Archive of Our Own

Jeon Jungkook is a simple man.

He leads what most would call a simple life. He has a relatively boring 9-5 job, he drives a safe, reliable car that gets great gas mileage, and he has a loving omega and beautiful daughter to come home to every night.

And he likes it that way. Truly, he does. He’s as content as can be and wants for nothing. There’s not much more in this world that he could want for. And sure, some might call him a pushover or too easygoing for an alpha, but he likes that his life is simple— had learned early on in his marriage that a happy wife bodes well for a happy life. And he loves when his wife is happy.

Jimin is the sun to which his world orbits. There’s no other way Jungkook would have it.

But unfortunately, as luck would have it, his wife is not at all happy at the moment.

The night wasn’t supposed to go down like it had. It was supposed to be a simple night out with his team. They had just completed an arduous, months-long project that had improved both their client's bottom line and Jungkook's standing with the company. So, when Namjoon suggested a celebratory drink for their team after they'd wrapped everything up, Jungkook had found himself agreeing despite his usual reluctance to socialize outside of work.

"To another successful quarter," Namjoon had called, clinking his glass against Jungkook's in a toast. The bar was packed, some people clad in business casual from their workplace while others mingled between them in far more casual outerwear as the music vibrated obnoxiously through the floorboards and into Jungkook's bones.

"I still can't believe we pulled it off," Jungkook replied, trying to project over the noise. The tension of the past few months felt like it was finally slipping from his shoulders. He took a long sip of his beer and savored the crisp bitterness.

Namjoon leaned in closer over their bartop table, his voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding boom of the bar’s shitty speakers. "The client's already talking about extending the contract. You might be looking at a promotion soon if—"

Something shifted in Namjoon's expression then as his eyes darted over Jungkook's shoulder, and the scent of overly sweet jasmine wafted toward them before Jungkook even had the chance to turn around. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he recognized the scent growing steadily and unfortunately closer. 

Namjoon huffed into his beer before draining the last of it in one swift motion. "Well, I think I need another drink." He patted the table twice, once in warning and another in sympathy. "Good luck, soldier." Then he was off with a quick salute before making his strategic retreat toward the crowded bar.

Left alone, Jungkook’s phone vibrated against the sticky tabletop. The screen lit up with Jimin's name and a message that made his lips curl involuntarily into a smile. Bomi was going over to Taehyung's for a sleepover with Sora tonight. His chest warmed at the thought of his daughter, probably already waiting at the door with her overnight bag packed to the brim with all her must-have plushes, and her favorite stuffed bunny and that worn blanket she refuses to sleep without in each of her tiny little hands. And Jimin, oh his sweet, lovely Jimin, how his cheeks were probably bunched up at the mere sight of her, making his beautiful eyes into crescents as he smiled down at their precious pup, the apples of his cheeks pink and—

The warmth in his chest evaporated as a body collided with his, the impact sending him back harshly against his chair. Hyesoo's giggle pierced through the bar noise as she steadied herself against his chest, fingers splaying wide across his button-up shirt.

"Whoopsie," she slurred. Her face was entirely too close to his. "These floors are just sooo slippery."

Jungkook frowned. No they weren’t. If anything, they were sticky and caked in about three decades worth of spilt liquor and probably haven’t seen clean mop water in just as long. He caught her by the shoulders and firmly lifted her back to a standing position. Her jasmine was overpowering, artificially sweetened by alcohol and a bit of desperation, maybe. Her eyelids drooped heavily and he noted the slight smudge of mascara at the corner of her right eye.

"Jungkook!" She exclaimed with a pout that made his skin crawl. "I've been lookin’ everywhere for you."

"Are you okay, Hyesoo?" He tried to infuse his voice with just enough concern to be polite but not encouraging.

"I'm sooo perfect now." She patted his arm and leaned in again until he could feel her breath against his neck and her breast against his arm. "You were so amazin’ in that presentation today, oppa. The way you handled those questions... Ugh! Just sooo good Jungkook. So, so…" She trailed off, her hand lingering on his bicep and squeezing slightly.

"Thanks. You did great too with the market research slides." He attempted to shift away, but the table directly behind his chair left him nowhere to retreat.

"Did I?" Her eyes widened with exaggerated pleasure and she swayed just a bit. "I’was so nervous, but you made everything flow—hic— so nicely." Her hand slid down his arm to his wrist, too close to the gland there for his comfort. "We make such a good team, don’tcha think, oppa?"

“Uh…”

His phone buzzed again on the table. Hyesoo's eyes flicked toward it, and her mouth tightened momentarily when she saw it was from Jiminie-hyungie 😇💞🥰💍 before she leaned in even closer.

"Mmm, your voice was so strong when you were presentin’ those numbers..." she whispers, her lips nearly brushing his ear. Her breath reeked of liquor and he couldn’t quite keep the look of ick off his face, feeling a bit bad about it despite the circumstance. "Was so commandin’ and just so alpha... mmm, I bet you're like that in other situations too."

The sweetness of her scent was utterly cloying now, coating the back of his throat until he felt like he was right on track to gag. His stomach churned as her fingers trailed up his arm again, and he swallowed hard against the rising discomfort. Jimin wouldn’t like this.

"I should—" he started, but she hastily began talking over him.

"We should celebrate properly," she insisted, pressing against him as her hand found his waist. "You know, just the two of us. Just me and you, oppa."

Alarm bells were sounding off in his head, but he felt stuck like a deer in the direct path of rapidly approaching headlights, and this car wasn’t slowing down for anything, making him desperately anxious.

His phone buzzed a third time and Hyesoo huffed, her eyes narrowing at the device.

"Someone's needy t’night," she muttered before turning back to him with renewed determination. "But I'm right here, Jungkookie."

The nickname in her mouth felt wrong and invasive in a way that made his skin prickle with discomfort. Only Jimin should call him that. Only Jimin deserved to call him that.

She leaned closer to him and her breast yet again pressed against his arm. A shiver of ick slid down his spine and now he was entirely, one-hundred percent, certifiably uncomfortable.

"Bathroom," he blurted out, already rising from his seat and gently but firmly moving her aside. "I, uh, need to use the bathroom. Sorry, um. Excuse me."

He practically sprinted to the bathroom, weaving through the crowd with muttered apologies. His heart hammered against his ribs as he shoved the door open, grateful to find it momentarily empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he braced both hands on the wet sink's edge. God, he just hoped that she wasn’t bold enough to follow him in here. He would probably actually cry.

He carefully removed his wire frame glasses from his face, folding them and setting them off to the side before he turned on the cold water from the tap and splashed his face repeatedly. The shock of it helped clear his head a little bit, water dripping from his chin as he stared at his reflection.

Hyesoo had always been flirtatious, sure, but harmless— or at least so he thought. Tonight felt like she finally decided to make her move despite knowing damn well that he's mated and has a family at home. He patted his face dry with a rough paper towel and ran damp fingers through his hair.

Jimin's voice echoed in his head: "You need to be more firm with people, Kook. Especially when they make you uncomfortable." His mate had told him this countless times, usually after Jungkook came home frustrated about someone taking advantage of his good nature. But it’s just so hard. He may be an alpha, but his demeanor has always just been easy-going and passive. He’s not good at putting his foot down.

His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the sink. He lifted his wrist to his nose and inhaled. The familiar warm notes of his own oud scent were there, but now they were tangled with the cloying sweetness of jasmine. His stomach dropped.

Jimin was going to be able to smell it immediately. His wife had an uncannily sharp nose, especially when it comes to other omegas near his alpha.

Guilt wormed its way into his stomach and twisted there like a knife. He should have shut Hyesoo down the moment she touched him. Hell, he should have nipped this in the bud months ago when he first got the inkling she was being a bit flirty. Jimin was going to be so disappointed. The thought made his chest ache.

"Dang it."

He gently picked up his glasses and slipped them back onto the slope of his nose. He tightened his tie with nervous fingers and tried very his best to compose himself. That beer he left on the table was actually really good. He hoped she hadn't done anything to it in his absence. People do weird shit when they're desperate.

