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Beautiful artwork created by the amazingly talented Rem and commissioned by my lovely soulmate Juls. There's also a second version at the end <3
H O W L
P R O L O G U E
Screaming.
It’s a lamentful cry that plays on a never-ending loop, ringing inside Jimin’s ears like some fucked up form of tinnitus. The same sound that follows him throughout his days, down the halls, echoing off of the metal intestines of the old abandoned factory his pack calls home, machine-like arms still buried in the earth long after its demise. And tonight it's what pulls him from a restless sleep.
The gasp wrenched from the depths of Jimin's throat when he flies up from a prone position is both painful and overly loud, like a trauma response once recognition hits. His body shudders with each exhale, feeling as though his chest caves in on itself, ragged breaths nearly drowning out the wail.
Nearly, but not completely.
Disoriented, he rips the covers from his body, stumbling to regain his feet on the uneven, lumpy mattress that serves as his bed and covers the majority of the floor. Jimin’s arms fly out in a blind search for something far more stable than he is; something that can support his weight, and comes in contact with the paint-chipped wall, flakes transferring onto his palms like a snake shedding its skin. He uses it to find his balance, and once he does, shoves his feet into the boots lined by the door, barely taking the time to lace them up. Quickly, the omega leaves the small supply closet he'd claimed for his own, entering into the next room over, his little makeshift infirmary.
Jimin is not a doctor, or a nurse. He has no medical training, let alone the confidence to say that he even knows how to properly execute CPR. But none of that matters. All of his patients die anyway, and like the angel of death he lingers at their bedside until they're ready to go, their cries whittled down, snuffed out in their throats like the flame of a candle that's eaten through the wick.
It's a young man that’s brought in this time, the one whose screams pulled him from one nightmare and into another. Two alphas carry his lanky form past the threshold, holding flinging arms imobile once they spy Jimin approaching, and he immediately works around them as they lay his thrashing body to rest on one of the stained cots, positioning the straps secure across his torso that'll keep him tied down, keep him from hurting himself or others.
“Where'd you find this one?” He asks, the man—more boy than man, if he's honest—is a familiar face. The kind that hangs around the corner convenience store, begging to bum a cigarette off of anyone who passes.
Jimin thinks his name is Jiho.
“The guys heard him screaming in an alleyway two streets over,” Namjoon answers. “Don't know how long he was there for, but he's cold.”
The boy between them; a beta by the smell of it, lets out another blood curdling cry, writhing against his bonds violently enough that they groan from the strain, and for a moment it's unclear whether they’ll hold. Jimin prays that they do, and moves in closer, penlight in hand, already knowing what he’ll see.
Both pupils are dilated wide, until only the smallest ring of color remains, the iris nearly swallowed in a pool of black, unresponsive. Backing away slightly, he looks for the injection site, finding several in the inner crook of the elbow, no longer grimacing at the spread of blackened veins, gnarled like poison beneath the skin. His attention is drawn further down as the boy's fingers flex where they’re pressed to his sides, seemingly longing to rip out the rapidly spreading “infection.”
But it's in his blood now, a hitchhiker to the rest of his body.
Eyes hooded, they slide over to Namjoon and Seokjin beside him, and he gives a small shake of his head, their weary sighs drowned out by another moan that escalates into a pitiful whine between them.
“Go,” he encourages, knowing that they don't want to stay. Don't want to witness what's about to happen.
Jimin has seen it one too many times before, has already been reshaped by it, irreparably changed, desensitized and numb. Why should the other two suffer the same? They filter out without protest, but leave him with a few conciliatory pats on his back, and Jimin knows they’re really only grateful to be spared what he is about to go through. No one ever offers to take his place, not that he blames them.
He waits until they're well enough away before giving his newest patient his full attention. The man’s eyes are frantic, unable to focus on a singular point, the sound of his teeth grinding together so loud that it rivals the constant whimpers, and Jimin worries they’ll crack and break.
It wouldn't be the first time.
“B—Burns,” he struggles to get out. “It b-burns. I’m burning.”
He’s still coherent, which means there’s a long wait ahead, but like Namjoon had instructed him to do when all of this started, he tries to use the beta’s lucidity to their advantage.
“Who did this to you? Did you do it to yourself? Was it the Lees?”
Rather than answer, the boy arches, tendons in his neck prominent when he throws his head back, a groan rumbling through his chest.
“Monster…it's a monster.”
He spasms with that, hands twisting and turning, and Jimin tries again to focus him.
“What happened to you? What are they trying to do?”
But no matter how many times he asks, Jiho won't respond, only cries about how the fire continues to consume him.
Moving towards the filled basin bowl, he grabs a clean cloth and dips it in the cool water, wringing out the excess and bringing it back to the boy’s bedside where he dabs at his throat and collarbones first, then lays it to rest over his brow.
There isn't anything he can offer except his presence, so Jimin sits by Jiho’s bedside in the old rickety office chair that was left behind; just like the rest of this place, and waits. He’s tried soothing those previously afflicted in the past, humming songs that get lost in the screams, extending a hand in the hopes to provide physical comfort, even if his pack isn't very tactile. His fingers were crushed some months back for his troubles, the pain so sudden and intense that Jimin still has nightmares about it. About a grip that refuses to let go, like teeth sinking into his skin to taint him. He knows it’s nothing compared to the agony that his patients experience, so intense that it causes the body to lock up as it turns on itself and attacks from within. After the incident, Jimin has learned to encircle bound wrists that cannot hurt him instead, but even his touch proves to be too much as the hours stretch on, the smallest contact a source of agony. So he speaks every now and again in quiet pauses, letting Jiho know that he’s still here. That he isn't alone.
No one should die alone.
After an hour more, the boy’s clothes turn into an irritant against his skin, letting out jumbled pleas to remove them that Jimin answers immediately. In the midst of cutting away Jiho’s shirt with a dull pair of scissors, he freezes mid-motion, gaze fixed on the marks that litter his newly revealed chest.
Bite marks.
Tons of them.
The imprints of the teeth are disjointed and jagged, with all the appearance of a fiendish creature that found its pound of flesh to gnaw on. There are more on his legs when Jimin removes his pants as well, counting thirteen in total, and those are just the ones he can see, Jiho’s words coming back to him.
Monster…it's a monster.
His mother; when she was still around, used to tell him tales about wolves that were far more closer to their animal nature than that of their humanity. Wolves that could turn you with a bite if you strayed. It was a story she recited to keep him in line, inciting fear of the dark, the space underneath his bed, and the crack in the closet door, his child mind running wild with imaginary terrors. Before he learned that their was truth in her words, and that monsters weren't so simple. She had always been wild herself, something far more alluring than motherhood calling to her—
“D-Don't want to die,” the beta begs, drawing him out of his reverie, as if Jimin has any say in the matter. Like he has power over life and death.
He supposes in some ways, he does.
Jiho repeats it over and over again until Jimin softly shushes him, fingers fluttering along the damp cloth across his forehead, as delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and murmurs, “I’m right here. I’m with you.”
He can't tell him he’ll pull through, nor will he proclaim that everything is going to be okay, because he won't and it's not. But he can keep letting Jiho know that there's someone who won't abandon him.
The more time passes, the more the initial plea is forgotten, and it isn't long before the boy is begging for death. Jimin always finds himself wanting to be accommodating when it gets to this stage, hating having to watch this kind of suffering, brutal and unrelenting in nature. Several times his fingers twitch, wishing to reach for the silver Kunai throwing knives he keeps strapped to his thigh, even though he doesn't have them on him now.
It's still a habit.
He could kill him quickly, put an end to the pain just like Jiho longs for. But he doesn’t. Jimin never does. Doctors have that oath, after all.
Do no harm.
Well, Jimin isn't a fucking Doctor, and that promise doesn't apply to him, but he did make another. Never kill one of your own. He swore by it, and Namjoon would be displeased if he broke it, no matter the circumstance.
He often wonders why the alpha insisted on having him play this role for their patchwork pack. He has no formal training—not that any of them do—and lacks the patience for it, reflected in his jagged, uneven stitch work and shitty bedside manner. Jimin didn’t want the position. Still doesn’t, but if the leader tells you to do something, you do it. Sometimes, he thinks he was chosen simply because he’s an omega, and omegas are supposed to be gentle, nurturing, and all that stereotypical bullshit labeling that likes to trap people in boxes. But Namjoon should know better. He’s seen Jimin kill, knows how indiscriminately he does it, the cold calculation and lack of hesitation when he takes someone’s life.
Gentle and nurturing is not who he is.
Yoongi would've been better suited, he thinks. With his deep, slow voice and patient temperament. But he supposes his talents are put to better use elsewhere.
All Jimin knows how to do is kill and watch his patients die.
In the early hours of the morning, the screaming finally stops and the twisted body on the cot goes still.
Jimin still hears him though. The boy has joined the chorus of others he’s witnessed suffer the same fate, the phantom cries reverberating off of the rafters as he seals him in a makeshift body bag. Another pack mate dead in their territory. Jimin didn't know Jiho well, but surely someone must have. He’s the tenth that he's watched die in this manner. A break into the double digits, and if something isn’t done, there will undoubtedly be more.
The screaming follows him back to bed, remaining with him like an unwanted companion when he collapses down onto his nest that smells of camellias; his natural scent, but camellias are also the main ingredient in the knife oil he uses for his blades, until he feels surrounded by death. Death that follows him the same as the screams, and like a shadow it chases him back down into his nightmares.
— ∆ —
“My sources tell me the Lees are operating out of this building,” Yoongi informs from the doorframe he's leaned up against, the red laser pointer in his hand climbing up a painstakingly drawn map of Seoul, putting a target on an abandoned meat-packing plant very near to the border of their own territory. “So far we can't get eyes in there. The facility is heavily monitored, no one going in or out without alerting their entire pack. The rumor is that Lee Baekhyeon is testing a new drug. Or an old one, but they’re cutting it with something toxic, likely trying to keep costs down.”
The omega’s eyes fix on Namjoon after he delivers his report, the red dot disappearing from the map.
Jimin’s own gaze slides back to their leader as well, where he sits behind an old rusted desk, elbows on the surface, hands laced overtop, providing the perfect resting place for his chin. This was once a manager’s office. Someone of great importance to the now decrepit factory, with a dusty window overlooking the assembly line downstairs. Jimin imagines that whoever sat behind that desk in this building’s prime fancied himself a king, gazing upon the labor of his subjects below, high above it all.
