between them.

Jungkook lifted his gaze.

And their eyes met.

And Jimin broke.

A sound came out of him, raw and quiet and real, a sob from somewhere deep. His lamb ears folded down entirely. His shoulders shook once. Then again. His eyes shone with unshed tears and he looked smaller than Jungkook had ever seen him, more breakable than the last time they’d met in this room, in this silence.

“I’m sorry.” Jimin said, the words cracking in half as they came out. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared, I-”

He didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

He just moved.

A quick step forward, then a drop to his knees. Silk pooled around him, his slippers shifting as he dropped directly in front of Jungkook, eyes wide and shining, breath hitching with every exhale.

“I missed you.” Jimin whispered, his voice shaking. “I kept thinking about your face. About how you looked after you- After you tasted me. Like you thought you’d done something wrong. Like I was going to run.”

His breath hitched again. “I didn’t want to run.”

Jungkook still hadn’t spoken. Couldn’t.

The sound of his name hadn’t touched the air in days. His throat felt tight and foreign. But his heart, his heart felt full to the point of breaking. There was something swelling in his chest that had no name and no edges, just heat and weight and ache.

And then Jimin leaned in and wrapped his arms around him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. It was sudden and real and full of everything words couldn’t carry.

The boy tucked his face against his shoulder, arms winding around his neck like he belonged there. Like he wanted to be there.

“I was scared.” Jimin whispered again, breath warm against his skin. “But not of you. Of me. Of what it meant. Of how much I wanted it.”

Jungkook’s body locked up again. Then slowly, slowly began to unspool.

His arms moved, hesitant at first, like a creature touching softness for the first time. One arm slid around the boy’s waist. The other curled lightly across his back. His hands didn’t grip. Didn’t pull. They just rested there, holding gently, reverently.

His face dipped low, nose brushing through dark braids, breathing him in with long, shaking breaths. The scent filled his lungs, raw and sharp and alive , so full of everything he’d mourned these past nights that it almost undid him.

He could cry. He might. But he didn’t make a sound.

He just held on.

The hug didn’t end.

 Not after one second. Not after ten. Not even after a full minute of silence.

Jimin didn’t move. He just stayed where he was, arms wound tight around Jungkook’s neck, body curled in close like he hadn’t even noticed he was holding on so hard. The sleeves of his robe bunched and fluttered with every shaky breath, soft silk brushing over Jungkook’s torn collar, and his soft, flushed face remained tucked into the crook of Jungkook’s neck, right against the place an alpha would mark their mate. He wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t trying to scent or seduce or stir anything. He was just breathing. One inhale after another, slow and trembling and desperate, drawn through parted lips that kept brushing the pulse beneath Jungkook’s skin. His little nose nudged faintly against his throat, again and again, not quite nuzzling but not pulling away either. And his little lamb tail, barely the size of a handful of cotton, twitched behind him in soft, uneven stutters, like his body couldn’t keep still no matter how tightly he tried to hold in the panic.

His scent began to shift.

Not a slow change. Not something subtle.

It bloomed. Rushed.

Jasmine. Fresh rain. Soft warmth. A heady, rich sweetness that clung to the stone walls and curled into every shadow like it belonged there. It wasn’t the scent of grief anymore. Or shame. Or fear. It was something deeper, rooted. Something unspoken but undeniable.

Seokjin caught it before Jungkook did.

His wolf ears perked sharply.

Then flattened.

He took a step forward, barely a whisper of sound, and his mouth twisted like he couldn’t quite believe what he was sensing. His white tail flicked once in warning. His voice stayed low, but there was an edge to it now, thin, tight, coiled.

“What?” Seokjin breathed. “What the hell-”

Jimin didn’t stir.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t pull back.

He just kept breathing, soft exhales against Jungkook’s skin, trembling fingers curled against the alpha’s shoulders, and that scent only grew stronger with each second. Not deliberate. Not controlled. Just instinctive. Unthinking. His body doing something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

And Jungkook shuddered.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t reactive.

It was slow. Deep. A full-body tremble that started in his spine and rolled down through his hips, his tail sweeping the ground in a slow, broad arc like he didn’t even know it was moving. His ears twitched once, sharply, and then flattened back, not in fear or fury, just surrender.

He didn’t bare his teeth. Didn’t snarl. Didn’t growl.

He melted.

Folded around the boy in his arms like he’d been waiting a lifetime to hold something that didn’t flinch away. His face dipped again, his nose pressed deeper into the lamb’s hair, and he breathed it in, every trembling strand, every inch of jasmine and salt and warmth. He didn’t even open his eyes. He just held .

And then- There it was.

Click.

Not a sound, not really. Not even a feeling you could name.

But it was felt . Like a knot drawing tight. Like a weight shifting. Like something old and ancient had just locked into place between them.

Seokjin’s chest went tight. His breath caught.

He hadn’t scented a bond like that in years.

“Jimin.” He said carefully, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. The boy didn’t answer.

He was still tucked in, still trembling, still pressed nose-to-neck like a pup that didn’t know what it was doing, just that it needed. Just that it hurt when it didn’t.

Seokjin tried again.

“Jimin.” He said, firmer now. “You need to stop scenting him.”

That got through.

Jimin blinked. Lifted his head just enough to meet Seokjin’s eyes, dazed and red-rimmed. “I- I wasn’t-”

“You were.” Seokjin said flatly. “You still are.”

Jimin pulled back the tiniest bit more, just enough to look down at where his fingers were still curled against Jungkook’s chest, where his lips were barely an inch from the alpha’s scent gland. His face went pale. “I didn’t mean to.” He whispered.

Seokjin crouched a little closer, ears still sharp, eyes unreadable.

“You did .” He said, softer this time. “Not with intent. But your body knows. It’s already decided.”

Jimin shook his head. “No- No, that’s not- He didn’t bite me, there’s no mark!”

“It doesn’t need a mark.” Seokjin murmured. “Not yet.”

He glanced at Jungkook, still silent, still pliant, eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

“He’s bonded to you.”

Jimin stared. “What?”

“It’s not formal. It’s not legal. You won’t see it under the skin.” Seokjin’s voice lowered, heavier now. “But it’s there. Deep. Instinctual. He’s claimed you.”

Jimin’s hands trembled harder. 

“You kept coming back,” Seokjin said. “You fed him. Cared for him. Let him touch you. Let him taste you. You disappeared. He nearly starved. And now you’ve returned, scenting him like that, curling into him like this… Of course he bonded.”

