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Friday morning
Jeongguk pulled on his furs with a weary sigh before stepping out of his cabin. The morning air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache pressing against his chest. He’d woken with a heavier heart than usual; a weight that no amount of routine could shake. His home felt lonelier these days, emptied of warmth, hollow in a way that echoed Jimin’s absence too loudly. The quiet used to be peaceful, now it was a reminder.
He made his way through the pack grounds, every step deliberate, every greeting met with a nod too measured to be sincere. The murmurs around him were easy to ignore; he already knew why the Elders had summoned him. He just didn’t want to face it; to face them, or worse, the future they’d already decided for him.
The minute he takes a step into the cabin all eyes are on him; their gaze carrying so much scrutiny and simultaneous expectations, it’s weighing him down. Quiet steps take him to the head of the table. As soon as got comfortable in his chair, one of the Elders clears their throat and takes the initiative to vocalize their collective thought.
‘With all due respect, head alpha, you need to marry again’.
This doesn’t shock him at all. His face stoic as the day he was forced to divorce Jimin. At thirty five, Jeongguk already has gray hairs peaking, the same ones that Jimin used to smooth down and kiss a year ago. The edge of his eyes wrinkled from age and the weight of perpetual responsibilities, each line a quiet reminder of choices made for him, not by him.
He knows they already have a list of potential mates for him. The thought is so nauseating to him, he hides it with a crooked smile, one that looks almost convincing if you don’t look too long. Inside, though, his stomach twists at the idea of being paired off like livestock, of someone else deciding who he should spend a lifetime pretending to love.
A heavy, pregnant silence settles over the room, thick enough to choke on. The Elders sit in patient stillness, their expectant gazes fixed on him, waiting, always waiting, for the obedient response they’ve already rehearsed in their minds. Jeongguk’s jaw tightens. He can feel the pulse of irritation drumming behind his temples, the faint rustle of furs as he pushes himself up from his seat.
“Fine,” he exhales, the word dragged from him like a confession. “Do whatever is appropriate.”
The resignation in his voice is sharp enough to cut through the stillness, though it’s the bitterness beneath that lingers. Without another glance, he turns on his heel and strides out, boots echoing against the wooden floor. He doesn’t wait for their murmured approval or their inevitable talk of duty. Outside, the cold air hits him like a reprimand, but for the first time that morning, he feels something close to relief, because at least out here, no one is telling him how to live his life.
Grief overwhelms him at the thought of Jimin hearing about his engagement, a quiet, piercing pain that spreads through his chest until it becomes difficult to breathe. He can already picture it, Jimin’s face when the news reaches him, the faint flicker of emotion he’ll try to hide, the polite nod that conceals everything neither of them is allowed to say. The image haunts Jeongguk more than he wants to admit.
He knows how he’ll cope later, knows the familiar burn of liquor will dull the edges of that ache just enough to get through the night. It is a ritual by now, the only kind of solace that doesn’t demand words or explanations.
With heavy steps, he walks toward the center of town. The sky above is gray, the kind of gray that promises snow but delivers only cold. The streets are alive, yet everything feels distant, muffled, as if the world has dimmed its colors in quiet sympathy.
– – – –
Saturday morning
Jimin arrives at the commune kitchen at dawn, the faint light of morning bleeding into the frosted windows as he rolls up his sleeves. The air is thick with the smell of firewood and simmering broth, and the quiet chatter of the other omegas and betas fills the space with a domestic kind of warmth. He joins them wordlessly, reaching for the knife and beginning to slice vegetables with practiced ease, each motion neat and precise, a rhythm he’s learned to find comfort in.
Still, he can feel it, the way conversations soften when he passes, the sidelong glances exchanged over steaming pots. The whispers follow him everywhere, light and poisonous. The divorced ex–head omega. What a shame. The words have worn grooves in his mind by now, familiar enough to sting less, but never enough to stop hurting completely.
He keeps his chin lifted, pretending not to hear, pretending that the title doesn’t cling to him like smoke. There was a time when his presence commanded quiet respect, when his name was spoken with a kind of pride. Now it carries pity, curiosity, and the faint scent of scandal. So he keeps moving, hands steady, smile polite, voice soft when he speaks. It is easier that way, to stay composed, to stay small, to stay unbothered, because if he lets himself feel too much, the mask might slip, and they will see just how much he still aches.
He avoids Jeongguk like the plague. He knows the places the head alpha tends to wander, and he makes sure to steer clear of them. There is no need to invite more awkwardness into a life already weighed down by it. Besides, it is not as if Jeongguk would want to see him after everything that happened between them.
Still, no matter how hard he tries, Jimin cannot help but notice him. At pack bonfires, at seasonal gatherings, in fleeting moments where the crowd blurs and his gaze finds Jeongguk as if drawn by instinct. He always catches himself too late, eyes lingering just a little too long while Jeongguk laughs with his friends or listens to one of the Elders. There is no bitterness in the look, no resentment, only a quiet, aching kind of love that refuses to die, no matter how much he wills it to.
“Mornin,’” a grunt is heard when his best friend walks in, voice still thick with sleep. Jimin glances up from the cutting board, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches Taehyung stumble toward the counter, hair a mess and eyes barely open.
“I can’t believe they’re expecting us to clean and cook at the crack of dawn,” Taehyung mutters, rubbing his face before reaching for a bowl of flour. “We’re omegas, not machines.”
Jimin chuckles softly, “You say that every morning,” he replies, pushing a pile of diced onions toward him. “And yet, here you are.”
Taehyung groans, tossing him a playful glare. “Only because if I stay in bed, Yoongi will drag me out by the ear.”