“Who better to test it on than our people,” Namjoon grits, words muffled into the skin of his palms, and yet the fury is there all the same. “I don’t want anyone to go out alone. Not unless they’ve made peace with death, understood?”
Both Seokjin and Yoongi nod, as if such an order is an easy thing to enforce, to follow. It isn’t, and it won’t be long until rules are broken, people sneaking out. This is a pack of strays, not of blood or familial ties. They all have their reasons for being here, just like they all have their reasons for staying, and sacrificing their freedom isn’t one of them. There will be more casualties, and their numbers will continue to dwindle.
“Where is he?”
The question is directed at Jimin this time, the rest of the room turning to stare at him where he’s backed himself into a far corner, feeling more secure with a wall at his back.
“Buried with the others. Taehyung and Hoseok took care of it.”
Out here, on the outskirts of Seoul, there is no authority other than the hierarchy they adhere to. The police are a resented entity not to be trusted, and even if they were called they'd never come. The last thing they care about is another junkie overdosing—involuntary or not—or a dying pack’s demand to enforce the perimeter of their border when a much more powerful and ruthless one has moved in. After all, they have no claim to the land, none of them do. The world is lawless for people like them, those who are so eagerly forgotten.
They’re on their own.
Namjoon rises from the tattered chair, its stuffing exposed like the innards of a living thing, and moves towards the dusty glass of that window, hands clasped behind his back, a king staring at what’s left of his kingdom.
There’s still hope in the cut of his jaw, resilience in the strength of his shoulders.
It’s admirable, really.
But all Jimin can hear are the screams.
— ∆ —
Dusk is when they bring him in—Jimin’s newest patient—and he pauses just before the doorway leading from his room to the infirmary, watching from that vantage point as the alphas struggle to carry someone inside. There’s something off about the scene, something that rankles at the back of his mind until he’s able to put his finger on it.
It's quiet.
This one isn’t screaming.
Cautiously moving closer, the sound of his heeled boots click and grind into the dirt and debris that litters the floor, echoing all around him until he reaches the cot the other two surround. The man lying there is unconscious and covered in blood, the scent of metal cloying inside Jimin’s nose and at the back of his throat, swearing he tastes it with every swallow. From what he can see of revealed skin, the wounds that cover his body are extensive, with what appears to be the imprint of chains seared into the flesh of his wrists.
Like the majority of his patients, Jimin doesn't really recognize or know this one. But unlike the majority of them, this one doesn't smell like death.
“Who is he?”
“We don't know,” Namjoon answers, breath still labored, “One of the runners claims that they saw him bolt from the building the Lees are holed up in. They followed him when he crossed over into our territory and dragged him here after he collapsed near the old district.”
If it's true, whoever this guy is, he's just become very valuable, the information he could have worth more than any monetary gain, and Namjoon confirms as much when those dragon eyes pin Jimin in their stare.
“Keep him alive.”
He makes no acknowledgement of the order, but the pack leader doesn't press. Namjoon knows that he won’t make promises he can't keep.
After they leave the room, Jimin gets to work, cutting off what remains of his patient’s tattered and soiled clothes, leaving only his underwear beneath, breath hitching when he sees the scale of the damage. There's superficial wounds scattered throughout his body, some more serious than others, blood flowing lazily over grimy skin. But what disturbs him the most are the amount of scars, some old, most recent, the skin still shiny and new while it works to heal. There's more blood than lesions, especially smeared around his mouth, but when Jimin pushes his lips up and presses on his cheeks in between the line of his teeth to force it open, his penlight reveals no visible damage inside.
They don't have much in the way of supplies, but Jimin does what he can to identify the injuries that urgently need his attention, then pulls out a hidden bottle of vodka with a high percentage of alcohol.
It'll have to do.
He pours it over each one of the punctures, but still his sleeping patient remains asleep, hardly even twitching, though given what he's been through, perhaps pain is his new norm, and as such, easy to ignore. Grabbing his needle and thread, Jimin begins sewing up the deeper lacerations that need it, pulling the string taut until the flesh knits closed.
It's a long and arduous process, and there's so many incised wounds that need tending to that he loses track of the official number, sure he counted at least eleven that required stitches, only to see that number decrease by a third the next time he checks, lack of sleep finally taking its toll. Time goes by at a crawl, his hands cramping throughout the ordeal, having to reposition himself around the cot at the detriment of his own comfort, but he finally finishes the last stitch on the last cut, looking up once it’s tied off, and freezes.
Large eyes stare back at him.
A palm impacts with Jimin’s chest, shoving hard enough that he teeters, the chair he’s seated on nearly toppling backwards and taking him with it until he throws all of his weight forward again, the legs touching back down on the ground with a loud clang. He scrambles to get to his feet, trying to put as much distance between them as he can, but it all happens too fast to get away, unable to do anything but watch when the other springs up from the cot and tears after him, a strong, unrelenting grip wrapping around Jimin's throat. He's dragged across the room, the soles of his boots slipping over the floor, unable to find purchase as he struggles. It's with impressive force that his back collides with the wall behind him, head bouncing off of the surface. All the air leaves his lungs in a tiny, forced-out grunt, stars exploding into existence across his vision. It's nothing, really. Jimin’s been smacked around before, and even though he was caught off guard, he isn't phased.
Until his assailant begins to squeeze, and it feels as if he's dangerously close to crushing his windpipe with just the slightest hint of pressure. A quick pat to his thighs confirms what he already feared: he doesn't have his knives. He's fucked. So Jimin uses his fists instead to punch at the arm that holds him, trying to knock it away, but to no avail.
The guy is as immovable as a boulder, baring his teeth and snarling in Jimin’s face like a wild thing, hot breath disturbing the long, dark strands of his hair, nearly obscuring his vision entirely. Jimin gives up on hitting him, fingers clenching in the wrist which keeps his body trapped to the wall, gaze sliding up to stare defiantly into dark irises that seem to bleed red.
He isn't afraid of dying, but he'll be damned if he goes without a fight. Finding his center of gravity, Jimin shifts in preparation to use his legs, only to tense up further when the man closes the distance between them, those wide, accusing eyes with their jagged edges sharp enough to cut melting into something else.
Something soft.
Leaning further down, the hand around him loosens but continues to pin Jimin in place, just as a nose buries itself against his neck—right over where his scent is strongest—and hears the mewl the other lets free, accompanied by a rumbling starting up in the bare chest that's pressed flush against Jimin’s own, reminiscent of a purr. This close, it’s easy to distinguish that he’s an alpha, his scent; once hidden beneath the smell of blood, is far more prominent now, and Jimin can’t stop himself from turning his head until he can get a better grasp of it.
Magnolia and cedarwood.
It’s a forest in bloom, a return to nature, a return home, and such a far cry from the industrial steel of the factory that smells of decay and dust, its great skeleton riddled with cracks and crumbling around them.
The alpha stays pressed into his scent gland, the hand that isn't around his throat burying in his hair to grip at the strands, using that hold to carefully; but insistently, tilt Jimin’s head to the side to allow for better access, camellias blooming under the attention.
Inside the confines of his mind, his omega whines.
Jimin remains completely still, eyes fixed on what he can see of the rest of the infirmary over a thick, defined shoulder, and tolerates the way his patient burrows deeper and deeper into his neck. The man takes big, gulping pulls with each inhale, like an addict getting their fix, lips catching on Jimin’s skin as the tip of a prominent nose traces from his ear to his shoulder and back again. Embarrassingly, heat quickly pools between his legs over the ministrations, and he grits his teeth as slick begins to steadily trickle out of his rim, coating his cheeks and thighs in an obvious display of want, wondering if the short growl the other lets free is in response to that, or just impeccable timing.
Seconds pass. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, before the stranger finally lifts his head, and Jimin’s stomach twists in knots when he can’t recognize anything human in those dark, abyss-like eyes. Slowly, as if allowing him to process the horror of it, the alpha releases his hair, dipping the pads of three fingers into the blood that coats his chest directly over his heart and brings them to Jimin’s lips where he paints over the shape, emulating the way one might line them in gloss, reverently tracing down towards his chin until three crimson stripes adorn it.
He seems to admire his work, pleased, the upturn of his lips only faltering when he begins to sway on his feet. Still, he continues to stare at the marks he's made, getting closer again, their noses bumping until he shifts and they slot against each other just right, a thigh between Jimin’s legs pressing where he's already half-hard, making him moan, and Jimin is sure he’ll devour him whole, immobile at the thought—
Instead, the man collapses down heavily to the floor, losing consciousness again.
Staring at his unresponsive form, Jimin releases the breath he’d been holding before kicking a bare foot with the toe of his boot and getting no response. He kicks him again for good measure, but still, nothing. Letting free a scoff, resentfully, he drags him to a nearby cot; no easy feat, as he seems to be made entirely of muscle. Once he gets him back where he belongs, Jimin hesitates in strapping him down, despite him being openly aggressive, the indentations of chains that seem to be burned into his wrists are what end up staying his hand. Besides, the straps look like a joke in comparison to the alpha’s mass, sure it would be like trying to restrain an elephant with floss, absolutely futile. So he leaves them off, and as a compromise retrieves his knives from his room, wrapping the holster around the circumference of his upper thigh at the perfect height to provide for easy retrieval.
When he comes back into the infirmary, Jimin scrubs his lips and chin raw, periodically eyeing his distorted reflection in the dented surface of a foggy metal cabinet that's begun to oxidize, only stopping when his skin is red from irritation rather than the alpha's blood. Once that's finished, he gets a new rag that he submerges in water, and sets about cleaning his patient up as best as he can, encouraging his mind to forget all about the way his body responded when he scented him, or how the inside of his pants are still damp, dick pressing insistently against the front of his jeans, the smell of camellias lingering in the room to join that of magnolias and cedarwood.
It gives him a headache.
Going through the man’s ruined clothes it's clear he has no form of identification, but the sleeve of tattoos that covers the entirety of his right arm could be enough to serve as an identifier. He relays a description to Yoongi after he does all he can for the alpha, the other omega promising to ask around, but it never stirs up any leads.
Jimin sits at his bedside like he does with all of his patients, brushing back the matted strands of hair occasionally so that they don't obstruct the other’s eyes in case he regains consciousness anytime soon, but he’s unsure if he will.