All he wanted now was to go home to his sweet, pretty Jimin, to curl around his omega and breathe in his enticingly familiar, comforting scent and forget about all of this. And tomorrow, Bomi would be back from her sleepover, no doubt bursting with stories about all the trouble she and Sora got into at Taehyung’s expense. The thought brought a small smile to his lips despite everything. He just loves them so much.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the sink and headed back into the bar. He'd grab his jacket, make his excuses to Namjoon, and slip out before Hyesoo would be able to corner him again.

That was the game plan.

But as he approached their table, he spotted her standing there with a phone pressed to her ear. The line of her shoulders was tight as she spoke tersely— and still slurred— into the phone, her knuckles a pale white from the sheer force of grip.

Now, Jungkook may not like the omega that much and it was obvious that she had quite a vicious crush on him despite his mated status, but he still didn’t want to see her upset. Somewhere small, deep down inside him, he still cared about her as a person, and as a coworker at the very least.

"Nah, you listen to me," she slur-hissed into the receiver. "He doesn’t wanna come home right now. We're celebratin’."

As Jungkook got closer, something about the phone caught his eye. The case was a familiar shade of blue with a small chip in the corner from— oh man, from when Bomi had dropped it last month. His stomach dropped.

That's his phone. And if that's his phone, then that’s—

"He's with me now, isn’t that right Jungkookie," the omega turned to face him with a dopey, smug grin. Her tone dripped with venom and self-satisfaction. It immediately made Jungkook’s heart drop into his ass. “Yeah, uh-huh, whatever. Maybe if you weren't such a controllin’ bitch, he wouldn't need to—"

Jungkook's heart hammered against his ribs. He lunged forward, snatching his jacket from the back of the chair with one hand while reaching for the phone with the other. Hyesoo pulled an arguably impressive evasive maneuver and looked at him like he’s the crazy one here.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, voice sharper than he'd ever used with her… or with anyone ever, really.

The omega’s eyes widened in disbelief, like she couldn’t comprehend how she was the one in the wrong here. She still wouldn’t relinquish the phone.

“I’m just explainin’ to your ‘mate’—” she threw up a pair of fingered airquotes (which Jungkook thought was silly because he’s literally his mate, nothing hypothetical about it) “—that oppa’s busy t’night with me.” Her voice lilted at the end and Jungkook saw the hearts in her eyes.

“No I’m not. Give me my phone, please.”

Her expression fell immediately and her eyes turned angry in a fraction of a second.

“Nuh uh, I don’ wanna.”

"Give me the phone." Jungkook's voice didn’t even sound like his own. His hand shot out, fingers closing around the device and yanking it from her grasp with enough force that she stumbled slightly.

He pressed the phone to his ear immediately with shaking hands. 

"Jimin? Baby?" 

The line was silent for a long moment and the only reason Jungkook knew that his wife was still on the line was the faint sound of his breathing. Jungkook would know that sound anywhere. When his mate finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Get home. Now."

Then the call ended with a decisive click.

Jungkook stared at the screen and the knot in his stomach pulled even tighter. That tone. He knew that tone. It's the one Jimin used when he's beyond anger, when he's reached a cold, calculated fury that burns slower and hotter than any explosion ever could.

"Oppaaa," Hyesoo whined annoyingly, her hand reaching for his arm. "Don't go. Your little friend didn't even—"

"Wife," Jungkook corrected automatically, stepping sideways to avoid her touch. "He’s my wife. And I need to go."

He didn’t even look for Namjoon to say goodbye, just shoved his phone into his pocket and headed for the exit, weaving through the crowd with a single-minded kind of determination. Behind him, he heard Hyesoo calling his name, but he didn't turn around. It feels like he teleported with how fast he got home.

So that brings us back to now, as he’s stepping through the door to their apartment to face his not-so-happy wife. 

His chest is heaving with exertion, having taken the steps up to their third floor apartment two at a time. The apartment swallows him in darkness as he steps inside, and his stomach sinks. There’s no warm lamplight, no flickering candles on the coffee table, nothing but pitch black darkness to welcome him home. Oh yeah, Jimin is definitely mad.

He swallows hard and closes the door behind him with a soft click. He hangs his jacket up on the hook by the door, and his palms are slick with sweat as he stands in the entryway, heart hammering against his ribs. Jungkook wipes his hands on his thighs before bending down to remove his dress shoes, carefully aligning them against the wall where they always go.

The familiar weight of his tie feels suddenly restrictive, choking him. He resists the urge to loosen it, even though Namjoon has told him countless times that nobody at the office cares if he wears one or not. But Jungkook likes the structure it provides, the way it completes his professional look. Right now, though, it feels like a noose.

"Jimin?" he calls out, his voice embarrassingly small in the darkness.

Nothing. 

Jungkook takes a tentative step forward, his socked feet silent against the hardwood. The kitchen is his first stop, where he peers around the doorframe to find it empty, the gleaming countertops visible only by the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. He moves to the living room next, his eyes now adjusting enough to make out the silhouette of their couch, the coffee table, Jimin's favorite reading chair— all vacant and eerily still.

A pang of longing hits his chest as he passes Bomi's room. He knows she's at Taehyung's for the night, but he can't help peeking in anyway. Her little nightlight casts star-shaped patterns across her empty room. His throat tightens at the thought of missing her bedtime routine. He loves the way she insists on "just one more story, appa" every single night, how she wraps her tiny arms around his neck and plants sloppy kisses on his cheek before snuggling under her covers.

Their bedroom is the next logical place, and Jungkook's heart rate picks up as he approaches. Maybe Jimin is waiting there, ready to confront him. But when he peeks his head in, the bed is perfectly made and untouched since this morning. 

A bead of sweat trickles down Jungkook's spine. God, he hates this. He hates knowing that Jimin is upset, hates being the cause of that upset even more. All he wants in life is to make Jimin smile, to see those eye crescents form and his cheeks bunch up with joy. Not... whatever this is.

There's only one place left to look. As he approaches his home office, a sliver of light spills from beneath the closed door, cutting through the darkness like a foreboding runway. His heart leaps into his throat.

"Jimin?" he calls through the door, his voice wavering slightly. “Hyung?”

Silence.

With trembling fingers, he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Ah, there he is. He’s sitting at the desk looking unbothered as can be. He’s flipping lazily through one of Jungkook’s business strategy books— one that the alpha knows to be a particular snoozefest— and he doesn’t bother looking up when the door opens.

Jungkook hovers in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He feels like a pre-emptively scolded puppy, tail tucked between his legs and waiting for the rolled-up newspaper’s swat to the nose. It’s either forgiveness or further punishment he’s in for tonight… and Jungkook’s not going to hold his breath for the former. While he may be the unblemished portrait of uncaring, the scent of Jimin's anger cuts through the room, overwhelming his usual sweet citrus.

Jungkook twists his hands together, wiping the renewed sweat on his slacks before clearing his throat.

"Baby?"

His wife’s hand shoots up in a swift, cutting motion. The universal signal for shut the fuck up.

Jungkook's mouth snaps closed immediately. He watches as his wife turns another page, then another, just flipping lazily through the book knowing that it’s only contributing to his alpha’s anxiety. Jimin loves mind games— just another thing Jungkook loves about him so. His wife is so complex.

The only sound in the room is the whisper of paper against paper and Jungkook's own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Then, with a sharp movement, Jimin slams the book shut. The sound makes the alpha flinch.

Only then does Jimin finally look up at him. His eyes are cold and narrowed, his full lips pressed into a thin line. But what catches Jungkook's attention is the slight twitch of his nose. Hyesoo's jasmine must still be clinging to him, embedded in his clothes and skin.

Panic rises in his chest. "Jimin, I can explain—"

"If I were you, I wouldn't speak right now."