The teasing earns another faint laugh from Jimin, but it fades quickly, replaced by the kind of silence that carries unspoken thoughts.
Taehyung has been trying to set him up with potential mates for the past four months. He does it under the guise of concern, of wanting Jimin to move on and find someone who deserves him, but Jimin knows better. It is Taehyung’s way of helping, of fixing what cannot be fixed.
The suitors come and go, polite smiles and practiced charm, each one kind enough, strong enough, suitable enough by the pack’s standards. But none of them are Jeongguk. None of them have that quiet steadiness in their voice, or the warmth in their touch that used to calm Jimin’s restless heart. Every conversation feels like a performance, every dinner a reminder of what he’s lost.
He tries to be open, tries to see them for who they are rather than who they are not, but it never works. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many faces blur together, there is still only one name that echoes in his mind when the night grows quiet. And it isn’t anyone Taehyung has introduced him to.
“Prepare the tables,” one of the omegas instructs, handing Jimin a stack of folded linens.
He nods and steps out of the kitchen into the eating courtier, the room still quiet and cool from the early morning. He’s halfway through setting the first table when the doors open.
Jeongguk walks in with hurried steps, his presence effortlessly filling the space. The sound of his boots on the floor makes Jimin still for a heartbeat, breath catching before he forces himself to move again. His hands tremble slightly as he smooths the fabric, pretending not to notice.
Jeongguk doesn’t look at him, not directly, but Jimin feels the awareness settle between them, a pulse of familiarity neither can ignore. The air grows heavier, full of what’s been left unsaid. Around them, life continues as usual, yet to Jimin, everything narrows to the space they share.
When their eyes finally meet, it’s brief and accidental, but it’s enough for Jimin’s breath to catch, his chest tightening with want and a longing he can’t suppress. He knows how Jeongguk is spoken about around the pack, the admiration, the curiosity, the desire that follows him wherever he goes. A man of power and beauty, they say, with a presence that can bring even the strongest alphas to their knees.
The omegas often ask Jimin, giggling and unashamed, what it was like to be with him, if Jeongguk was gentle, if he was rough, if he was as well-endowed as rumor suggests. Jimin never answers. He only smiles faintly and changes the subject, but the heat that crawls up his neck always betrays him.
He doesn’t need to answer. He knows the truth all too well.
He freezes, horrified, as Jeongguk strides toward him, purposeful and unyielding. This is going to be the talk of the pack for the week, he thinks, dread coiling in his stomach.
“We need to talk, now,” Jeongguk says, his voice low but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Jimin swallows hard, mind racing. Every instinct screams to flee, to hide behind chores or walls, but he can’t. Not this time.
“Jeongguk, I-”
Before he can stumble over another syllable, Jeongguk’s hand is on his wrist. Jimin flinches under his touch, caught between resistance and surrender.
Without another word, Jeongguk begins to lead him out of the dining courtier, their steps echoing against the wooden floor. The other omegas and betas peaking from the kitchen door, murmurs dying instantly. Jimin feels the heat rising to his cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and something far deeper, more primal.
Outside, the cold morning air hits him, bracing and sharp, but he doesn’t pull away. He can’t. Not when Jeongguk’s presence fills the space around him, demanding attention, demanding honesty.
He leads them to his cabin. Jimin knows the way all too well, that used to be his home. The hand around his wrist tightens slightly, then shifts, fingers lacing with his own.
The moment they step inside the cabin, Jimin exhales, voice barely steady. “What do you want from me, Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk huffs, a rough, uneven sound. He looks worn, distraught, dark circles etched under his eyes, and Jimin catches the faint scent of liquor lingering on him, sharp and bitter.
“They want me to get married again,” Jeongguk says, voice strained. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
The words hit Jimin like a physical force, but it’s the scent, the presence, the raw honesty that leaves him reeling. He feels knees threatening to buckle, heart hammering in his chest.
“Okay,” he says, though the word barely feels like his own, barely formed through the shock and surge of emotion.
His eyes remain locked on Jeongguk, unblinking, filled with unshed tears, brimming with the ache of love and loss he has tried so hard to suppress.
“I hate you,” he lies.
“You ruined me,” he adds, voice trembling.
Jeongguk doesn’t flinch. The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the shallow, uneven breaths that fill the small cabin. Neither speaks for a long moment.
“Kitten,” Jeongguk steps closer. The nickname, the familiarity, strikes too deep, pulling at memories Jimin has spent months trying to lock away.
“Don’t.” He instinctively steps back, pressing his back against the door behind him. His hands rise slightly, though he knows it won’t stop Jeongguk if he really wanted to cross it.
Jeongguk stops, just short of touching him, but the heat of his presence fills the space, overwhelming and intimate. His eyes are dark, unreadable, and Jimin feels the pull of them as if gravity itself had shifted.
“You don’t have to fight me,” Jeongguk murmurs, each word careful. “Not now. Not ever. I just… I need you to know the truth.”
“I don’t want anyone else. Not now. Not ever. I needed you to hear it from me, Jimin. You deserve that much.”
Jimin’s breath hitches, a tear falls down his cheek. He wants to push Jeongguk away, to scream. Yet every fiber in him aches to reach out, to close the distance, to feel the safety, the familiarity, the love he has been denying himself.
The room feels impossibly small, the air electric, each second stretching, taut with what neither can fully say, but both feel in every tremor of their bodies.
Jeongguk reaches up and wipes the tear from Jimin’s cheek, his hand rough against the softness of his skin. The contrast is almost unbearable. Jimin closes his eyes at the touch, a shiver running through him, a mixture of fear, relief, and desire he can no longer deny.