Three days later, Jimin wakes up to a familiar sound. He fell asleep in the chair beside the occupied cot, and the scream that pulls him from another nightmare isn't much of a scream at all, it’s a howl.
And its wrath is directed entirely at Jimin.
Paralyzed, he sits there and takes it unflinchingly, ears aching while the alpha advances towards him once more, body sinewy in the way his muscles move without the hindrance of clothes, crouched low like a beast, and Jimin is sure he’s being hunted, facing the predator before him not out of bravery, but simply because there's nothing else he can do, nowhere he can go. The noise draws the others, Taehyung and Hoseok rushing inside, attempting to subdue the man as he struggles against them, animalistic snarls directed Jimin’s way, the kind that don’t need language to aptly convey that the alpha wants to get his hands on him.
Wants to tear him apart.
Jimin leaves the infirmary in a bit of a daze when his two pack mates implore him to go, the last thing he sees is the man desperately fighting with all of his weakened strength to get to him. Jimin doesn't return, not even after the screaming has died down, and not when night falls, though his nest is there. He finds other accommodations in a secluded corner of the abandoned factory and waits until the alpha is well enough to leave and far enough away. Later, he hears that they've offered him space in the basement, nowhere near the others, though it becomes abundantly clear relatively quickly that it's mostly to keep him away from Jimin, the only member of the pack he’s had such a visceral reaction to.
Jeon Jeongguk, he hears others whisper, echoing off of the cavernous ceilings, giving a name to that unhinged wildness in the form of a man.
Jimin hardly ever sees him after that day, except when he catches sight of the alpha walking voluntarily to Namjoon’s office, most likely to splay open his mind and offer what it is he knows about the Lees, what atrocities he suffered by their hands. He’s cleaned up since then, different when all that power and rage is forced to act civilized, the humanity taking control while the wolf slumbers, though his voice carries that same deep, dark undertone of a guttural howl.
Sometimes Jimin can still hear it in his dreams. Can still taste the blood that was painted over his lips as he traces them with his tongue, and on rare occasions—though not rare enough—he feels eyes on him while he moves about the infirmary, shoulders rising up to his ears when he turns to the open doorway.
Jeongguk stands beyond its frame, maybe about fifty feet off, fixated on him. He lingers, unhurried as they stare at each other, but always leaves shortly after being discovered. His departure doesn't help, his presence seeming to remain, never allowing Jimin to forget it for the remainder of the day, swearing he still feels that penetrating gaze.
After the alpha's escape, the Lees seem to scatter, abandoning the meat packing plant and covering their tracks. Not even Yoongi and his infinite sources can find them, though there are rumors that more of its influential members have begun disappearing, only to turn up dead, their bodies mangled by what they claim to be an animal.
A monster.
Whatever the Lees were doing at the plant, whatever horrors they visited upon Jeongguk—and to whatever end—he somehow managed to endure, unlike so many of their own pack mates, and instead of going on the run, or into hiding, it's the Lees that have retreated.
Something about that is as unsettling as the alpha's presence, Jimin’s omega attuned to it, like he’s acquired a sixth sense for whenever he's close, his entire body awakening. There's something terribly off about him, Jimin's wolven instincts battling themselves, equal parts wary and drawn.
Jeon Jeongguk is the first patient of his who survives.
But Jimin almost wishes he hadn't.
M O N T H S L A T E R
The meeting should've started ten minutes ago, giving rise to awkward shuffling and pointed coughs as they're made to wait, all for the sake of one.
Jeon Jeongguk is missing.
Jimin watches from his usual corner, noting the way Namjoon gets progressively more irritated, patience clearly at an end when their eyes meet. Inclining his head towards the door to his office, the leader orders, “Go get him.”
Jimin’s stomach drops, not moving an inch, the ringing in his ears falling silent when Taehyung volunteers.
“I’ll do it.”
Namjoon doesn't look away from him when he addresses the other alpha.
“I wasn't talking to you.”
The dismissal doesn't deter him in the slightest though, Taehyung’s soft spot for Jimin well known.
“Why does he have to go?”
Namjoon finally turns to him, eyes sharp, clearly displeased at being so openly questioned.
“Because I said so. You can do it, right Jimin?” He asks, his attention slowly returning, expression unreadable, even if his tone holds a challenge.
Jimin knows what he's doing, appealing to his pride in an easily recognizable ploy, simple in its genius because even though he knows, it still works, the need to not appear weak in any capacity eating away at the urge to say no.
With the recent reappearance of the Lees who are closing in every day, Namjoon has been making an effort to bring the pack closer together, and there is no bigger rift than the one between Jimin and Jeongguk. It's just a shame that the head alpha still holds out hope that they'll bridge that divide, a hope that'll only pay off when hell freezes over.
Jimin’s answer comes in the form of him pushing off of the wall he's leaned up against, crossing the room in easy strides, expression carefully crafted to remain stoic, if only for the sake of all those eyes on him that track his movements. Once near the door, he gives a minute shake of his head at Taehyung, who looks as if he's about to accompany him despite Namjoon's wishes, while immediately listening to Jimin’s own and remaining stationary.
The stairs leading from the office are rickety, an ominous creak following him down. Once on the ground floor, he traverses the circumference of it until he approaches the basement stairs, resembling more of a great maw that descends into a void, waiting to devour anyone foolish enough to enter. Jimin has purposely avoided this place ever since Jeongguk overtook it, and it goes against every instinct he has to be here now, to be on the brink of willingly trespassing into the alpha's domain. At his sides, his fingers clench, palms clammy, right hand inching towards the Kunai throwing knives strapped to his thigh, only just refraining from unsheathing one as a precautionary measure.
Releasing a quiet breath, he moves down, the darkness swallowing him the further he goes. His steps are measured and careful, eyes adjusting quickly, and he makes it to the landing without incident, partly convinced that the moment he touched that first stair, Jeon Jeongguk would come running to viciously chase him back up again. But it's quiet and still, though that only causes the tension in Jimin's body to rise, wishing more than anything that he could slow down the rhythm of his heart, overly loud and frantic, giving away his trepidation.
Turning a corner, there's a soft glow at the end of the hall, and despite how inviting the light is, Jimin knows it’s casting its illumination on something he is not prepared to see.
The feeling proves true when he clears the doorway, the hall opening up into a spacious room filled with flickering candles and battery operated lamps, a large king-size mattress placed on top of a pallet in the right corner. And there, resting on the bed tangled in sheets and limbs is Jeon Jeongguk, clearly naked beneath the covering, with an equally bare woman on one arm and a man on the other.
It's not a surprising scene. News travels fast in the old abandoned factory, gossip even more so. The alpha’s been working his way through every beta their pack has to offer, two or three at a time; if the rumors are to be believed. His sexual appetites are said to be insatiable, yet he seems to detest sharing his bed with the same partner twice, and Jimin is sure it won't be long before he runs out of options. Maybe he'll turn to alphas next, as he seems to abide by some self-imposed rule to never bed omegas.
The room is filled with the scent of sex, cedarwood overpowering the magnolia, like there’s no place for sweetness in the way Jeongguk fucks, and Jimin nearly snorts at the mental image, even as something ignites in his tummy, all heat and friction forcing his thighs to press together, trying in vain to soothe the sudden ache between them, his own scent of camellias strengthening.
He stands there, frozen, watching as Jeongguk’s features—once soft in sleep—suddenly crease and furrow, lashes fluttering to allow dark, inhospitable eyes to meet his, pupils dilated until they appear to expand well beyond what should be their limit. They stare at one another, several seconds passing before the alpha quickly extricates himself from his two companions. The betas make noises of complaint over the rough treatment, blinking away sleep as they disorientedly look around, confused when they glance from him then to Jeongguk, only to fixate permanently on the alpha.
“Leave us,” he husks, still focused on Jimin, but it’s clear he’s addressing his bed fellows.
It looks as if they wish to protest, but a deep, rumbling growl starts up in the alpha’s throat, and the two betas scurry to do just that. As fast as they're able, they fumble to find their clothes, though they dare not linger in Jeongguk's room to don them, choosing instead to flee towards the long darkened hallway as Jimin and Jeongguk continue to appraise each other. When the man and woman pass him on their way out, Jimin hears shameful whispers, just like he always does whenever Jeongguk takes a partner—or partners—to bed.
The size of him, they murmur, disbelief echoing in their tone. I couldn't take it all, but I can still feel it. His come filling me up—
He tracks their words as they go, internally recording each experience like he’s keeping it for posterity’s sake, and not for his own disturbing curiosity. They talk about being mounted, reduced to nothing but animals, a coupling so intense that it overrides every past exploit. Humanity seems to be a trait forgotten in the presence of Jeon Jeongguk, as if his pheromones encourage others to embrace their more beastial nature. Jimin hates that it piques his interest. That his ears seem to listen extra hard for any details on the subject, his hole clenching, desperately trying to keep the slick that wishes to gush out at bay, even as it works to help open himself up for the alpha.
As if he'd ever let him get that close.
Jeongguk's nostrils flare, the sounds of the betas disappearing all the way up to the first level announcing that they're well and truly alone. Ink-blot eyes travel up and down Jimin's figure, and there's a hunger there that goes beyond the need for sustenance, far more complicated than carnal desire, or the urge to kill. It's primal, and it's terrifying, And it has Jimin leaking in his pants again—despite his efforts—the alpha already picking up the scent, his smug expression enough of an indicator. Though if that was too subtle, the way he raises his nose to the air and takes in a deep, overly loud inhale is decidedly not.
Jeongguk's fingers twist in the sheets, the thin material slowly sliding across his body, revealing the first few inches of a bare calf, then an equally bare thigh. He continues to pull until Jimin's breath nearly catches, large balls resting in the cradle of his legs, and then finally, Jeongguk’s cock, conforming to the shape of his groin. Even soft, he's a monster there as well, and as Jimin eyes the length and girth of him, it becomes a struggle to swallow.
Guess some of the rumors aren't exaggerated.
A humorless chuckle rings out in the room, and Jimin’s eyes snap back up to meet the alpha's gaze, his stare burning holes in him.
“Like what you see?”
He was the one who revealed himself so deliberately, but Jimin is being punished for falling into this particular trap. For looking. Reacting.
He doesn't deign to give him a response.