His wife’s voice is deceptively quiet and gentle in its command, but Jungkook knows better than to trust the softness there. He just swallows thickly and nods, dropping his gaze to the floor. His glasses slide down his nose slightly, but he doesn't dare adjust them.

Jimin stands from the desk in one fluid motion, pushing the chair back with a scrape that sounds deafening in the silence. He rounds the desk with light, graceful steps, and even though Jungkook is taller, he feels impossibly small under Jimin's gaze.

Jimin leans against the desk and crosses his arms, the casualness of the pose belying the tension radiating from him. Jungkook's gaze drops to his own socks, unable to bear the weight of Jimin's stare. The silence between them is thick with accusation.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Jimin asks, voice deceptively light. "Have fun with your coworkers?"

Jungkook swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Better to remain silent than risk making this worse.

"Look at me.”

Jungkook's head snaps up immediately, following the order as if his body has no choice but to obey. Not a single muscle twitches on his wife’s face to betray any emotion. That's what sends shivers cascading down Jungkook's spine. When he gets like this, that's when he's truly terrifying.

"What about your little date, hm? Did you enjoy that?" His voice still has that same soft, gentle tone. "How long has that been going on?"

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond, but Jimin throws his hand up again, silencing him before he can utter a single word. It's the same gesture he uses with Bomi when she gets particularly argumentative. She has Jimin's same aptitude for stubborn streaks, has his same fierce determination, even that same little jut of her chin when she's digging in her heels. The resemblance makes his heart clench like the beat of little butterfly wings.

He just loves his family more than anything. He would never, ever do anything to tear them apart. Jimin is his everything! His sun, his moon, his stars, his entire universe—

"Have you fucked her?" 

Jungkook shakes his head frantically.

"Have you kissed her?"

Another desperate shake.

"Have you touched her?"

Jungkook feels like crying. He lurches forward, hands outstretched in supplication.

"No! Baby, I would never—"

"Stop right fucking there," Jimin snarls, hand shooting up again. His composure cracks for just a moment and his eyes flash with hurt beneath the anger. His scent flares with that same fury.

Jungkook drops to his knees, still several feet away from his omega, as tears spring to his eyes. He bends forward until his forehead is pressed against the floor in a bow.

"No baby, please! You're my wife, I love you, I would never do this to you, please you've got to believe me—" His voice cracks on the last word as tears spill down his cheeks.

He hears footsteps approaching, and when he looks up, Jimin is standing directly above him, looking down with an expression that makes Jungkook's heart shatter. He inches forward, pressing his lips to Jimin's bare feet, dotting kisses there as an act of desperate devotion.

"I love you. Only you. Always you."

"If that's true, then why did you come home smelling like another omega? Why did another omega answer your phone when I called to tell you about our pup?"

Jungkook clings to Jimin's ankles, desperate for connection. "It was a-all a misunderstanding, I swear. S-she was drunk and she grabbed my phone— I didn't know, I was in the bathroom—" The words tumble out in a jumbled mess. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Please, hyung— Baby p-please—“

He's back on his knees, hands clasped together in prayer, tears streaming down his face.

"How close did she get to you to get her scent all over you like this?"

Jungkook's breath catches. He looks up at Jimin, seeing the pain beneath the anger, the fear behind the fury. He can see him trying to connect the dots of betrayal, trying to determine how this is going to affect everything they’ve built together— their entire life, their family, everything they've planned for the future. Jungkook loves that he’s so pragmatic like that.

"She was all over me," he admits as shame burns through him. "She was against me, touching my arm a-and my chest— Her boo—“ he gulps, “Her boob— I tried to move away, but I— I should have been firmer. I-I should’ve stood up for myself and stopped her. I'm so sorry, honey, please… I’ll make it up to you I swear— Please, I would never do this to you, my love, you know th—“

Jimin's laugh is sharp and cold, cutting through Jungkook's desperate pleas like a stake to the heart. 

"Why should I believe you?" he sneers. "Are the waterworks supposed to convince me? My big, strong alpha comes home smelling like some whore and I’m to believe him because he’s on his knees crying for forgiveness?"

The words should sting, and they do at some level, but a shameful heat crawls up his spine and settles low in his belly. His cock twitches traitorously in his slacks, hardening despite the humiliation washing over him.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook whispers, but he can't tear his eyes away from the cruel curve of his lips, the jealous fire in his eyes. God, he's gorgeous like this, all righteous with anger and possession. 

"I bet you are." His hand shoots out, fingers gripping Jungkook's chin hard enough to bruise. He tilts the alpha’s face up, forcing him to meet that burning gaze. "Let’s say I believe you.” Jungkook feels hope return like oxygen filling his lungs. “Let’s say that I give you the benefit of the doubt. What will you do to make it up to me?”

Jungkook swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing against Jimin's thumb.

“Because you are going to make this up to me. Every single second of it."

“Anything," he vows. "I’ll do anything to make this right, honey."

Satisfaction flashes across his wife’s features as his grip moves from Jungkook's chin to his tie. With a sharp tug, he pulls his husband forward until he's forced to shuffle awkwardly on his knees, until Jimin’s leg presses between Jungkook's thighs. His chin rests on the omega’s hip bone as he stares up at his wife— at the man who holds his heart in his hands, who could crush his entire world with a single word.

"That's what I thought.”

He tugs at the tie around Jungkook’s neck a bit harder as he peers down at the alpha on his knees.

"You promise me nothing happened?" 

“I swear, baby. I would never touch anyone but you.”

“Do you think you deserve to touch me now?”

Jungkook bites his lip as he shakes his head, preemptively accepting a punishment as ungodly as not being able to touch Jimin for an undetermined, torturous amount of time. 

“You’re sorry, puppy? You’ll pay your penance?”

He nods frantically, like a sinner at confession, and his hips jerk forward of their own accord, pressing against his wife’s leg. The pressure against his growing erection is just as delicious as it is torturous.

Jimin's hand moves to the back of Jungkook's head, fingers tangling in his hair. With a firm push, he shoves Jungkook's face against his crotch, right against the thin fabric of his sleep shorts.

The scent that greets him is musky and sweet and intoxicatingly familiar. So much better than Hyesoo's cloying jasmine. This right here is like coming home, like he’s an addict that just got offered a hit at the peak of his high. This is Jimin. His Jimin. Everything about him feels like this. 

A high whine escapes his throat after a deep inhale. His glasses press painfully against his face, but he doesn't care, just nuzzles even closer, breathing in the heady aroma of his omega's pussy through the fabric like it’s vital to his health. At this point, it must be. 

“What should your penance be? Fasting? Should I let you starve for what I know you want? Would that do it, hmm?”

Another whine escapes him as his nose presses against his wife’s pussy more intently. He would rather die, but he’ll do anything Jimin tells him. Even if it pains him. 

“Or should I let you show me how sorry you are? Can you do that? Show me how much I mean to you?”

"I'll make it up to you," he mumbles against the soft cotton. "I'll eat you out all night. Until the sun comes up, I swear."

He's practically huffing Jimin's pussy now, rocking his hips unconsciously against his leg. The friction is maddening and his cock is straining painfully against his slacks, when suddenly, Jimin's foot presses down harshly against it. The sole of his bare foot grinds down against the sensitive bulge and pain flares sharply as Jungkook gasps. But Jimin doesn't let up, keeping the hand on the back of his husband’s head firm as his face presses intently against his crotch.

"Please," Jungkook whimpers, muffled against the shorts. "Please, hyung."

Jimin's free hand slides down to cup Jungkook's cheek. The touch is almost tender despite the cruel pressure of his foot. 

"Tell me. Tell hyung who you belong to."

"You—“ his voice cracks “—only you. Always you."

“And who am I?”

The pressure of Jimin's foot increases and Jungkook's vision blurs with tears. But it’s not from pain or from discomfort— far from it. From the overwhelming need to prove himself, to make Jimin understand. 

“My wife, my omega, my mate. My sweet Bomi’s mommy.”