“I’ve missed you,” Jeongguk murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl, carrying all the weight of the months they’ve been apart. “More than I can put into words.”
Jimin swallows hard, the words lodged in his throat. He wants to say something, anything, but his voice fails him.
Jeongguk leans closer, their foreheads nearly touching, eyes locked. “I don’t want anyone else,” he says, each word a plea. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”
Jimin trembles under the intensity, hands pressing lightly against Jeongguk’s chest, trying to keep some distance, yet failing to resist the pull. The air between them hums with tension, raw and fragile, as if the world outside no longer exists.
Jimin can’t tell who reaches first, but the moment their lips meet, it consumes everything. His hands find their way to Jeongguk’s neck, gripping as if to anchor himself, while Jeongguk’s arms wrap around him with equal need, pulling him impossibly close.
The kiss is hot, demanding, and yet intimate, filled with a softness that contradicts the intensity. He tastes the familiar warmth of Jeongguk, the subtle trace of liquor and the faint scent of cedar and woodsmoke that has always clung to him.
They break apart for barely a breath, foreheads resting together, breaths ragged, hearts hammering in unison. Jimin’s eyes flutter open, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze, and in that moment, there is no need for words. Everything they have withheld, every longing they have denied, is laid bare between them.
“I… I can’t…” Jimin whispers, voice breaking, fingers threading through Jeongguk’s hair, desperate for contact, desperate to hold onto the reality of him.
Jeongguk shakes his head slightly, pressing his lips again to Jimin’s temple, soft this time, grounding. “You don’t have to say anything, kitten. Just stay with me.”
And Jimin does, letting himself be held, letting himself feel, letting the fire between them burn unchecked, knowing that for this moment, at least, nothing else exists but them.
He jumps, wrapping his legs around Jeongguk’s waist, just like he used to, letting their bodies lock together in a familiar, unspoken rhythm. It is a promise of what is to come.
Their lips meet again, urgent and searing, while Jeongguk carries him effortlessly toward the main bedroom. The cabin blurs around them, the sounds of the pack and the world outside fading until all that exists is the heat of their bodies and the raw pull of need between them.
Their lips meet again, urgent and searing, while Jeongguk carries him effortlessly toward the main bedroom. The cabin blurs around them, the sounds of the pack and the world outside fading until all that exists is the heat of their bodies and the raw pull of need between them.
Once inside the bedroom, Jeongguk sets him down gently, hands tracing his face and Jimin leans into the touch, eyes closing, savoring the safety and intensity all at once.
Jimin’s hands explore the broad expanse of Jeongguk’s shoulders, feeling the tension beneath the surface, the way he has carried burdens quietly, alone.
Jeongguk’s lips move from his, leaving a trail of fire across Jimin’s jaw, down his neck, igniting a heat that spreads to every part of him. “I missed you, baby.” Jeongguk murmurs against his skin, voice rough.
Jimin shudders, pressing closer until their breaths mingle. “I never stopped,” he whispers, voice barely holding together. “Not for a second.”
The words hang heavy in the air, raw and unguarded, a confession that tastes like surrender. He knows he will regret them later, when the fire burns out and the silence settles, but for now, none of that matters.
In this space, in this stolen moment, there is no past or consequence, only the heat between them, the ache of recognition, and the desperate, consuming pull of finding each other again.
He helps Jeongguk out of his furs and linen shirt. He never wanted to be fucked by the head alpha more than he does at this moment.
Jimin leans in, lips brushing along Jeongguk’s collarbone. He shivers as Jeongguk groans softly, a sound of relief that fills the cabin with an intimate heat.
“Kitten, I want to eat you.” Jeongguk’s words are blunt, exactly what Jimin has always known him to be; direct, and utterly without pretense. The statement hits Jimin like a physical force, and he flushes deeply, heat blooming across his chest and cheeks.
He discards his clothes almost instinctively, urgency driving him, and then freezes for a brief second, struck by the reality of standing completely naked in front of his ex-husband for the first time in a year.
His body betrays him, pussy wet and quivering, responding without consent to the pull Jeongguk has over him.
Jeongguk doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate. His eyes drink in every inch of Jimin’s body, tracing the familiar curves and lines as if committing them to memory again. He steps closer, warm breath brushing against Jimin’s skin, hands gliding over shoulders, down arms, and teasing along the sides of his torso.
“You missed me,” Jeongguk murmurs, his voice low, more of a statement than a question. “You still do.”
“Just fuck me, Jeongguk.”
There's no hesitation now, no decorum left between them, only need.
There was no pause, no moment for Jimin to confirm anything; the head alpha was beyond asking. He closed the distance with a predatory speed that stole Jimin's air, slamming their hips together. The shock made Jimin gasp, a sound muffled against the alpha’s shoulder.
An instant later, a rough hand was on his ass, grabbing and parting his asscheeks slightly. Jimin let out a scream when Jeongguk started rubbing his thumb in slow circles over the sensitive crease of his hole.
The petite omega blacks out from the immense pleasure he’s feeling. He remembers Jeongguk eating him out, squirting twice, and telling the head alpha to fill him with his cum. He’s not embarrassed when he wakes feeling satiated from Jeongguk’s cock being lodged well deep into him an hour ago.
The moment his eyes flutter open, Jimin is met with the quiet stillness of the room, and Jeongguk. The head alpha is everywhere, his scent clinging to the air, his warmth pressed close. For a moment, Jimin doesn’t know where he ends and Jeongguk begins.