“What are you doing here, little omega? Are you curious? Come to ask for a taste?”
His body may be betraying him, but Jimin’s features do not, crafting the mask he wears until it appears blank, and from the way Jeongguk's own expression hardens, he can tell that his unaffected attitude rubs him the wrong way.
“Get out,” he demands as he rises from the bed without an ounce of propriety or shame, tone clipped and dismissive, but Jimin once again acts as if he doesn't hear him.
“You're late for the meeting. Namjoon is waiting for you.”
Relief floods him when his voice doesn't waver even the slightest, only to dissipate as soon as Jeongguk’s attention is on him once more. Vermilion seeps into the alpha's eyes, a trick of the light as he slowly stalks towards him, not stopping until he stands directly in front, Jimin’s breath catching when he feels the shape of Jeongguk's cock rub against his thigh over black jeans, very near to where his knives rest, a weapon against a weapon.
“I said. Get. Out.”
He hates that he has to tilt his head back in order to look at him, but Jimin does, just so that Jeongguk can see the open defiance in his gaze, his lack of fear a point of pride.
If the alpha tries anything, he'll cut his dick off, simple as that.
Only, it's not, because Jeongguk deliberately leans down then, and Jimin’s breath audibly hitches once he gets closer and closer to his gland, much like that first night he was brought into his care, the sound of another deep inhale resonating all around them as Jeongguk takes in his spiked scent, the desire in it heavy and obvious. Heat radiates from the alpha's skin, and Jimin swears it's so intense that it seeps into his clothes, raising the core temperature of his own body, lulling him so that he feels pliant with it.
Hands clenching at his sides, he forgets all about the knives as a cheek brushes against his own, lips tickling at the lobe of his ear when the alpha hums, “I can smell the lust on you, even as you stand here and lie to us both. Tell me you want it,” he tries to convince, as effective as the devil offering up a deal for a soul. “Admit it.”
But Jimin wouldn't dare, teeth sinking into his bottom lip just to keep from speaking it aloud.
If possible Jeongguk gets even closer, his cock burning against his thigh when he whispers, “I could tear you apart if I wanted.”
It's spoken so softly that Jimin can't help but quiver, confusing the threat with that of a tempting proposition. He doesn't leave, even though he should, nor does he back away. Instead, he forces his outer appearance to remain calm, managing to raise a brow when Jeongguk moves just enough to be able to gauge his reaction, the smile he gives showing teeth.
“Suit yourself.”
Jimin half expects him to make good on his promise, to feel the stinging pain of those capable hands. Instead, he backs off entirely, heading to the far wall where the light barely touches. But he can see just fine as the alpha approaches what was once a row of chemical washing stations, now used for showering, and rotates one of the faucets until the pipes groan, water shooting out to fall over his body in a cascading rush. The tanks above the factory collect rainfall, and they've managed to tap into that line to provide running water, the only drawback is that it's not heated.
Though the cold has no visible effect on Jeongguk, or his…extremities.
Back facing him, Jimin is made to watch as black hair becomes drenched, broad shoulders on full display when Jeongguk’s arms lift, becoming more defined while hands card through the dark strands. His skin is golden, scars lightening the flesh in some places, giving them the appearance of stripes, a particularly long one framing just shy of his spine, jagged and thin. Jimin traces it all the way down, stopping to admire a tapered waist, so much smaller in scale to his upper body. He tries—really tries— not to lower his gaze any further, but from the dimples in his lower back to the curve of his well toned ass, Jimin never stood a chance. Jeongguk’s legs spread, drawing his focus further, able to see the silhouette of his balls hanging heavy between thighs so thick, he doubts he could encircle them even with both hands.
When the alpha turns to face him, it’s almost a surety that the sound of the water is not enough to mask the wrenching gasp Jimin lets free, blood heating his cheeks to a flush.
Jeongguk is hard.
The size he’s grown to is so ridiculous that Jimin can’t stop the way his mouth hangs open in utter disbelief, lips gone dry while saliva pools at the back of his throat.
He has a fucking horse cock.
How were those betas able to walk out of here? How the fuck does it fit inside anyone—
A hand snakes down, fingers graceful as; one by one, they curl around the shaft, thumb coming up to swipe over the swollen head, and Jimin’s breath stutters again when it begins to dig into the slit, the dim light catching on the water that coats his body, better showcasing the way his chest heaves, lashes fluttering in self-administered pleasure. Jeongguk throws his head back in what could either be an embellished or genuine gesture just as his hand starts jacking himself off lazily, unhurried, as if he didn’t take his appetites out on two willing bodies the night before. As if Jimin isn’t standing right there, while Namjoon waits impatiently above them. It gradually gains speed, motions a little less careful, a little less kind. The friction must be intense, maybe even borderline painful, with only the water that travels down the contours of his body smoothing the glide. Time loses all relevance, that hand flying over his length now, every so often taking the time to pull at his sack where his balls have drawn close to his body, or to flick his wrist near the base where his knot would form; though there’s no sign of it now, likely refusing to allow Jimin to catch sight of the engorged flesh just to spite him.
Their eyes meet, the contact jolting through his form like an electric pulse, racing along his nerves, sparking over receptors until it feels as if Jimin is made of static impulse. His breathing picks up, a random thought pointing out that it’s a match for Jeongguk’s own, each inhale and exhale a perfect synchronization, sharing the same wavelength, or a deeper bond than hate, tricking his mind into thinking this is something they’re doing together, Jimin complicit in the act.
Get Out.
The memory of that order resonates around him, a warning before, and now an offer of reprieve. Jimin could leave. He doesn’t have to stay and watch this. But at the same time Jeongguk’s gaze is like a shackle keeping him tethered where he stands, those bleeding eyes daring him to stay.
So Jimin stays, caught in what feels like the alpha’s trap that he oh so willingly walked into, watching the way those fingers tighten as he fucks into his fist, how that hand seems to blur when it flies over his massive cock. The omega is unaware that he’s holding his breath until ropes of come finally spill out from the same slit Jeongguk lewdly rubs over, great big globs of pearlescent white painting his torso and dropping to the floor below to be washed down the industrial drain.
Some of it clings to the alpha’s fingers, steadily dripping down, a victim of gravity. Jimin watches him put two of those same digits in his mouth, leisurely sucking them off in a depraved display, cheeks hollowing as he tastes himself, dark eyes still fixated on the omega when he shoves them just a little bit deeper, pulling them out maybe an inch or so before thrusting them back in again, releasing them with an obscene pop, lips curling up into what passes for a smile.
It looks more like a baring of teeth to Jimin.
Once Jeongguk turns the faucet off, he approaches, naked and glistening, water trailing in his wake until he stands directly in front of Jimin just like before, those drips turning into puddles on concrete, absorbed into the ground like it’s as parched and thirsty as he is.
“You’re trembling,” Jeongguk whispers, cruel in the way he feigns gentleness. Empathy. Speaking to him as though to assure that it's okay, when how could any of this be? “Is there something you want, little omega?”
Jimin nods, a motion that he’s not entirely conscious of making, and the alpha appears to have won a prize, that smile turning cocky.
“Tell me.”
The truth gets lodged behind the lump in his throat, allowing only lies to seep through in a whisper.
“Say you hate me.”
But then, maybe it isn’t a lie, because Jimin needs to hear it. Desperately needs the reminder.
Jeongguk blinks at him, those eyes rounder for only a moment before they narrow, that smirk disappearing, features hardening.
“I hate you.”
That lump expands, a hand reaching through Jimin to twist at his insides. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway. The odd pain grounds him, and strangely, he’s more alive with it. He needs it.
Jimin takes in a deep, controlled breath, and nods, almost grateful.
“Good. Now get dressed.”
Jeongguk's frown morphs into a sneer, but miraculously, he does what he's told, covering that perfect body in black, shirt tight over the expanse of his chest while the pants hang loose off of his hips, leather combat boots in a matching shade to complete the look. When he's ready, Jimin turns and begins the trip back up and out, needing to escape the dense fog of magnolia and cedarwood that permeates the air so he can finally breathe and fucking think properly.
But it only follows him as he renters the dark, marked by the heavy footfalls behind him. Jimin trips, his sole connecting with what feels like rhubarb, bent and sticking out, and he centers himself to recover, until an unmovable arm encircles his waist, pulling him back none-too-gently against the solid wall that is Jeongguk's chest.
“Careful,” the alpha grits, surprisingly devoid of any condemnation, and in that moment, he could fool himself into thinking that Jeongguk gives a shit.
But then the moment passes, and Jimin pulls against his hold, a sigh of relief leaving him when the alpha immediately lets go. They manage to make it up to the office without killing each other, and as soon as they pass the frame, Jimin breaks away, going right back to the corner he left, back pressed tightly to the wall, eyes purposefully unfocused so as not to meet anyone else’s, scared he’ll reveal too much of what transpired.
Though to be honest, not even he is sure of what the fuck happened down in that basement.
The room remains quiet, but Jimin doesn’t allow his curiosity to get the better of him, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, until Namjoon speaks.
“The job we’re planning is based on your intel,” he calls, anger boiling beneath the surface as he directs it at Jeongguk. “Hell, you conceived this whole thing. It’s your baby. Did you find something else more worthy of your attention?”
Jeongguk’s eyes flicker over to Jimin, the corner of his lips tugging upwards when he says, “There was just a minor distraction I had to deal with.”
Namjoon’s features remain unimpressed.
“See that it doesn’t happen again. Yoongi. You’re up.”
The other omega steps forward very near to Jeongguk, laser pointer in hand, and it’s clear that the alpha is unphased, his disdain for Jimin’s subgender seeming to only apply when he’s personally involved.
“Thanks to the information Jeongguk provided us, along with my sources, we were able to narrow down the Lee pack’s current movements to this building.”
The laser points to an abandoned complex near the old district, and Jimin’s heart jumps over how close they are.
“They’re in our territory,” Hoseok hums, and by his tone it’s clear that it's no surprise. The invading pack has been encroaching on them for months now.
“We have reason to believe their pack is operating out of several locations, though they never remain in a singular one for long. For now, we know for sure that some of them are here, so their numbers will be cut by at least a third. We count as many as three dozen inside, but we’re being generous,” Yoongi conveys, the laser pointer going off.
