Archive of Our Own

Neon lights reflect in the wet asphalt of the streets, making the night appear as bright as day, painting the concrete and the steel of the city in hues of vivid pink, electric blue, and glaring white. Skyscrapers pierce up into the air like towering giants, some of them real, others fake, nothing but holograms, used to aesthetically complement the skyline. They flicker ever so slightly in the rain, the sight giving Jimin a headache. 

The rooftop he’s standing on provides no shelter from the freezing wind, the wet cold creeping under his jacket and into his bones. He doesn’t mind it though, relishes it even, after spending over a week burning up in his small stuffy apartment, fighting through his heat all by himself.

He inhales deeply, breathing in the oxygen that tastes of electrical currents, faint hints of oil, rust, and the sweetness of artificially flavored street foods. The sound of his exhale mixes with the steady patter of rain, the distant hum of cars, and the faint rhythmic beats coming from clubs and bars that are open 24/7. Somewhere a tram is honking its horn. 

Even this far above the rooftops of the city, Jimin can't escape it. Its sounds, its smells, its—feelings. Even this far out, its chaos reaches him. 

On the one hand, it’s reassuring. On the other hand, it’s dooming. 

Even if something inside him longs for silence, the city and its chaos is still his familiar anchor. An anchor that he sometimes wishes he could let go of. An anchor that not only gives him stability, but that pulls him under. This city is his salvation as much as his downfall. He’s been here for years, has nowhere else to go, and by now he's in so deep, has sunk so low into its depths, that he probably won’t ever be able to leave. 

He lets his gaze wander over the buildings, trying to block out the many flashing billboards on the walls. They advertise designer drugs, cybernetic enhancements, and trips to distant countries. Nothing Jimin could ever afford. 

These ads are not meant for him anyway because, technically, he doesn’t belong here. 

The city he’s looking at right now from above, with its flashing lights and neon signs and high end restaurants and expensive bars— this is technically not his city. His city lies deeper, hidden in the dark alleys between the buildings, nestled in the shadows of the outskirts, covered by a blanket of neglect and poverty, not forgotten but mostly ignored by the people who live in these flashy parts. 

They know he doesn’t belong here. 

He’s reminded of that fact the moment he has descended the stairs and steps onto the streets a few minutes later, making his way back home. They stare at him, looking him up and down with disgust on their perfectly crafted faces, painted with makeup, their enhanced eyes studying him, analyzing him—They wrinkle their noses when they smell his poverty.

Jimin pulls his hood lower and buries his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, quickening his steps. Even though it’s been like this all his life, he’s never gotten used to the feeling of shame that creeps up his spine at those looks. 

Burying his nose in the collar of his jacket, he can smell the remnants of his own heat, the slightest hint of needy omega pheromones that he hasn’t managed to wash off entirely. 

They bother him, reminding him of the fact why he’s actually here, why he’s made his way to the rich parts of the city to begin with. 

He wanted to have a talk with the guy who sold him those weak as fuck scent blockers a week ago. He was not really surprised to find the shop dark and empty. Most likely a swindler, moving from city to city to make a quick buck with fake stuff, who quickly leaves before anyone can beat his ass for selling counterfeit products. 

And hell, would Jimin have beaten his ass. 

He panicked when the place he usually got his pills from had closed down without any prior notice. And unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to look into finding a new place. He had a big fight coming up only a day later, so he needed blockers and he needed them quick. 

Some would say it was his own fault for trusting a guy who reeked of back-alley dealer, but he was desperate. And unlike others here, he doesn't judge people from a first impression. 

In the beginning the medication even seemed to work, until— 

Well, until it didn’t. 

Jimin rounds a corner, finally leaving the glitz and glam of the flashy streets behind, disappearing into the shadows of two buildings. He makes his way down narrow pathways, walking deeper and deeper into the underground. 

It’s like a gritty labyrinth of forgotten dreams. Here, he knows every pothole, every crack in the concrete, every weathered facade. The buildings’ once-vibrant colors have long faded into murky grays and browns, cracked windows and dead neon signs telling stories of businesses long gone. 

The air smells sour, of decay and broken dreams. Here, Jimin is home. 

The dark streets, only illuminated by a couple of cold flickering streetlights, are relatively empty. Here and there Jimin steps over drunks, passed out on the side of the road, every now and then he hears the muffled sounds of laughter coming through badly isolated windows, accompanied by the tinny noises of TVs.

And then there are the footsteps behind him.

Jimin has long noticed that he’s being followed, has been smelling them trailing after him for quite a while now. 

He’s not surprised. It was only a matter of time after all, and he knew walking around the flashy parts of town, where he sticks out like a sore thumb, was a risk. He’s even waited for it in a strange resigned way. Better to get the inevitable over with quickly, right? Still, his heart starts pounding in his throat. 

They must’ve noticed that he has noticed them, yet they don’t approach him, following him from a distance until he reaches his run-down apartment building. 

Jimin steps into the dimly lit hallway, his back rigid with tension, cold sweat collecting on his brow as he makes his way up the stairs, the muted sound of distant footsteps following him. 

As he fumbles with the lock of his apartment door, a chilly breeze sweeps through the corridor, sending a shiver down his spine. The footsteps in the stairwell come closer and from the sounds of it they must’ve just reached his floor when the lock finally turns, letting him step inside. 

Closing the door behind him, Jimin leans against it, catching his breath. For a second, he lets himself be wrapped in the temporary sanctuary of his home, the familiar sight, the familiar smell, the hollow thud of his racing heart loud in his ears. 

He counts to ten. 

When the knock comes, it’s a mere formality. They could break his door down if they wanted to. 

He hesitates for only a second, squashing the urge to run and hide, before he turns around and opens the door, coming face to face with three imposing figures, masked and dressed in dark expensive suits that seem terribly out of place in his rundown building.

“Park Jimin,” one of them says, pulling his jacket to the side to flash him a glimpse of a silver gun. “The boss wants to see you.”  

While the building he's taken to, located in the North of the rich parts of town, seems rather simple from the outside – clearly to avoid drawing attention – the insides are anything but. 

Followed by the eyes of countless surveillance cameras, Jimin is led through a labyrinth of gleaming corridors. His sneakers squeak on the marvel floors as he’s ushered through several checkpoints with advanced security measures, frisked twice under the light of glittering chandeliers, and finally led to a heavy mahogany double door, guarded by two stoic looking alphas, who open it for him, pushing him inside. 

Jimin is greeted by the lingering scent of premium tobacco, earthy notes of wood, and a hint of spicy sweetness. It smells unmistakably of alpha, which – this fresh out of his heat – makes his skin tingle a little.

He stops and stares at the luxurious interior. The room is dimly lit, curtains drawn close, the walls covered in dark wood paneling. On one side of the room, leather-upholstered furniture – a wide sofa and several armchairs – is arranged around a low table. On the other side, a collection of premium spirits and neatly arranged glasses line the wall, the bottles gleaming under the warm light, right behind the polished counter of a wooden bar. 

And leaning against said counter, appraising him with dark calculating eyes, is the man who demanded his presence.

The big boss. The crime lord who owns the underground fighting ring Jimin partakes in. 

He has seen Jeon Jungkook only a few times before. 

The first time was on the day he auditioned as a fighter, a decision that hadn’t come easy to him. Not because he feared the actual fighting — years of living on the streets toughened him up — but because of the risks that came with disguising himself as an alpha, the risk of what would happen to him if anyone in that shady business ever found out that he was an omega. 

At the time, he had reached a new low. No money, no home, no food— He heard underground cage fighting could be pretty lucrative if you were good at it, and so he decided to spend his very last coin on blockers and some artificial alpha-pheromone spray to give it a try. 

When he arrived at the club, he was one of many. Dozens of alphas tried their luck that day. 

The people in charge made them fight against each other on thin mats scattered across the room, Jeon Jungkook and some other important looking figures making their rounds, evaluating them. 

It smelled so much of alpha that Jimin got dizzy but one particular scent stood out the most. 

Jeon Jungkook smelled of amber, black pepper, leather, and something metallic, warm and rich and expensive. His alpha pheromones were heavy, lingering for quite a while whenever he passed by Jimin’s mat. He smelled of authority and power and it didn’t take long for Jimin to understand that everything revolved around him. 

The people he was walking with clung to his every word, the alphas who auditioned with Jimin openly stared at him. Just like Jimin did. 

The only difference was that the alphas stared at him in awe, that they stared because they wanted to be him. 

Jimin stared because he wanted him. 

Not often had he felt such a pull before. One whiff of that powerful scent and his omega was on its knees. It was distracting and had gotten so bad by the end, that Jimin messed up quite a bit during his last fight. He thought he had blown his chances and was legitimately surprised when, at the end of the day, he was handed a contract. 

He signed it immediately. 

After that, he had seen Jeon Jungkook a couple of times at the club where the fights took place, usually watching with his dark calculating eyes from the VIP lounge above, always holding a glass filled with amber liquid between his long fingers, always surrounded by security. 

It went well. Jimin adapted quickly to the all-alpha environment. He watched and observed, took note of how they moved, how they interacted with each other, and soon he blended in seamlessly. 

He quickly became the best fighter in the ring, the continuous prize money allowing him to rent a small apartment and have regular meals. 

Everything went well.

Until it went down the drain, because the shop he usually got his blockers from closed down, forcing him to buy knock-offs from a fucking swindler.

Jimin jumps when the heavy door falls shut behind him, danger prickling in his neck when his eyes meet the alpha’s. 

The other’s suit jacket is draped over one of the barstools next to him, his white dress shirt stretching over his muscular chest, a stark contrast to the black straps of his gun holster. The top button of the shirt is left open, allowing a glimpse of collarbone, a black tie hanging loosely around his neck. He stands with his back against the bar, his hands casually disappearing in the pockets of his tailored trousers, sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos on golden skin.

His posture exudes a mix of confidence and nonchalance. The posture of someone who’s aware of his own authority. 

Two crystal glasses and a bottle with dark golden liquid are placed beside him on the counter. 

“Come here.” 

The low, velvety voice makes Jimin’s toes curl in his shoes. For a moment, the instruction hangs in the air, then he moves, approaching the bar slowly, his posture stiff, his shoulders tense, his heart beating heavier and heavier with each step.  

When he comes to a halt in front of the other, he’s looked up and down for a few silent moments, tension hanging in the air. This close, he can smell the alpha’s scent and tries to breathe as shallowly as possible when he notices his omega perking up in interest at this inappropriate moment.

The boss eventually jerks his chin at one of the barstools in a silent command to sit down. 

Jimin swallows thickly, his fingers clammy when he pulls the stool back before climbing on top of it. Then he sits there awkwardly, both hands curling around the edge of the bar top. From the corner of his eyes, he sees the alpha opening the bottle and pouring the amber liquid in both glasses. The air fills with the heavy scent of whiskey. 

When one of the glasses is pushed in front of him, Jimin just stares at it. 

“Drink.” 

He’s not much of a drinker but he doesn't think it's his place to decline. The glass is cool under his touch as he brings it to his lips, taking a sip, and the liquid surprisingly smooth when he swallows it down, burning in his throat only slightly, filling him with warmth. 

He startles when a phone is placed on the polished counter in front of him. 

His drink almost slips from his hold, the hairs on his arms rising, when he’s greeted with a paused video of a very familiar fighting cage, illuminated in blue neon light.  

Mortification makes his face burn hot.  

He should’ve known someone filmed the incident. 

A long finger taps the screen and the video starts playing, the sounds of a noisy crowd ringing from the speakers. 

Oh God, he can't do this.

Hastily, he places his glass down, turning to look at the other.

“I-”

“Watch,” Jeon Jungkook interrupts, the tone in his voice sharp. He’s standing unsettlingly close, facing Jimin with one arm propped on the counter, swirling his whiskey around.

Jimin bites his tongue and brings his attention back to the screen, where the disaster unfolds. He watches himself and his opponent fight and he can pinpoint the exact moment the blockers stop working. He can pinpoint the exact moment the alpha in the video smells Jimin’s omega pheromones. He can pinpoint the exact moment he smells the pheromones his opponent starts releasing, probably unconsciously. 

Jimin had known it was a bad idea to agree to a fight that close to his heat.

Those stupid scent blockers.

If they would’ve worked and his opponent wouldn’t have gotten a whiff of his omega scent and wouldn’t have released his own aggressive alpha scent in turn, Jimin wouldn’t have gotten all dizzy and hot. He wouldn’t have let the guy tackle him to the ground and bury his face in his neck. He wouldn’t have gotten hard. He wouldn’t have turned around and mindlessly presented like that, with his ass in the air, slick wetting his sweatpants. If his blockers would've worked, he wouldn’t have been pushed into his heat early by the sudden onslaught of various different scents. Pheromones released by every alpha in the audience at the sight of an unmated omega in heat, right there in that cage. 

He watches his opponent being pulled off of him, watches himself getting pulled to his feet. He can tell the moment clarity washes over video-Jimin and is still proud of himself for being able to shake everyone off and making a sprint for it. He just about made it home that night. 

The video stops and heavy silence settles around them. Jimin swallows drily, his heart hammering in his throat. Eventually, the silence is broken by the sound of Jeon Jungkook placing his glass on the counter, pushing himself off. 

He disappears from the corner of Jimin's eyes, slowly stepping around and coming up behind him. Jimin jumps when hands find their way to his shoulders, squeezing harshly, the sensation of hot breath puffing against the side of his neck making his toes curl. Dark hair brushes his skin, then the alpha inhales deeply to take in his scent. An inappropriate gesture between people who don’t know each other well.