He blinks slowly, the fog of sleep and memory clouding his thoughts. Jeongguk lies beside him, breathing steady, one arm draped tightly around Jimin’s waist as if afraid to let go even in sleep.
He stays still, listening to the faint rhythm of Jeongguk’s heartbeat against his back, letting himself feel it for just a little longer. The cruel sweetness of something that feels like home but isn’t anymore.
He can’t stay. The realization hits hard and cold, cutting through the haze of warmth. Jimin slips out of Jeongguk’s hold with a practiced ease, masking the tremor in his hands with a quiet, almost clumsy grace that feels painfully familiar.
His eyes darted around the room, scanning for his scattered clothes. His pulse quickens with every sound, the soft creak of the floorboards, the shift of Jeongguk’s breath, terrified that the head alpha might wake and catch him in the act of leaving. He moves faster, tugging on his shirt, fingers fumbling as if his body is betraying his resolve.
He slips out into the cool morning air, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that feels heavier than it should. For a fleeting moment, he’s grateful that Jeongguk chose to build his home far from the center of the pack. Out here, no one can see him. No one can whisper.
Each step feels like a secret he’s trying to bury, his body sore, his mind tangled with thoughts he doesn’t want to untangle. His walk of shame is short, just a few minutes through a path he knows by heart. The shortcut winds between tall trees and wild grass, leading him back to the small cabin he now calls home.
By the time he reaches the door, the sounds of the waking pack are faint in the distance. He exhales a shaky breath, hand pressed to his chest as if to steady the storm inside him. Here, behind these walls, away from the curious stares and sharp tongues, he can finally fall apart in peace.
He steps into his cabin and freezes. Then, before he can think, a blood-curdling scream rips from his throat. His two best friends are sprawled across the living room, faces lit with shit-eating grins, clearly enjoying the view of his post-sex appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin yells, hand clutching his chest, eyes wide as panic and embarrassment collide.
Taehyung and Seokjin exchange a quick glance, barely containing their laughter. “Mornin, Jimin,” Seokjin says, voice sweetly mocking. “We thought we’d drop by.”
Taehyung smirks, leaning back lazily. “You look… shocked. I’d say we timed this perfectly.”
Jimin glares at them, heat rising to his ears, and flops onto the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “You are the worst,” he mutters, though a reluctant laugh threatens to escape.
The two of them burst into full laughter, and Jimin groans, realizing there’s no way to escape the teasing. Not today, not ever.
Taehyung wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly, leaning closer with a mock-serious sniff. “By the smell of it,” he says, voice dripping with amusement, “I can tell you and Jeongguk did more than just talk.”
Jimin freezes, cheeks burning hotter than ever. He glares at Taehyung, eyes narrowing, but the words stick in his throat.
Seokjin snorts, covering his mouth to hide a laugh. “Oh, come on, Tae. Don’t give him away like that.”
Taehyung leans back, still grinning, and tilts his head. “My question is… why are they still trying for a baby a year after their divorce?”
Jimin freezes mid-breath, eyes wide, as if the question has just punched him square in the chest. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he glares at both of them.
Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head. “Exactly. I mean, you two clearly haven’t moved on, and yet here we are…”
Taehyung snickers, nudging Jimin lightly. “You really think we’re letting this go, Jimin? Nope. Not happening.”
“It’s a mistake. Won’t happen again,” Jimin says quickly, too quickly, refusing to meet their eyes as he straightens the hem of his shirt just to have something to do with his hands.
Taehyung hums, unconvinced, the grin never leaving his face. “I sure hope not,” he says, tone light. “For everyone’s sake.”
Seokjin bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his tea. “Oh, he’s blushing again! Look at him, he’s practically glowing!”
Jimin throws them both a murderous look, but it only makes them laugh harder. He turns toward the small kitchen, muttering under his breath, “I need new friends.”
“Too late for that,” Taehyung calls after him. “You’re stuck with us, lover boy.”
— — — —
Jeongguk wakes to the cold side of the bed, the faint imprint of Jimin’s body already fading from the sheets. He lies still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the quiet of the cabin settles around him. It doesn’t surprise him that Jimin left without a word.
How could he?
The thought sits heavy in his chest. He can still smell him in the air, faint traces of warmth and regret tangled with his own scent. Jeongguk drags a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. It was foolish to think that a fleeting moment of desire could fix what broke between them, foolish to think that wanting Jimin would ever be enough to make him stay.
He sits up, elbows on his knees, and lets the silence stretch. His cock still hard simply from Jimin’s lingering scent. He leads the way to the bathroom to wash the desire away with a cold shower. He stays under it longer than necessary, as if he can wash away the memory of Jimin’s touch, the way his voice still echoes in his head. But even as the chill bites at his skin, Jeongguk knows it’s useless. Some things don’t rinse off.
As he steps out of the shower, a series of hurried knocks echo through the cabin. The sound is sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet. Jeongguk mutters a curse under his breath, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist before heading for the door.
His hair drips onto the floor as he walks, the chill of the air meeting the heat of his still-damp skin. Whoever it is, they clearly have no sense of timing.
When he opens the door, his expression hardens on instinct, ready to snap at whoever thought it wise to interrupt his morning. The words die on his tongue when he sees who stands before him.
Soojin, one of the Elders. An omega with a sharp gaze and an even sharper mind. The kind of woman who sees more than anyone ever says. Jeongguk straightens slightly, every trace of irritation buried beneath the discipline of his rank. Around her, he’s always careful; measured in tone, in breath, in thought.