“I didn’t think-”

“I know .” Seokjin let out a breath, shoulders rising, then falling. “This isn’t courtship. This is instinct. Feral. Ancient. A kind of bonding older than the marks we’re taught to wait for. Older than chains and laws and collars.”

Jimin looked back down. Jungkook hadn’t moved, not even a little. Still wrapped around him, still cradling his waist like he was something fragile. His face was buried in the crook of Jimin’s neck now, warm breaths ghosting over the boy’s shoulder like he was scenting him right back, in soft, silent return.

Jimin whispered. “But I didn’t bond to him.”

Seokjin tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

Jimin opened his mouth. Closed it. He looked down again. And didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to. They both knew the answer.  His scent was thick. Clinging. Saturating every breath between them like a thread pulled taut. His fingers didn’t let go. His lamb tail flicked once and then curled low like he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping back.

And Jungkook pressed even closer.

One deep inhale. A quiet, rumbling exhale. His ear brushed Jimin’s cheek and stayed there.

***

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It pulsed.

With questions, and breath, and the slow throb of something neither of them could name yet. Jimin’s hands had gone still on Jungkook’s shoulders. His eyes were red, his cheeks flushed. His lips parted to speak once, then closed again.

Jungkook remained curled around him, unmoving.

Breathing him in like the scent itself was salvation.

Seokjin didn’t rush him.

He stood slowly, white tail flicking with quiet tension, and dusted his hands on his robe. The wolf prince looked older suddenly. Not tired, wise . Like the full weight of what had just happened had settled on his shoulders.

He cleared his throat softly.

“I won’t stop you from seeing him again.” He said. “But there have to be rules now.”

Jimin looked up at him, startled. Seokjin’s eyes were kind, but steady.

“I’m not going to tear you two apart, lamb. But I can’t let this get out of control either.”

Jimin’s ears flicked sharply, unsure. Seokjin held his gaze.

“No more visits alone.”

Jimin blinked. “But, hyung!”

“I’m not doing this to punish you.” His tone softened. “I’m doing it to protect you. Because if anyone else finds out that you’ve bonded him-” He paused. “They’ll tear him apart. And they’ll take you off the line of succession entirely.”

Jimin’s throat bobbed. He sat up a little straighter in Jungkook’s lap, one hand absently pressing against the alpha’s chest. Jungkook didn’t stir. Just pressed closer.

“…I didn’t mean to,” Jimin whispered. “I didn’t want to cause anything dangerous. I just-” He shook his head, voice tight. “I didn’t even know it could happen like this.”

“Neither did I.” Seokjin murmured.

They both glanced at Jungkook.

The war dog.

The one who hadn’t snarled in over a week.

The one who was clinging to Jimin like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“What does it mean ?” Jimin asked, finally.

Seokjin sighed. “It means…” He said, “You’re his.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Jimin looked down again. His little lamb ears were still drooping, trembling just a bit.

“I already knew that.” He said quietly.

Seokjin’s expression flickered.

He looked down at the two of them, at how Jungkook leaned into every inch of Jimin’s body, scent glands exposed, tail loose and low in the dust. At how Jimin touched him with both fear and fondness, his scent soft and ripe .

“This isn’t just possession.” Seokjin said, voice low. “It’s chemical. Instinctual. Psychological. You might not feel it yet. But soon, you’ll start to. The need to be near him. The ache when you’re apart. You’ll get dizzy. Irritable. He’ll stop eating. Stop sleeping.”

Jimin swallowed hard. “I thought bonds only triggered with bites.”

“Most do. But not all. Especially with feral-borns. Their instincts are stronger. Older. Sometimes all it takes is time.” Seokjin’s gaze flicked to the collar of Jimin’s robe, then to his wrist. “And closeness. And scent. You’ve been hand-feeding him, haven’t you?”

Jimin nodded, slow.

“You gave him slick.” The flush that crept over Jimin’s cheeks said enough.

Seokjin didn’t sound judgmental when he said it, just resigned.

“That was the anchor. You let him taste you. Accept you. There’s no undoing it now.”

Jimin looked down. “Then what happens?” He whispered. “When someone comes and sees he’s unshackled? When they see how he behaves around me?”

Seokjin rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll tell the guards he’s under control. That he was reconditioned successfully. That we’re testing his behavior. I’ll try to convince Haneul, you know he trusts me.”

“But what if he doesn’t behave for anyone else?”

“He won’t.” Seokjin said plainly. “Because you’re the only one he sees now.”

Jimin didn’t speak. He just pressed his face back into Jungkook’s neck.

The alpha let out a tiny sound, not a growl. A hum. Deep and guttural, but softer than anything Seokjin had ever heard from him.

Jimin closed his eyes. “If we’re bonded,” He whispered, voice shaky. “What happens to me when they take him away?”

Seokjin’s ears twitched.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse.

“Then we have a problem.”

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Jimin was already awake.

Not by choice. Not really.

His body was too warm. His skin, too tight. Every breath dragged heavy through his chest like wet velvet, and his scent, gods, his scent, had gone thick and syrupy overnight, sweet and cloying and sharp enough to coat the air.

He shoved his face into the pillow and groaned. It was soaked.

The silk clung to his cheek like dew, and the rest of his bedding was just as bad, tangled, damp, useless. His thighs stuck together. His pulse throbbed in places he didn’t want to think about. It felt like hunger and illness and grief and-

Jungkook.

He hadn’t seen him in four days.

The memory came unbidden, gnawing under his skin like a root: Jungkook on his knees, mouth pressed to Jimin’s scent gland like he was praying. Jungkook’s eyes wide, waiting, asking. His hands curled into the floor so he wouldn’t move unless told.

Jimin’s fingers twitched.

He turned his head and stared at the dark, the ceiling, anything. The ache didn’t stop. His core pulsed with a slow, awful rhythm, and the sheets were unbearable. He needed a bath. He needed air. He needed-

He didn’t know.

***

The bathwater didn’t help.

He’d poured lavender in first. Then eucalyptus. Then a handful of crushed rose petals, because it was the only thing that didn’t make his stomach turn.

The steam only made it worse.

His skin prickled the moment he sank in. His thighs tensed. His chest ached. Even the motion of water between his legs felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

He curled forward, arms around his knees, face flushed and wet, not from the heat, but from the shame of it.

He wasn’t supposed to go into heat for weeks. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. He hadn’t even presented fully, his cycles were mild, irregular, his body still learning itself. His heat was supposed to be manageable.

But this… this was pulling something out of him.