“Tell me, omega—” He purrs over the pulsing in Jimin’s ears. “Do you know how much money was riding on you for that fight?"

Of course Jimin knows. "Forty-seven thousand," he mumbles.

“Forty-seven thousand,” the boss hums before he grabs Jimin’s barstool, swiveling it around with Jimin on top of it until they come face to face. “Forty-seven thousand lost. Not to mention all the investors who have pulled out entirely after your little—spectacle.” 

Jimin’s breath hitches when fingers tangle in his hair, yanking his head back.

“I don't care that you lied about being an alpha.” Jungkook’s tone drops lower, a shadow crossing his features. “But I care that you made a fool out of me and my club by letting yourself be caught like that.” His grip tightens. “My best fighter—Going into heat, in the middle of a match, submitting like a fucking bitch." 

Jimin’s face is burning hot.

“So—” Jungkook’s grip loosens, fingertips sliding down the side of his flushed neck and over his scent gland, sending a wave of heat through his middle, his heart skipping a beat. The other must’ve smelled it because a slow grin forms on his lips, before he straightens up, looking down at Jimin. “How are you gonna pay me back?” 

Jimin's mouth is dry and he shakes his head, his skin tingling where the alpha had touched him.

“I don’t know—”

He can’t possibly pay that much money. 

The other chuckles, his gaze trailing over Jimin’s face, briefly pausing on his lips, before wandering lower. 

“You’re easy on the eyes,” he eventually says and Jimin’s stupid stupid omega preens, having no clue what kind of situation they are in right now. “Maybe a bit unconventionally so—” Jungkook eyes his defined arm muscles, nowhere near as big as the alpha's, but something you don't see on an omega often. ”But pretty nonetheless. And your scent—” He cocks his head to the side, looking genuinely curious. “What exactly is it?”

Jimin wets his lips. “Orange Blossoms.”

“Ah, a rare one.” The other is standing so close that he's practically standing between Jimin's parted legs, his presence imposing. “Male omegas are worth quite a pretty penny, especially with a scent like that. I'd have that money back in no time if I rented you out to some rich alphas.” 

Jimin shudders inwardly but doesn't dare to react. The lack of response seems to amuse Jungkook.

“What?” He takes a step back with a grin, his hands casually disappearing in the pockets of his trousers again. “Not gonna beg me not to do it?”

Jimin almost laughs.

“Would begging make a difference?”

He knows he has no say in any of this. He signed a contract when he started fighting for Jeon Jungkook, he signed over all his rights. Jeon Jungkook owns him and can do with him however he pleases.

The alpha's grin widens, white teeth flashing as his gaze wanders over Jimin’s body once more. 

“Well, I do enjoy it when people beg me for mercy.” He reaches for his glass on the counter behind Jimin, leaning in close while doing so, their noses almost touching. “Especially the pretty ones.”

When he pulls back, Jimin feels dizzy. He bites his tongue in an attempt to ground himself.

“Now—luckily for you, I already thought of another way how you can pay me back.” His eyes burn into Jimin over the rim of his glass when he takes a sip. 

Jimin sits up taller on his stool, trying his best to keep his features neutral as he waits for the other to go on. Jungkook chuckles at the lack of reaction. Then he turns and makes his way across the dimly lit room, the tap of his polished dress shoes soft against the carpet. 

When he passes the seating area, he sets down his half-empty glass on the table, before moving on to an antique cabinet tucked away in the corner. Jimin watches with a sense of dread as Jungkook retrieves something from the top drawer before turning back around, his eyes sparkling when he approaches Jimin again and Jimin catches the faint gleam of gold in his hand. 

Once again, Jungkook stops awfully close in front of him and Jimin’s gaze drops between them when the other holds the thing up for him to see. His eyes narrow.  

A familiar collar dangles from Jungkook’s slender fingers.  

It’s made from smooth leather, in the color of a rich burgundy red, its edges carefully stitched. There is a prominent golden pendant attached at the front in the form of Jeon Jungkook’s logo, sleek and simple, reminding of an infinity symbol. 

Jimin feels his jaw twitch in annoyance. 

He understands the unspoken hierarchy at the club, where these types of collars signify a particular role reserved for omega-employees. The collar would brand Jimin as part of the staff – a bartender or waiter – tasked with catering to the alpha-guests. It’s a role that comes with dismissive glances and condescending attitudes at best, and unwanted touches and harassment at worst. 

Jimin feels a dull shudder of embarrassment at the thought of catering to those who saw him fight disguised as an alpha for years. Even worse, he’d also have to serve all the alphas he fought and won against. Those fuckers would have a field day.

“No,” he blurts. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up. “No?” He laughs. “What exactly makes you think this was an offer? You’ll have to pay off your debt, omega. And you should be grateful that this is how you’ll do it.”

The collar jangles in his hold.  

Jimin bites down on the inside of his cheek. He knows this isn’t just about him paying off a debt. It’s a calculated punishment. It’s him being made an example of, meant to emphasize his place in this world. He’s become the talk of the club, the omega who made the boss look like a fool. Of course Jungkook won’t allow him to get away without any consequences. 

He’s an omega in a world ruled by alphas. Nothing more, nothing less. Still, a sliver of defiance makes him speak up. 

“I could do other things—” 

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “Ah, and what would those things be?” 

Jimin opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words, somehow feeling put on the spot and very hot under the other’s dark gaze. 

“It’s easy,” Jungkook says nonchalantly. “You work for me, your salary will be deducted from your debt. Work hard, and you might be free in—say, five or six years.”

Jimin is very well aware how these types of arrangements work and doubts that Jungkook would just let him go, even after his debt is settled. On top of that—

“I have rent to pay. Food to buy,” he argues. “If all my salary goes back to you, I won’t-” 

“Use your salary as you please.” Jungkook shrugs, his tone bordering on indifference. “Just know it’ll take longer to settle your debt.”

His casual dismissal annoys Jimin. 

“This isn’t-,” he starts, but the other cuts him off bluntly. 

“You should consider yourself lucky, Jimin.” It’s the first time he has used his name and the sound of it sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “I’m offering you a job. A relatively easy one at that.” 

“You’re throwing me into a den of wolves,” he retorts in another rush of defiance.  

Jungkook’s laughter echoes through the dimly lit room.  “Now now—Don’t tell me you consider yourself a sheep.” 

Jimin, of course, is too proud to admit any vulnerability, so he just presses his lips together and stares at the other, refusing to lower his gaze even when the alpha’s grin widens. Everything inside Jimin is revolting at the idea of wearing that collar, coiling into an ugly lump of fury that grows and grows until it’s about to explode. 

The collar is a symbol of submission and servitude. And he’s not one to submit or bow to anyone’s will. He’s a fighter, for fuck’s sake. 

Then again, there isn’t much he can do. He knew the risks and he fucked up. It’s his own fault that he was caught and, unfortunately, the boss is right. As uncomfortable and embarrassing as it will be, there could be a lot worse than being hired as a server at the club. 

The charged silence makes his skin crawl and he hates how the boss’s eyes sparkle with amusement when he reluctantly reaches out for the collar, his hand not at all as steady as he would’ve hoped. 

Just when his fingertips brush over the smooth leather, the alpha pulls the collar out of his reach and, with a subtle raise of an eyebrow, makes a circular motion with his index finger, commanding Jimin to turn. 

Jimin’s jaw strains from how hard he’s grinding his teeth as he reluctantly swivels around on his chair, his hands clutching the counter of the bar top. His pulse pounds in his ears, all his muscles tight with anticipation when Jungkook steps up behind him, his presence like a heavy weight. There is a brush of fingers against his neck, followed by the soft touch of the burgundy collar on his skin. It wraps around his throat – snug and unyielding – and Jimin is overly aware of every inch of skin that it covers. 

The gentle click of the collar’s clasp rings through the room with finality. 

Jungkook’s breath fans over his ear, followed by a low murmur. "There we go.” 

Jimin swallows heavily. 

It feels like time is standing still. Yet everything has changed. 

Jimin tries to drown out the flickering neon lights and the steady thump of music, but by now – almost three hours into his shift – the relentless beat reverberating through his head has long created an uncomfortable ache in his temples. The increasing sound of laughter and chatter and the occasional clinking of glasses isn’t helping either.

The first two fights are already over and the big one of the night is coming up, which is why it gets busier by the minute, more and more people trickling in, crowding around the low platform of the fighting ring, as close as they are allowed to the thick mesh netting. 

Jimin never realized how much the ring looks like an actual cage from the outside. 

The scent of alcohol, sweat, and pheromones mingle in the air, sharp and aggressive, and they trigger Jimin’s instincts, adrenaline pumping through his veins, his body ready to step into that ring, ready to fight.

And even though that’s technically not what he’s here for today – he won’t be allowed to fight in that ring ever again – he still feels like he’s navigating a battlefield, the weight of the collar foreign and uncomfortable around his neck, attracting covered glances and lingering stares. 

Tonight, not the fight but he is the talk of the club. The constant punchline of an unspoken joke. 

Over the music throbbing loudly around him, he catches fragments of conversation, snippets of gossip. The hushed words and not-so-subtle laughs make his skin prickle, discomfort mixing with crawling embarrassment and boiling anger in the pit of his stomach.

By some he’s regarded with curiosity, maybe even pity. Others – especially his former opponents – regard him with amusement and superiority. Their eyes trail over the collar before they meet his, usually with a subtle raise of brow. Their looks are challenging him, testing his pride, non-stop adding to the shame he’s desperately trying to mask, additionally to suppressing his growing urge to bash their stupid faces in. 

He’s not the only omega mixing drinks behind the bar right now, but of course most of those fuckers order from him. Of course they also make a point of releasing all their disgusting alpha pheromones during their overly nonchalant orders of beer and scotch-sour, looking him up and down like vultures. 

Jimin knows what they see. 

They don’t see the appearance of a typical omega. Jimin is not as small and dainty as the others, and has, for his whole life, never been overly popular with alphas. His face might be rather pretty, sure, but he's a bit too rough around the edges, to strong, too blunt.

Still, these alphas right now are looking at him hungrily. They want to fuck him. Jimin can tell from the way they leer at him, from the slow way they drag their eyes over his body. 

He knows they don't necessarily want to fuck him because they are attracted to him but because they want to put him in his place. They want to hold him down and have their way with him, want to show him that they are superior, no matter how many times he’s beaten them on the mat. Ultimately, they stand above him. 

Jimin hates how his palms start sweating from the glances and the pheromones, hates how uncomfortable those guys manage to make him feel just by looking. 

“Don’t tell me you consider yourself a sheep.” 

At the memory, his eyes snap up to the VIP lounge — a balcony, all made of glass, overlooking the ring and the crowd below, an area only accessible for the club’s high-profile patrons. 

For the past years, Jeon Jungkook has never visited the club on a random Tuesday. But tonight, of course, he’s here. And he’s watching too, observing Jimin from a distance. 

His presence feels like a constant weight, making Jimin overly aware of his every move while preparing the drinks. Every measured pour, every tense exchange with the guests, feels like a performance being evaluated and scrutinized.  

Whenever their eyes meet, Jimin’s skin buzzes with an uncomfortable sensation, something close to electric. Just like right now. 

Jungkook’s eyes gleam almost predatory and even in the darkness and the flickering lights, casting shadows across his face, Jimin is still able to notice the slight curve of amusement on his lips, as if he’s enjoying Jimin’s discomfort. Which is not surprising, since this is exactly why he’s made him do this in the first place. To punish him.

As per usual, the alpha is dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, pinstriped this time and fitting him like a glove, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders and the defined lines of his waist. Right now he’s leaning back in his chair in a nonchalant display of power, his fingers tapping against the armrest in the rhythm of the music, while he’s holding his usual amber-colored drink in the other hand.

His presence draws attention, as it always does. From the other VIPs approaching him, eagerly trying to engage him in conversations, to the club-goers and fighters on the main floor gawking at him from below— Everyone is aware he’s here, trying to catch his eyes, his time, a word, or at least a fleeting acknowledgement. 

But his attention is on Jimin alone. 

A few exchanged words with a VIP here, a polite smile there, and then the alpha’s gaze – like a fucking compass needle – swings back to him. 

Jimin hates the small swell of pride that’s been forming in his chest.

It’s his omega – overwhelmed and overstimulated by the many alpha-pheromones around them – noticing the attention of the most powerful alpha in the room. It’s interested. Very interested. To the point where stifling his omega’s eagerness and squashing his instincts is a whole battle on top of the one he’s already in. 

And as if Jeon Jungkook is aware of what he’s doing to Jimin’s omega, he keeps fueling the fire by dragging his gaze up and down Jimin’s form in an appraising way, with an expression that holds something dark and intense, his eyes trailing the lines of his form-fitting black shirt and tight trousers. 

Jimin huffs and averts his gaze, wiping a bead of sweat from his neck, his fingers grazing the smooth leather of the collar while doing so. 

He really needs a break.

Thankfully, that’s when the announcement of the next fight echoes through the club, the crowd’s attention collectively shifting towards the ring as they draw back from the bar and more towards the center of the room, taking at least some of the overwhelming alpha-pheromones with them. 

Jimin exhales a sigh of relief, finally feeling like he’s able to breathe again. He starts wiping the bar down as the bell rings to announce the start of the fight, not able to see anything from back here anyway. 

Unfortunately, the peace is rather short-lived. 