Without waiting for permission, she steps past him into the cabin, her cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. Every movement she makes is slow but deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of someone who has never needed to raise her voice to be obeyed.
Jeongguk shuts the door quietly, turning to face her. “To what do I owe the honor?” he asks, though he already knows that whatever brought Soojin here this early can’t be good.
“I know what you just did with that omega,” she spits, her words cutting through the air like a blade. The venom in her tone leaves no room for misunderstanding.
Jeongguk’s body tenses, and jaw tightening, though he refuses to look away.
Soojin’s grip tightens on her cane as she takes another step forward. “Do you think the pack is blind? That your actions go unnoticed?” Her gaze sweeps the room, landing back on him with cold precision. “You forget who you are, Head Alpha. Or perhaps you forget who we are.”
Jeongguk exhales slowly, forcing calm into his voice. “With all due respect, Elder Soojin, my personal affairs are not for the council to dictate.”
Her eyes narrow, glinting with something almost predatory. “They are, when they threaten the balance of this pack.”
The silence that follows is thick and suffocating. Jeongguk doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. The only sound is the faint creak of Soojin’s cane as she steadies herself before continuing.
“A year ago,” she says, her voice unwavering, “you swore off that omega. You made that vow before the council, before the spirits, because we unanimously voted for you to divorce him when he bore you no children.”
Her words land heavy, meant to cut. Jeongguk’s jaw tightens, the muscle flickering in his cheek. He says nothing, but the faint tremor in his fingers betrays him.
Soojin’s eyes narrow. “And now, after all that sacrifice, after the shame you both endured, you risk undoing it for a fickle moment of weakness?”
He exhales slowly, gaze dropping for a moment before finding hers again. “It wasn’t weakness,” he says quietly, though the words sound like both confession and defense.
“You’ll marry Kim’s granddaughter in a fortnight,” Soojin says, her tone sharp, precise. “Their pack is known for a high rate of fertility. This time, we need to ensure the pack’s future.”
“They’ve already agreed, and the arrangements are set. This is not a request, Jeongguk. It’s a duty.”
Soojin steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “This is not a matter of personal preference. The council’s decision is final. You will honor it, as you always have.”
Jeongguk’s face is rigid. He exhales slowly, steadying himself against the swell of anger and frustration rising within him. Soojin’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Your desires cannot override the needs of the pack. You know that. We all made sacrifices for balance, for the future. Do not forget your place.”
He wants to tell her that his feelings for Jimin are more than fleeting desire, that everyone in the pack knows it even if they pretend not to. Yet the words die on his tongue. What good would it do to say them? Love has never been enough to sway the council, and certainly not Soojin.
Her gaze lingers on him, unreadable, as if she can sense the thoughts clawing their way up his throat. “Careful, Jeongguk,” she says quietly, her voice cutting through the air. “Attachment makes alphas weak.”
The room falls silent again, heavier this time, the weight of expectation pressing down on him like stone. Jeongguk’s mind races, caught between duty and a pull he knows he cannot deny.
— — — —
He and Jimin avoid each other for weeks. Their paths never cross, not even by accident. When Jeongguk enters a room, Jimin finds a reason to leave. When Jimin walks through the market, Jeongguk turns the other way. The pack notices, of course (as they always do) but no one dares to speak about it aloud.
What lingers between them isn’t gone; it hums quietly beneath the surface, a pulse neither can ignore. The scent of the other clings in memory, in dreams, in every unspoken word. And still, they pretend. Pretend that day never happened. Pretend they aren't meant for one another other.
But the day the news hits the pack that Jeongguk will be getting married again is the day everything starts to unravel.
The announcement spreads fast and into every quiet corner of the pack. By midday, everyone knows. The head alpha is taking another mate.
Jimin hears it from one of the kitchen omegas. Her tone is casual, but her eyes flick up, searching his face for a reaction. He gives none. Just a quiet nod, a polite hum, and then he goes back to kneading dough that no longer holds his attention. His hands tremble, though, and the scent of heartbreak blooms faintly around him before he can stop it.
Outside, the pack buzzes with excitement and speculation. Inside, Jimin feels the world he carefully rebuilt begin to crack again.
When he meets Taehyung in the center of the pack, the noise around them feels distant, muted under the weight of what he’s just heard.
Taehyung spots him immediately, “You heard?”
Jimin doesn’t answer. He just stares at the ground, watching his own feet scuff at the dirt. The air smells of cooked meat, smoke, and the faint sweetness of spring rain; scents that should feel familiar, comforting. They don’t.
Taehyung’s smile falters. “Jimin,” he says softly, stepping closer, “don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”
Jimin lets out a shaky breath. “I did,” he admits. “I just… didn’t think it’d still hurt this much.”
For a moment, Taehyung doesn’t reply. He only squeezes Jimin’s shoulder, eyes flicking toward the alpha quarters where preparations for the ceremony have already begun. “You don’t have to stay and watch it happen,” he says.
Jimin swallows hard, gaze distant. “I think that’s the problem,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to look away.”
He looks around for a bit, and it hits him that people are watching. Conversations falter, eyes dart toward him, waiting to see how the ex-head omega will take the news. His chest tightens, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
The world blurs at the edges. He can taste bile rising before he can even stop it. His stomach twists violently, and before he knows it, he’s retching right there in the middle of the courtyard.
Gasps ripple through the onlookers, some stepping back, others pretending not to see. Taehyung moves instantly, steadying him with a firm hand on his back, whispering something low and urgent, but Jimin can barely hear. The only thing he can feel is the burn in his throat and the heavy weight of humiliation settling deep in his gut.