“Why separate like this?” Taehyung questions, his handsome face pulled into a thoughtful frown. “They outnumber us ten to one, so why spread themselves thin?”
“They know someone is ratting them out,” Seokjin murmurs, Namjoon agreeing with a nod.
“They’re on the defensive, and we have what they want,” he adds, gaze briefly sliding over to Jeongguk. “Their movements will reflect that as they guard Baekhyeon. Their pack leader is what will ensure their survival. If we kill him, we kill the pack.”
“When do we go?” Taehyung asks.
“Tonight.”
“How many are we bringing?”
“Everyone in this room,” Namjoon answers, and Jimin looks around at the fifteen milling figures with a calm-like apathy.
Fifteen against three dozen. It’s not good math no matter which way you look at it.
Namjoon seems to sense the mood, and immediately tries to set them at ease.
“We’re not looking to go in guns blazing. This isn’t about drawing attention to ourselves. We want to keep this quiet and try to end this once and for all. The pack leader is our objective, anyone who gets in our way, or isn’t useful in locating him, will be put down, understood? We’re going in teams, infiltrating from the top down. There’s roof access and the layout in the old district is densely packed. Yoongi, Hoseok, you’ll get in through there. Take a fire escape and scale one of the neighboring structures.”
The alpha and omega duo hum in acceptance, and Jimin listens as their leader gives each one of them an assignment until only Jimin and Jeongguk remain.
“You two—”
“No fucking way,” Jeongguk rages, a clear adament denial ready at hand. “I can’t work with him. You know I can’t!”
Jimin stares blankly at the alpha as he makes a scene, no longer embarrassed over his fervent distaste of him, but Namjoon’s patience is clearly at an end.
“You can, and you will. The two of you will go through the underground. There’s an adjacent building with a tunnel that leads directly into their basement. Clear it, and work your way up, understood?”
Jimin nods immediately, but Jeongguk holds their leader’s stare and makes no move to give an answer, a clear challenge.
Namjoon practically bares his teeth as he grits out, “Remember, we need you, but you also need us. So this is how we’re doing it,” he informs, the air tense as they wait.
Reluctantly, Jeongguk finally nods.
“Good. We leave at nightfall.”
It’s a dismissal that those gathered abide by quickly, but Jeongguk ignores their pack mates as they pass, only having eyes for Jimin, pinning him to the corner he’s backed up against without the need for physical restraints, and meets that gaze head on, refusing to back down. Finally, after what feels like ages, the alpha turns on those thick-heeled boots and disappears from sight.
Without drawing Namjoon’s attention, Jimin lingers as long as he can with the hope to put as much distance between him and the wild man as possible. He’s light on his feet when he finally does leave, eager to escape back to the safety of his infirmary. Only, once he’s there, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, a restlessness taking hold, something jittery beneath his skin, a pulsing thrum focused between his legs that refuses to be ignored, demanding satisfaction.
The infirmary doesn’t have a door, but his closet-sized room at the back does, and he closes it quietly behind himself, as if he’s in danger of being heard. Discovered. Leaning up against the flimsy wood, Jimin tilts his head back and allows his eyes to fall closed, a slight tremor going through his hand as he slips it down to feel over the outline of his hardening cock through his jeans, a small hiss escaping past his mouth, sensitive.
He just needs to unwind. To find release, that's all. Though his omega claims there's more to it than that.
Jimin doesn’t want to think about why he’s so worked up, but his mind doesn’t give a fuck about what he wants, conjuring images of Jeon Jeongguk, naked and pumping his hips into the tight hole of his fist.
He becomes desperate from the imagery, hand rubbing over himself faster, before it’s a mad dash to get his pants down around his thighs, not wanting to ruin them anymore than he already has with both slick and precome, dick fully hard in a matter of seconds, making him dizzy as all his blood rushes south.
A pitiful whimper escapes Jimin when his fingers finally wrap around his shaft, tripping his way towards his nest where he lands hard on his knees. Using the heel of his free hand, he pushes his jeans down further, then shoves that hand passed his balls, following wet, sticky skin until he gets to the source, wasting no time before fucking three fingers inside. Jimin buries his teeth into his bottom lip with the penetration, not wanting to be heard as he moans lewdly, his other fist flying over his cock, digging into the slit, just like Jeongguk had—
Jimin adds a fourth finger, because it’s not big enough. Fuck, it’s nowhere near big enough, and whines in frustration when they can’t reach all those places inside that he wants them to. All the places he knows a certain someone with long fingers and a monster dick would be able to if given the chance. If Jimin let him. If they didn’t hate each other so much. Then again, Jeongguk would actually have to fuck omegas, which has never been the case as long as he's been with their pack. Jimin's frustration is made worse by the overpowering scent of camellias that wafts generously through the air, and he tries to remember that darker scent. The one that had his head spinning in the basement.
As if summoned, magnolia and cedarwood drifts in around him, and Jimin cries in relief, his imagination even tinging it with that muskier hint of arousal, as if the alpha is there with him. Watching. The idea makes him hotter, Jimin’s cheek squished against his bed, pulling on the skin while he slides up and down the mattress each time he humps into his hand, ass up in the air, legs spreading as wide as they're able, the jeans pulled down around his knees restricting his movements. Doesn't matter. He gets lost in the pleasure of it all, chases it while his knuckles slap against the globes of his cheeks with each harsh thrust of his arm, muscles burning from the strain, but he refuses to stop, rewarded as his orgasm climbs, the alpha’s scent thickening around him.
Slick squirts out past his frantic fingers, cock swelling in his gasp, and Jimin’s teeth bite harshly enough into his lip to tear the delicate flesh as he swallows the loud cry that tries to break free, devolving into a low, muffled moan when his thumb digs into his slit again. Jimin’s eyes cross, coming all over his mattress and palm, smoothing the way as he continues to rock into both hands, the feeling of euphoria reaching a crescendo. Once it begins to diminish, he collapses down onto his side, away from the mess he just made, a panting, sweaty mess, and waits for his breathing to return to normal. It’s only once the pleasurable fog has begun to subside that the guilt and regret sets in over what he did.
But there, beneath the heaviness of disappointment, his omega feels satiated and settled.
It’s a tedious process to get cleaned up and changed, switching out his bedding for the spare set he keeps, while piling up the old until he has time to do his washing. After smoothing his hands over his dark shirt, and checking one final time to make sure he’s presentable, he goes back out into the infirmary, taking a few steps before halting in his tracks.
The air smells of magnolia and cedarwood, spiked with arousal, undeniable, and not a mere figment of his imagination.
Jeongguk was here.
— ∆ —
It's a cold night. The kind that makes you regret leaving your home—not that the factory is warm by any means, but it's marginally better at offering protection from the wind and snow than being out in the open.
The frigid temperature affects Jimin’s lungs, his breaths short and measured. He counts them in the visible wisp-like clouds that disperse from his lips, each inhale and exhale perfectly timed between the steady beats of his heart. Next to him, Jeongguk shifts, the minor movement enough to bring their sides flush, outer thighs pressing together, and Jimin has to fight between the urge to jerk away and his body’s desire to move in closer, heat radiating off of the alpha's form. Surprisingly, it settles him, speaks to an ease in an otherwise untenable situation, magnolia and cedarwood enveloping them both, until he’s jarred by the reminder of that same scent filling his infirmary earlier, and what it means.
Jimin has no idea why Jeongguk sought him out—he never does—or just how much the alpha overheard, how long he could’ve been on the other side of the door. If he knows what Jimin was doing—how could he not—the only blessing being he couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking.
Right?
Remaining still, Jimin ignores the need to fidget, keeping his eyes up where he’s supposed to be looking, only to tense when Jeongguk’s deep voice rumbles next to him.
“You weren’t very thorough when you washed, omega. I can still smell the slick and come on you.”
Eyes going wide, Jimin sinks his teeth into his still-sore bottom lip, the cut reopening until blood explodes over his taste buds. It's a struggle to keep in the sound of his throat clicking as he attempts to swallow past the lump, not daring to look at the alpha, or dignify that claim with a response. Jeongguk is lying. Jimin took a shower before coming here, and he was very thorough. Which means he's only doing this to try and get a rise out of him.
“Was it the meeting that did it? Did the idea that tonight could be your last get you all hot and bothered? Or does the thought of killing make you horny?”
Still, Jimin does not answer, but Jeongguk carries on as if he had.
“No? Was it what happened before the meeting, then? You really enjoyed my little show, is that it?”
“Fuck off.”
“That isn’t a denial,” Jeongguk chuckles in his ear, and Jimin hates the way goosebumps break out over his flesh as a consequence.
The alpha is just trying to get into his head, mess him up enough so that he makes a mistake, one that could cost him dearly if he doesn’t stop letting Jeongguk fuck with him like this, but Jimin has always had trouble keeping the other from burrowing under his skin.
“Did it make you come hard thinking about me? About my cock, and how well I could fuck you? Did you imagine how I'd keep you trapped on my knot, or how big your stomach would swell while I fill you up? Is that why you reek of slick and desperation?”
Jimin lashes out before he can think better of it, one knife held expertly in his grip as he throws himself at the other, their proximity giving him an advantage when he presses the small blade to the alpha's throat, fire burning inside, venom on his tongue.
“I said. Fuck. Off.”
Despite the threat, Jeongguk’s lips curl up into a smile, dark pupils swallowing equally dark eyes when he releases another chuckle, the mole beneath his plump bottom lip visible as Jimin adds more pressure, a warning that the alpha clearly doesn’t care to heed. But Jimin isn’t supposed to kill a member of his pack, and he has to remind himself of that, reciting it in his head like a mantra as he finally pulls the blade away, sheathing it back at his thigh and putting some distance between them.
They’re both quiet after, Jeongguk finished with having his fun at Jimin’s expense. For the moment, anyway.
With the inactivity, the cold seeps in again, and he wishes he was able to bring a jacket, the two dressed in form-fitting black clothing, their hair—on the longer side—pulled up in identical ponytails. Jimin wants to let his down, willing to suffer the strands continuously getting in his eyes if it means that his ears have the cover, but his accuracy is more important than comfort.
They stay huddled behind a half-wall that’s been covered in graffiti, eyes peeled to await the signal. It begins to snow when Jimin sees it, the flicker of light from a nearby roof increasing the pace of his pulse, the thrum of it distinguishable beneath his skin, and together they move as one, making their way into the building adjacent to their target.