It wasn’t just instinct. It wasn’t random. He knew what this was.

He knew who this was for.

He’d barely scented Jungkook when it started. Just a whisper in his memory. A dream. A phantom weight across his lap. His hands still ached with the ghost of holding that face between his palms. His scent gland pulsed when he thought of the way Jungkook had pressed into him, silent and stunned, like Jimin’s breath alone was enough to keep him alive.

Jimin gasped and slid further under the water.

He couldn’t go down there.

He couldn’t. Not like this.

He would ruin everything.

His scent would give him away before he even got down the stairs. If Seokjin caught even a hint of it- No. No. He would know. He always knew.

***

He didn’t make it to breakfast.

The trays went untouched outside his door. His robe hung limp on the hook, half-wrapped around him, the tie lopsided, hands trembling as he paced the far side of the room.

His scent was impossible now.

It clung to everything. His sheets. The furniture. His own skin.

He pressed his fingers to the side of his neck, over the soft spot where Jungkook’s breath had landed that night.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

He should feel disgusted with himself. Or at least confused. But all he felt was need.

Raw and growing.

He didn’t hear Seokjin come in. Just the soft creak of the door. The pause.

And the voice.

“Little lamb.”

Jimin froze.

Seokjin stood just inside the threshold. His eyes took one sweep of the room. Of Jimin. Of the robe hanging open just enough to show flushed skin. Of the silk sheets crumpled on the floor. Of the air that was thick with… With arousal. With bonded omega. 

“Oh.”

That was all he said.

Just that.

“Oh.”

Jimin gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. He couldn’t look at him. His ears were burning. His face felt like fire.

“Did it… start?” Seokjin asked gently.

Jimin’s voice didn’t work.

“Has it ever been this strong before?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want me to get a suppressant?”

This time, Jimin turned, slowly.

Seokjin’s face was unreadable. But his tone was soft. Not judgmental.

Just… tired.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said. “But if you want to hide this, if you need to, we can start now. I’ll find a healer who won’t talk. I’ll keep the guards away from your floor.”

“I’m not sick,” Jimin whispered.

“I didn’t say you were.”

He swallowed. “It’s because of him.”

Seokjin nodded once.

“I know.”

***

The library in the west wing was rarely used now.

It smelled of dust and vellum and paper oil, the kind of scent that clung to your sleeves and made you feel like time had slowed down. Seokjin kept his hood up as he moved between the shelves. Not for stealth, he was allowed here, but for privacy. He didn’t want anyone to see his face. Not today.

He found her in the back alcove, right where she said she’d be.

“Lady Anha,” He murmured, lifting his hood just enough for her to see his eyes.

She looked up over her spectacles and gave him a very faint smile.

“I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,” She said. “Most nobles don’t like digging through old blood laws. Makes them nervous.”

“I’m not most nobles,” Seokjin said quietly. “And I’m not nervous. I’m desperate.”

Anha tilted her head.

“Is it true then?” She asked. “The war dog?”

Seokjin didn’t answer.

Anha let out a soft breath through her nose and pushed a stack of parchment toward him. “I’ve pulled what I could. Most of it’s useless. The rest is dangerous.”

He sat.

She tapped a single sheet near the top. “This is the one I think you can use. The Hybrid Behavioral Trials Act. Old. Buried. Last time it was invoked was during the palace riots, when they let that alpha brute follow a general around like a lapdog. Claimed it was ‘conditioning research.’”

“Could it be applied now?”

“Barely. But it’s still binding. If you file it under active trial status, you can argue for temporary reassignment from military hold to private care. With a noble sponsor.”

She looked at him, pointed.

“You.”

Seokjin exhaled slowly. “Can it be linked to the crown?”

“No,” She said sharply. “You keep your brother’s name off of it. This is not about him. It’s about you, your rank, your history with hybrid diplomacy, your record of containment.”

He nodded once. “Good. I’ll draft the formal language tonight.”

Anha gave him a long, unreadable look. Then added: “Make sure your reasoning is cold. Clinical. Nothing about obedience. Nothing about scent. Nothing about your little brother crying himself sick every time he’s apart from that thing.”

Seokjin didn’t flinch.

He just stood.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. “You didn’t have to help me.”

“I didn’t.” She replied, and returned to her book. “But I remember what it was like to be bonded to something the court didn’t understand.” Seokjin eyed the scarring mating bite on the old beta’s neck, almost looking away as if he were burnt. 

“It won’t end like General Kim this time.” And that was all he said before he stood up and took his leave.

***

Jimin woke in a sweat.

Sheets tangled around his legs. Robe kicked off the bed. His throat dry, his thighs damp, and his scent. Cloying. Sharp. Heavy. It filled the room like fog, curling around the corners, suffocating. His ears twitched where they were pressed flat to his curls, damp with sweat, and his little white tail fluttered anxiously against the sheets, thumping once. Twice.

Pre-heat.

He rolled onto his side, gasping. Blinked up at the ceiling. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember dreaming. But his body remembered. It was hot and trembling and open. Slick clung to the insides of his thighs, wetting the sheets. His chest rose and fell like he’d run for miles.

He was close.

Too close.

Seokjin had warned him.

Don’t go down there again.

Not alone. Not when you’re like this.

Not when your scent is already shifting.

Jimin had nodded. Promised. His ears had even drooped, and he’d clutched his tail nervously in both hands when Seokjin brushed his cheek and said Please, little lamb. Listen.

But that was before the ache became unbearable.

Before the craving bloomed sharp behind his ribs.

Before his body started moving on its own.

He found himself on the back servant stairs before he realized he was out of bed. One hand dragging against the stone wall to keep himself upright. The other pressed flat to his belly, where warmth coiled low and tight. His ears twitched with every step, too sensitive, catching the echo of his own panting breaths.

His scent trailed behind him in waves. 

Rich. Spiced. Sweet.

Omega.

He wasn’t thinking.

Couldn’t.

He just moved.

Barefoot. Robeless. Drenched in want.

When he reached the cellar door, it was cracked open. No guards. No candles lit. Just the faint scent of alpha musk drifting up from the dark. Deep and earthy. Sharp-edged. Familiar.

His knees buckled.

And still, he went inside.

The scent of slick poured between them.

And this time, Jungkook didn’t crawl forward.

He was already home.

He buried his face between Jimin’s legs.

Open. Starving. Devout.

The touch was not cautious. There was no more caution left.