There is one simple fact of life that Jungkook knows for certain. He’s a simple man with a simple life, attributing all he knows to one simple belief system: The only person Jungkook has and will ever belong to is his wife.

He gets one last huff of that sweet cunt before his head is ripped away. The alpha whimpers at the loss of the scent he so desperately craves. Jimin steps backwards as he moves to lean back against the desk. His calculating eyes never leave Jungkook’s face despite the pink flush across his cheeks.

“You never forget that, Jungkook. I am yours and you are mine.”

Jungkook nods frantically, still on his knees. His glasses sit crooked on his nose, his tie hangs off-center, and his work slacks strain obscenely against his raging erection. The smell of Jimin’s pussy clings to his nostrils, maddening in its enticing sweetness.

“My alpha and no one else’s,” Jimin says, one hand drifting to his own neck where Jungkook’s mating bite sits, mirroring the one on Jungkook’s own. “I gave you our pup, I gave you my bite. You are mine.”

“Yours,” Jungkook agrees. He’d wear a neon sign proclaiming his devotion if his wife asked him. He’d tattoo it across his forehead. He’d do anything to prove his loyalty.

Jimin hoists himself up onto the desk, settling his weight on the edge. The movement puts even more distance between them, and Jungkook aches with the need to close that gap, but he knows better. He stays exactly where Jimin wants him, trembling on his knees.

“You’re mine to do with as I please,” the omega says, spreading his legs wide. His fingers trail down his own thighs softly. “I can tease you and torture you and make you beg and cry, can’t I? And you’ll take it all, won’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Jungkook breathes and his cock throbs painfully.

Jimin’s hand moves lower down his thigh, pressing against the fabric of his sleep shorts. “And as much as you’re mine, I’m yours too. I only belong to you, alpha. No one else gets to touch me here.”

Jungkook’s mouth waters and he can feel himself leaking precum into his briefs, darkening the front of his slacks. The smell of slick in the air is overwhelming. It’s so sweet, like fresh cut citrus with a musky undertone of sandalwood that’s so entirely Jimin it makes Jungkook’s head spin.

“Only you do, alpha.” Jimin slips his hand beneath the waistband and the first moan that escapes his lips makes Jungkook’s mouth drip with saliva. His fingers move in slow circles, teasing himself as he watches Jungkook suffer. “Do you know whose pussy this is? Hmm? Do you?”

His voice is so sticky sweet that Jungkook can only nod, swearing drool falls from his lips.

“Tell me, alpha. Whose pussy is this?”

“M-mine,” Jungkook says, voice cracking weakly.

“Hm? What was that?” His wife’s voice is breathy with arousal as his fingers circle inside his shorts. “Couldn’t hear you, baby.”

“Mine. That pussy is mine.”

“Mmm, that’s right. This is your pussy, Kook,” Jimin breathes, moaning as his fingers do something delicious beneath the fabric. “Only you get this. Nobody else will ever get to touch me here. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook whimpers, his hips rocking forward involuntarily.

“Don’t you want it, alpha? Don’t you want to touch me?” He taunts Jungkook by spreading his legs wider. “Why not come over here and come touch me?”

Jungkook moves to rise from his knees, desperate to obey, but Jimin tuts sharply, the sound freezing him in place.

“Uh uh, I didn’t say you could move.”

Jungkook drops back down to his knees, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying still.

Jimin lifts his hips, sliding the sleep shorts down his legs and kicking them away. His white panties come into view and the sheer sight of them has Jungkook’s cock kicking so hard he sees stars. He loves Jimin’s simple, comfortable cotton underwear more than any lingerie he’s ever worn. There’s something about seeing his wife relaxed and cozy in his undergarments that sends his alpha absolutely wild— and the wet spot on the white cotton doesn’t really help much.

Jimin trails his fingers down the outside of the panties, pressing one finger directly over his slit. His head falls back as a moan tears from his throat, the long line of his neck exposed and oh so inviting.

“Please,” Jungkook hears himself start begging. “Please, baby, let me— I need—”

Jimin tilts his head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded and glassy with pleasure. “Let you what?” he asks, voice innocent despite the sinful roll of his hips into his own hand. “Hm? I don’t know what you want. Use your words.”

The way he’s talking to him is how he speaks to Bomi when she gets frustrated and loses her ability to express herself through words. Jungkook’s really not that far off.

“You know what I want, honey, please—”

“Do I?”

“Yes, yes, please— I need to taste you. Need to make you feel good, baby, you know I will. I promise, please, I promise I’ll be good.”

"You'll be good for me?" Jimin asks, that deceptively sweet lilt still hanging off his tongue.

Jungkook stammers over his yeses, his mouth tripping over the word like it's the only one he knows. "Yes, yes, yes, baby— I'll be so good, I swear, I'll be so good for you—"

Jimin's hand slides under the waistband of his panties, and the unmistakable shlick of his wife's fingers moving against his cunt makes Jungkook's brain short-circuit. He can see the vague shadow of movement through the white cotton, but all he can actually make out is the pink skin of the back of his hand beneath the soaked material. He can imagine what’s going on under there. His wife’s fingers circling around his clit, sliding down to his slit and playing in the slick bubbling there.

Jungkook’s losing his goddamn mind.

His cock throbs so hard it’s physically painful. He swears it’s straining against his zipper with enough force that he’s certain the metal teeth are going to give way any second now. Every instinct in his body is screaming for him to reach down and palm himself to relieve even a fraction of the pressure, but then his eyes catch Jimin’s and his hands stay planted firmly on his thighs.

He’s got to be hyperventilating. With the way he hears his own breath coming in short, ragged bursts, it’s no surprise he feels a bit lightheaded. The wet sounds from between the spread legs across the room grow louder and more rhythmic, and Jungkook realizes that his wife is probably two, maybe three fingers deep in himself, sliding in and out of that tight, dripping cunt with beautiful moans spilling out into the room.

Jimin’s head had been thrown back in his pleasure, the long line of his throat bobbing with each whimper and moan, but now he brings it forward, chin tilting down to look at Jungkook through heavy-lidded eyes. His fat lips are parted, his cheeks flushed pink, and he looks absolutely devastating.

“Well then come get it, puppy.”

Jungkook’s scrambling to get his feet under him so he can hurry over to his spread-open wife, but Jimin’s voice stops him once again.

“That’s not how a dog should move.”

It takes a moment for Jungkook’s warbled, lust-drunk brain to process what that means. He stares at Jimin open-mouthed, glasses sliding further down his nose, until his face burns with humiliation and arousal in equal measure, and he drops to his hands and knees on the hardwood floor. His tie hangs loose around his neck and his glasses threaten to fall, but he crawls across the room toward his wife like the dog he is.

Jungkook can feel those eyes on him and hears those wet sounds from between Jimin’s legs grow more vigorous the closer he gets, fucking himself on his fingers harder and faster as his big, strong husband makes pilgrimage to his own personal holy grail.

By the time Jungkook reaches the desk, his palms are sore and his knees ache, but none of that matters because he’s there. He rises back onto his knees and he’s face level with Jimin’s sopping pussy, close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from between those thick thighs.

And holy fuck, the smell.

Jungkook’s favorite place in the entire world is between his wife’s legs. He’s a simple man. He’s known it since the first time he ever was let loose between them, and it’s never changed, not once. That sweet citrus, thick with arousal is so divine that his vision actually blurs for a moment and he sways a little bit.

Jimin’s thighs are thick and soft, marked with a few silvery stretch marks that Jungkook has worshiped a thousand times over. He’s loved Jimin’s body in every single stage it’s gone through. From the lithe, athletic frame he’d had when they first met, through the soft swell of pregnancy when he’d plumped up so beautifully while carrying their pup, to now, still carrying a few remnants of that baby weight, still so soft and full and perfect. Jungkook will never, ever get tired of this body. If Jimin chose right now to clamp those thighs around his head and squeeze as tight as he could and never let up, Jungkook knows with absolute certainty that he would die a happy man with a popped knot in his pants.