It’s deserted and pitch black, as expected, nothing but a hollowed out shell that they navigate, easily locating the basement access where they descend even further. Once they locate the tunnel, Jeongguk turns to him with a hardened expression, his alpha tone demanding obedience when he orders, “Get behind me and stay out of the way.”
Fuck that.
Jimin unsheathes one of his knives and chooses to ignore Jeongguk altogether, the two making their way down the connecting tunnel and to the building the Lees have made into one of their current dwellings. It’s quiet when they come out, but Jimin still detects movement nearby, the rustling of clothes garnering the alpha’s attention as well, as he immediately moves towards it, his quickened pace leaving the omega behind. Jimin prefers to stay in the shadows, assessing the situation and being patient before making his move.
Jeongguk simply storms in.
The alpha doesn’t have any visible weapons on him, but it isn’t long before the sound of disturbing snaps and screams can be heard. By the time Jimin comes upon the scene, two are already dead, and a third lies thrashing beneath Jeongguk’s body that pins him to the ground, the alpha straddling the man and dodging his flinging arms, legs bent at odd angles. Jeongguk appears to have broken them with his bare hands, a thrill running through Jimin as he remembers unrelenting pressure around his neck, and has no doubt that he could do it. He could break someone with his strength alone. The alpha’s eyes appear red, fingers gripped around the other’s jaw, staring down at his prey, manic.
“Is he here?” he softly demands, beginning to squeeze. “Is Lee Baekhyeon here?”
The pack leader’s name slips through gritted teeth, the rage as it’s spoken aloud palpable. Jimin never learned the story of how Jeongguk came to be a captive of the Lees, and neither does he know how he escaped their grasp, or what was done to him during his captivity. That was a secret shared with Namjoon only, but from what Jimin saw of the aftermath; every wound on his body, old and new, he knows that his wrath is justified.
But it clouds his judgment.
Jeongguk is so preoccupied with his prey that he doesn’t even react to the other man that’s sneaking up behind him. Jimin’s fingers adjust on his blade, arm reaching up over his head to aim and then executes his throw. The knife finds its mark between the man’s eyes, and he goes down with a hard thud. Jeongguk looks up and meets his gaze then, but there’s no gratitude there, only a raging fury that speaks to the pursuit of revenge.
Jimin leaves him to it, and does as Namjoon ordered, clearing the basement, killing three more of the rival pack; all alphas, and checks to make sure the space is clear. When he comes back to the last place he saw Jeongguk, the man he was interrogating is dead, all of his limbs broken, his jaw as well, and the alpha is wiping his hands on his pants, glaring when he spies the omega.
“Basement is clear,” Jimin informs in monotone, and turns to head up another level, Jeongguk’s hoarse voice following behind him.
“Baekhyeon isn’t here.”
“He didn’t give you a location?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Well maybe you can torture a few more until one of them tells you.”
Jeongguk scoffs, and suddenly he’s right there, pulling Jimin in from behind, his ass pressed over the alpha’s groin where he’s half-hard, and his earlier words echo back at him.
Does the thought of killing make you horny?
“You’re sick,” Jimin hisses, even as his hips push back against that dick slotting between his cheeks, freezing when the alpha laughs unkindly, a strong hand traveling down until it grips Jimin through his jeans, breath hitching once those fingers cup his cock, already chubbed up and interested.
“Don’t kid yourself, pup. You’re just as sick as I am.”
The accusation has Jimin seeing red, and he rips himself from the other’s hold, lunging into his space again as he bares and snaps his teeth.
“You don’t know anything about me. Anything! Understand?”
But instead of having the desired effect, Jeongguk looks beyond pleased.
“I know more than you want me to. You think you can hide from me? I see you.”
Jimin refuses to stay in his presence any longer, patience at an end, the alpha’s statements holding no basis in truth. Or that's what he tells himself, at least, as the feeling of disconcertion settles in his bones. The thought of Jeongguk’s piercing eyes always observing him makes Jimin quiver, even as he feels that same omnipotent gaze on his back now. It makes the omega feel exposed, his wolven instincts begging him to get away. To run.
Jimin leaves him behind, uncaring if he follows or not, and clears the first and second floors, reobtaining his knives after they’ve temporarily found homes in the bodies of his victims, the titillation of it all making his blood sing, and he hates the way it hardens his cock further, until he’s forced to readjust himself in his pants, swearing he can hear Jeongguk’s faint laughter.
You're just as sick as I am.
Jimin pushes that voice away as he carries on, sweeping the floor one last time. He rediscovers the alpha by accident, following soft whispers into an empty, abandoned room, and silently slips through the open doorway, eyes wide when he takes in the scene. The man pinned beneath Jeongguk gurgles out a quiet response to whatever question was asked; too soft for Jimin to hear, the alpha leaned down so close that the other's lips brush his lobe.
Jimin could almost be fooled into thinking the moment is an intimate one, if it wasn't for all the blood.
Jeongguk’s eyes light up after the man’s lips go still, clearly pleased by the response he received, and leans back up, stilling when his gaze meets the omega’s in the doorway with a dangerous curl to that mouth, crimson dotted across his cheeks.
Jimin’s breath catches in his throat, heart plummeting into his stomach while he watches in what feels like slow motion as the man below takes the opportunity to strike. The wet, distinguishable sound of skin being pierced echoes in the room, and it’s then he realizes that Jeongguk has a large, jagged piece of glass embedded through his left shoulder still gripped by the member of the Lee pack beneath him. Jimin doesn’t hesitate in case he has anything else he could use as a weapon, throwing another knife and killing him instantly.
This time, when Jeongguk’s eyes meet his, there’s something in that gaze that’s indistinguishable. Something that goes beyond rage, and the urge to kill, but try as he might, Jimin can’t put his finger on it, shoving it down when the familiar scent of the alpha’s blood hits him. Jeongguk regains his feet, and when it looks as if he’s about to pull the shard out, Jimin immediately rushes to his side and stops his hand.
“Leave it. We don’t have supplies here and you’ll bleed out faster if you pull it out.”
“Playing doctor again?”
Jimin’s fingers fall away, a sharp glare replacing whatever worry came before it.
“You literally have a piece of glass sticking out of you. Maybe try taking a break from being an asshole.”
It happens too fast to be sure, but Jimin thinks he sees those bow-shaped lips twitch upwards.
Despite his injury, Jeongguk appears unaffected, keeping up just fine and holding his own whenever they come across anyone else that tries to forcibly end their lives. Jimin begins to notice that a few of the Lees they encounter seem to recognize Jeongguk. There’s a sickening fear that taints their scent, resignation in the way that they hold themselves, with a clear desire to flee rather than fight. Jimin has seen every inch of Jeongguk's body, noted every scar and stitched every wound. He saw in vivid detail what the Lees did to him, and yet they act as if it were Jeongguk who left his mark on them.
On the third floor, Jimin comes across Junseo, and on the fourth Dowoo. Both members of his own pack. Both dead. Jeongguk barely spares them a glance, even though he’s pretty sure the alpha slept with the betas. Once they clear up to the fifth floor, they run into Taehyung surrounded by more dead Lees. The alpha immediately runs to Jimin, concerned gaze flying over the blood that has splattered over his skin, his hands soon to follow as they're placed to the omega's chest, checking for wounds.
“It’s okay,” Jimin husks, looking up into that panicked gaze. “It isn’t mine.”
The relief that flashes over his features is interrupted when Jeongguk pushes past them until they’re forced to part, face pulled tight in a glare. Jimin’s anger wants nothing more than to ignite over the rude treatment, but he ignores it instead, and turns back to face Tae.
“Where are the others?”
“Hyunki and Geomeul are dead. I haven’t run into anyone else. You?”
“Dowoo and Junseo are also dead. You’re the first we’ve seen alive who isn’t a Lee.”
“Any word on their head alpha?”
“Baekhyeon isn’t here,” Jeongguk drones, arms crossed over his chest, despite the way it must be pulling uncomfortably on the shard in his shoulder.
“Were you able to find out where he’s hiding?” Taehyung questions, and Jimin watches closely as the other alpha shakes his head.
“Couldn’t get more than that.”
There's something…something not being said in those words, especially considering how Jimin found him right before he was injured.
Unaware, Taehyung sighs and brushes it off with a shrug. “Let's meet up with Namjoon and the others, then.”
They find their leader on the seventh floor, along with Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok, a little roughed up but no worse for wear. A lot of Lees died tonight, but they’ve had no trouble recruiting more members to their cause in the past, and their head alpha has eluded them again. As long as he lives, they’ll keep coming. Keep abducting and killing their people while stealing their territory.
They gather their dead and retreat back to the factory, Namjoon instructing Hoseok and Taehyung to bury them, while Yoongi is given the task of breaking the news to everyone else of those they lost tonight.
“You,” he barks, directing it at Jeongguk, gaze falling to the piece of glass embedded in his shoulder. “Go with Jimin and get stitched up.”
“I’m fine.”
But Namjoon’s eyes turn to slits, a hardened edge to his tone.
“Infirmary. Now.”
Jeongguk appears as if he’s seconds from baring his teeth, and Jimin doesn’t know why he does it—after all, what does he care if the alpha gets publicly put in his place—but he grabs Jeongguk’s hand, laces their fingers together and pulls him upstairs. As soon as they reach the room, Jimin immediately drops it, searching the cupboards for the supplies he’ll need, bringing them over on a makeshift tray where Jeongguk has taken a seat on one of the cots, looking surley to be there.
“I’m gonna need to cut your shirt off.”
The alpha sighs, eyes rolling heavenward, but makes no scathing remarks, nor moves to stop him when Jimin takes one of his knives and makes quick work of the material. The glass looks deep, only about an inch or so of the 'hilt' sticking out. He grasps it between thumb and forefinger and looks up at the other.
“Ready?”
“Just do it.”
Jimin pulls, fingers slipping against the smooth shard, made all the more difficult when blood begins to spill freely from the wound after Jimin dislodges it a bit. He can’t get a good hold on the thing, barely able to move it out of place, and it isn’t long before Jeongguk grabs his wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold, forcing it away while his other hand comes across his body and pulls the glass out cleanly in one go.
“Fuck,” Jimin murmurs beneath his breath when he sees the size of it, maybe about five inches or so and covered in bright, vibrant blood.