His tongue slid between folds that were already drenched, already twitching with need. He licked deep, flattening his tongue to gather as much slick as he could. Then again. Again. Over the same swollen heat until it pulsed and throbbed under his mouth. He moaned into Jimin, loud and shaking, slick running down his chin, dripping from his jaw onto the robe pooled beneath them.

Jimin sobbed aloud, ears fluttering wildly, too sensitive to bear it. His tail kicked behind him in helpless little jerks, brushing the stone.

Jungkook didn’t pause.

He suckled.

He feasted.

Not delicately. Not reverently. Just desperately. Like he’d starved for this. Like he’d waited his whole life to taste it. Like the bond had dragged him across lifetimes for this moment, this scent, this taste, this slick. He lapped and slurped and groaned into every pulse, every bloom of wet that spilled for him.

And Jimin-

Jimin broke.

He couldn’t keep quiet. His body betrayed him with every twitch of his hips, every helpless rock forward, every moan that tore itself loose from his throat. His fingers found Jungkook’s hair, uncertain, then gripping. He pulled. Not to stop him. Just to feel him. To hold onto something solid in the middle of everything breaking apart.

He had never kissed anyone before.

Never touched another body.

But this?

This wasn’t learned.

This was instinct.

He rocked into Jungkook’s mouth like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. Slick poured down, slick gushed, hot and sharp and endless. It soaked Jungkook’s lips, his cheeks, the hollow of his throat. Jimin couldn’t stop shaking.

He came once. A soft whimper. A quake. He tried to pull away, but Jungkook growled and followed, tongue driving deeper.

Then again. Louder. His hips stuttered forward. His thighs clenched. He gasped his name like a plea.

Then again.

It wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

And Jungkook didn’t let up.

His arms wrapped around Jimin’s thighs, anchoring him in place. One hand slid up to cradle the curve of Jimin’s back, the other splayed over his hip. Just holding. Keeping him there. His tongue fucked into him, wet, slow, deep. Lapping up every spill, chasing it with lips and tongue and teeth that scraped so gently it made Jimin cry out.

And when Jimin tipped his head back, robe sliding off his shoulders completely, body trembling, legs wide and open and slick-drenched-

Jungkook pressed his mouth to his clit again. 

Sucked deep.

And Jimin shattered.

He came so hard his whole body curled forward. Hands fisted in Jungkook’s hair. Chest pressed to the top of his head. His thighs clamped around Jungkook’s ears as another wave of slick poured from him.

And Jungkook just moaned into it.

Like he was drinking it straight from the source. 

Like he would never get enough.

He didn’t stop.

He kept licking long after Jimin collapsed forward, slumping into his lap, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp and trembling. His white tail trembled behind him, twitching erratically, half tucked under his thigh like it didn’t know where to go.

So Jimin moved.

Still shaking, still wet, thighs glossy with slick and flushed pink with heat, he reached down and took Jungkook’s face in both hands.

Pulled him up.

Jungkook let himself be moved.

His chin was soaked. His lips glistened, jaw slick with spit and slick and need. His chest rose and fell in short, panting bursts like he couldn’t get enough air, and his eyes, his eyes were blown wide and glowing red. Wolf-red. Wild and empty and aching. His charcoal ears were pinned back flat to his skull, and his thick black tail curled stiffly behind him, unmoving.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did Jimin.

The space between them pulsed with heat. With scent. With something deeper. Older. Wilder.

Jimin’s thighs twitched, and his stomach fluttered with nerves he couldn’t name. His lips parted. His breath trembled.

Then his gaze dropped.

He saw it.

Jungkook’s cock, thick and flushed and dripping against his own thigh, untouched and leaking so much it had slicked the stone beneath them. It looked angry. Achey. Veined and flushed and pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Jimin blinked at it.

His mouth went dry.

It looked like it hurt.

Jungkook’s arms stayed still. He didn’t move. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t beg.

Just waited.

Jimin looked back up at him.

“I…” His voice was soft. Fragile. “Can I?”

He hesitated. Swallowed. His fingers slipped from Jungkook’s cheeks to the curve of his throat.

“You didn’t even touch yourself.” He whispered. “It- Does it hurt?”

Jungkook exhaled shakily through his nose. His hips twitched once.

Jimin flushed.

“I want to help.”

He leaned forward before he could overthink it. Pressed a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Tasted salt and slick. He kissed again. Down his jaw. His throat. Slid one hand down his chest, over his stomach, until his fingers curled loosely around the base of his cock.

It was hot. Hard. Already twitching in his palm.

Jungkook hissed, body jerking. But he didn’t move away.

So Jimin moved lower.

He shifted in his lap, slipping between Jungkook’s legs until he was kneeling again. Both hands on his thighs. Eyes wide, lips parted.

He leaned in slowly. Cautious.

Tongue flicking out to taste just the head.

The flavor made his eyes flutter.

Warm. Salty. Thick.

Alpha.

He whimpered.

Then leaned in again.

Another lick.

Then another.

Then-

He sucked.

Slow. Shy. Lips sliding over the head, tongue swirling gently. Jungkook groaned above him, head tipping back, one hand grabbing the back of Jimin’s neck to steady himself, but he didn’t guide. Didn’t push.

Just trembled.

And Jimin… changed. Something instinctive in him broke free.

His hands gripped Jungkook’s thighs tighter. His mouth opened wider. He sank deeper, taking more of him into his mouth with every movement, tongue flattening along the length, cheeks hollowing. He moaned low, deep in his chest, like the taste was addictive. Like he couldn’t get enough.

And he couldn’t.

He sucked greedily now. Messy. Wet. Enthusiastic.

Every time Jungkook leaked, Jimin swallowed.

Every time Jungkook twitched, Jimin moaned.

The heat between them thickened. Their scents tangled in the air, slick and musk and want and need.

Jimin sucked harder. Deeper. Gagged once but didn’t stop.

He was crying now.

Silent, overwhelmed tears streaking down his cheeks as his throat worked, as his jaw flexed, as his fingers curled tighter into Jungkook’s thighs. How could he have gone his entire life not knowing this? Worshipping his alpha. 

And Jungkook-

Jungkook couldn’t hold back anymore.

He didn’t thrust.

Didn’t force.

But his whole body locked when he came.

A full-body tremor. A shuddering moan. His cock pulsed hard and spilled deep in Jimin’s mouth, hot and thick and endless.

Jimin whimpered, swallowing once. Twice.

Then pulled back, coughing slightly, spit and cum shining down his chin.

He looked up, dazed. Scent drunk. Confused. Overwhelmed by his first taste of alpha. 

Jungkook looked down, stunned.