From the corner of his eyes, he catches a presence closing in and when he looks up, he’s met with the smirking face of an alpha he’s faced in the ring multiple times before. He doesn’t remember his name. Ye-something. His eyes gleam with something challenging when he leans against the bar. 

“Well, well—The undefeated Park Jimin,” he drawls with a grin, his eyes dropping to Jimin’s neck. “An omega.” He laughs mockingly. “Be honest, how much did you really enjoy our fights?” 

Jimin pauses mid-wiping the counter and rolls his eyes. This isn’t the first time tonight one of his former opponents insinuated that Jimin – because of his omega nature – of course must’ve gotten off to ‘rolling around’ with them on the mat. Disgusting arrogant assholes. 

“Our fights?” He retorts, his tone sarcastic. “I don’t recall much fighting going on, I just remember you losing over and over again.” 

The other’s eyes narrow, his laughter fading into a scowl. Then he scoffs and when he speaks up again, his voice drips with provocation. 

“Is that a way to talk to your superiors?” 

Jimin’s fist tightens around the towel, a bitter taste spreading in his mouth and he swallows it down, together with the flaring anger. “If repeatedly losing to an omega makes you a superior, then by all means, bask in your glory.” 

The alpha’s expression darkens and only a second later he leans in, right into Jimin’s personal space. “You must’ve forgotten your place again, Park,” he hisses. “You're a toy for alphas. A toy for me.” Before Jimin can retort anything, he hooks his fingers under the collar around Jimin’s neck, pulling him in roughly, making Jimin’s jaw clench. “Maybe I should remind you.” 

Jimin’s instincts flare up, telling him to shove the guy off, to punch him, maybe knee him in the face while he’s at it—But he surely won’t get away with another mishap. If he causes yet another scene, he might really end up as that alpha’s plaything for all he knows. So he just curls his fingers around the counter in an attempt to ground himself, to hold himself back, locking his jaw, grinding his teeth.

A grin spreads on the other’s lips at Jimin’s silence. “That what I thought, you-” 

“Whiskey. Neat.” 

They both startle at the sudden interruption, turning their heads. 

Immediately, there is a shift in the atmosphere, the air filling with the scent of amber and leather. 

“Boss,” the alpha gasps, releasing his grip on Jimin’s collar and taking a step back. 

Jungkook's presence is large and intimidating, even though his hands are casually tucked into his pockets, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, tattoos on display. His gaze cuts back and forth between them before it settles on the alpha. 

He takes another step in.

“Do you know what that sign on the wall means?” He addresses the guy, his voice holding an icy edge as he jerks his chin at the wall to their left, where his infinity-shaped logo bathes the surface in a pulsating neon glow.

A pregnant pause follows, filling with cheers and shouts as the fight in the center seems to reach a pivotal moment, the weight of Jungkook's question lingering heavily in the air. 

The alpha, visibly uneasy, stammers out his response. "That—you own this club?"

Jungkook hums, leaning in closer, his tone unwavering. "And what do you think this means?" 

Before Jimin can even flinch back, a hand reaches out for his neck, fingers flicking the pendant on the collar. The same sign, golden in color.

The alpha’s eyes dart back and forth between the collar and Jungkook’s face. “I-I didn’t—I was just messing around, boss—”

Jungkook straightens, the atmosphere crackling with authority. 

“Messing around with what I own has consequences.” He pauses, cocking his head. “Consider this a warning.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Now—feel free to enjoy the rest of the show.” 

The alpha nods frantically and scurries away, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone at the bar. The flickering lights cast glow after glow over the other’s features as his attention shifts towards Jimin, making him tense. For a moment he looks at him almost expectantly and when Jimin just keeps standing there, staring back blankly, he huffs. 

“Whiskey, I said. Neat.” 

Jimin blinks with a frown, his mouth again jumping into action before his brain does. “Is your personal service upstairs not working?” 

Jungkook chuckles, propping his elbows on the counter. “Why? Hoping to take up the job?” 

His pheromones hang thick and heavy around them, not entirely unpleasant, and hard for Jimin to ignore. 

He glares at the alpha before reaching for a bottle of premium whiskey and pouring the it into a fresh glass. When he places it down in front of Jungkook, the boss quickly grabs it, enveloping Jimin’s hand under his fingers.

“No thanks for helping you out there?” 

That has Jimin scoff, pulling his hand away, ignoring the lingering warmth of the touch.  

“I didn’t need your help.” 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Didn’t need my help, or didn’t want it?" He swirls the whiskey in his glass, studying Jimin's reaction.

Jimin meets his gaze, refusing to back down. "Let’s go with both. I can handle myself."

The corners of Jungkook’s lips twitch in amusement. "You’ve got a mouth on you, Jimin. I like that." He sighs before taking a small sip. “But dishonesty doesn’t suit you.” 

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. In reality, though, he knows Jungkook is right. It’s not that he can’t handle himself physically here. He could beat all those fuckers into a pulp if he wanted to. It’s the societal constraints that hold him back, the weight of that collar around his neck, his position just above the bottom of the food chain and the fear of ending up at the very bottom if he’s too rebellious, if he doesn’t give in to this role until he’s free of his debt. 

“Why interfere anyway?” He mumbles, closing the bottle and putting it back on the shelf. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” 

Isn’t this my punishment? He thinks. 

For a moment, heavy silence hangs in the air, and as Jimin turns to look at Jungkook, he catches a fleeting look flickering across the alpha's expression—an emotion he can't quite pinpoint. The scent surrounding him momentarily shifts, something blending in that reminds Jimin of—of unease? Of uncertainty? It lingers only for the briefest of seconds.

A heartbeat later, the other appears to have shaken off whatever had been going on inside him. 

"To be honest," he shrugs, swirling his glass once more. "It was kinda sad to see you like that." He throws Jimin one last lingering glance, before he turns around, making his way back upstairs to the VIP lounge.

As the days pass, the frequency of Jeon Jungkook’s appearances at the club increases, as well as the gossip about said fact.

Every time the alpha descends the stairs from the VIP lounge and steps into the bustling activity on the main floor, it’s as if everyone is collectively holding their breath, watching what he will do. Every time he makes his way to the bar where Jimin is working, the whispers start. Yet, nobody dares to say anything. Even though everyone is still quick to cast condescending glances at Jimin, they now hesitate to openly talk shit to him, as if the weight of Jungkook’s interest in Jimin acts like an invisible shield, even when the alpha is not present.

Jimin doesn’t like it and he can’t shake off the discomfort that lingers with each of Jungkook’s visits. He doesn’t like this unspoken protection granted by the alpha. To him it’s nothing but a reminder of the power dynamic at play.  

Jungkook, on the other hand, seems to enjoy himself greatly. Whenever he’s talking to Jimin, he walks a fine line between banter and provocation, teasing and taunting him, trying to get him to snap, or at least to elicit any type of reaction from him. Whether it’s sly remarks about Jimin’s status or subtle jabs at his bartending style, the alpha seems intent on testing the limits. 

Jimin’s responses, in stubborn refusal to let the other get under his skin, are usually so curt that they could be considered rude. He too is testing the limits. How rude can he be before that dangerous glint flashes in Jungkook’s eyes? How dismissive until the alpha’s pheromones speak of a type of displeasure that Jimin knows is teetering the line of something dangerous. 

As the weeks go by, he gets to know that line pretty well, knows how to navigate it, and, for the most part, he remains unwavering, not letting the alpha rattle his composure. 

Unfortunately though, as the weeks go by, something else gets increasingly harder to ignore. 

Beneath the surface of Jungkook’s teasing – while being mean and arrogant at times – flows an undercurrent of charm that Jimin tries to drown out. Yet, after a while, there’s no denying it. There is this—this magnetic pull to Jungkook’s presence. The alpha, with his dangerous and confident demeanor, attracts not only Jimin’s omega. No matter how hard Jimin tries to ignore it, the undeniable truth lingers: He is attracted to him as well. 

Jungkook’s teasing is like a dance that stirs something in him. Added are the touches here and there. Sometimes subtle, like grazes of fingers over his hand when he hands Jungkook a drink, sending shivers down his spine, sometimes more straightforward, sometimes even harshly so.

Just like right now. 

Jimin doesn’t even remember what they’ve been talking about, because the moment the alpha reached over the counter and pulled him in by his burgundy collar until their faces were so close that their noses were almost touching, his brain ceased to function. 

Jungkook smells of rich leather and something warm, a heady combination that makes Jimin’s heart beat faster, pulsing in sync with the rhythm of the music. The alpha’s lips are curled up in a playful smirk, something challenging lingering in his gaze as his eyes travel over Jimin’s face, dropping to his lips. The air suddenly feels charged with electricity. 

“Careful, omega,” Jungkook’s voice is nothing but a husky whisper. “I’m not like the others. I’d have you on your back on the mat in less than a minute.” 

Ah, yeah. They were talking about fighting styles and Jimin might’ve straight up said that he could take Jungkook in a fight – even though, now that he’s thinking about it, he’s never actually seen the alpha fight. Jimin licks his lips and watches the other’s eyes darken as they follow his tongue. He can’t deny the allure of this. This dangerous thrill that the thought of fighting a force like Jungkook brings. 

He takes a deep breath and is just about to retort something, when movement behind Jungkook catches his eyes. 

A shadow. 

A person, dressed in all black, with a hood obscuring their features, maneuvers through the crowd, quick and purposeful, clearly headed for them.

Jimin doesn’t know what exactly triggers it, but in a heartbeat, his instincts scream danger. 

When the stranger’s hand disappears in the pocket of his hood, he reacts on a sudden surge of primal energy. Fueled by adrenaline and his omega’s fierce determination to protect, he shoves Jungkook to the side just as the person takes a shot in their direction, the deafening sound echoing through the club, making people scream, followed by the sound of glass breaking behind Jimin. 

Without thinking twice, he vaults over the bar counter, throwing himself against the hooded figure, his heart racing as he tackles him – clearly a guy, judging from his physique – to the ground, twisting his arm onto his back as he throws his entire body weight on top of him. The gun clatters away, lost between running feet of people making their way to the exit in a wave of panic. 

The heavy smell of danger permeates the air, mingling with the smell of fear. The flickering lights cast erratic shadows, momentarily disorienting Jimin before his vision sharpens again. The hooded figure squirms beneath him, freeing his hand, desperately trying to reach for the gun on the floor, but he doesn’t get far. 

Jungkook brings his foot down on the attacker’s wrist, making him cry out in pain, before he – with an almost casual demeanor – bends down to retrieve the fallen weapon, turning it in his hand.

"Well, well," Jimin hears him mumble, his voice almost lost amidst the shouts of approaching security personnel. He seems to recognize the engravings on the weapon's handle. "Would you look at that."

Jimin is abruptly pulled away from the struggling guy as the security team takes control of the situation. Jungkook barks out orders to have the attacker escorted elsewhere, and then, with an intense stare, he addresses both his head of security and Jimin.

"You," he starts, his gaze sharp on the security chief. "And you.” His eyes snap to Jimin. "My office."

The door slams shut behind them, the atmosphere in the small office room, located two floors above the club, immediately tense. Judging from the smell, Jungkook doesn’t spend much time here. The air is like a blank canvas, just waiting to be filled with the hot smell of anger coming from the alpha. The pheromones make Jimin’s palms sweat, his omega squirming.

Jungkook’s head of security stands at attention, visibly sweating under the gaze of his infuriated boss too. 

"Explain to me—" Jungkook's voice is a low growl. “How the hell did someone manage to bring a gun into my club? And not just anyone, but someone with a clear intent to kill me." He steps up to the other, staring him down. “Remind me again why I’ve hired you.” 

There is something heavy in his scent that clogs Jimin’s throat, making it hard to breathe. This alpha is dangerous. This alpha is trouble. He swallows thickly, his toes curling in his shoes.

The head of security stammers out an apology, talking about a lapse in the usual security protocols. Jungkook doesn't seem satisfied, his jaw visibly tensing, his fingers flexing. He has loosened his tie and the top buttons of his shirt and Jimin can see the angry pulse in his throat. Something hot rushes through him at the sudden thought of wanting to press his lips there. He startles when the alpha’s eyes suddenly shift to him before snapping back to his security chief.

“Tell me how the fuck he—” He points at Jimin. “—a fucking omega – did a better job than my own fucking security team?!” 

"Really, Boss, it was a lapse. We're sorry, we'll make sure—"

Jungkook cuts him off with a raised hand. "Enough. Get out of my fucking sight and bring that guy to the basement. I’ll meet you there in five. Make sure everything is ready for questioning.”

“Yes, Boss." The guy scurries away. 

The moment the door has fallen shut, Jungkook is in front of Jimin, driving him backwards until his back hits the wall. 

“Care to explain yourself?” He hisses. 

His anger hangs heavy in the air. And Jimin is confused. 

“Explain myself? I—” His breath hitches when a large hand wraps around his throat, a thumb rubbing over the leather of his collar. “I saw the threat and acted on instinct. I-” 

Jungkook interrupts, his voice dripping with fury. "Instinct?!"

“Y-Yes, I—” Jimin frowns. “Why the hell are you angry at me?” Suddenly he feels annoyed and angry himself. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me for protecting you?”

The warning rumble that follows sends a shiver down Jimin's spine, shutting him up. There is a thrill in the air that makes head spin, and suddenly he's overly aware of the other's hold around his throat.

“I’ll deal with you later.” The alpha’s grip tightens, the press on his pulse point making Jimin’s heart race even faster, something hot growing in his middle. “Go home. I’ll have one of the guys give you a ride.” 