Immediately he moves in close, one knee pressing into the cot between Jeongguk’s legs as Jimin adds pressure with a clean towel, the material quickly soaked. But when he removes it, the injury isn’t as bad as he initially thought, the flow turning sluggish while he switches one terry-cloth for another. When he removes the towel again, it’s to pour vodka on and around it, hoping to stave off any infection, aiming his penlight at the opening as he gets in closer.
“I don’t see any broken off pieces inside,” he hums, looking up when Jeongguk says with absolute certainty, “There aren’t any.”
He takes his word for it and begins sewing him shut. When he’s almost done, he nearly loses his grip on the needle with Jeongguk’s question.
“So are you and that other alpha a thing?”
Swallowing past the returning lump in his throat, Jimin refocuses on his task.
“He has a name, you know. And so do I, for that matter.”
“Fascinating. So are you fucking, or not?”
Jimin huffs, tongue licking over his lips and continues to knit the alpha’s skin together, reminded again of that first night he was brought in months ago, when Jeongguk was more animal than man.
“We’re friends. Some people actually like me, believe it or not.”
“Oh I can believe it,” Jeongguk husks, and when Jimin looks up at him his eyes meet a void-like galaxy, breath catching once he takes note of how close they are, as he’s practically in the other man’s lap.
He’s nearly done. Just has a few more stitches to go and then he can bandage him up and send the alpha back to his underground lair—but Jeongguk seems to have other ideas, tilting his head back, invitingly baring his throat to Jimin’s gaze.
“I can still smell what you did, you know. It hasn’t faded.”
Immediately his cheeks heat over the statement, knowing it to be true. The entire infirmary smells of camellias, more so than usual, the undercurrent it carries one of desperate arousal. But he refuses to acknowledge it, finishing up the stitches even as Jeongguk carries on, feigning a contemplative tone.
“What does it say about you that you have a nice, gentle alpha that likes you, waiting and eager. But instead you’re in here fucking yourself to the thought of me.”
Jimin ties off the thread and severs it, eyeing his work before he meets Jeongguk’s piercing stare and decides that he's had enough.
“You think you can embarrass me? Fill me with shame? Wanna hear me admit to it?” He leans down until his lips practically brush Jeongguk’s with every word, the alpha’s eyes blown, for once quiet. “I fucked four fingers inside my wet, messy hole and still it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t as big as I wanted it to be. Wasn’t as big as you. Is that what you want me to say? That I got off to the thought of you making me take your alpha knot, crying that it’s too much and still begging for more. Would it satisfy your ego? Keep you warm at night while you rut into betas that can’t even take half of your dick, until you're so unsatisfied that you have to touch yourself in front of me the next day just to have an orgasm that doesn’t leave you wanting. You think I’m pathetic? You’re right there with me, baby.”
Jimin goes to move away, but Jeongguk’s hand lashes out, fingers gripping into his chin and bringing him back, eyes tracing over his lips before his thumb follows their example. Jimin’s tongue flicks over it by mistake, the tip catching salty skin, and Jeongguk's eyes find his, that digit pressing into the flesh harder in warning. The omega remains still then, waiting to see what he’ll do. When the alpha's free hand comes up, fingers dipping in the blood that spilled down his chest from the wound in his shoulder, Jimin’s heart rabbits, knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
Just like their first meeting, Jeongguk lines the omega’s lips in his blood, transfixed as he does so, those digits dragging down his chin, a pink tongue peeking out as if he wants to lick it away, to taste, and Jimin is unable to help but tremble in his hold at the thought. When the alpha’s eyes meet his once more, the omega's breathing is ragged, body crackling like a livewire as they take each other in, so close now.
One side of Jeongguk’s mouth lifts upward, hands gripping into Jimin's waist as he physically picks him up and sets him down off to the side and out of the way. With that, he releases him, slipping past and leaving the infirmary without a word.
Jimin stares at the spot he occupied seconds prior, wondering again, what the fuck just happened.
— ∆ —
It’s in the dead of night—and ironically enough—while Jimin is scrubbing the come stains from the bedding he sullied when he stills, swearing his ears pick up the sound of creaking stairs. Remaining quiet, he watches from the shadows as a figure dressed all in black leaves the factory. There’s a curfew in place, Namjoon making it abundantly clear that none of them are to leave the safety of their building, especially not alone. Immediately he abandons his laundry and goes after them, a familiar scent hitting his nose once he reaches the door.
Magnolia and cedarwood. Jeongguk is sneaking out.
There’s a million reasons why he shouldn’t follow, but Jimin ignores every single one of them and does it anyway.
Outside, he's hit by a biting chill, forcing him to exhale in a shudder as he watches white flakes drift down from the pitch black sky, adding to the snow that’s already piled up on the path. Jimin shivers, wishing he could’ve grabbed a jacket again, but Jeongguk is already getting further and further away, so he walks out into the night, boots sinking into the freshly fallen powder, which melts through to the skin of his calves beneath his pants as he follows the alpha’s tracks, making the whole situation ten times more miserable.
Jimin trudges after him, freezing, and uncomfortable, regret curdling in his stomach the further away he gets from the factory. He should’ve told someone. Should’ve told Namjoon to go after his fucking golden goose rather than do it himself. He could’ve been in his nest by now, rather than chasing an alpha that would sooner kill him than accept his help. Jimin keeps the distance between them substantial, remaining downwind so that Jeongguk can’t detect his scent, the cold aiding him with that. They walk a long way, and when the alpha finally stops, there’s a familiar building in his sights.
It’s the meat packing plant that originally served as the Lee's den. The same one Jeongguk escaped from. Yoongi’s sources said it was abandoned soon after his escape, but even from here Jimin can see that’s not the case anymore, the empty lot at the back shoveled, footprints not yet hidden beneath the falling snow.
The Lees have moved back in, and somehow Jeongguk learned of it, Jimin remembering the man from the old complex, blood staining the floor as he whispered in the alpha’s ear.
He watches Jeongguk stick to the surrounding buildings, using the alleyways to get closer, and slowly, Jimin walks that same trail, numb fingers flexing at his sides to try and aid in circulation. His nose is useless out here, the cold confusing his senses as he enters the alley he last saw Jeongguk disappear through. It appears empty, the space somewhat crowded with old, abandoned clutter. The omega carefully navigates around it, desperately trying to listen and watch for any shift in the air.
He senses it when it’s too late, someone springing out from their hiding place behind him, a hand to his throat as he's slammed against the adjacent brick wall. Jimin’s eyes meet Jeongguk’s, their position feeling like deja vu, only this time the other's brow furrows when recognition sets in, that hand loosening and falling away.
“The fuck are you doing here?” the alpha demands, something almost panicked in his gaze as it flashes left than right, scanning both entryways into the alley.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jimin husks, their eyes connecting again. “Thinking of taking on the Lees all by yourself?”
“Go home, pup.”
“Don’t be stupid. Come back with me.”
Jeongguk bares his teeth, a growl rumbling menacingly past his lips to echo in the night, clearly wanting to make him obey.
“This doesn't concern you.”
“Like hell it doesn't,” Jimin seethes, losing his hold on his his own anger. “You aren't the only one the Lees have hurt, and you sure as shit aren't the only one who wants revenge, but trying to take it alone is only going to get you killed.”
“You have no idea what I'm capable of. And don't act like you care—”
“I’m here, aren't I?” Jimin demands, his patience at an end, voice softening when he sees how taken aback Jeongguk looks. “Don't be a fool. We can leave now, together. We’ll tell Namjoon this is where they are and put an end to them by this time tomorrow night.”
Jimin won't say please. He won't beg. They both know Jeongguk could turn around and walk into that building and there's nothing he could do to stop him, not without putting him in more danger. The omega expects it, is waiting for him to scoff or sneer and walk away.
Instead, Jeongguk grabs his hand with a sigh and forcefully pulls him back down the alley the same way they came, putting more distance between them and the Lees. When they reach the opening, the alpha halts, checking to make sure the way is clear. That's when Jimin hears it, a crunch in the snow that shouldn't be there.
Someone grips his hair, yanking him back until his scalp burns in protest, his hand forcefully pulled from Jeongguk's, the alpha turning with wide eyes to witness Jimin being thrown into the same brick wall he had him pushed up against minutes earlier. The omega's shoulder impacts first, a sickening crack reaching Jimin’s ears before the pain registers, landing wrong when he falls to the ground, ankle twisting, a pained cry barely muffled by his teeth. When he looks up, Jeongguk tries to get to him, but three members of the Lee pack surround his position, while the one who injured Jimin advances.
Light gleams off of something at the man's side, and when Jimin’s gaze drops down he takes note of the large hunting knife with a serrated blade in his grasp. He doesn't have his own knives, but even if he did his dominant arm is fucked, and Jeongguk is preoccupied. He's on his own.
His assailant closes the distance between them, that mean-looking knife raised, and Jimin waits till he's close enough—there.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, his leg kicks up, the pointed toe of his boot connecting with the hand that holds the hilt, the weapon launched into the air and landing away, disarming him. But that only seems to enrage the man further, the backhand Jimin receives catching him off guard enough to snap his head to the side, the corner of his lip splitting open, caused by a ring that adorns the other's middle finger.
The force of the blow knocks Jimin further down, barely able to scramble back on one good arm, trying to get to that knife. But before he can reach it the other alpha grabs his ankle—the injured one—and Jimin doesn't manage to keep his pain entirely silent this time, a small cry bouncing off of the alley walls as he's dragged closer, a steel-toed boot rearing back in preparation for a kick when hands position themselves from behind, breaking the man’s neck in one clean motion before he can deliver the blow.
Jimin’s chest heaves, watching as he sinks heavily to the ground, revealing Jeongguk behind him. He's panting, hair disheveled, with various cuts to his own face, but the omega has never felt happier to see him. The quiet that encroaches is loud, the three Lee members that attempted to outnumber the alpha lie dead in the snow a few feet away, the fourth collapsed between them. Jeongguk steps over the man as if he were discarded trash and kneels down close, gentle when those hands pull him in in such a way that it doesn't exacerbate the pain of his injuries, and Jimin’s eyes widen as he’s lifted into Jeongguk's arms, the alpha carrying him out of the alley and back towards home.
“I can walk, you know,” he mutters, stubborn and ungrateful even to his own ears, and tries not to become too indignant when the other lets out a humorless snort.