Neither of them spoke.

But when Jimin leaned forward again, his forehead to Jungkook’s chest, arms curling around his waist like he needed to be there-

Jungkook wrapped his arms around him.

Held him close.

Held him tight.

And didn’t let go.

Jimin burrowed in without thinking. Still crying softly. Still slick-sticky between his thighs, lips swollen and chin wet. His little ears twitched against Jungkook’s collarbone, one flicking sharply when Jungkook nosed into his hair. His tail trembled behind him, low and limp against the floor.

He was flushed from chest to cheeks, too warm all over. His skin glowed with heat. Every inch of him hummed, strung out and shaking. He felt light. Empty. Full. Afraid.

Safe.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Just curled up tighter in Jungkook’s lap like he belonged there. Like his body had always known this was where he would end up.

Jungkook’s arms never loosened.

And like that, the night passed.

***

Seokjin found them in the early light of morning.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t call out. Just stepped inside, slow and silent and resigned. 

His eyes fell on the pair of them immediately, curled in the corner of the cellar, framed by spent candles and silk robes kicked to the side. Jimin lay slack in Jungkook’s lap, still trembling faintly, face pressed to his chest. Their scents were thick in the air. Clinging. Impossible to miss.

Jimin’s little lamb ears twitched once in his sleep.

Jungkook looked up.

His red eyes met Seokjin’s and didn’t flinch.

Not once.

Seokjin stared back.

Tight-lipped.

Jaw set.

Then, without a word, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Seokjin didn’t speak.

He only crossed the room, knelt, and gently, so gently lifted Jimin into his arms.

The boy didn’t stir much. Just whimpered faintly, head lolling against Seokjin’s shoulder, white ears limp with exhaustion. His body was overheated and boneless, flushed pink and damp with scent. Seokjin adjusted his grip. His hand settled against the small of Jimin’s back, where his tail lay limp and low against his thigh, no longer twitching.

Jungkook didn’t growl.

Didn’t move.

He watched them go with something too dull to be called hunger, too sharp to be indifference. His eyes followed Jimin like they were leashed.

Seokjin didn’t look back.

He carried Jimin up the servant stairs, footsteps muffled by the rug. The halls were empty. Everyone still asleep or wisely keeping away.

Inside the prince’s chambers, Seokjin laid him down without a word.

He pulled the sheets up slowly. Smoothed the fabric over Jimin’s hips. Took the time to brush back damp waves from his brow and adjust the pillow beneath his ears.

Jimin exhaled softly, a little breath through parted lips. One of his hands reached blindly, catching Seokjin’s sleeve before going slack again.

Seokjin’s chest tightened.

He stayed until Jimin stilled completely. Until the boy’s tail curled in close and his breathing deepened.

Then he stood.

And left.

***

The council hall was empty.

Too early for court. Too late for dreams.

The private chamber behind the dais held no fire, only pale morning light bleeding through the tall windows. It painted Haneul’s uniform in shades of ivory and ash. He sat with both hands folded before him on the long table. A single scroll waited between them.

He didn’t look up when Seokjin entered.

Didn’t need to.

“You’re up early.” He said, voice clipped.

Seokjin crossed the room slowly. His own uniform wasn’t buttoned all the way. His jaw was set. His scent held the faintest edge of stress, tucked neatly beneath the weight of royal polish.

“I needed to speak with you.” He said simply.

“That obvious?”

“I didn’t knock.”

That earned him a glance. Brief. Measured.

Haneul tapped one finger against the edge of the scroll.

“You’ve been in the lower levels again.”

Seokjin’s nostrils flared.

Haneul didn’t miss it.

“Let me guess.” He continued. “The wolf’s still docile. Still compliant. And you’ve decided he belongs to you.”

“He’s no one’s.” Seokjin said evenly. “But he can be used. Properly. Safely. And under palace oversight.”

Haneul’s brow twitched. “We already have containment protocols.”

“Protocols meant for feral hybrids, not bonded soldiers.”

There was a beat of silence.

Haneul’s gaze sharpened. “He’s bonded?”

Seokjin didn’t blink. “No. But he’s capable. You saw the cellar walls. You know what he was.”

“And you’re suggesting what? We let him stay here? Train him like a palace dog?”

“I’m suggesting that we don’t waste a rare, responsive hybrid specimen when we could be studying him. Quietly. Under supervision.”

Haneul tilted his head. “What makes you think the council will approve?”

“They don’t have to.”

Another silence. This one heavier.

Seokjin stepped forward and laid the scroll flat on the table.

Haneul didn’t reach for it.

“What is it?”

“An old training clause,” Seokjin said. “Drafted under House Saejeon. It allows for personal guardianship in cases of strategic hybrid reconditioning, so long as it’s filed through internal military channels. The original language covers asset containment and behavior modification.”

“And who helped you find that?”

“A retired noblewoman. Beta. She still teaches law to some of our scribes.”

Haneul stared at him.

Then at the scroll.

Then back.

“What’s this really about?”

Seokjin didn’t answer.

Haneul’s jaw flexed. “You’ve been quiet since the bond riots. Since we brought him in.”

Silence.

“You didn’t look away when you saw him in chains,” Haneul said softly. “You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even ask for his name.”

“I knew it already.”

Haneul narrowed his eyes.

“And does Jimin?”

At that, Seokjin’s spine stiffened.

“Leave him out of this.”

“I will.” Haneul said. “If there’s nothing to involve him in.”

No one spoke for a long time.

Then, quietly, almost reluctantly, Haneul picked up the scroll.

He read the seal. The signature.

And said:

“This buys you time. That’s all.”

Seokjin nodded.

“It’s all I need.”

Chapter Text

The military wing of the palace smelled like sweat and steel. Of men who sharpened their teeth and their blades in the same room. Where discipline came before sleep, and even the incense couldn’t mask the weight of it.

Seokjin walked through the lion’s den without pause.

His boots echoed across the stone. Guards along the wall straightened as he passed, but none stopped him. They knew better than to stand between a wolf and whatever foolish thing he was about to do.

The commander’s office sat at the far end of the hall. No guards flanked it. None needed.

He didn’t knock.

The door creaked open and Namjoon looked up from a war map, a charcoal stylus held in his ink-stained hand. His scent hit the air like heat, sun on fur, deep forest, the faint mineral press of blood.

Alpha.

The lion didn’t bare his teeth.

But he didn’t smile either.

“You’ve never crossed into this wing before,” Namjoon said, voice like gravel and riverstone. Not unkind. Just surprised.