"But I—" 

“Shut it.” Jungkook snarls. "Do as I say, omega."

Something about Jungkook’s demeanor and his scent right now leave Jimin breathless. The heat in his belly grows thicker, pooling into his groin, and suddenly he really wants to tilt his head to the side and bear his neck and-

He almost makes a noise of complaint when Jungkook steps back before turning around and, without another look at Jimin, leaves the room in quick strides, the door slamming shut behind him. 

With a pounding heart Jimin waits for the footsteps in the hallway to have entirely disappeared. Then he lets the high-pitched whine slip from his throat that has been building up, his legs all jittery and weak.

He sinks to the ground and the moment his knees make contact with the floor, he feels the wetness trickling out of him, sliding into his underwear. 

His face burns with shame. 

He hasn’t leaked into his pants like this ever since he was a teenager. 

When Jungkook said he'll deal with Jimin later, Jimin didn't think he meant the next morning, let alone that he'd do so at Jimin's home.

He has half a mind to slam the door shut again when he comes face to face with his boss after a series of impatient knocks. Jungkook must've anticipated it, and before Jimin's mind has even fully formed the thought of closing the door again, the other places his hand flat against the wood, pushing against it. He’s not wearing his usual suit and dress shoes but jeans, a leather jacket, and boots, still reeking of expensive but looking surprisingly casual. 

“Good morning.”

Jimin, still in his pajamas, not entirely awake yet, his eyes swollen, doubts that this is going to be a good morning. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The alpha lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so surprised. I told you yesterday that I’ll deal with you later.” 

“You didn’t have to come all the way here to thank me.” 

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth twitch and his weight pushes the door open further when he leans in closer. “I’m not in the mood for games today, omega. Let me in.” 

Jimin hesitates but then he reluctantly steps aside, allowing Jungkook to enter. The alpha strides in like he owns the place, his eyes scanning the sparsely-furnished room, the kitchenette, the unmade bed in the corner, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the scents. Jimin knows what it smells like. Of omega and of poverty. It’s almost laughable how out of place Jeon Jungkook looks in here. 

“Probably not meeting your usual standards,” he remarks, not able to mask the irritation in his voice as he closes the door. “Feel free to leave anytime.”

An awkward silence lingers before Jungkook turns to face him.

“It’s—” He pauses. “Cozy.”

Jimin lets out a hollow laugh. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jeon Jungkook was attempting not to hurt his feelings.

“I’d offer you a seat but—” He makes a sweeping gesture. “As you can see there is not much room.” He crosses his arms. “So, again, what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Jungkook lets his eyes wander over the worn-out furniture once more before dragging his gaze over Jimin’s form and his simple pajamas. 

“I’m actually here to give you this.” He lifts his arm and only now Jimin notices the paper bag he’s holding. There’s a logo on it that Jimin vaguely recognizes. Some kind of luxury brand. 

“What’s this?” 

Jungkook holds the bag out to him. 

“It’s clothes.” 

Jimin narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“It’s something more fitting for your new type of work.” 

Jimin feels his face fall, his heart skipping a terrified beat, his skin growing cold. “What new type of work?” 

Jungkook chuckles. “Relax, I’m not whoring you out.”

Jimin grinds his teeth as the other goes on.

“From now on, instead of tending the bar, you will tend directly to me.” 

Jimin stares at him. “As your personal servant or what?” 

The alpha shrugs. “Call it whatever you want. You will tend the VIP lounge and accompany me to meetings. It’s a position with better pay, which I’m sure is in your interest, no? With your debt and—” He looks around.  “—this.” 

Jimin huffs. The offer stings his pride. 

“I’m nobody’s fucking personal servant,” he mumbles but snatches the bag from Jungkook’s hold anyway, peeking inside. He can’t make out much, only that the black fabric – even folded up like this – looks expensive as fuck. 

Jungkook smirks. “You’ll be compensated well and the job definitely won’t be worse than the usual bartending.” 

Jimin scowls, grappling with his pride. He can’t deny that the prospect of a better income has its allure but—there has to be a catch. Jungkook wouldn’t just offer- 

He freezes when it suddenly hits him. 

This is Jungkook’s way of thanking him, isn’t it? 

His gaze snaps up to meet the alpha’s and he’s met with an expression that borders on indifference, his dark eyes, studying Jimin in a way that – if anything – could be considered bored, giving nothing away. His scent is a blank canvas too, revealing no trace of emotion. But this doesn’t fool Jimin. It’s exactly this neutral facade on someone with such an impulsive character that’s giving away quite a lot. This is a thank you.  

Jimin sighs dismissively, letting the bag sink. “Fine,” he says, even though he wasn’t necessarily asked for agreement. “When do I start?” 

“Tonight, obviously,” the other says matter-of-factly, before making his way past Jimin. Even though his facial expression doesn’t betray anything, he smells weirdly pleased with himself. And then he’s gone as quickly as he came.

Serving in the VIP lounge means catering to elite patrons, most of them alphas of high status and influence, all of them people from the rich and flashy parts of town, most of them people Jimin despises. 

In his first couple of weeks working the VIP lounge, Jimin finds himself subjected to the same condescending glances and blatant stares that had haunted him on the floor below. Once more he’s followed by a constant whisper of conversations. Conversations about him being that fighter, who’s disguised himself as an alpha. Conversations about how shocking it is that a guy like Jimin is actually an omega. There is laughter whenever someone mentions how unappealing this much muscle is on an omega, and usually the people who’ve been laughing the loudest are the ones asking Jungkook how much a night with Jimin would cost only half a drink later, always shouting the question all across the room over the music, always followed by collective cheers and whistles. 

Jungkook’s responses are usually evasive, delivered with a sneer, and even here, among this upper class clientele, nobody dares to persist and ask again after being denied once. Even here, Jungkook holds some kind of authority. A fact that, paired with Jungkook not letting anyone have him, sparks a rush of excitement in Jimin’s omega. An excitement which Jimin hates himself for. 

He tries to tell himself that Jungkook is no different from all the others here. He’s no different from the wealthy folk living in the flashy parts of town. Just like them he’s oozing an aura of cruelty and corruption. Just like them, he’s looking down on Jimin. 

Yet, whenever their eyes meet, Jimin’s aversion is overshadowed by this forbidden attraction. Every day, Jungkook’s dangerous magnetic pull seems to draw him in closer, despite all his efforts to resist. 

Their interactions range from teasing banter to moments of unsettling intensity, the alpha clearly taking pleasure in keeping Jimin on his toes. 

"Already getting used to the high-class environment?" Jungkook smirks, catching Jimin examining an expensive bottle of wine on the shelf behind the bar. The label declares that it’s infused with other substances, a luxury Jimin has never seen in real life before, only advertised on uptown billboards.

He doesn't bother looking at the alpha as he responds. "Not really. Unlike you lot, I don’t care much for this type of stuff."

Jimin doesn’t do drugs. He rarely even drinks. First of all, because he can’t afford it. But mainly because he doesn’t like the feeling of being intoxicated, of losing control. 

Which is probably why he hates how Jungkook's presence makes him feel. All restless and careless, his stupid omega behaving the naivest it’s ever been. Jungkook is always pursuing control and it’s shocking how easily Jimin would give it to him.

The alpha chuckles. "Gotta appreciate a bit of luxury from time to time. Keeps life interesting."

Jimin shoots him a sharp look. "Is that so?"

Amusement dances in the alpha’s eyes. "Yes. Although—Of course there are many other things that keep life interesting as well." His gaze leisurely travels down Jimin's body and then back up, briefly lingering on the collar around his neck.

Before Jimin can retort anything else, the announcement for the next fight echoes through the room, and Jungkook – with one last amused glance at Jimin – disappears to his seat at the front of the lounge, right behind the window overlooking the ring. 

Jimin watches him go, willing the lingering heat in his stomach down. He would never admit it out loud, but from time to time he even enjoys their little games of verbal chess, the testing of boundaries, the push and pull. Interacting with Jungkook always comes with a thrill that Jimin has only ever experienced in the heat of the ring. With Jungkook though, there are no rules, and somehow the stakes seem even higher than they are in any physical fight. 

Jimin shakes himself out of it and sighs when one of the alphas on the other side of the room waves him over to order. 

After he’s been working here for a couple of weeks, he’s worked out the intricacies of serving in this exclusive space. He’s learned to anticipate and – begrudgingly – follow the demands and preferences of the VIPs. While the mix of luxury and underground violence – the sleek aesthetics clashing with the primal instincts on display in the ring below – have thrown him off a little at the beginning, now it’s nothing but a slightly surreal backdrop of his nightly routine, easily drowned out. 

The final fight of the night hasn’t even been announced when Jimin notices Jungkook striding towards the exit, flanked by two of his security personnel. He passes Jimin on his way out, who is just serving two glasses of champagne to an alpha pair that attends the club regularly. Jungkook nods at them in greeting before putting his hand on Jimin’s waist, leaning in, his hot breath on his ear making Jimin freeze. 

"Be here early tomorrow," he murmurs, his thumb tracing a spot where Jimin's shirt disappears beneath the belt around his waist. The touch is casual yet loaded with electric tension. "It'll be an important night."

The next day, only an hour into his shift, Jimin knows why Jungkook said the night was important. 

Cross-club fights are rare and usually only take place when two club owners have something to settle. Which seems to be the case tonight. 

Jimin doesn’t know the alpha seated beside Jungkook at one of the small tables at the front overseeing the ring, but just like Jungkook he reeks of wealth and power, obviously holding a position of authority. Jimin would bet everything that he’s the boss of the rival fight club. Despite the signs of aging, he’s still handsome. Most rich people are. Nowadays, if you have the financial means, you can stay good-looking until the day you die. 

In addition to him, there are numerous other unfamiliar faces, making the club noticeably busier than usual. The atmosphere crackles with anticipation, teetering between tension and aggression. Jimin’s senses are heightened, the hairs in his nape standing up, his body in a constant state of alertness at the sharp overpowering smell of alpha pheromones fighting for dominance. 

As the night progresses, while he and two other omega servers maneuver through the crowd – navigating back and forth between the tables and seats, taking orders, preparing drinks, and serving them to the patrons – Jimin can sense the mood getting tenser by the minute. The interactions between Jungkook and the other fight club owner are laced with barely concealed animosity, and he can’t help but wonder what the source of their dispute could be. He overhears snippets of conversations, catching words like “territory” and “challenge”, but can’t pick up any details. 

Jungkook, dressed surprisingly casual tonight, in black jeans and a tight black turtleneck, seems tense and annoyed, not sparing Jimin a single glance. His fingers are wrapped around his glass tightly, his jaw set, his attention focused on the ring below, where his fighter has just lost the first fight of the night. 

“Well, well, Jeon,” the other guy drawls, a smug grin playing on his lips as he puffs on a cigar, his gaze fixating on Jimin as Jimin collects a couple of empty glasses from the table, replacing them with filled ones. The smoke curls in the air, stinging his eyes. “I already heard you’ve had to let go of quite the gem from your collection. Are you sure you can keep up without him?” 

Jungkook, his lips tight, responds with a cold glare. “I don’t need him to win this. Most of my fighters are better than yours.” 

The statement stings Jimin’s pride but he swallows down his annoyance. Eager to escape the situation, he grabs his tray and is just about to turn around and leave, when a heavy arm lands on his shoulder. 

“Holy shit, is this who I think it is?” Someone drawls into his ear and when he turns his head, he recognizes a tall blond alpha who has been somewhere close to the rival fight club owner the entire night. Without a doubt his right-hand man. “The omega who cheated his way to the top in fights against alphas.” 

Jimin frowns. Cheated?! 

He just wants to open his mouth and tell the guy that he won all those fights fair and square but Jungkook’s voice interrupts him.

“Tell your man to let my waiters do their jobs, Lee.” He doesn’t even look at the alpha next to Jimin while doing so, a fact that clearly stings the guy’s pride, judging from the way his grip on Jimin’s shoulder tightens. 

The fight club owner – Lee – chuckles, puffing out another cloud of smoke. 

“Are you fond of him, Jeon?  Rumor has it you shipped him off to a trafficker in Europe. What a surprise to see him here, all alive and well after fucking you over like that.” 

Jungkook takes a long swig from his whiskey. “What I do to punish my people is none of your business.” 

The alpha next to Jimin barks out a laugh. “You’ve lost your touch, Jeon.” Then he sneers at Jimin, his hand wandering down the length of his back, until his fingers squeeze his ass rather painfully. Jimin freezes at the inappropriate touch and his grip on the tray tightens, his eyes narrowing. Oh, how badly he wants to slam it into that dude’s face. “Using him as a bartender. What a fucking waste.” 

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his gaze wandering to the spot where the other’s hand disappears behind Jimin’s lower back.

“Back off.” Even though his demeanor, leaning back in his chair like that, seems almost relaxed at first glance, there is a warning snide to his tone. 

“He seems a little lonely.” The fingers dig harder into Jimin’s ass cheek, making him clench his jaw in an attempt to stay calm and not cause a scene and beat that asshole into a bloody pulp. “Bet he could use some company.” The guy grins at Jungkook. “Care to share?” 

Jungkook’s gaze flicks between the guy and Jimin, and when their eyes meet, he looks at Jimin almost expectantly, as if he’s waiting for him to do something. When Jimin remains motionless, disappointment flickers across his features. He clicks his tongue. 

And then everything happens way too fast, unfolding at such a dizzying pace that Jimin struggles to keep up. 

With a shockingly casual motion, Jungkook draws a gun from his side, its black frame hidden against the black of his shirt, and aims it at Jimin and Lee’s right-hand man. 