When he straightens up, eyes watery and face pale, the whispers start again, louder this time. The world tilts slightly, sounds stretching and dulling around him.
Taehyung’s voice reaches him through the haze, worried and sharp, but Jimin can’t make out the words. His vision tunnels until all that’s left is a blur of color and the dull thud of his heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Then, everything goes black. He collapses to the ground, the last thing he feels is Taehyung’s arms catching him before his body hits the ground.
— — — —
He wakes to the heavy scent of sickness and antiseptic herbs hanging in the air. When his eyes flutter open, the world swims before settling into focus. He’s in the infirmary, wrapped tightly in a rough wool blanket. Seokjin hovers over him, worry etched deep into his features.
“You scared the life out of us,” Seokjin murmurs, “You fainted right in the middle of the square. Taehyung nearly tore through the crowd trying to get you here.”
Jimin lets out a soft, weak chuckle, “That sounds like him,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep. He shifts slightly, the blanket rustling around him, and winces at the dull ache in his temples.
Seokjin exhales, somewhere between exasperation and relief. “You think this is funny? You’ve been out for hours, Jimin.”
Jimin’s smile falters. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment before whispering, “Everyone was staring. I just… couldn’t breathe.”
Seokjin’s gaze softens. He sits beside the bed, folding his hands together. “You heard about the wedding, didn’t you?”
Jimin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The silence between them says everything.
The door to the infirmary bursts open with a violent thud, the sound echoing through the quiet room and making Jimin flinch beneath his blanket. His heart leaps into his throat before he even looks up.
“Kitten. What happened?” Jeongguk’s voice cuts through the air, rough and breathless, laced with impatience and worry. He strides toward the bed, still half-damp from the rain outside, eyes scanning Jimin from head to toe as if to make sure he’s real and breathing.
“Kitten?” Seokjin mockingly notes. “You walk in here scaring everyone half to death and that’s the first thing you say?”
Jeongguk spares him a glare but doesn’t answer. His attention never leaves Jimin, whose wide eyes meet his; half startled, half something else entirely. The room feels smaller with him in it, his scent filling every corner, his presence a storm that refuses to settle.
“What are you doing here, Jeongguk? This doesn’t concern you. I’m not your problem anymore,” Jimin snaps, voice sharp though the tremble is heard in his speech.
“Well,” Seokjin interjects, hands raised slightly, a bemused grin on his face. “This actually concerns him.” His tone is so casual it almost makes Jimin gape, and he has to remind himself that it’s his best friend speaking, not a stranger.
“What the hell are you talking about, Jin?” Jimin demands, sitting up a little, clutching the blanket around him.
Seokjin rubs the back of his neck, sighing, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t know how to say this without making it awkward for everyone involved… but Jimin, you’re pregnant. Yay.”
The words hang in the air, absurd and shocking all at once. Jimin’s jaw drops, and for a long moment, no one speaks. Even Jeongguk, standing just a few feet away, looks momentarily frozen, the storm behind his eyes giving way to something softer, something raw.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Seokjin mutters, more to himself than to either of them. “You didn’t conceive when you were supposed to, but now… by accident.”
Both Jimin and Jeongguk stare at him, blinking in bewilderment, mouths slightly open, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
Seokjin holds up his hands, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Sorry, I just… needed to let that one out.”
To make matters worse, Taehyung peeks his head into the room, relieved to see Jimin awake and seemingly well, yet immediately sensing the tension that stretches far beyond any health complication.
“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks, genuinely clueless, stepping further inside.
Seokjin, ever the provocateur, grins and announces, “Well, my midsummer child, there’s a bun in the oven.”
Jimin’s reaction is instantaneous, a high-pitched, furious scream. “SEOKJIN!”
Seokjin throws his hands up in mock surrender. “What do you want me to say? That you’ve got a tiny human brewing?”
Taehyung blinks, tilting his head, clearly trying to process the scene, while Jeongguk merely exhales, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief settling over him.
“I think we should let the parents process this,” Seokjin finally says, finding a rare moment of decency.
Taehyung with mischief in his eyes, “Just so you know, I would pay to be a fly in this room after we leave,”
But before he can finish, Seokjin’s hand shoots out, shoving him firmly toward the door. “Out. Now.”
The quiet in the room is shattered by the soft, broken sound of Jimin’s sniffles. His shoulders tremble under the weight of everything; shock, heartbreak, confusion.
Jeongguk moves before he can think, crossing the space between them in a few long strides. He cups Jimin’s face, rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wipes the tears with his thumbs, then presses a shaky kiss to the trail they left behind.
Jimin wants to pull away. He really does. But the warmth of Jeongguk’s touch holds him in place. He loves him too much to reject even this fleeting comfort.
“Baby,” Jeongguk murmurs, “we’re having a pup. Don’t cry.”
Jimin lets out a bitter laugh between tears, shaking his head. “How could you say that, Jeongguk? I’m your pregnant ex-omega, and you’re about to get married again.”
“This pack already dislikes me. I can’t even imagine what they’ll think when they hear about this,” Jimin murmurs, voice wavering.
“Every tongue that speaks against you will be handled accordingly,” Jeongguk says firmly, sliding a hand gently over Jimin’s belly as if the pup is already nestled there.
For the first time in what feels like forever, the head alpha can’t contain his joy. A genuine smile breaks through his usual composure, lighting his face in a way that sends warmth flooding straight into Jimin’s chest.
Jimin swallows hard, the tight knot of fear loosening slightly. Seeing Jeongguk like this fills him with a quiet joy. For the first time amid the chaos, he allows himself to breathe, to hope, and to believe that maybe, just maybe, some things are still theirs.