Seokjin said nothing. Closed the door behind him.

Didn’t sit.

He stepped forward and placed a single parchment roll on the table. Sealed with the royal crest. Wax still fresh.

Namjoon didn’t reach for it. Not yet. He studied Seokjin instead. The way he always had. With the slow, deliberate stare of someone who didn’t speak unless he already knew the answer.

Then, he broke the seal.

Unrolled it with one broad hand.

The silence stretched. Seokjin stood still, not even his tail twitching behind him. His ears were low, relaxed. Neutral. His scent carefully muted with citrus and cold ash, palace etiquette.

Namjoon’s wasn’t.

His scent flared as his jaw clenched.

“So it’s true.” He looked up. “You’re filing for guardianship of that thing .”

Seokjin didn’t blink.

“Of Jungkook.”

The lion stood.

Slow. Controlled. Shoulders broad enough to block the light from the window behind him.

“You’re hiding a weapon under the royal roof,” Namjoon said, voice low now. Dangerous. “An unmarked alpha. A feral. In heat proximity. That’s treason.”

Seokjin didn’t flinch. He only met his eyes.

“And?”

Namjoon growled, barely audible. His tail lashed once behind him.

“What do you want from me?”

It was a challenge. Thrown like a blade.

Seokjin didn’t catch it.

He stepped forward instead. Just once. A soft sound of boots on stone. Close enough now to scent the sharpness under Namjoon’s collar. Sweat and restraint and something hotter, deeper. Desire, maybe. Resentment.

He laid his hand flat on the scroll.

“Privacy.” He said. “Discretion.”

His voice didn’t rise.

“Transfer him into my wing. No one is to see him. Not Haneul. Not the servants. Not even your men unless they’ve been sworn to silence.”

He paused.

Then added, “If you refuse, he dies.”

The words weren’t cruel. Just true.

“Not because Haneul will order it.” Seokjin said softly. “But because Jungkook is starting to respond. If he’s left locked up, he’ll tear the walls apart. And when he’s put down, Jimin will follow.”

That landed.

Namjoon’s tail stilled.

His scent turned sharp.

Jimin.

“You think I can make this disappear?” He asked. “You think I can cover this up? Guards talk. Wings echo. You move him now, someone notices.”

“I know.”

“Then why ask?”

Seokjin looked at him.

Held his gaze for the first time in a decade.

And answered quietly:

“Because I made a promise to our mother. To protect him. To make sure he was never used.”

He didn’t look away.

“And you?” Seokjin said. “You’re the only one who can help me do that.”

Namjoon’s nostrils flared.

He stepped around the desk. Slow. Controlled. He always moved like that. Like a soldier. Like someone trained to lock his instincts beneath the skin.

But the lion in him was pacing now.

“You’re asking me to betray the crown,” he said. “For a hybrid. One the court already calls a beast.”

Seokjin watched him move. His ears flicked once, slow, tired.

“No,” he said. “I’m asking you to protect my brother.”

Namjoon stopped in front of him.

Close now. Closer than they’d stood in years.

“Do you even know what they’ll do to me if this gets out?” he asked.

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t have to be.

“I’ll be stripped of command. Banished from the palace. Maybe worse.”

Seokjin’s eyes didn’t waver.

“You won’t be caught.”

Namjoon growled.

A low, ugly thing. One hand shot out—fist slamming into the desk beside Seokjin with a sharp crack. The parchment jumped. Seokjin didn’t.

“You think everything bends for you,” Namjoon spat. “You waltz in after ten years of silence, you drop this on me, and I’m supposed to roll over? Just because you’re Seokjin?”

“No,” Seokjin said.

Finally.

Softly.

“Because I’ll let you have me.”

The words dropped like stone.

The air went still.

Namjoon blinked. Once. Slowly. As if the scent of it reached him before the meaning did.

“What?”

Seokjin lifted his chin.

Kept his voice level.

“You want something in return. I know what it is.”

Namjoon stared at him.

His ears were high, alert. Tail twitching slow and angry.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

The lion’s eyes flicked over him. Down the slope of his neck. The shape of his mouth. His throat.

“I’m not some desperate soldier in your shadow anymore.” Namjoon said. “I don’t need your scraps.”

“I’m not offering scraps.”

Seokjin’s voice was quiet now.

Too quiet.

“I’m offering myself.”

His tail curled behind him. Tightly. Ankles locked in place. The only sign he was afraid.

Namjoon stepped forward. Close enough to scent the truth of it- fear, control, grief. All braided tight under Seokjin’s skin.

“You’d let me mate you?” Namjoon said. “Just for this.”

Seokjin met his eyes.

“No.” He whispered.

“I’d let you mate me… Because I trust you.”

Namjoon didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Not at first.

Then, his hand lifted. Just barely. Brushed against Seokjin’s jaw like he was afraid it would vanish.

“You don’t trust anyone.” He said.

“I trust you with him.” Seokjin’s voice cracked. Just once. Just slightly.

“That’s enough.”

A pause.

Namjoon’s scent coiled around them, thick and furious and sweet.

“You’d rather bind yourself to someone you don’t love.” He said, low, “than let your brother suffer.”

Seokjin closed his eyes. “Yes.”

The silence stretched.

Namjoon’s tail was still now. His claws no longer flexed. But something else had gone sharp in him.

“You don’t love me?” He said again. It wasn’t a question this time.

Seokjin didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it.

Namjoon exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching.

“You think this makes me weak.” He said. “That I’ve been circling you like some starving dog. That I’ll take whatever crumbs you drop.”

“I don’t.” Seokjin said, too quickly. Then, softer. “I don’t.”

Namjoon stepped in again, slow and sure, until there was nothing between them but the thrum of blood and instinct. 

Seokjin didn’t move. He let himself be studied. He let himself be scented.

“I’ve waited a long time.” Namjoon said, low. “For something that was never mine. And now you hand it over like a transaction.”

He paused.

Then:

“Prove it.”

Seokjin blinked. His ears shifted back. “What?”

“You said you’d give yourself to me.” Namjoon murmured. “Then do it. ”

It wasn’t cruel. Or mocking. It was disbelieving.

Like he needed to see it, feel it, scent it for himself. Like it was too dangerous to believe otherwise.

Seokjin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His heart pounded once, hard enough for both of them to scent the spike in his fear.

But he didn’t back away. He stepped forward instead.

Just enough for his chest to press against Namjoon’s.