Horror surges through Jimin and he dives to the side, the tray sliding from his hands, as the shot rings through the air, setting off immediate chaos.

Screams mix with the sounds of glass breaking, there are feet trampling everywhere, it smells of gunpowder and panic. 

A bruising grip around his upper arm pulls him up, shoving him against a hard chest. 

“Get him out of here,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through the tumult and as Jimin is ushered towards the exit by Jungkook’s security chief, he catches a fleeting glimpse of Lee’s right-hand man kneeling on the floor, glaring at Jungkook while holding his bleeding arm. Before Jimin can see what else is going on, more shots ring out and he quickly ducks his head, letting himself be guided through the frenzied crowd, his face cold, his heart racing. 

Jimin is pissed. 

“Let me out, for fuck’s sake!”

The pounding of his fist against the thick door reverberates through the room. The very room where he met Jungkook for the first time several weeks ago, just as dimly lit as back then, smelling just as much of wood, spicy sweetness, and alpha. He’s been locked up here for almost an hour and he’s losing his patience. 

With a frustrated huff, he lets his fist sink, glaring holes into the wood.

The longer he thinks about what had unfolded at the club, the angrier he gets. Jungkook almost shot him! If Jimin hadn’t jumped to the side just in time-

The sudden click of the lock turning makes him straighten up, taking a couple of steps back, his eyes narrowing as the door swings open. 

Jungkook strides into the room, bringing with him a whiff of gunpowder and blood. The sleeves of his black turtleneck are rolled up, the holster of his gun missing. 

“Sit down,” he orders, gesturing towards one of the armchairs on the other side of the room while making his way past Jimin and to the bar, the heavy door falling shut behind him. 

Jimin's jaw clenches at the command, the words spoken with a finality by someone who most likely can't even fathom that people not following his orders might be a possibility.

"What the hell was that back there?!" Jimin hisses, following the other across the dimly lit room.

Jungkook leans over the bar counter, retrieving a bottle of whiskey and a glass from somewhere behind it. 

"What do you mean?" he replies, his tone indifferent.

"You pointed a fucking gun at me!" Jimin comes to a halt right behind the alpha. "You could've shot me!"

Jungkook pauses, setting the bottle and glass down before turning around. "Oh, please," he snorts, feigning offense. "You really think I'm that bad of a shot?"

"What I think is that it was fucking unnecessary!"

Jungkook's eyes narrow with a dangerous glint. "You're sounding awfully ungrateful right now, Jimin."

"Why the hell would I be grateful?!"

"I helped you out there." 

Jimin huffs, crossing his arms. "I already told you, I can handle myself."

"Then why didn't you?" Jungkook's gaze pierces through him, his voice flat. "You just stood there, letting him touch you. You weren’t handling anything."

"I didn't—" Jimin's frown deepens. "How is that even your business?"

A muscle twitches in Jungkook's jaw and he steps closer. The scent of blood increases, heavy iron and a bit of gasoline. The smell of anger. His long fingers reach out, curling under Jimin's collar, giving it a subtle tug. 

"As long as you're wearing this—" He leans in, his breath grazing Jimin's skin. "Everything you do is my business. Don't forget that you owe me money, Park Jimin. It doesn't get more business than that."

The proximity makes Jimin's throat tighten, a needy whine threatening to escape. He swallows it down, squashing his scent, and musters up a glare instead. 

"Well, I didn't think I was allowed to."

Jungkook looks genuinely surprised at that, his brows arching. 

"Allowed to?" he echoes flatly, pulling back and reaching for the bottle. The room is soon filled with the rich scent of whiskey as he pours some into the glass.

"I didn't think you'd appreciate me causing a scene by—by handling myself." Jimin bites his tongue, debating whether to say what he’s about to next. “Again.” 

Jungkook leans back against the bar, a slow grin forming on his lips as he regards Jimin while swirling his drink around in lazy circles.  

"Oh, so you wanted to please me?” He chuckles. “That’s rather cute. Like an obedient puppy. I like that."

Jimin’s anger flares at the alpha’s condescending words, his cheeks heating up. Before he can retort anything, however, Jungkook cuts him off. 

"You hereby have my formal permission to punch any pushy or annoying alpha in the face," Jungkook declares, an edge of amusement in his voice. "Even at the club."

Jimin's response is a humorless laugh, his mouth moving again before his brain can keep up. "Does that include you?"

Jungkook chuckles, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes as they trail over the length of Jimin’s body. He licks his lips. "Feel free to try, omega. I'd be surprised if you managed to land a single punch."

The challenge sends something hot through Jimin’s veins. A familiar thrill rushing through his body. "You’re underestimating me. I can take you."

The moment the unintentionally suggestive words have left his lips, the atmosphere shifts, the air filling with something electric, buzzing on Jimin’s skin. Jungkook’s eyes narrow and he sets down his glass, pushing himself off the bar, stepping into Jimin’s space, his overwhelming scent making Jimin ball his fists, his heartbeat quickening. 

Jungkook’s words are an almost predatory growl. "How about we find out?"

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Still, Jimin raises an eyebrow in what he hopes is a challenging way. "What? Right here and now?"

"Why not?” Jungkook grins, his gaze wandering over Jimin’s face. “Unless you're scared."

Jimin huffs before taking a step in, feeling daring, his heart pounding in his ears. Like this, he has to crane his neck to look at the alpha, their faces inches apart.

“You don’t scare me.” 

It’s a lie. And Jungkook knows it. It’s evident in the way his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle before he licks his lips. “You sure about that?” 

“Absolutely.” Jimin is almost embarrassed by how breathless he sounds. 

“Well then—”

Without a warning Jungkook makes the first move, quickly reaching out, attempting to snatch Jimin’s wrist. It catches Jimin by surprise, yet he dodges the grasp, twisting out of reach, before trying to retaliate with a quick jab to Jungkook’s side, which the alpha unfortunately evades effortlessly. 

They both jump back, facing each other from more of a distance, stances wide. 

Jungkook grins, his eyes calculating Jimin’s every move as they start circling each other. 

“Not bad. As expected.” His grin widens, his chin lifting with a touch of arrogance. “But nowhere near enough.” 

Jimin grinds his teeth. Rude. 

Driven by determination, he surges forward again, leveling a punch straight at the alpha’s face. Once more Jungkook steps aside effortlessly, sliding just out of reach. This time, however, he manages to grab Jimin’s wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other, and before Jimin is even fully aware of what’s going on, his arm is twisted behind his back, a kick to his calves leaving him staggering. He sinks to his knees with a muttered curse, momentarily disoriented, his arm uncomfortably contorted behind him. 

“What’s going on, Jimin?” Jungkook snorts and leans down, his breath warm against Jimin’s ear. “I’ve seen you fight better than this. Already out of practice?” 

Fucking asshole. Of course Jimin is out of fucking practice.

“Whose fault do you think that is?” He hisses and with a quick jerk he knocks his head back, right into Jungkook’s nose. He ignores the pain pulsing through his skull when it hits its target, followed by a surprised grunt. He breaks free when the alpha’s grip loosens and staggers to his feet, turning around. 

Jungkook’s face is twisted in a grimace of pain, blood running from his nose, and it takes a second for him to regain his composure.

“Had enough yet, alpha?” Jimin challenges, his heart beating wildly. 

The other looks almost wild when he grins, his teeth stained with blood. There is a dangerous spark in his eyes. Something predatory. Something that makes Jimin’s knees go weak, his omega eager to submit. 

But Jimin is not one to submit. Never. 

The room fills with the smell of gasoline, gunpowder, and blood, and something darker and heavier, as their pheromones dance through the air, the atmosphere crackling with tension. 

“Not even close,” Jungkook chuckles, and in a blur of movement, he’s suddenly in front of Jimin, aiming a punch at his torso. Jimin reacts on pure instinct. In the nick of time, he blocks the blow with his forearms, the impact reverberating through his bones, before jumping back quickly. Once he’s regained his footing, he launches a kick aimed at the alpha’s midsection. 

Jungkook acts with surprising speed, catching Jimin’s leg mid-air, using the momentum to spin him around, hauling him to the ground, where Jimin’s back slams into the carpeted floor, the force so hard that it knocks the breath out of his lungs. A guttural groan escapes him, his eyes watering, and he must’ve bitten his tongue because the taste of copper begins to spread in his mouth. 

The room seems to shrink, the air heavy and dense as the alpha lowers his weight onto Jimin, pinning him down by his arms. Immediately, Jimin grows overly aware of every point of contact between them, his skin prickling, heat creeping up his neck. His chin twitches instinctively as his omega urges him to submit by baring his throat. A primal, instinctual response, ingrained in his bones. He bites the inside of his cheek, determined to resist. No, you stupid thing.

For a moment, the silence between them hangs thick, only broken by Jimin’s heavy breathing as he keeps trying to regain control of his lungs after the impact. 

“This would be the part where you would’ve lost,” Jungkook drawls, his voice husky and low, his weight pressing down on Jimin.

Jimin’s jaw clenches in response. “Luckily for me there are usually at least three rounds.” 

A wolfish grin spreads on the alpha’s face, his tone challenging. “Still think you can take me, omega?” 

Jimin’s breath hitches at the suggestive words being repeated back to him, a sudden wave of thick heat flooding his lower belly. His hips shift involuntarily beneath the weight of the other, a subtle response that doesn't go unnoticed. Jungkook's eyes darken, his jaw visibly clenching, and the grip around Jimin's wrist tightens even more.

“I can take anything you give me,” Jimin whispers through the taste of blood, uncertain whether it’s his omega or himself speaking. 

A low growl rumbles through the room, the primal energy of it sending goosebumps across Jimin’s skin. Then, abruptly, Jungkook’s weight lifts and Jimin is yanked to his feet. The sudden change in position catches him off guard, leaving him disoriented and dizzy. 

Jungkook holds on to his upper arm, steading him as he smirks down at Jimin. 

"Three rounds it is, then."

The room pulsates with energy and Jimin’s teeth are aching, drool pooling under his tongue, his entire body buzzing with an electric feeling that tingles through every nerve. It’s the same prickly thrill that he knows from fighting in the ring, only a lot more intense.  Every sensation is elevated by the taste of Jungkook’s scent at the back of his throat, mingling with the adrenaline of the fight, the pheromones hanging in the air speaking of excitement, of tension, of dominance. 

Jungkook is built differently from Jimin. Big, broad-shouldered, and sturdy, his body strung with thick muscles that aren’t only there for show like those of some other alphas, but that actually hold serious strength. He punches like he wants to knock Jimin out in one go, always precisely to the spots where it hurts the most, and he’s shockingly fast for his size, reflexes truly ingrained in what Jimin can only imagine is muscle memory. 

He wonders when and where Jungkook learned to fight like this. 

But even though the alpha is fast, Jimin is faster. Just barely, but it’s enough. He’s lighter and quicker when it counts, forcing Jungkook to come after him, making him expend his energy. 

Jimin’s senses are heightened, his eyes and ears picking up every nuance—the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the muted shuffles of their footwork, the beat of his own pulse echoing in his ears over the rush. With every breath, he draws in Jungkook’s intoxicating scent, his vision blurring every time their skin makes contact, the heat in his belly now having spread throughout his entire body. 

He feels hot and flushed with arousal and exhilaration. Long have his pheromones started betraying him, reeking of lust and want, mixing with Jungkook’s, whose pupils are blown wide, whose breathing is labored, whose nostrils are flaring, taking in Jimin’s scent over and over again. 

A fact that excites Jimin’s omega to the point where it distracts Jimin, making him careless. 

He misses a second too late that Jungkook has lunged forward, doesn’t have enough time to jump to the side. The alpha’s punch hits him right in the gut with brutal precision, the impact sending a shockwave through his body. With a choked moan Jimin folds forward, his knees giving out as he’s about to collapse, only the sudden hold of Jungkook’s arm wrapping around his middle holding him up, preventing him from crumbling to the floor. 

While still gasping for air, Jimin is pulled up, his back colliding with the other’s broad chest, followed by the firm pressure of a hand encircling his throat. He can hear the other’s rapid breathing against his ear, can feel the beat of his heart against his spine, and – fuck – Jimin is so hard, he can’t even hide it anymore.

Desperately, he tries to wriggle himself free, but the hold on his waist tightens, just like the grip around his throat, fingers digging into the collar, putting pressure on his sensitive scent gland. The sudden explosive rush of pure lust has his sight blur, and the sound that comes out of him is not what he intended. It’s not a gasp, it’s not even a whimper. It’s a full-blown moan, a noise so slutty that it leaves him blinking in shock. 

Jungkook chuckles, the hand on Jimin’s waist slipping under his shirt, and Jimin’s heart thunders. 

“Are you turned on right now, Jimin?” The alpha murmurs under his breath, pressing his cheek to Jimin’s.  

And then he curls his fingers, nails scraping over Jimin’s skin, and Jimin lets his head fall back against the other’s shoulder with a whine, his thighs clenching. He turns his head, pressing his nose into the other’s neck, damp with sweat and smelling so so good. He inhales deeply, open mouthed, greedily, digs his nose deeper, his eyes fluttering shut. 

The alpha purrs deeply in response, the sound vibrating against Jimin’s back while a thumb slides under the collar and rubs over his scent gland, making his toes curl. He licks his lips and blinks his eyes open, trying to regain his composure. 