Those short little fingers keep moving in and out of his sopping hole, making the most sinful noises, but Jungkook is being good so he doesn’t touch. He keeps his hands clenched on his slacks and his eyes locked on Jimin’s, taking long, deep lungfuls of that intoxicating scent but not daring to close the short distance between them without explicit permission.

Jimin holds his gaze with his lips curved into a devastating little smile.

“Hi, puppy.” His voice is soft and tender despite the obscene sounds his fingers are making. “You thirsty?”

Jungkook doesn’t trust himself to speak. His voice would probably crack or he’d start begging again, and he’s not sure Jimin wants more begging right now. He’s not sure what Jimin wants at all really, and that uncertainty keeps him trembling on his knees with his cock leaking into his briefs as he nods pathetically with his big wide eyes tearing up.

Jimin’s free hand reaches down and his fingers card through Jungkook’s disheveled hair. He scratches gently at Jungkook’s scalp, and the touch feels so comforting that he can’t help but nuzzle into Jimin’s palm like he actually is a contented puppy. His eyes flutter closed as the omega’s hand travels down to his throat, fingers tracing at the line of his jaw before settling over his scent gland. Jungkook’s oud deepens with satisfaction, his alpha finally content now that Jimin’s scent is replacing the jasmine that had clung to him earlier. It feels like home, like everything is right in the world again.

Just when he’s grown comfortable with his eyes closed, Jimin’s hand stings across his cheek, and Jungkook’s eyes fly open in shock.

“If I ever smell that fucking flower on you again,” Jimin says through gritted teeth, “I’ll make sure you never touch me again. Ever.”

“It won’t happen again,” he swears frantically, tears springing to his eyes. “I swear, baby, I— I’ll go to HR first thing Monday morning. I’ll report her a-and request to be moved from the project. I’ll do whatever it takes—”

“I mean it, Jungkook. I’ll—”

“I know, I know,” the alpha interrupts, desperate to prove his loyalty. “I’ll quit if I have to. I’ll find another job. Whatever you want, just please—”

He’s cut off by wet fingers slipping between his lips. The taste of slick hits his tongue and he moans around the intrusion, his cock leaking so heavily he swears he’s just come in his pants.

He sucks on Jimin’s fingers, cleaning them dutifully with his tongue as he looks up at his wife. Jimin’s hand grips the back of his neck, thumb pressing into his mating bite, and the expression on his face can only be described as pure possession. Jungkook just loves this so dearly about him— how passionate and dedicated he is. He loves him so much it hurts.

When Jimin pulls his fingers away, Jungkook whimpers at the loss, craving another taste. But just as he’s about to start lamenting his woes, Jimin shoves his face right against those soaked panties, and Jungkook’s big nose presses directly against his slit. He takes a deep breath, and it’s like taking a hit of the most potent drug on earth. He feels fucking high.

He starts giving the wet fabric open-mouthed kisses, licking and sucking at it desperately. When his tongue finds the bulb of Jimin’s clit through the material, he pays special attention to it.

Jimin’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he throws his head back with a moan, shoving Jungkook’s face even closer. His glasses get pushed up awkwardly against his face, but he doesn’t fucking care, he just wants whatever deeper taste of his wife’s sacred pussy he can get.

“So fucking thirsty for it,” Jimin pants. “Such a fucking dog, sniffing whatever pussy you can find and sticking your nose in it.”

Jungkook moans against the fabric, his hips rocking forward. The arousal from the humiliation of it all is intoxicating.

“Take them off,” his wife commands.

He brings his hands up only for them to be slapped away.

“With your teeth, puppy.”

Jungkook obeys immediately, gripping the elastic between his teeth and pulling the soaked underwear down Jimin’s thighs. The scent that hits him is overwhelmingly sweet and musky and so distinctly Jimin that his vision blurs.

“Look at me,” Jimin demands, and Jungkook’s eyes snap up to meet his. “This is what you almost lost tonight. This pussy that’s been yours for years.”

Jungkook nods frantically, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re going to eat me until I say stop,” Jimin continues, spreading his thighs wider. “And you’re not going to touch yourself. Not once.”

“Yes, baby,” Jungkook whispers, already leaning forward.

Jimin’s hand finds his hair again, guiding him exactly where he wants him. “Good boy.”

The first taste of Jimin’s bare cunt on his tongue nearly sends Jungkook over the edge. He laps at the slick gathering there, moaning at the sweetness of it. His wife is so wet, so ready for him despite everything. The thought that Jimin wants him, even after everything that happened tonight, makes his eyes sting with tears. His wife is so good to him.

He eats Jimin like a man starved, which he supposes he is— starved for his wife’s forgiveness, for his approval, for the taste of him that no one else gets to have. His tongue circles Jimin’s clit, then dips lower to fuck into his hole before returning to that sensitive bud.

Jimin’s thighs tremble on either side of his head, and his moans grow louder, more desperate. His hand tightens in Jungkook’s hair, pulling him closer, keeping him exactly where he wants him.

“That’s it,” Jimin pants. “Right there, baby. Don’t stop.”

Jungkook has no intention of stopping. He could stay here forever, between Jimin’s thighs, proving his devotion with his tongue. His cock throbs painfully from where it’s confined, but he doesn’t dare touch himself. He’ll suffer through it if that’s what Jimin wants. He’ll suffer through anything for his wife.

Jimin’s hips start to move against his face, chasing his pleasure with increasing urgency. Jungkook holds steady, letting Jimin use him however he needs. His jaw aches, but he doesn’t care. The taste of Jimin’s slick on his tongue is worth any discomfort.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasps, his back arching off the desk. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

Jungkook doubles his efforts, sucking Jimin’s clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue rapidly against it. He can feel Jimin’s thighs tightening around his head, can feel him getting close.

When Jimin comes, it’s with a scream that Jungkook is sure the neighbors can hear. His cunt clenches rhythmically, flooding Jungkook’s mouth with slick as he rides out his orgasm against his husband’s face.

Jungkook drinks it all down, moaning at the taste. His cock is so hard it hurts, and he’s leaking so much precum that there’s a visible wet spot on his slacks, but he doesn’t touch himself. He’s being good. He’s being so good for his wife.

He doesn’t let up on his efforts, not even when Jimin’s thighs start shaking and his wife’s hand pushes weakly against his forehead. He laps up all the slick pouring out of those glorious folds as the omega’s body twitches with overstimulation. Every time Jimin tries to squirm away, Jungkook follows, his big hands gripping the back of his wife’s thighs to keep himself submerged in his own personal heaven.

“Kook— fuck, baby, slow—” his voice breaks on a moan and his hips jerk. “Slow down, I just—”

But Jungkook can’t. He buries his tongue as deep as it’ll go into Jimin’s slit, his big nose pressing firmly against that swollen, oversensitive clit. Violent trembles cascade through the thighs on either side of his head, and the moan that rips from the omega’s throat is so loud and broken that Jungkook feels it vibrate throughout his own body. He can feel Jimin’s cunt clenching around nothing, can feel the slick absolutely gushing out of him, and he just keeps going and going and going, tongue working in deep, wet strokes that have Jimin’s back arching off the desk.

“Fuck— fuck, Kook, I’m—”

Jungkook’s tongue traces the slick that’s trailing down, down, past the pink swell of Jimin’s folds, down to where his asshole is puckered and twitching. He gives it a few broad licks and Jimin practically screams in pleasure. The omega’s hand flies to the back of Jungkook’s head, fingers tangling in his hair so tight that it hurts, but Jungkook doesn’t care. Not one bit, he just laps at the slick pooled there, moaning into his wife’s skin like a man starved.

Jimin’s so fucking wet everywhere. Slick is rolling down his thighs, dripping off the edge of the desk and pooling on the office’s hardwood floor below. The entire room smells like sex and citrus and oud, and Jungkook is drunk on it, absolutely fucking wasted on the taste and smell of his omega.