Half an hour later, Seokjin knocks, a quick, sharp rap, and opens the door without waiting for a reply, stepping into the room to check up on Jimin. He froze instantly, the mundane purpose of his visit dissolving into pure, wide-eyed astonishment.
In the middle of the room, the head alpha and Jimin were locked in a fervent, heated embrace that was far more than a simple make-out session. Jimin was lifted off his feet, his legs wrapped tightly around the alpha’s waist, his hips bucking in an unrestrained, rhythmic rut against the alpha. They were devouring each other, their movements frantic and primal, like cats in heat (pun absolutely intended), their breath coming in ragged, unified gasps. The scene was raw, and utterly unapologetic.
Seokjin, after a stunned moment, let out a slow, wry breath and a low whistle. He leans against the doorframe, his initial concern replaced by pure, amused observation.
"It’s actually amazing how you two kept your hands to yourselves for the past year," Seokjin comments, "I really thought the furniture would be safe."
This utter disregard for pack hierarchy or social consequence was enough indication that Jimin had him wrapped around his tiny finger, and the head alpha, currently losing his mind to that single, demanding focus, was right there with him. The alpha let out a deep, territorial growl, not at Seokjin for interrupting, but at the sheer pleasure of being the center of such unapologetic, dual devotion.
— — — —
The urgent meeting with the Elders sends the members of the council scrambling to their seats, murmurs of confusion and curiosity rippling through the room.
At the head of the table, Jeongguk is already seated, calm and composed, though the sharp line of his jaw betrays the tension coiled beneath. His eyes sweep the room, meeting each Elders’ gaze without hesitation.
“I’m just going to keep this brief,” he begins, voice low but carrying authority that silences the murmurs instantly.
A pause, allowing the weight of the room to settle before he delivers the words that drop like a stone in still water: “Jimin is pregnant with my child.”
The room goes still. Some Elders blink in surprise, others lean forward, eyes narrowing, mouths parting in shock. The statement hangs between them, leaving no room for doubt, no space for argument.
Jeongguk’s gaze remains steady, unwavering. Every heartbeat, every breath in the room seems to echo the gravity of his declaration. The head alpha will not be swayed. His child, and his bond with Jimin are non-negotiable. He will not be making the same mistake he did last year.
The Elders shift in their seats, some exchanging wary glances, others leaning back as if weighing the unspoken consequences of defying him. The usual murmurs of protocol and tradition falter under the weight of Jeongguk’s conviction.
Finally, one of the Elders clears their throat, voice hesitant. “Head Alpha… this… complicates matters.”
Jeongguk leans forward slightly, eyes sharp. “It complicates nothing. Jimin carries my pup. That is the priority. Any decision that ignores that will be considered a failure of judgment, not of duty.”
A tense silence falls, the room heavy with the unspoken acknowledgment that Jeongguk’s words are not mere defiance, they are law in themselves. For the first time in a year, the head alpha is unwavering, and no one dares to question him.
“I support them.” The words cut through the tense silence of the council room sharp and unexpected. Every head turns toward Soojin, the Elder known for her adherence to tradition.
The room seems to hold its breath. Murmurs ripple through the other Elders, some incredulous, others hesitant. “You… support them?” one finally manages, voice tight with disbelief.
Soojin doesn’t flinch. She leans on her cane slightly, eyes fixed on Jeongguk with a quiet authority that brooks no argument. “Yes. Jimin carries his child, and that bond cannot be dismissed. The pack’s future depends not just on duty, but on the strength of those who lead it. They are strong together. That is what matters.”
Her declaration shifts the energy in the room. Heads nod slowly, whispers die down, and even the most rigid Elders begin to reconsider their stance. The weight of tradition is still there, but Soojin’s support lends it balance, opening a door that had seemed permanently closed.
With all the humility she could summon, Soojin lowers her gaze and says, “I’m sorry. On behalf of the Elders. We have hurt you and Jimin, and for that, I apologize.”
The words hang in the air with so much sincerity, that carries a rare vulnerability from someone so often unyielding. A ripple of quiet acknowledgment passes through the council, a subtle shift in the room’s energy.
Soojin’s eyes lift slightly, meeting his, unwavering yet soft. “We cannot undo the past,” she continues, “but we can make sure it never happens again. You and Jimin deserve that much.”
Jeongguk nods once in her direction, a subtle acknowledgment heavy with unspoken words. Without another glance, he rises, the authority in his movements leaving no room for objection.
The council remains silent, each Elder understanding the weight of the unspoken agreement: they will not interfere with his relationship with Jimin again.
— — — —
He makes his way to Jimin’s cabin, each step deliberate and unhurried. The judgment of the pack no longer matters. They will hear about Jimin’s pregnancy soon enough, and by then, it won’t change a thing.
By the time he reaches the cabin, the anticipation hums beneath his skin. He knocks lightly, then opens the door without waiting, catching sight of Jimin inside, eyes wide and heart racing.
He almost leans in for a kiss, the familiar pull between them irresistible, when his eyes catch movement behind Jimin.
Standing there, arms crossed and expression unreadable, is Jimin’s mother. The sight makes Jeongguk freeze mid-step, his usual confidence faltering for the first time in weeks.
Jimin stiffens beside him, cheeks flushed, eyes darting nervously between his mother and Jeongguk. The charged intimacy of the moment shatters like glass, replaced with the delicate tension of propriety and unspoken judgment.