“You’re one to talk,” he whispers against the other’s skin, his head swimming from alpha pheromones, mixing with his own omega ones. All he needs to do to prove his point is twitch his hips, drive them back a little, rubbing his ass into Jungkook’s groin. 

Even though it was expected, the sensation of something bulging hard pressing against his butt squeezes a gasp out of him. 

He squirms when he feels a trickle of wetness between his cheeks.

The deep snarl that vibrates against his spine sounds dangerous, and only a moment later he’s forcefully turned around, before the heavy pressure of hands on his shoulders forces him down.

He sinks to the ground so quickly, so eagerly, that the sudden impact hurts his knees, and before he knows what’s going on, he comes eye-level with Jungkook’s crotch. He’s breathing hard, his face burning, and the reason for the whimper flying from his throat is not the pain in his knees nor the sensation of fingers tangling in his hair, yanking at his head. It’s the sight of the bulging erection in the other’s pants and the sudden onslaught of thick alpha arousal, the kind that makes his mouth water and his head spin. 

He can’t help himself. Driven by some type of deeply rooted primal eagerness, his lips fall open and he leans forward, pressing his nose and mouth into Jungkook’s crotch, inhaling deeply. His eyes roll back and his hole contracts, more slick sliding out, his own cock straining painfully under the fabric of his pants. His hips give an involuntary rut when he feels Jungkook’s cock hardening under his lips.

The grip in his hair tightens and his breath hitches when his head is yanked back, forcing him to look up at the other, his entire body burning under the alpha’s gaze, who looks flushed himself, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips still stained with blood but his teeth flashing white when he bares them. 

“So—How did you like my fighting?” He brings his free hand to Jimin’s face, his thumb sliding over his mouth. “Now would be a good time to tell me.” The thumb presses between his lips, slipping inside, pushing down on his tongue. “It’ll be hard to talk once my cock is in your mouth.” 

Jimin moans weakly, muffled by Jungkook’s finger, and instead of answering, he reaches out with shaky hands for the other’s belt, tearing it open in a haste, drool sliding from the corner of his half-open lips when the scent gets stronger.

“Shit,” he hears Jungkook swear before two hands are helping him unbutton the pants and shoving them down. 

Coming face to face with the alpha’s cock and the glimpse of sculpted abs sends a red hot wave of arousal through Jimin’s middle. 

For a split second he can't believe he's doing this.

This is crazy. 

But it would be even crazier not to do it. 

Without another thought he takes hold of the flushed length, hard in his hand, and leans in eagerly, sliding his lips over the hot skin before parting them and taking the tip in mouth, swirling his tongue around it, the taste alone making his own cock throb. 

Jungkook gasps out his name, his hand back in his hair, yanking him closer, and Jimin allows himself a moment of pride, his omega enjoying the reactions they are pulling from the alpha, the low groans, and breathless gasps. 

The grip in his hair tightens almost painfully when he takes the length deeper, all the way until it hits his throat, then he pulls back, swirling his tongue around the tip again, pressing against the slit.

If there’s one thing he’s good at – except for fighting – it’s sucking dick. He grabs Jungkook’s hips, holding him steady as he bobs his head, and at the little rut of hips from the alpha – clearly involuntary in nature – he moans around him, more slick sliding into his underwear, soaking the fabric that starts sticking to his skin uncomfortably. He shifts his hips, the movement only reminding him how hard he is and how horribly trapped in the tight constraint of his pants. 

The scent of his slick hangs heavy in the air and he feels the cock in his mouth throb when he hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head faster. 

He fucking loves this. The warm weight of Jungkook’s cock on his tongue, the feeling of fingers tugging at his hair before rudely shoving him down further, and – most importantly – the fact that he’s pleasing Jungkook. 

He relaxes his throat, lets the other slide deeper, lets him use him, and by the time the alpha decides it’s enough, pulling him off his wet cock, Jimin’s throat is burning and it’s hard to breathe. 

Jungkook’s cheeks are dusted red, and his lips are red too, not just from the stain of red blood, more as if he’s bitten them. A few strands of hair are sticking to his damp forehead, his pupils dilated, his eyes glazed over. 

He shows it when he’s aroused and Jimin likes it. It’s sexy.

“Get up.”

Arousal buzzes through Jimin’s body at the command, his skin tingling, his thoughts scattered everywhere, and when he’s yanked to his feet abruptly, the world spins around him, leaving him disoriented. 

In the blink of an eye, he finds himself pulled across the room and then bent over the bar, the cool surface pressing against his sweaty palms and tear-stained cheek. A high-pitched sound leaves his throat when his pants are yanked down, his hard cock springing free, slapping against his lower stomach, the air of the room cold against the slick-covered ass. His face is burning from the twisted sensation of feeling exposed when Jungkook grabs him and spreads him apart, just as another glob of slick slides out of him, running down his inner thigh. 

The alpha’s growl is a mix of pleased, and aroused, and possessive, and it makes Jimin’s cock twitch between his legs.  

“Look at that,” he hears the other mumble, his heart almost tumbling out of his throat when the words graze the skin of his lower back with a puff of breath, indicating that Jungkook is kneeling behind him. 

Holy shit. 

And then his knees buckle, his sight blurring, as Jungkook puts his mouth right there, right where all this slick is leaking out of Jimin. He gasps, his heart thundering when the tip of a hot tongue flicks over his wet rim. 

“Oh God-” 

Jungkook pulls him further apart, burying his face deeper, making Jimin’s entire body jerk. He presses his forehead against the counter with a moan, the slick sensation of Jungkook’s tongue slowly pushing inside driving him to his tiptoes, his hips only held in place by the alpha’s unrelenting grip on his ass. 

Immediately, his cock starts throbbing, only a couple of licks and thrusts of Jungkook’s tongue enough to make the first fat drop of precum collect and drip to the floor in a long stream. Followed by another, and another. 

Jungkook’s tongue is hot and thick and strong and Jimin clenches around it, thighs trembling, the pleasure inside him swelling rapidly. He reaches down to grab his drooling cock, sliding his fist up and down, while rutting his hips back and forth, circling them, meeting Jungkook’s tongue in a desperate need for more, the heat inside him burning hotter and hotter. 

Jungkook makes a sound of satisfaction at the display of Jimin’s pleasure, a low hum that vibrates through his tongue inside Jimin, making him moan and whine and tremble, his hand speeding up, his other hand sliding over the smooth countertop, desperately trying to hold on to something. His core is all hot and tight, the sounds of his breathless pants and helpless moans mixing with the filthy wet smacking noises behind him.

It smells warm, of orange blossoms, leather, and sex, of slick and precum. It’s a heady mix that makes Jimin’s head swim, a tingling feeling spreading through his entire body, all the way to his fingertips. Every flick of tongue sends flashes of energy through his body, he’s hot and pulled tight, Jungkook’s tongue burning into him, making his cock twitch. 

When the alpha pulls back entirely only a minute later, Jimin just about manages to stifle the whine of disappointment that bubbles up in his throat by digging his teeth into his lower lip. 

There is the rustling sound of clothes behind him, and then Jungkook’s tongue is back, pressing against his rim firmly. Jimin is all soft back there, open and ready, and so the tongue slides inside easily. He contracts around it, crying out, shaking with hot pleasure when it starts moving, pumping in and out of him at a steady pace. 

He squeezes his cock rhythmically, knows that his slick and precum is dripping to the floor, knows he’s making a goddamn mess, but before he can even start feeling embarrassed about it, there is another sound filtering in.

The rhythmic rustling of clothes, the telltale sound of skin rubbing over wet skin.

Jungkook is jerking himself off. 

Jimin’s eyes widen when he’s hit with such a sudden rush of pleasure, that, for a heartbeat, it knocks all air out of his lungs. 

Jungkook is so turned on by eating Jimin out that he’s jerking himself off. 

There is a loud rush in Jimin’s ears.

Holy shit, that’s so hot. 

The wave arousal inside him swells to the point where he loses control over his body entirely. With a strained moan he widens his stance as far as his pants around his ankles allow and lets go of his cock to reach behind mindlessly, his fingers tangling in Jungkook’s hair as he forces the alpha’s head further into him, rutting against his face.

His heart is racing, his lower belly throbbing heavily, a desperate need surging through him like wildfire. 

Shit, he’s gonna come—

He opens his mouth to warn the other, but all that comes out is a long high-pitched sound. He brings his hand to his cock again, hot and heavy in his hold as he starts jerking himself off again, his toes curling, his legs shaking. 

He’s gonna come, he’s-

A sudden sound disrupting the air, entirely out of place, makes him freeze. 

A knock at the door. 

“Boss,” comes a muffled voice through the thick wood on the other side of the room. 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated huff and pulls back from Jimin, whose heart is pulsing in his ears, his hole clenching around nothing. 

“What the fuck do you want?!” The alpha barks. 

“Your car is ready,” says the voice.

There is a short moment of silence. 

“Give me a minute.” 

“But Boss, we’re already late.” 

“I said give me a fucking minute!” 

With a growl, Jungkook dives between Jimin’s cheeks again, this time eating him out with so much vigor that it leaves Jimin seeing stars. 

Suddenly, he’s reaching the edge so rapidly, that it punches all air out of his lungs. 

He trembles and squirms and moans, lets himself fall into the feeling, lets the heat center. It builds and builds, something inside him tensing and pulling–

“Jungkook—” He gasps breathlessly. 

And then he comes, the heat flowing out of him in a long hot stream of cum as his cock pulses in his hand, his hole clenching tightly around Jungkook’s tongue while his entire body shakes, every wave of release pulling a helpless sob from him. 

He hears Jungkook groan and the tingling feeling of his orgasm is still prickling in Jimin’s toes and fingertips when the alpha pulls back and gets to his feet behind him. 

He chokes on a moan when a hard slap lands against his ass.

“Hold yourself open.” 

The command has him reach back without a thought, his trembling cum-coated fingers digging into his cheeks as he pulls them apart with both hands. He feels himself clench back there, feels cool air hitting his slick skin. 

And then there is the sound of Jungkook jerking himself off again, a large hand cupping Jimin’s where he’s spreading himself apart, something hot and smooth nudging his rim. Jimin’s sight blurs, the sounds the alpha makes – breathless groans and strained gasps – rolling over his skin like liquid fire. Heat centers in his middle, anticipation curling in his belly when Jungkook’s rapid breathing quickens, getting louder and louder, until, finally, Jimin’s rim is hit with the warm and wet sensation of cum, accompanied by a low moan. 

The way Jungkook comes all over his hole is nasty, and the way Jimin clenches so eagerly is too. 

It sends a kind of rush through him he’s never experienced before. It feels like he’s being claimed. And it feels like a promise. As if Jungkook – even though he hasn’t fucked Jimin – is marking Jimin’s hole as his possession. 

Jimin’s back arches when Jungkook pushes his hands aside and takes hold of his cheeks himself, squeezing and rubbing them together, the squelching sound of his cum being spread around between the globes just as lewd as the moan it pulls from Jimin’s throat. And when the alpha’s thumb slides between his cheeks, rubbing his cum over Jimin’s rim, Jimin’s entire body quivers, his hands reaching over the counter to hold on to the edge of the other side.

At the sensation of Jungkook’s cum-coated thumb pushing into him, Jimin’s mouth falls open. For a moment everything goes white and then he clenches down on the digit, his cock jerking as he comes a second time. 

He rides out his orgasm with quiet sobs and shaky knees, and then everything stills. 

Jungkook stays there for a bit, leaving his thumb inside, letting Jimin clench around it until the last bit of electric heat has simmered away. Then he pulls out slowly. 

Jimin feels tired, spent, and sweaty, but also hot and wonderful. 

A large palm rubs his lower back. 

“Stay here, I’ll clean you up.” 

Jimin nods weakly, sprawled over the bar. He probably couldn’t even move if he wanted to. 

After he’s been cleaned surprisingly thoroughly and feels finally able to stand again, Jungkook helps him pull up his pants and adjust his clothes. They do so silently, not a word spoken, and Jimin can’t help but wonder how much of a bad idea this was. 

Even once they are fully dressed, there is still no hiding what has happened. Jungkook’s hair is mussed, his lips slightly swollen and red, and he smells of sex and of Jimin. Jimin averts his gaze and makes a point of breathing through his mouth, because the sudden possessiveness swelling in his gut, the way his omega is preening, will surely be a problem in the long run. A huge problem.

“I’m gonna tell one of the guys to give you a ride home,” Jungkook says, taking in Jimin’s form and Jimin wonders how out of it he must look. 

“I can walk, thanks.” His tone is a little harsher than intended. 

The alpha’s eyes narrow and with two quick steps he crowds into Jimin’s space, his presence as overwhelming as ever, his eyes dark. Jimin holds his ground, lifting his chin. But his mind goes entirely blank when fingers curl under his collar, pulling him in, and their lips slide together. 

The touch is almost soft, but it has Jimin’s mind stutter to a halt, has a sudden urge surging through him. 

He brings his hands up, his fingers tangling in Jungkook’s shirt, yanking him closer, and the kiss that follows is hard, bruising, and devouring, taking Jimin’s breath away. Everything else fades into a distant blur. There is only Jungkook and the touch of his lips and his intoxicating scent. When their tongues slide together, Jimin can taste himself, and the possessive feeling flares up again. Mine. 

By the time their kiss breaks, they are both panting heavily. 

“One of the guys will give you a ride home,” Jungkook repeats breathlessly, his voice deep and rough. 

This time, Jimin nods. 

The following weeks, Jimin catches glimpses of Jungkook at the club only every now and then. Rumor has it that the alpha is busy with the feud he has with Lee – the other fight club owner – which seems to leave little time for anything else. 