“Fingers,” Jimin begs. “Please, alpha— need your fingers.”

Jungkook’s cock gives a valiant throb at the neediness. He brings one hand up and slides it over the smooth skin of the omega’s thigh, and when he presses one finger over that sopping entrance, Jimin’s walls are so tight they almost push him back out. His pussy is still clenching rhythmically from his first orgasm, and it flutters around the single digit as Jungkook carefully pushes in.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans against Jimin’s clit, his breath hitting the engorged bud. “So tight, baby, so tight, mmm—”

The sounds Jimin is making are downright criminal. High, breathy whines and desperate little mewls that go straight to Jungkook’s aching, neglected cock. His wife is so loud, so responsive, so fucking gorgeous in the throes of his own pleasure, and Jungkook is so fucking gone on it that it’s only instinct that he adds a second finger, Jimins’s tight little cunt stretching around both of them and sucking him in greedily.

He knows exactly where that little sweet spot is, and he crooks his fingers just right to press against that spongy wall. Jimin thrashes above him, his sounds reaching a fever pitch as fingers tighten in his hair and obscene words fall from his fat, parted lips.

Jungkook’s fingers have a mind of their own, scissoring and stroking and doing all the things he knows that his wife loves. All Jungkook knows right now at this moment is single-minded devotion. Nothing else matters, nothing other than the love of his life’s pleasure, nothing other than the sounds and the slick coming out of him.

A third finger joins the party and it’s that delicious stretch that has Jimin’s walls clenching and slick shooting straight into Jungkook’s mouth, onto his chin, and dripping down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He moans into it, drinking it all down, his fingers still working that sweet spot relentlessly as Jimin’s thighs clamp down around his head and his whole body convulses. The scream that his wife lets out is guttural and raw and so fucking sexy.

He’s so focused on working Jimin through it that he doesn’t pay much attention to the rush of pleasure that surges through him as his rock-hard cock pulses in his own pants. A new, larger patch of wetness covers the front of his slacks, and all Jungkook can do about it is moan weakly into his wife’s pussy. He whimpers as his oversensitive cock throbs against the wet fabric of his briefs, his whole body shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm as he still desperately tries to keep Jimin’s going.

Jimin’s hand tugs at his hair, pulling him up off of his knees. Jungkook stumbles a little bit on his unsteady legs, but Jimin just pulls him in until they’re face to face. He gets exactly one second to appreciate the lust-blown glassiness of his wife’s eyes before those sinful plump lips are on his.

Jimin’s tongue slides filthily against his own, hungrily lapping up the taste of himself on Jungkook’s mouth. Jungkook can only whimper into it, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he still doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch. Jimin doesn’t seem to care that Jungkook’s face is absolutely drenched in slick, that it’s smeared across his chin and cheeks, dripping down his neck. He just kisses even harder and pulls him closer by the tie still hanging around his neck.

Those gorgeous sopping pink folds press against the wet front of Jungkook’s trousers, and his oversensitive, still-hard cock kicks feebly at the closeness, trying valiantly to go where it knows it belongs. The friction is almost too much, sending little sparks of pleasure and pain shooting up his spine as he whines into Jimin’s mouth.

Jimin pulls back just enough to look at him and he inhales deeply. A devastating little smile curls at the corners of his lips.

“Couldn’t hold it, puppy?” He rolls his hips forward, grinding his dripping heat against the soaked fabric of Jungkook’s slacks. “Couldn’t wait?”

Jungkook whines, pressing his nose right up against Jimin’s scent gland. The scent of him is just so thick here he can’t help but buck his hips. “I’m sorry, mommy.”

“Shh,” Jimin coos against his ear, one hand curling through his hair while the other one scratches against his back through his now-wrinkled button-up. “You’re so lucky, you know that? So fucking lucky that I’m this forgiving.”

Jungkook whimpers against his neck and presses his nose deeper into that gland, nuzzling where his bite sits on the smooth, soft skin there. He’s the luckiest man in the world.

“You’re lucky that I love you so much,” Jimin continues, voice dangerously soft and sweet. His fingers still scratching lightly up and down his back. “So lucky that I’m not even mad my puppy came without permission. That I’m not even punishing you for it.”

Somewhere in the back of Jungkook’s fogged brain, the words register, but all he really caught of that is that Jimin loves him— that even after all of this he still loves him. And suddenly, that’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that has ever mattered.

“L-love you,” Jungkook stammers. “Love you so much, mommy, I love you—”

It’s like a floodgate’s been open, he can’t stop saying it, muttering it against the warmth of the only man his heart beats for. “I love you, love you so fucking much, you’re my everything— I’m so sorry, baby, I love you s-so much, please—”

“I know, my sweet boy,” Jimin purrs tenderly. “I believe you. Mommy believes you. I know you’re sorry, it’s okay.”

Jungkook nods frantically against his neck, his glasses pressing painfully into the bridge of his nose but he doesn’t care, doesn’t have the will or the want to care about anything except the scent filling his lungs and the gentle scrape of fingers in his hair and the fact that Jimin still loves him.

He’s getting a contact high from being so near him, his head swimming and his whole body buzzing with it. His cock is still so miserably hard in its fabric prison despite the release he’d just had, still leaking steadily into his ruined briefs, still aching painfully in need of release inside the one place it belongs.

“But you have to show me.” Those sweet fingers tighten in his hair just enough to pull his head back, forcing him to meet dark, half-lidded eyes. “You gotta show me just how sorry you are.”

“I-I will,” Jungkook says as easy as breathing. “I’ll do anything, anything you want—”

Jimin’s curl once more into that devastating smile.

“Give mommy your knot, puppy.”

Jungkook moves so fast his glasses nearly fly off his face. His hands fumble for his zipper, yanking it down with so much force he hears the metal teeth strain. His briefs are absolutely diabolical— soaked dark with a healthy mix of precum and the cum from his first orgasm, clinging to his cock uncomfortably. He shoves the down to mid-thigh, his slacks pooling around his still-socked feet, and the first touch of air against his neglected, sensitive cock makes him hiss through his teeth.

He’s already lining up, his cockhead nudging against Jimin’s still dripping folds, slick smearing across the swollen tip, when Jimin’s hand wraps around his wrist.

“Hold on, baby, slow down.”

The alpha whimpers but stops in his tracks, his hips involuntarily stuttering forward desperately trying to reach the heat he so hopelessly needs. Fingers curl around the weeping head of his cock, and the touch is so overwhelming that a fat bead of precum spills out over Jimin’s knuckles.

“So sensitive today, aren’t you, appa? Hmm?”

Jungkook can only nod, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide and desperate as he stares at the small hand wrapped around him, the short fingers not meeting around the girth. His wife’s fist trails torturously slow down the engorged length of his cock, and when he reaches the base, he finds that the knot has already started swelling in anticipation.

“Look at you,” he coos, his thumb pressing gently at the slightly swollen base. “Already getting ready for me.”

Jungkook whines.

“You know,” Jimin says, “this reminds me of when you used to come to my office hours."

Memories he hasn’t revisited in years come dragging into focus. Of Jimin, sitting at his desk in that cramped grad assistant office, wearing an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder. Of Jungkook, barely twenty-two, so awestruck by the omega that he’d signed up for more office hour slots than he’d needed just to be near him. The way Jimin would let him linger after other students would leave, the way Jungkook would press him against that desk and rut against him like some deranged animal, Jimin’s legs wrapped around his waist as they made out until someone inevitably knocked on the door.

“You were always so desperate for it, weren’t you?”

Jungkook nods. “I knew I had to have you, hyung.”

Jimin hums. “Wanted you so bad too, Jungkookie. Knew that you’d be mine forever. If only those two could see us now.” Liquid fire pools in Jungkook’s gut at the possession in his voice. “If only that timid little alpha and that cocky grad student could see what you made of me. How you claimed me. How you bred me. How you made me yours.”

His cock throbs in Jimin’s grip, and he swears his knot swells just a fraction more at the sheer force of his arousal. Jimin’s fingers tighten one final time.