Jeongguk clears his throat, shifting back slightly, and manages a small, respectful nod. “I… didn’t mean to-”
Jimin’s mother raises a hand, halting his words, but the flicker of something softer in her gaze stops any immediate reprimand. It’s clear she’s measuring him, weighing the man who still holds so much power over her child’s heart.
It’s almost amusing, watching a man so powerful fall to his knees for the Parks.
Jeongguk, the head alpha, now kneels in quiet respect before Jimin’s mother. The shift in posture, the careful lowering of his gaze, strips away every ounce of his usual authority.
“So you get my son pregnant and you strut around him claiming him without a promise of mating him again,” Jiyoung says, her tone serious, but the faintest hint of humor laces her words, betraying the amusement she feels at seeing Jeongguk flustered.
“Moooom. Stop it,” Jimin whines, sounding every bit like the child he used to be in her presence, his cheeks heating as he buries his face in his hands.
Jeongguk, however, doesn’t miss a beat. His lips twitch in the slightest smirk, though he keeps his gaze steady on Jiyoung. “I assure you, Mrs. Park, my intentions are very clear,” he says evenly, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of confidence.
Jiyoung raises an eyebrow, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t think I won’t be watching, Head Alpha,” she says, her tone teasing, the hint of a laugh lingering in her voice.
Jimin peeks through his fingers, sighing in exasperation, “Mom, you’re making this so much worse,” while Jeongguk only chuckles softly, leaning a fraction closer to Jimin, and securing his arm around his waist.
“Head Alpha or not, you need to learn how to say no to this man, Jimin,” Jiyoung says, wagging a finger at him. Yet even as she scolds, she can’t hide the knowing smile tugging at her lips. She knows her child loves him far too much to ever do such a thing.
The moment she steps out of the Cabin. Jeongguk and Jimin end up in bed together with limbs tangled in a post-sex haze.
Jimin rests his head over Jeongguk’s chest, listening to the slow, steady beat beneath his ear. He traces idle patterns on Jeongguk’s chest, letting his fingers explore the warmth and strength he knows so well. Jeongguk’s hand finds Jimin’s arm in return, moving in a slow, soothing up-and-down motion, the touch deliberate, grounding, and protective.
For a while, neither speaks. Words feel unnecessary here. They communicate through the gentle brushing of fingers, the way their legs curl together, the quiet hum of familiarity and possession. Jimin can feel the lingering tension of the past year, all the separation, the arguments, the fear; it’s melting away in the heat of proximity.
Finally, Jimin lifts his head slightly, looking up at Jeongguk. His eyes glimmer with something raw, vulnerable, and beautiful. “I’m so in love with you,” he whispers, voice soft.
Jeongguk’s chest rises in a small, quiet laugh. His fingers linger over Jimin’s arm, thumb brushing across skin in a slow, tender rhythm. “I know,” he says, intimately, almost a murmur meant only for Jimin. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Jimin exhales, letting the words sink into him. The tension in his shoulders begins to ease, the knot of anxiety he’s carried for months unraveling just a little. “I was so scared… that you’d leave, that I’d lose you again,” he admits, shaking with the honesty he’s held in for far too long.
“You’ll never lose me,” Jeongguk replies, tightening his hold just slightly, pressing a careful kiss to the top of Jimin’s head. “Not now, not ever. We have a pup on the way, and that’s just the start of us. Nothing and no one can take that away.”
A soft laugh escapes Jimin, “I can’t believe… after everything… we’re here,” he murmurs, pressing closer. “It feels like a dream.”
Jeongguk leans back slightly, cupping Jimin’s face in both hands. Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling, hearts beating in a rhythm that feels new and ancient all at once. “It’s real, Jimin. All of it. You, me… our child. Everything we’ve wanted, everything we’ve fought for.”
He tangles his fingers in Jeongguk’s hair, feeling the softness, “I’ve missed this,” he confesses, voice barely audible. “I’ve missed you… every day.”
Jeongguk presses a kiss to Jimin’s temple, then to his lips in a gentle, lingering touch that speaks volumes; desire, love, apology, and reassurance all wrapped in one. “I’ve missed you too,” he says. “More than you know.”
For a while, they simply exist in each other’s arms, tangled together like they never wanted to be apart. Words fade, replaced by soft laughter, whispered promises, and the unshakable understanding that they belong to one another.
Jimin shifts slightly, resting fully against Jeongguk, “You’re going to protect us, right?” he asks softly, almost as if testing the truth in the moment.
Jeongguk’s hand traces down Jimin’s back in slow motion. “Always. I’ve made mistakes before,” he admits quietly, eyes locking with Jimin’s. “But I won’t make them again. I’ll protect you both, no matter what it takes. I promise.”
Jimin closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as tears threaten to spill, not from sadness but from the overwhelming relief of finally feeling safe and loved. “I believe you,” he murmurs.
Jeongguk leans down, resting his forehead against Jimin’s, their breaths mingling in a shared quiet intimacy. “Good,” he says, voice soft but confident. “Because this… us… it’s never going to end.”
The morning light spills into the cabin, painting everything in soft gold. Outside, the forest hums with life, but inside the small space, time feels suspended. They are here, together, and for the first time in months, the past feels distant, the future full of possibilities.
Jimin lets himself relax completely, curling closer into Jeongguk’s embrace. “I love you,” he whispers again, not out of habit, but as a declaration, a promise, and a relief all at once.
“I love you too,” Jeongguk responds, “Always.”
And in that quiet cabin, with limbs entwined and hearts aligned, they let themselves simply be; safe, loved, and finally, undeniably together.
— — — —
“I can’t wait for your tits to be fuller,”
Jimin smacks him for ruining a perfect moment.
Fin