Occasionally though, when he's at the club, Jungkook pulls Jimin into a shadowy corner for a deep sensual kiss. The pheromones he releases while doing so are possessive, as if he’s retaking some sort of claim over Jimin, leathering him in his scent, making sure that nobody – especially not Jimin – forgets that he owns him. 

It’s Jimin’s guilty pleasure. 

While his pride rebels against being treated like a possession, his omega-instincts revel in the feeling of being desired. It's an internal tug-of-war, a clash between his independent spirit and the deeply ingrained yearning for this kind of attention that he's never experienced before.

In the end, he always lets it happen. 

After the third week, Jimin finds himself scheduled to serve at a private gathering hosted by Jungkook. Apparently, the alpha and Lee have reached a conclusion, both sides having signed a contract, and the gathering’s purpose is to work out the details of their new partnership.

To Jimin’s dismay, the chosen venue for the event is none other than the dimly lit private room where he and Jungkook had their little—fling a few weeks ago. 

It’s hard not to steal examining glances at the floor in front of the bar to make sure that there really is no leftover sign of him dripping all over it back then. He thinks he can still taste the slightest lingering scent of their arousal in the air, but that’s probably his imagination. Still, it makes him feel restless inside and he wonders if Jungkook is feeling restless, too. 

The alpha is seated in one of the plush armchairs encircling a low table, his sharp gaze skimming over the guests assembled with him: Lee, his right-hand man—who throws Jimin withering glances but refrains from touching him this time—along with two other alphas unfamiliar to Jimin, and Jungkook's head of security.

As Jimin subtly maneuvers around the table, clad in an all-black suit for the occasion, discreetly ensuring no glasses are empty, he senses the escalating tension in the air. The atmosphere is charged, tasting of alpha pheromones fighting for power, and even the low hum of conversations seems loaded with an unspoken strain.

His omega is on edge, his eyes flickering to Jungkook over and over again. The alpha’s jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff. 

Something is not going according to plan.

Jimin grows increasingly worried and when Lee suddenly barks at one of his men to bring him his cigars from his jacket, it makes him jumps so hard behind the bar that he almost drops one of the bottles. He observes as the guy scurries across the room to the coat hangers to do as he’s told and when he looks back at the table, he freezes. 

Lee’s right-hand man casts a glance at the full glass of red wine Jimin has just poured for Jungkook. 

It’s a subtle gesture. Yet it feels off. 

A sense of unease settles inside Jimin, his eyes flicking back and forth between the wine and Jungkook, who is currently leaning over the armrest of his chair, talking in a hushed tone with his chief of security. 

It’s probably his imagination. He has just poured that glass, it’s been sitting there untouched for maybe two minutes and Jimin hasn’t seen anyone do anything to it. Jungkook would’ve noticed too, right? Or at least the security chief. 

Yet, Jimin isn’t sure how long those two have been talking like this, clearly distracted. 

His throat is dry when he swallows and without realizing, he makes his way around the bar, slowly walking to the seating area, not letting the glass of wine out of his sight. It looks normal. He inhales deeply when he gets closer, not able to smell anything out of the ordinary either. 

Nobody pays him any mind when he steps up beside Jungkook and in a moment of Lee and his men being busy with their cigars, he reaches out, trailing his fingertips over Jungkook’s shoulder discreetly. 

The alpha tenses and turns to look at him with a frown. 

“Don’t drink the wine,” Jimin whispers. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What?” 

“Your wine,” Jimin murmurs, his gaze flicking to the glass. “Don’t drink it.” 

“You, omega!” Jimin startles at the sharp address, turning to face Lee, who's sneering at him while rolling a cigar between his fingers. “Bring me some matches.”

Caught off guard, Jimin hesitates for a moment. Before he can make a move, Jungkook’s head of security leans forward, retrieving a pack of matches from his pocket and sliding it across the table. Lee huffs, taking them without a word of thanks, and Jimin uses the opportunity to slowly retreat behind the bar, after casting a final glance at Jungkook, who's now frowning at his untouched glass of wine.

From behind the bar, he observes as the events unfold. 

While they continue their negotiations, Jungkook – to Jimin’s relief – refrains from touching his wine and the other alphas – except for his security chief – seem to grow increasingly worried about the fact. They are visibly on edge, casting nervous glances at Jungkook and his drink, sometimes meeting eyes among each other, and soon it gets ridiculously obvious that something’s up. 

Lee seems to grow increasingly impatient, puffing his cigar nervously while consuming his own wine at a rapid pace. 

“Omega, get me more wine,” he calls across the room once he’s emptied his drink. 

Immediately, Jungkook intervenes. 

"Take mine," he offers, a challenging glint in his eyes as he extends the untouched glass toward Lee. "I haven’t had any of it yet."

Lee's gaze wavers between Jungkook and the glass, a fleeting look of uncertainty crossing his features before he forces them back into a hard facade.

"Generous, aren't we?" He sneers, showing no intention of accepting the offered glass.

"Only with important business partners," Jungkook chuckles. "Here—" Leaning over the table, he places the glass in front of him. "I insist."

When Lee just tightens his lips, still not moving, Jungkook leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Enjoy."

The seconds tick by as the other hesitates, the room engulfed in a thick silence, tension hanging heavy in the air. Then his jaw clenches and the only warning is a slight tremble in the atmosphere before he suddenly jumps to his feet, drawing his gun at Jungkook. The metallic click reverberates through the room, triggering an instant eruption of chaos.

Jimin hasn’t even realized he’s jumped over the counter until his feet hit the ground on the other side, just when Jungkook’s security guy, with remarkable agility, surges forward, kicking the gun out of Lee’s hand, the shot firing into an empty corner of the room.

Without a second thought, Jimin throws himself into the ensuing fight, his instincts from years of underground fighting responding to the violence around him, his adrenaline spiking. Mixing in is his omega’s underlying fierce determination of punishing anyone daring to lay a hand on their alpha. 

He doesn’t think about the latter part much longer, gets lost in the vibrations of the scruffles, the sounds of punches landing, of blows being blocked, of bodies clashing. There are grunts and thuds, he feels the skin of his knuckles rip when he lands punch after punch, feels the heat of the bodies, smells sweat, the taste of adrenaline heavy on his tongue, the thrill of the fight making his skin buzz. 

In the midst of the chaos, he’s overcome with the exhilarating feeling of fighting side by side with Jungkook, back to back, working together, their movements synchronizing seamlessly, turning them into a united force. 

When, for a heartbeat, their eyes meet, Jimin can’t help the small smile from spreading on his lips. His chest swoops when Jungkook smirks back at him, the brief interaction loaded with a kind of unspoken tension that makes Jimin’s lower belly throb. 

It’s probably less than a minute but feels like a lifetime until the door bursts open, the rest of Jungkook’s security team flooding in, together with a load of fresh air that Jimin inhales greedily, only now growing aware of how thick the air in here is with alpha pheromones and how dizzy they make him. 

The head of security takes charge. 

“We’ve got it,” he assures. “Leave it to us.”

“Lock them up,” Jungkook commands before landing one last kick in Lee’s back, who groans in pain. “I’ll deal with them later.”

And then, with a firm grip, he pulls Jimin toward the exit, leaving the chaotic scene behind.

"Where are we going?" Jimin pants, trying to keep up as he's pulled through a maze of basement corridors with white, shiny-tiled walls.

"To my place," Jungkook snaps curtly, sounding almost angry, forcefully yanking a door open. They cross what seems like a parking garage with quick steps until they come to a halt in front of an elevator. Jungkook slams his fist against the button.

“Why?” Jimin questions, catching his breath.

The elevator door opens with a ding, and Jimin stumbles as he's pushed inside the small mirrored room.

“What do you think why?”

Jimin’s back hits the sleek wall as the length of Jungkook’s body presses against him and his breath hitches when he notices that the alpha is rock hard. He catches a glimpse of blown-wide pupils, his head immediately starting to swim with the scent of arousal that Jungkook must’ve hidden up until now, his omega reacting promptly by excluding his own pheromones of desire, marking himself as eager and available. 

Jungkook growls deeply and then captures Jimin’s lips with his.

Their tongues slide together, fingers weaving through each other’s hair, they grasp and pull at each other’s clothes eagerly, and Jimin gasps into the other’s mouth when his dress shirt is ripped open, buttons flying everywhere, bouncing off the mirrored walls. Fingers rub over his nipples before coming around and trailing down his back, sliding under the waistband of his pants, dipping even lower, palms cupping his ass. Jimin moans, his toes curling, and he presses himself closer, grinding his crotch against Jungkook’s, something white-hot pooling in his stomach. 

A strangled sound leaves him when Jungkook slips a single finger between his cheeks, pressing against his rim, circling it teasingly. As if on command, the first trickly of wetness slides out of him and Jungkook doesn’t waste any time, pushing his finger inside at the very same moment the elevator moves to carry them up with astonishing speed. 

At the swoop of his stomach, paired with the sudden feeling of Jungkook’s finger filling him, Jimin almost comes then and there. His head knocks back against the wall, his cock rock hard where it’s trapped in his pants, and he can only curl his fingers into the fabric of Jungkook’s suit jacket when the alpha slides his lips along his jaw, nipping his earlobe.  

By the time they reach the designated floor, Jimin is leaking all over Jungkook’s hand, the sounds slipping from his throat embarrassing and desperate. 

He barely registers his surroundings as he’s pulled out of the elevator and into Jungkook’s penthouse, only fleetingly taking note of the large room, bathed in moonlight that’s falling through large windows offering a view over of the night lit city. 

He’s too captivated by Jungkook’s lips, too hot and bothered to pay attention to where they are going, only coming to his senses when his world is turned upside down as he collapses onto a bed, his back hitting the mattress. 

Jungkook looks down at him, the moonlight casting shadows over his face. 

“You know what’s fucking infuriating,” he snarls, pulling at Jimin’s clothes, yanking his shirt off before doing the same to his pants. 

“What?” Jimin croaks, just lying there and letting the other undress him, feeling almost feverish, his skin buzzing. He shivers a little once he’s entirely naked, cool bedroom air grazing his skin. 

“That you’ve protected me twice now,” the alpha hisses, while pulling at Jimin’s limbs, manhandling him around until he has him positioned to his satisfaction. 

Jimin scowls at the comment, wants to ask what the hell his problem is, but the words die in his throat when the alpha pulls back, looking down at him with a heated gaze that wanders over Jimin’s exposed body. He feels his cock throb when the alpha licks his lips. Jungkook clearly likes what he sees, despite Jimin’s muscles and his lack of softness, and the fact sends a rush down Jimin’s spine, prompting him to let his legs fall open further.  

Jungkook drags his fingertips over Jimin’s abs, sliding them over the length of his cock, which gives another little jump, before dipping between his cheeks, sliding through the slick. 

“An omega protecting an alpha,” he leans in, dragging his tongue over Jimin’s nipple, giving it a bite. Jimin gasps, his hands finding the other’s head, tangling in his hair. 

“That’s so fucking ridiculous—” Jungkook murmurs before he comes up, his lips grazing Jimin’s. “And so fucking hot.” 

Jimin chokes on a moan when two fingers push inside him in one go, hitting that spot right away, jolts of pleasure making his back arch. 

“For the record, I fucking hate that you do it,” Jungkook rumbles, dragging his fingers in and out of him slowly, the slick sound loud in the room, mixing with Jimin’s whines of pleasure. 

“Makes my alpha go all stupid,” he continues, biting Jimin’s jaw softly. “How dare an omega think he’s better than me?” His fingers speed up and Jimin’s breath hitches, his cock jumping between them, starting to drool precum, his belly hot and coiled up tight. He wraps his arms around the other’s neck just to hold on to something. 

“How dare he put himself in danger for me?” The alpha’s growl is hot against his ear. “And why is that so—” Jungkook pauses, his fingers stilling for a moment, giving Jimin some time to breathe. “So fucking sexy.” 

At the last word he slams his fingers inside once more, digging into his sweet spot so hard that Jimin sees stars, his mouth falling open silently, his thighs quivering. He mewls when Jungkook pulls out, freeing himself from Jimin’s hold around his neck. A second later, Jimin blinks the blurriness from his eyes at the rustling of clothes, watching as the alpha shrugs off his suit jacket, leaving him in only a black waistcoat, the same color as his tie, over a white button up. He unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, pulling himself out, hard, the tip already wet. 

Then he settles between Jimin’s spread legs again, grabbing him under his bent knees, pushing them towards Jimin’s chest, before shuffling closer, aligning his cock alongside Jimin’s, grinding his hips, rubbing them together. Jimin’s toes curl at the sensation.

“Look,” the alpha says after a while, pausing. “Once I’m inside you, I’ll fill you up to here.” He presses the tip of his index finger into a spot above Jimin’s navel, right next to where the tip of his cock is resting. 

The fact that he points out how big he is shouldn’t be hot. But it sends a rush down Jimin’s spine anyway. His cheeks heat up at the thought of being full of something so big. His omega is eager, his body ready to fuck, his hole clenching rhythmically, more and more slick sliding out of him, dripping into the sheets. 

He turns his head to the side, trying to hide his flushed face. 

“God, shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Jungkook just chuckles and then he takes hold of Jimin’s waist with one, and grabs his length with the other hand, guiding it between Jimin’s cheeks. Jimin’s breath hitches when it nudges his rim, his arms flying up, fingers curling into the pillow. 