“Fuck me, alpha.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice.

He presses forward gently because even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to slam home, he would rather chew his own arm off than hurt his wife. The head of his thick cock catches on Jimin’s slick entrance and inch by inch he presses in until Jimin throws his head back with a deep moan.

“Fuck, baby—”

Jungkook keeps going until he’s buried to the slightly puffed up hilt, stretching Jimin’s pussy open so deliciously that his vision blurs around the edges a bit. Jimin clenches around him, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents in their wake, and Jungkook doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care because he’s home.

He starts moving in shallow, desperate thrusts, and he swears he sees heaven’s pearly gates open up before him, because Jimin leans back until he’s sprawled out flat across the desk, and Jungkook gets the full devastating view of his milky thighs splayed open wide, his cock sliding in and out of that beautiful heat with the most obscene sounds filling the air. The solid wood desk creaks beneath them and a few loose papers fall to the floor, but Jungkook can’t bring himself to give a single fuck about anything but his wife’s pleasure right now.

Jimin’s hands roam up and down his own torso where his oversized sleep shirt has ridden up, and Jungkook’s eyes lock onto that small patch of loose skin on his belly covered in silvery stretch marks that Jimin just can’t seem to rid himself of after his pregnancy, no matter how much he works out. Secretly, Jungkook hopes it never goes away. He loves it. It’s evidence of everything he loves most in the world.

His wife is so strong. So fucking gorgeous. So beautiful for taking his seed and making his sweet, lovely, strong-headed Bomi. Jungkook loves his wife so much, loves him so fucking dearly that tears well up in his eyes as he continues thrusting.

Jimin meets his gaze as his fingers find his nipples, pinching and rolling them between those short, perfect fingers. He coos at Jungkook, soft and sweet even as his pussy clenches around him like a vice.

“That’s it, puppy. You’re doing so good for me.”

Slick is bubbling up around his cock, coating him so thoroughly that every slide home sounds like Jimin’s guts are being rearranged. Jimin takes one of Jungkook’s trembling hands and places it flat against that soft little swell of his tummy, pressing down so firmly that Jungkook can feel the movement of his cock inside him.

Jungkook groans as his hips stutter.

“Feel that?” Jimin’s voice is wrecked and possessive and so fucking beautiful. “Feel where you belong, alpha? This is the only place your cock deserves to be. Nobody else gets to feel you like this. Nobody else gets to have you.”

His nails scrape down Jungkook’s chest, leaving burning trails across his chest that scream mine, mine, mine!

“Nobody else gets to fill me up like this. Your cock only gets to be inside my womb. Mine. Only mine.”

The jealousy in his voice makes him sound almost crazed, but Jungkook is eating it up, drinking in every word like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Because his wife is right. He’s the only one. He’s always been the only one.

“Only you,” Jungkook chokes out. “Only you, baby. I’m in the only place I ever want to be. Want to fill you up so—”

“You want to fill me up, hm?” His eyes are dark and heavy, voice honeyed and low. “Want to give me another pup, appa? Is that it?”

Jungkook wants nothing more. Wants to give his wife everything he could possibly want— another pup, a whole litter, the whole fucking world if he asked for it. His knot starts expanding in earnest now, stretching Jimin’s velvety walls wider with each thrust, and Jungkook bends down so that his front is covering Jimin completely, his face buried in the crook of his neck, his lips pressed against his bite.

“Please,” he begs as his hips move in desperate thrusts. “Please, mommy, let me come. Please, I need— I need— gotta fill you up, please—”

If the ragged gasps and trembling thighs weren’t enough to signal that Jimin is not far from an orgasm of his own, the rhythmic clenching of his pussy around his rapidly inflating knot definitely is. Though his body is in overdrive, his voice is steady, if not a little cruel when he speaks.

“I don’t know if you deserve to come, puppy.”

Jungkook nearly cries. His hips stutter to a halt, his knot swells and swells just outside of Jimin’s folds, pressing against the opening and hoping and praying it’ll be let in.

“I do,” he sobs against Jimin’s neck. “I do, mommy, please— I’ll be so good, honey, make you feel so good, I swear—”

Jimin’s hand finds his hair and his fingers tangle in the sweaty strands. He pulls Jungkook’s head back and forces him to meet those dark, glassy eyes.

“You’ll be good? How good, alpha?”

“So good,” Jungkook whispers as tears stream down his cheeks. “I’ll make you come so hard, baby. I-I’ll give you everything, I’ll give you another pup, I’ll give you whatever you want—” His knot throbs where it waits against that slick entrance. “Just please let me—”

A thumb brushes away a tear.

“Come for me, appa. Fill me up.”

Jungkook’s hips snap forward in one strong thrust, then his knot is locking inside Jimin’s pussy as his orgasm tears through him. His thumb finds Jimin’s clit, rubbing in circles against that swollen little bud until Jimin’s whole body arches clean off the desk. His mouth falls open in a silent scream before sound finally rips out of him. He sounds so beautiful consumed by pleasure that Jungkook can’t help but feel on top of the world. Jimin’s cunt clenches around him, milking his knot so thoroughly he swears he feels his soul leave his body.

His orgasm feels like it goes on forever, just keeps going and going and going, his cock pulsing inside Jimin’s heat, pumping rope after rope of cum deep into his wife’s body. His body has decided to empty every single ounce of everything he’s ever had into Jimin, and Jungkook just lets it, just lets himself be used, lets himself be drained dry because that’s what Jimin deserves. That’s what his omega has earned.

He grinds his hips forward, pushing his knot impossibly deeper, and Jimin keens beneath him, his walls fluttering and gripping around the swollen base. Between trembling thighs, Jungkook collapses his weight on top of Jimin’s body as his face falls back into the crook of Jimin’s neck, his glasses digging painfully into the bridge of his nose. He’s too boneless and drained of strength to move them, his body trembling with aftershocks as Jimin’s pussy continues to clench around him in satisfied pulses.

“I love you,” Jungkook whispers against his neck. The words feel inadequate for what he feels, but they’re all he has. “I love you so much.”

Jimin’s fingers trail down his back, tracing lazy patterns across his sweaty button down. The touch is so gentle, so tender that Jungkook feels tears welling up in his eyes again. His wife’s hand settles at the base of his spine, palm flat and warm against him.

“I love you too, Kook. So much it hurts.”

Jungkook nuzzles deeper into Jimin’s neck, breathing in the mingled scent of oud and citrus and sex and love. His knot throbs one final time and Jimin’s thighs tighten around his hips.

They lie there tangled together for what feels like an eternity, locked together on top of the desk as their breathing slowly steadies. Jimin’s fingers continue their gentle exploration of his back, tracing each vertebra, scratching lightly at his skin, but eventually his knot starts to soften.

Jungkook feels a pang of loss as he pulls out of Jimin and a flood of cum and slick spills out of him and onto the desk beneath them. When he lifts himself off of his wife, he catches sight of Jimin’s pussy. It’s absolutely wrecked. His folds are swollen and flushed dark pink, his entrance still gaping from the stretch of Jungkook’s fat knot. Slick and cum drip out of him, and the sight is so filthy that Jungkook’s cock twitches valiantly despite coming harder than he probably ever has in his life.

He’s on his knees once more before he can put much thought into it. He leans forward and drags his tongue through the mess, moaning at the taste. It’s sweet and bitter and just JImin— the most perfect flavor in the entire world. He laps at the mix greedily, his tongue pressing against Jimin’s open entrance, pushing inside to chase the cum that’s still leaking out.

“Kook—” Jimin gasps, his hand flying to Jungkook’s hair. “Baby, it’s too much— I can’t—”

But Jungkook doesn’t stop. He can’t. He eats his wife out like a man possessed, his tongue working expertly against those sensitive folds before he zeroes in on his clit. Jimin’s thighs clamp around his head, but the alpha just pushes through, sucking that swollen bud into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it rapidly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Kook, I can’t—”

Jungkook moans against him and the vibrations make Jimin’s whole body jolt. His hands grip the back of Jimin’s thighs, holding them open as he devours his wife’s pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. The taste is so divine, so intoxicating, and he laps up every drop that spills out of that beautiful hole.