And slowly, so slowly, he reached for the ties of his robe. Untied them with shaking fingers. Let the fabric slip from his shoulders, soft as a hush.

Pale skin. A slight scar on his hip. A dusting of fur down the trail of his belly. The steady thrum of omega scent, held tightly in check, but now beginning to rise. Unspooling.

Jasmine. Ice wine. Cold fire.

Namjoon’s eyes flashed amber.

His mouth parted. Just slightly. But he didn’t touch.

Seokjin leaned in. Pressed his cheek to Namjoon’s chest. Right over his heart. It was pounding, fast and deep like a war drum.

“I’m not doing this because you want it.” Seokjin whispered. “I’m doing this because I trust you not to take it and break me.”

He looked up. Met his eyes. “And because I think part of you still wants to protect me. Not just possess me.”

Namjoon closed his eyes. Exhaled through his nose again.

And this time, when he moved, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t greedy. It was reverent .

His hands came up slow. One at Seokjin’s waist. One against the back of his neck. Clawed fingers dragging through soft fur, brushing the base of one twitching ear.

Seokjin shuddered. Just slightly. Then stilled.

“You were always going to ruin me.” Namjoon whispered.

Seokjin smiled, barely there.

“You let me.”

***

Namjoon didn’t kiss him.

He didn’t move fast.

He touched Seokjin like he thought he might disappear. Like the moment was made of sugar and thread.

Fingers slid along the edge of his ribs, claws sheathed, palms calloused from years of sword grips and sparring mats. He was all heat. All lion. The scent of golden sun and crushed leaves and old stone.

Alpha.

Seokjin shivered as it wrapped around him. Let it in.

His own scent began to rise, unraveling in ribbons across the space between them. Burnt jasmine and candle smoke. Wild winter wind. It clung to Namjoon’s skin, soaked into his collar.

The bond wasn’t formed.

But the pull was there. Slow and deep and willing.

Namjoon growled. Quiet. Low in the chest. Seokjin’s ears flicked once. Tense. But he didn’t pull away.

“You smell like fear.” Namjoon murmured, his breath grazing the curve of Seokjin’s jaw. “Even now.”

Seokjin nodded once. “I know.”

“And you still let me touch you.”

“Yes.”

Namjoon exhaled. His claws twitched.

“I’m not going to be gentle. I’ve been waiting for this for a decade.” He warned.

“I’m not asking you to be.”

A pause.

Then-

“I’m asking you to be good to me.”

That did it.

Namjoon’s restraint snapped like a bowstring.

Not in violence. Not in hunger. In reverence.

His hands came up to Seokjin’s face, holding it like something precious. He bent just enough to brush their noses together, wolf and lion, alpha and omega. No heat, no rut, just need .

Seokjin leaned into it. Let him scent. Let him breathe in every part of him, ears, throat, hairline, the dip of his collarbone. The lion trembled as he mouthed the line of his shoulder, scent-marking slow. Tender. Possessive .

Seokjin let his robe slip lower. Namjoon caught it. Lifted it away in both hands, folding it like it mattered.

There was no bed in the office. Just the floor, the furs, and a thick velvet coat crumpled on the chair.

Namjoon laid it out. Seokjin knelt first. Namjoon followed.

Namjoon didn’t pounce.

He approached slowly, dropping to his knees behind Seokjin with a carefulness that belied the heat thrumming off his body. His claws retracted fully. His scent wasn’t calm, it was anything but. But it was focused. All of it trained on the omega in front of him.

The air thickened with it.

Alpha.

Seokjin stayed perfectly still. Ears twitching once, then flattening. His tail lifted on its own, instinct responding before thought could catch up. He bared the soft underside of it. Presented fully.

A wolf omega. Kneeling before a lion alpha.

It shouldn’t have made sense.

But it did.

Namjoon’s breath hitched. His hands hovered at the small of Seokjin’s back, claws brushing lightly, reverently, across skin that trembled beneath his touch. He leaned in and pressed his nose to the base of Seokjin’s spine. Breathed in deeply.

His whole body shook.

“You’re so warm,” he rasped. “So soft. I- Fuck, I can’t believe this is real.”

Seokjin’s voice was steady, quiet. “It is.”

That was all it took.

Namjoon’s restraint snapped again- But not in rage. In devotion.

He leaned over Seokjin fully, dragging his tongue up his back in one slow, shuddering pass, then mouthed over the base of his neck, scenting him, coating him, claiming him. Not yet biting. Not yet mating. But the edge of it hung sharp in the air.

Seokjin let it happen.

Let his body respond to the heat curling tighter between them. His scent was rising fast now, no longer muted by citrus and ash. It came in waves, wrapping around the lion like silk.

Jasmine. Fire. Wild wind. Omega.

Namjoon growled into his shoulder. A warning. A promise.

Then his hand slid between Seokjin’s thighs and cupped the heat there. Slick met his palm immediately, coating his fingers. The omega gasped, instinct clenching hard around nothing as his hips rocked involuntarily into the touch.

“You’re soaked.” Namjoon groaned, voice wrecked. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Seokjin didn’t answer.

He just whined low in his throat, barely audible, tail twitching to the side.

The lion groaned again and lined himself up.

There was no more talking.

Namjoon gripped Seokjin’s hips and thrust in deep, burying his cock in one smooth, desperate motion. The stretch was brutal. His knot wasn’t even close to swollen yet and already Seokjin’s cunt clenched so hard it nearly pushed him out. The omega cried out, his arms buckling for a moment before he locked them straight again, panting into the coat beneath them.

Namjoon’s head dropped against his spine.

“Fuck- Fuck - You’re tight-” He pulled out halfway and slammed back in.

The sound of it echoed through the stone room. Wet. Loud. Lewd.

Seokjin sobbed once, the pain sharp, overwhelming, but his body was adjusting. Opening. Slick gushed out around Namjoon’s cock as he settled into a brutal rhythm, his pace fast and punishing.

The lion growled into his throat, rutting hard, panting like he was overheating.

“You smell like mine now.” He rasped. “Say it.”

Seokjin whimpered.

“Say it.”

“You- You’re mine,” Seokjin gasped. “I’m yours.”

Namjoon snarled and fucked him harder.

The scent of alpha and omega, lion and wolf, roared into the air like a forest fire. Hot and wild and completely uncontrollable. Every instinct in Namjoon screamed at him to mark , to sink his teeth in and never let go.

Seokjin was shaking under him now, his cunt fluttering around the thick length pistoning inside him, already so close-

“Do it.” He choked out. “ Now. ”

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. He bit.