Like this, Jungkook seems big and imposing above him, and the fact that he’s still fully dressed while Jimin is entirely naked makes Jimin’s cock throb, more precum dripping out of him, collecting in a small puddle on his stomach.

The alpha stills, his eyes wandering over Jimin’s body, leaving a burning sensation like a physical touch on every inch of skin they graze.  

They stop at Jimin’s throat. 

For a moment, he hesitates. Then he reaches out, sliding his fingers to the back of Jimin’s neck to unclasp the collar, pulling the piece of leather off carefully and placing it on the pillow beside them. Then his thumb trails over the sensitive skin of Jimin’s throat, rubbing over his scent gland. Jimin gasps with a jolt of pleasure. 

When the other pulls his hand back, his eyes are dark and his gaze is heavy, his pupils contracting when he brings his thumb to his lips, licking Jimin’s scent off. 

The gesture has Jimin roll his hips with a tiny hitch of breath, the tip of Jungkook’s cock sliding through the wetness between his cheeks and he wriggles his hips once more at the feeling.

Jungkook’s mouth quirks into a grin. 

“Impatient,” he notes. 

And then heat ripples through Jimin’s body when the hot tip of the alpha’s cock presses harder against his rim, his heart beating so fast he can hear it in his ears. 

The pressure increases. 

“Look at me.” 

Jimin’s eyes fly open – he hasn’t even noticed closing them – and then they keep eye contact when the alpha pushes inside, when his cock stretches him, wider and wider, sliding deeper and deeper, oh so slowly. Jimin bites his bottom lip, his face burning with the intensity of the moment, his fingers flexing in the pillow, his own cock drooling onto his stomach. 

He loves how Jungkook’s gaze loses focus for a moment, how his eyelids flutter briefly, his lips parting in a gasp when his hips finally meet Jimin’s ass. 

They both groan in union and Jimin trembles, feeling overwhelmed and full and breathless. Jungkook is so big, feels so fucking perfect inside him. 

A pathetic hiccup leaves his throat and his hole clenches at the first roll of the alpha’s hips.

His spine lifts off the mattress at the second one. 

With one fluid motion, Jungkook loosens his tie before grabbing Jimin’s legs, spreading him further apart, and then he fucks Jimin like Jimin has never been fucked before. With harsh snaps of hips, he drives his thick length in and out of him, making him shudder, his cock jumping with every drag over his prostate, leaking an obscene amount of precum. 

The rhythm is quick and messy, the alpha’s hands everywhere on Jimin’s body, holding him in place, stroking him, pushing him down. 

Jimin can’t keep up. Soon, he’s nothing but a whimpering mess, leaking all over the sheets, his entire body burning up. 

It’s almost cruel when Jungkook suddenly slows down, when he suddenly changes the pace to a sensual circling of hips, grinding into Jimin’s sweet spot, while holding him wide open. 

The sound of the alpha’s labored breathing and his low groans shoot pulses of desire through Jimin’s stomach, and just when he’s gotten used to the pace, Jungkook picks it up again.

He keeps alternating between fucking Jimin maddeningly slow, and hard and fast. It’s mean, it destroys Jimin, pushes him to the edge of release only to pull him back again and again and again. It turns him into a pleading babbling mess, his sight blurring with tears, his spread thighs quivering. He’s overly aware of Jungkook on top of him, Jungkook inside of him, of his scent and his sounds.

God, this feels so so good.  

When a hand wraps around his cock, hot white pleasure takes over him. He starts shaking, losing control of his body.

He’s never felt like this before. This hot, this tight.

His belly throbs, clenching, tighter and tighter, his spine arching.

“F-Fuck—wha—” He sobs, unable to breathe, his hands fisting the pillow. “God–pl-please– please—please—” 

He rambles, can’t get his words out, his mind too scattered as Jungkook keeps fucking him relentlessly, hard and fast, while jerking his drooling cock. His balls throb, the heat in his belly swelling and growing rapidly, spreading in his crotch, until it suddenly explodes. 

“Coming—oh!”

His legs jerk when his orgasm hits and Jungkook seems to understand what’s happening even before Jimin does. 

The moment the alpha pulls out, slick shoots out of Jimin’s pulsing hole, splashing against Jungkook’s mid-section. Followed by a second load. And then again. And again. He’s trembling uncontrollably, everything is white and hot, his cock throbbing in Jungkook’s hold, coating his stomach with cum while his hole pulsates over and over. He screams with every gush of slick, slapping his hand over his mouth, his toes curling and his spine arching with the force of his pleasure. The intensity makes him sob, and his orgasm doesn’t stop until it’s only squirts of thin clear liquid spraying out of him. 

When it's over, it takes a while for the world to come back into focus. Once it does, a cold wave of horror washes through him.

“I’m—sorry,” he gasps, mortified, humiliation burning in his face when his gaze lands on the mess he’s made. Jungkook’s pants, his waistcoat, the sheets— Everything is wet and covered in his slick. It smells milky, of omega, of orange blossoms, of sex, and heavily of orgasm. 

“Ugh, I’m so sorry–” He tries to push himself into a sitting position, his legs sliding through the wetness covering the sheets. 

This has never happened to him before. It’s disgusting. It’s so filthy. It's- 

“It’s okay.” A large hand presses him back down into the mattress and then Jungkook is on top of him and kisses him deeply, his hands wandering over Jimin’s skin, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his waist. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats between kisses. “It was hot—You’re so hot—” He pulls back, his cheeks red when he looks down at Jimin, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple, his eyes wandering over Jimin’s face. “Fuck, I want you so much.” 

His pheromones are calming and they are heavy with lust, and Jimin believes him. 

He feels a little soft and floaty, and still slightly embarrassed, as he watches the alpha undress, peeling off the soaked clothes, revealing smooth tattooed skin, glowing in the moonlight, bulging biceps, sculpted abs and pecs.

He’s perfect. Literally something out of Jimin’s wet dreams. And he smells so good. 

It’s not just instincts that make Jimin turn around on his stomach, it’s not just his omega that makes him want to press his chest into the sheets while lifting his butt like this. It’s also himself. 

He’s presenting because he wants to. 

When Jungkook’s eyes land on him they darken, his thick cock giving a heavy jump.

“Fucking hell—” He curses and doesn’t waste any time as he climbs onto the bed again, coming up behind Jimin. 

This time, when he slides inside, the feeling is even more intense, with Jimin still being all sensitive from coming so hard just shortly before. 

The alpha gives him time to adjust, fucking him with long slow thrusts, his movements unhurried but not less pleasurable because of that. Even when Jimin starts whining, growing impatient, trying to hurry the other by pushing his ass back, because he feels hot and wet and he needs more, Jungkook never gives in. 

Instead, he seems to have found a new obsession with Jimin’s neck, biting and sucking the skin, licking over his scent gland with pleased hums. 

Just when Jimin thinks he can’t take it anymore, the other finally gives in to him. 

He fucks Jimin harder and faster, and it feels so fucking good. Jimin props himself up on his elbows for leverage, driving his ass back desperately to meet Jungkook’s thrust. Their moans and gasps get louder, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. 

Jimin is breathless, burning hot, and definitely out of his mind. Everything is intense and there is a familiar swell of pleasure right at the pit of his stomach. It builds quickly, unforgivingly, and Jimin knows he’s almost there. 

Jungkook groans when Jimin clamps down on him, pressing his chest against Jimin’s back, their damp skin sticking together. A hot tongue dragging over his scent gland makes Jimin’s head swim. He feels high. High on pleasure and lust, his stomach clenching with every thrust to his prostate, his thighs quivering. 

“Fuck—” Jungkook presses his lips to Jimin’s ear. “Gonna knot,” he warns, his arm coming around Jimin to pull him closer. “Gonna knot you.” 

His thighs slam against the back of Jimin’s, and Jimin’s omega preens. It’s rare for alphas to knot outside of their rut, the occasion speaking of utmost pleasure. 

Suddenly, he feels dizzy with want, his mouth filling with drool, his omega salivating for it.

He wants it so bad. He wants Jungkook’s knot. 

When he opens his lips in an attempt to say something to convey that desire, drool runs from the corner of his mouth, down his chin, and only one single word comes out: 

“Alpha–” 

Jungkook's hips stutter before he growls, a noise that Jimin can feel inside him. He sobs, his head swimming from the other’s pheromones, slick sliding down his inner thigh as his body gets ready to take his alpha’s knot. 

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip when he feels the cock inside him grow bigger, his back arching at the sensation of the slight swell catching on his rim. The pressure inside him builds, the heat under his skin increasing, his fingers shaking where they curl in the sheets. 

Jungkook is talking to him, telling him how well he’s taking it, how hot he is, calls him “good boy”, “good omega”, and “darling”, while driving his growing knot into him over and over again at a brutal pace. 

Jimin’s cheeks are wet with tears, his moans getting more heated, more desperate, the pleasure inside him swelling and centering as Jungkook’s knot grows and grows, getting bigger than anything Jimin’s ever experienced until it’s too big to slip back out of him. 

The fullness makes Jimin’s heart race, his toes curling, his abs clenching—

The moment Jungkook locks inside him with a broken moan, Jimin’s vision goes white, and at the first throb of the alpha’s cock filling him with cum, Jimin falls apart completely as his orgasm slams into him. His entire body trembles with his release, he’s burning bright, thick spurts of cum spilling into the sheets, his hole clamping down on the girth inside him. 

He vaguely registers Jungkook grinding into him deeply as he empties himself, registers lips pressing against his tear-stained cheek, feels the rumble of a purr against his back. He lets himself be consumed by this feeling, inhales their mixed pheromones until he can taste them in his throat. 

And then he closes his eyes. Content and warm and full. 

Like this, he’s lulled to sleep. 

The morning after, when Jimin wakes up, blinking his eyes open slowly, he immediately knows where he is. 

The morning light filtering through the curtains casts a warm glow across the room and when he stirs, he feels the softness of the bed, and the crisp clean sheets enveloping him. The room still smells subtly of sex, a little bit of lingering alpha and omega pheromones, but not uncomfortably so. 

He’s alone, Jungkook nowhere to be found, and the room is quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the city outside. 

Peeking under the sheets, Jimin notices that he’s dressed in what seems like Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants – the strings pulled tight to fit his smaller form. He takes hold of the shirt and brings it up to his nose, deeply inhaling the alpha’s scent that’s lingering on the fabric. Something about it makes a small smile tug on his lips. 

He lies there for a while, drifting in and out of sleep, then he yawns and stretches under the sheets, before sitting up slowly. He’s undoubtedly sore, probably the sorest he’s ever been on a morning after. But he’s also relaxed, his omega calm and content. 

He looks around, noting the glass of water on the bedside table next to him, before taking in the neatly organized space, the muted colors, and the occasional hint of Jungkook’s personal touch. A shelf filled with books Jimin is itching to get a better look at, a black tie carelessly draped over the arm of a chair, a small potted plant on the table beside it—

Jimin turns toward the door at a sudden noise coming from somewhere in the penthouse. As if on cue, the smell of breakfast filters in, and immediately, his stomach rumbles. 

He slides out of the bed, the soles of his bare feet meeting the cool floor, and makes his way out of the room, navigating the unfamiliar apartment with cautious steps. Following his nose, he arrives at the source of the delicious smell: the kitchen. 

When he enters, he pauses, taking in the view he’s met with.

Jungkook is busy at the stove, his back turned to Jimin.

Little does Jimin know that even years later, he’ll think back to this particular moment. Years later, he’ll come to realize that this was the moment, the sight, that had done it to him. 

The sight of Jeon Jungkook in the morning, with his hair a bit disheveled, wearing nothing but shorts and an oversized shirt, his feet bare on the kitchen tiles, carefully crafting what looks like an omelet for Jimin. 

Jimin doesn’t know it yet, but this will become a daily ritual. Omelets, waffles, pancakes— He’ll be treated to breakfast every morning to come. 

Jungkook perks up and looks over his shoulder. 

“You’re up,” he says, his gaze dragging over Jimin’s body in a way that makes Jimin squirm on his feet. “Sit down.” 

Little does Jimin know that this will be the part where in the future he’ll make his way over to the stove, lean in, place a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek before reminding him that they also need coffee, and then volunteering to prepare it because the alpha doesn’t know how to properly use his own ridiculously expensive coffee maker.

Today – the first day – Jimin just nods, making his way to the kitchen table and sinking down on one of the chairs. 

When Jungkook places his breakfast in front of him a while later, Jimin notices the alpha’s lingering gaze on his neck.

“What?” He questions with a frown.

Jungkook simply shrugs, pulling out the chair beside him and taking a seat.

“It looks good like this,” he remarks casually.

Jimin's frown deepens. "Like what?"

The alpha nonchalantly lifts a forkful of omelet to his mouth, chewing slowly before answering.

"Without the collar."

Something in the air stills and for a moment, Jimin just stares, unsure what to do with that information. He’s so stunned that he doesn’t even flinch when Jungkook brings his free hand to his neck, his knuckles brushing over the exposed skin gently. 

He does flinch, however, when Jungkook grazes a spot that feels sore and suspiciously like a hickey. 

His reaction and the glare that follows makes the alpha chuckle. 

Jimin doesn’t know it yet, but he won’t wear the collar anymore. Instead, he’ll proudly wear Jungkook’s love bites on his neck, just like Jungkook will wear Jimin’s, each telling stories of their shared moments together.

And, in years to come, mating bites will join both their collections, which they will wear just as proudly, as symbols of their bond and the claim they hold over each other. A much more powerful symbol than any sort of collar could ever be.