Jimin is screaming, actually screaming. His back arches off the desk and his nails dig into Jungkook’s shoulders so hard he swears he’s bleeding, the orgasm rolling through his omega so deliciously.

As his wife’s body convulses, Jungkook’s hand flies to his cock, wrapping around the shaft as his hips stutter forward. He strokes himself rapidly, humping into his hand as he buries his face in his wife’s dripping pussy, drowning himself in the heavily leaking slick. He feels the pleasure building quickly, and he’s on his feet just in time to shoot thick ropes of cum all across those swollen, pink folds, mixing with the slick and cum already there.

Jimin’s hand trails down to the mess and scoops up some of the mixture on his fingers, locking eyes with Jungkook. He presses his fingers against Jungkook’s scent gland, rubbing the mixture of their releases into his mating bite in a circular motion. The touch feels electric, sparks cascading down Jungkook’s spine, and his cock gives a weak twitch in response.

Jimin’s free hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes are dark and lidded, but they’re honest and open and Jungkook has never seen anything more beautiful.

“Mine.”

Jungkook smells of citrus and oud, nothing even close to resembling the cloying scent of jasmine. He smiles dopily, feeling claimed and oh so very happy.

Jeon Jungkook is a simple man. He has simple wants, simple desires, simple understandings of the universe. But one thing is for certain, all he has and all he will ever be is:

“Yours.”

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

“—closer to the window a little bit— Maybe a bit more to the right?— Ugh no, pivot toward me—”

“Baby, are you sure you want the couch here at all?”

Jungkook’s arms are screaming. His back is screaming. Every single muscle from his neck down to his calves is screaming at him to put the fucking couch down, to which he and Namjoon do in the middle of the living room floor.

Namjoon collapses onto it immediately, face-first, like a man who’s just been told war is over. His shirt is soaked through with sweat, his glasses sit haphazardly on his nose, and there’s a dark stain across the back of his shoulder that Jungkook can’t even begin to apologize for. He doesn’t even know where it came from.

Jungkook doesn’t sit because if he does, he’s not getting back up, and Jimin is still talking, so Jungkook stands there with his hands braced onto his knees, his chest heaving, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose and splattering on the hardwood. His glasses are fogged, his shirt is plastered to his skin, and he smells like a locker room. He’s also pretty sure he pulled a muscle in his back somewhere between the third and fourth flight of stairs.

The couch wouldn’t fit in the elevator, because of course it wouldn’t, and the AC in their brand-new apartment hadn’t been turned on all summer, courtesy of one landlord’s “oh silly me!” His hands are shaky and his face is burning, and they’ve been moving boxes since six this morning. The couch was supposed to be the last thing they had to deal with before he could sit his butt down on something and not move for the rest of the evening.

“Maybe we should spin it to face that wall?”

Namjoon lets out a groan that Jungkook knows came deep from his soul.

“Sorry, hyung,” Jungkook mutters.

Standing up slowly and wincing, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and pushes his glasses up his nose. The living room is a disaster of boxes and bubble wrap, and the afternoon sun is pouring through the big bay window, casting long golden rectangles of sun across the hardwood.

And there, in the doorway, with his hands planted firmly on his hips, is one very pregnant Jimin.

“I think that’s a good idea, my love, but are you sure?”

The pregnancy has softened him up in all the best ways. His belly pokes out just slightly beneath the hem of his t-shirt and his hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame is beautiful face, and even covered in a thin sheen of sweat with no makeup on, he’s still the most gorgeous thing Jungkook has ever seen. The fading sunlight catches the curve of his cheekbone and the soft slope of his neck, and Jungkook’s tired alpha brain short-circuits for a second because god, his wife is just so breathtaking.

But also, Jungkook is so fucking tired.

“Yes I’m sure,” Jimin says. He juts his chin toward the window. “The lighting there would make for just the perfect reading spot. If only we could get the angle of the couch right.”

His bottom lip pushes out into a pout and his eyes go wide and glassy, and despite every screaming muscle in his body and the fact that his arms feel like nothing more than noodles, Jungkook turns to Namjoon and swats at him.

“Up, hyung. We gotta move it.”

Namjoon groans but rises, albeit shakily, and they grab the couch on either side and pivot it clockwise.

“There?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin tilts his head and squints. “Hmm. Maybe just a little bit more toward the window?”

They pivot it again. Jungkook’s glasses slide down his nose on a sweat waterslide and he can’t fix them because his hands are full of couch.

“How about now, honey?”

Jimin hums, tapping his chin with one finger. “Spin it a little more to the left.”

They spin it and Jimin claps his hands together. “Oh that’s exactly what I wanted. See? Right there.”

Jungkook and Namjoon set the couch down with matching grunts of relief. The golden light from the window spills across the cushions exactly the way Jimin wanted it to, and even though he’s exhausted, he’s never too tired to admit his wife was right.

“You were right, baby. It looks so good here.”

Namjoon straightens up and it looks like he’s been through war.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, pulling him into a half-hug that’s mostly just them leaning on each other. “Thank you. Seriously. I owe you one.”

“Thank you Namjoonie, you’re the best,” Jimin says as he comes over and places a quick peck against the alpha’s cheek. Namjoon’s ears go pink.

“Yeah, yeah. Just please don’t move again for another year at least. I don’t think my old back can take it.”

“Deal,” Jungkook says.

They bid Namjoon a farewell and when the door clicks shut, Jimin presses his palm flat against Jungkook’s sweat-soaked chest.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring you some water.”

“Ah, babe, you don’t have to—”

“Sit.”

Jungkook sits.

The couch feels like heaven, and he leans his head back and closes his eyes. He desperately needs a hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep, but it tickles him that he’s sitting in their new apartment, one with three bedrooms to accommodate their growing family and enough space for Bomi to run around without knocking things over.

He’s so excited about this new pup, but probably not more than Bomi. She took the news about getting a new little sister so well and is now in full Big Sister Mode. She’s in her room right now going through her freshly unpacked stuffies, dividing them up into piles— ones for Bomi and ones for baby.

Jungkook smiles. He loves them all so dearly.

Jimin’s footsteps pad back into the living room, and then a cold glass of water is being pressed into his hand. Jungkook opens his eyes to find his wife standing over him, haloed by the fading sunlight, looking like he was pulled straight from a painting.

“Here you go, my favorite hard worker.”

Jungkook downs the glass in one go, and he lets out a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a moan.

“Don’t let Namjoon-hyung hear you say that. He about died four times today.”

Jimin giggles as he settles himself across Jungkook’s lap. His weight is warm and his thighs bracket Jungkook’s hips as Jungkook’s arms come up to hold him steady. His hands settle on his waist, his thumbs tracing absent circles against the fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you, Kook,” Jimin murmurs. He cups Jungkook’s face in both hands and gives him a soft peck on the lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

Jungkook leans up and kisses him again, slow and sweet, his tired hands curling around Jimin’s waist. Jimin hums contently into his mouth and Jungkook feels his whole body melt into the cushions. God, he loves this man.

Jimin pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His fingers trace the line of Jungkook’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek.

“So,” Jimin says, voice light and airy, “about baby names. Are we sure Hyesoo is off the list?”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open.

“Jimin.”

Jimin throws his head back and laughs, loud and bright.

“What?” Jimin blinks at him with those big, innocent doe eyes. “I’m just saying. It’s a lovely name.”

“Jimin.”

“Ooh, what about Jasmine?”

Jungkook is a simple man with a simple understanding that a happy wife bodes well for a happy life, and if by the way his cheeks are bunched up in laughter and his eyes are in the shape of perfect crescents, he knows his wife is happy.

And Jungkook loves when his wife is happy.