His fangs sank deep into the gland at the curve of Seokjin’s neck, hard, possessive, unrelenting. The omega arched back with a cry that was half pain, half pleasure, his eyes wide and wet as the bond snapped into place like a whipcrack in the air.

Namjoon rutted forward one last time and knotted.

The thick base of his cock forced its way inside, locking them together. Seokjin screamed again,sharp and raw, as his cunt clenched violently, body convulsing around the knot as cum flooded him. Spurt after spurt, hot and endless, coating his insides, his womb, his soul.

They stayed like that for minutes.

Breathing each other in.

Scenting.

Bound.

Namjoon slumped forward, arms caging Seokjin in. His tongue licked at the blood running down Seokjin’s throat. His cock twitched deep inside, still locked.

And Seokjin-

Seokjin just lay there, trembling faintly, tail limp, his body spent.

But his eyes were calm.

He had done what he came to do.

And Namjoon?

Namjoon was his mate now.

Willing or not, blood or bond, the lion had made his choice.

He would move Jungkook, provide discretion.

And Seokjin had given him everything.

All to protect his baby brother.

***

They moved at midnight.

No fanfare. No lamps. No metal dragging behind them.

Only the hush of velvet robes whispering over stone and the soft click of Seokjin’s heeled steps as they crossed into the quiet, unguarded corridors of the inner palace. Jungkook padded silently beside him, barefoot, unshackled, nothing binding him but the echo of orders no one had dared question.

The guards stationed outside the West Wing had been replaced hours ago.

Namjoon’s doing.

They didn’t look at Jungkook when he passed. Didn’t flinch or falter. Just lowered their eyes and stepped aside, the scent of wolf royalty stronger than their training, stronger even than their curiosity. They had been warned. They had been told what to expect.

And what would happen if they spoke of what they saw.

Jungkook didn’t glance at them.

Didn’t twitch. Didn’t growl.

He followed.

Not because of submission. Not because of training. Because something quieter had settled in his bones. Something old and low and heavy. Not quite peace. But not fear either.

He had not been touched since the last time Jimin left.

And now, with every step closer to the prince's quarters, the scent trail thickened.

He could smell him.

Faintly. Distant. Like warmth tucked into linens. Like jasmine steeped into fur.

His ears twitched toward it.

Seokjin caught the motion but didn’t acknowledge it. He walked ahead, spine straight, robes trailing behind like smoke. The air around him pulsed with nobility. Every step was controlled. Every breath. Every flick of his tail.

Jungkook followed him into the wing like an animal stepping out of the wild.

And the door closed behind them.

The room was quiet.

Not soft. Not warm. Just… Still.

It smelled like paper and old wood and salt. Like clean bedding and pressed linen. There was no blood here. No sweat. No rust or fear or sour, burned-out electricity. No scent of rot.

No chains.

Jungkook’s nostrils flared once.

Then again.

His eyes drifted to the walls, smooth, polished stone. Bookshelves lined the right wall. A folded robe lay across the bed, untouched. Beside it, a bowl of water sat steaming faintly.

No restraints. No guards. No cage.

His ears twitched low.

His body didn’t relax, but it began to uncoil, slightly, like a spring no longer being crushed underfoot.

Seokjin crossed the room without looking at him.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t narrate.

He walked to the desk, pulled a parchment scroll from the inner fold of his sleeve, and unrolled it with a deliberate flick. The movement was careful, precise. Like everything he did. Even the quiet hum of his breath sounded practiced. Elevated. Regal.

Jungkook stayed still.

His feet rooted to the stone. His hands loose at his sides. His tail barely flicking once behind him.

The wolf was listening.

“This is the scroll I presented to the high council,” Seokjin said at last, voice even. “The Hybrid Behavioral Trials Act. Signed and sealed. Ratified three weeks ago under the third chamber.”

The words meant little.

But the scent of the parchment didn’t.

Old ink. Burned wax. Legal weight.

Jungkook’s nose twitched.

“You’re listed as Subject 41. Previously unclassified. Former designation: Feral Alpha. No surname. No bloodline recognized.”

The alpha didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“But you are now under formal royal guardianship.” Seokjin continued. “You belong to me.”

A pause. Measured. Weighted.

“Not as property. Not as an object. As a ward.”

He let the word sit for a moment. Let it settle.

Then folded the scroll shut.

“Effective immediately, you are no longer housed under military jurisdiction. You are no longer monitored by the palace guard. No one enters this wing without my written order. You will be fed. Bathed. Given time outside in the lower gardens under supervision. And…”

His voice quieted.

“…You will see him again.”

Something moved.

Not loud. Not big. Just… Something.

The rise of Jungkook’s chest, maybe. The subtle way his fingers curled.

Seokjin noticed.

“He’s safe. For now. His name is not mentioned in the document. But if anyone else finds out about the bond-” He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

The wolf’s ears pressed flat.

Seokjin’s tone softened, not gentle. Measured. Like a prince speaking to a soldier. A commander speaking to a war dog.

“I don’t offer this for your sake.” He said plainly. “I offered myself to Namjoon. Mated him. I bargained my future. Not because of you. Because of him.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally lifted.

Met his. 

Raw. Blood-red. Unshielded.

There was no question in them.

No confusion.

Only understanding as they lowered and focused on the raw, jagged mating bite on Seokjin’s neck.

Seokjin stepped forward. Not enough to touch. But close enough to smell. Mated omega. Lion.

“You’re here because I made a promise.” He said softly. “To our mother. Before she passed. That I would protect him. Keep him safe.” His tail swept once behind him, slow and steady.

“That means keeping you safe.”

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t nod. But his body shifted just a breath.

Enough.

Seokjin’s voice dropped lower.

“You will follow my rules now. You will not leave this wing. You will not be seen alone with him. You will not let your scent mark him outside these walls. If I allow him to visit, you will be docile. You will be clean. And you will be clothed.”

Another beat of silence.

“Do you understand?”

Jungkook didn’t speak.

But then, slowly, he sank to his knees.

Not like a pet. Not like a prisoner. Like a creature accepting a truce.

His head dipped.

Tail low. Ears soft. Shoulders bowed.

Seokjin watched him kneel. And gave a single nod.

Then turned and walked to the side table.

He placed the scroll beside the folded robe and the basin. Poured warm water from the pitcher into the bowl.

“I’ll return shortly.” He said, quiet again. “Eat. Wash.”

Then he moved to the door, hand on the handle.

He didn’t look back when he said:

“I’m bringing him.”

And then he left.