“On that ankle you'd only slow me down. Unless you'd prefer to hang behind and get jumped again.”
“Now that you mention it—”
“Would you stop being a brat and put your arm around me.”
Jimin wants to argue on principle, but he's tired and achy from more than just the fight, the temperature dropping even more the later it gets. So he cradles his bad arm to his chest and wraps the other around Jeongguk's neck, fingers burying in the long strands of his hair at his nape.
He feels it then.
“You're shaking.”
“S’cold,” Jeongguk remarks, but there's something off in how tense he is. The way his scent has sharpened, teeth worrying his bottom lip, those eyes brighter than they've ever been as if illuminated internally.
How he refuses to look at Jimin.
The alpha's pace is clipped, the snow aiding in covering their tracks, which is a blessing, given that it likely won't be long before those four bodies are discovered in the alley they just fled from. Once they slip back inside the factory, rather than taking him up to the infirmary like Jimin expects him to, Jeongguk carries him down into the darkness of the basement, magnolia and cedarwood making him dizzy.
The alpha brings him over to his bed where the scent is infinitely stronger, and gently sets him down before the sound of a flip lighter reaches his ears, a flame sparking to life. Candles are lit throughout the room, illuminating it in a soft glow, but he leaves the lamps off, reaching for a barrel instead that Jeongguk drags nearby, wood and kindling already in the drum, and Jimin watches as he starts a fire, gradually warming the space, the smoke escaping out through an open ventilation shaft.
“Don't move,” he murmurs, disappearing into the hall and towards the exit.
When he comes back, he has several icicles gathered in his shirt, the same ones that cling all around the roof of the factory, though how he managed to get them so quickly and return, Jimin cannot say. Laying the icicles on a busted side table, Jeongguk uses his fist to break them into smaller pieces, which he divides and wraps into three mismatched cloths before coming to sit on the bed directly across from Jimin.
“It's dislocated,” he murmurs, eyes falling down as his chin motions to his shoulder.
Jimin nods rather than muttering a condescending no shit.
“I'm going to pop it back into place, alright?”
Releasing a weary breath, again Jimin nods, allowing the alpha to guide the hand of his bad arm until the palm is placed flat over the center of Jeongguk's chest, leaving it there only to travel back up and press his own to Jimin's shoulder.
“On three, okay?”
Swallowing, the omega breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth to try and mitigate the sudden nausea, then nods for a third time, not trusting his voice.
“One—”
Jeongguk pushes with unrelenting pressure, and with another loud snap, it's adjusted, the pain building before it dissipates.
“You fucker,” Jimin groans, head falling forward as he cradles his arm with a drawn out hiss.
But then the alpha leans in, invading his space when he practically burrows into his neck, scenting him until camellias coalesce with magnolia and cedarwood, the fragrance of the flowers far sweeter than he ever remembers them being, and Jimin is distracted from the hurt, finding his own nose buried against Jeongguk's scent gland as he takes in deep pulls, needing the comfort. Their pack doesn't usually engage in these behaviors, and it's been so long since Jimin has been regularly scented that each time he gets a taste of it it's like reawakening an addiction, realizing that all this time he's been in withdrawal.
When he pulls away, Jimin isn't ready to let him go, but he makes no move to stop him, remaining pliant while the alpha’s fingers trace along his jaw, cupping his chin and tilting his face towards the light to get a better look at the cut on the corner of his mouth. Those eyes flash with what looks like another tint of red, and he knows he must be beyond exhausted to be imagining such things, even more so when he doesn't fight it—doesn’t want to fight it—when Jeongguk gets even closer, until he he can't even make out his features anymore, those lips caressing softly over his cheek before taking the broken skin into his mouth, tongue pressed flat to lave over the wound, easing the sting.
Jimin’s response is sudden and immediate, an aching thrum starting up between his legs, rim fluttering just as his lashes do. But the alpha doesn't push to deepen whatever it is he's doing, swiping over the small cut a few times before releasing his hold and putting some distance between them, the act leaving Jimin feeling desolate.
It doesn't hurt anymore.
“Lie down,” the alpha whispers, and it sounds suggestive, Jimin finding himself gladly obeying, holding his breath.
But then Jeongguk carefully removes his shoes, seemingly distressed when Jimin softly whines when his ankle is bumped, and elevates it on a cushion, wrapping one of the towels filled with ice around it. He then does the same to his shoulder, and the final cloth he keeps in hand, climbing back onto the bed in order to carefully press it against Jimin's lip.
“Should help with the swelling.”
Jimin eyes the various cuts across Jeongguk's own face, fingers coming up to carefully flutter near them, and already they don't look as bad as they were. The alpha seems to read his thoughts, shaking his head over his concern before softly assuring, “they'll heal quickly.”
It's obvious he tries not to look affected, but the way Jeongguk's arm is extended towards him, it's easy to discern how it quivers.
“You're still shaking,” Jimin breathes, those midnight eyes meeting his.
“Like I said, it's cold.”
“It isn't,” Jimin refutes, the hand from his good arm clawing into the material of Jeongguk's dark shirt, using his grip to reel him in closer.
He can see it in his expression then. The anger and the rage—though it's not directed at him—and beneath it all, fear, as if what happened in that alley left its mark on him, even though he came out relatively unscathed, and Jimin was the only one to be hurt—
But that…that doesn't make any sense.
Jimin pulls harder and Jeongguk comes willingly, blanketing his body until they slot together perfectly, a lock and a key. His nose immediately goes back to Jimin's neck as the omega's does the same, and the effect is instantaneous, soothing them both, Jeongguk's muscles unclenching beneath his fingers, his own form sinking deeper into the mattress. What feels like a kiss is placed over his gland, a tongue soon following before gentle suction, and Jimin sighs into it, tilting his head to allow for better access.
There's too much feeling in this one gesture, too much emotion weighing him down. It's as if his mind needs to be rewired, reevaluating all those instances he felt Jeongguk's eyes on him, that piercing stare watching from afar in a way he once interpreted as contempt, though now feels farther from the truth. How he always refused to get close in the past, yet every time he does, it's always too close.
He's the one trembling now, nails raking over Jeongguk's back as his body ignites, the fire threatening to consume him whole. Jeongguk lifts up, but only enough to allow their eyes to meet, his pupils appearing twice the size they should be, a request in them that seems to ask for permission.
Jimin wants to give it to him. Wants to open up and bare himself fully.
Instead he says, “Tell me you hate me.”
He needs to know. Needs to know where they stand, the confusion muddling his certainty, giving him what feels like hope that it could be something more. That they could be something more.
Jeongguk peers down at him, and like a door swinging shut, the alpha closes off.
“I hate you.”
Well that's…that's okay then. Jimin will take hate. Hate is better than apathy. Better than nothing. So he’ll accept Jeongguk's hate and use it to keep himself warm.
“Sleep,” the alpha murmurs, and the fact that he doesn't kick him out gives him hope again, hand sliding up that tattooed arm.
“Stay,” he whispers back, relief filling him when Jeongguk moves off in order to slip beside him, chest to back, an arm—careful of his own—wrapping around his middle. He feels the alpha bury his face against his nape, breathing in deeply, and the act brings with it warmth.
Safe. He feels safe in Jeongguk's arms, which is something he never thought would come to pass.
— ∆ —
When Jimin wakes, the first thing he registers is the cold. The second is that he's alone.
Bolting upright and wincing with the sudden movement, his eyes frantically search the room but fail to locate Jeongguk. Even his scent has faded.
“Sonofabitch.”
Throwing the blanket off, he gains his feet, feeling minor discomfort once he puts weight on his bad ankle, made even worse when he has to shove it into a boot. The stairs are no longer an easy climb, but Jimin winces through it, grabbing his knives and a jacket this time before braving the outside. It’s still dark, and the snow has picked up, but he can see the fresh tracks leading from the factory back in the direction of the meat packing plant.
He knows he should turn around, wake up the others, but too many scenarios run through his brain. What if they rush in, grossly unprepared for what they’ll face without Yoongi’s intel. Or even worse, what if Namjoon doesn’t think the risk of going after Jeongguk is worth it, and forbids Jimin from going as well, the thought filling him with dread.
So he goes alone.
His ankle is tender and swollen, arm still sore, and this is a horrible fucking idea, but it doesn’t stop him from making the slow, painful journey back down to the meat packing plant. When he approaches the same alley they were attacked in, the bodies are still there, lifeless and covered in accumulating snow. Jeongguk came back through here, the fresher set of prints only just beginning to fill up and collapse. Pulling a knife from its sheath with his non-dominant hand, Jimin conceals himself behind cover as he approaches the plant, following the tracks to an unguarded side door, the entire building eerily quiet.
As soon as he enters, the scent of blood assaults his nose. A lot of it.
The smell leads him to a body, and then another and another, the carnage of it unlike anything Jimin has ever seen before, and he hears the alpha’s words whisper in his ear as if he were there with him.
You have no idea what I’m capable of.
Jimin is starting to get the picture as he comes across mangled corpses, the sight enough to cause his stomach roil even after all he’s seen and done. He counts thirteen of them, and then he stops keeping track, stepping over the bodies as he moves deeper into the building, ears strained to pick up any hint of noise. He finally hears the slightest muffle as he comes across one of the industrial freezers, the cooling system off but the air still marginally more frigid than any other part of the plant he’s come across. Voices reach him, and Jimin tries to regulate his breathing and keep quiet as he gets closer, the corner wall providing him cover as he peers inside.
Jeongguk is there, and across from him, holding a handgun pointed at the alpha, is Lee Baekhyeon.
“You see these stains soaked into the concrete,” Jeongguk calmly asks, his voice almost too soft, too level for his current situation. “You remember the screams and the torture you enjoyed inflicting? The scent of death as you and your men carved little pieces out of me. Taking, taking, taking. Always taking. You remember the promise I made you?”
Jimin’s eyes zero in on the way the pack leader’s hand trembles, the gun rattling in his hold even as he refuses to respond, but Jeongguk doesn't seem to mind.
“I promised to show you what a real monster is, and that once I did, I would tear you apart.”
“Stay there,” Baekhyeon warns, pulling down on the hammer, finger squeezing threateningly at the trigger.
“Oh, you know that won’t work on me,” Jeongguk hums, a smirk to his lips and dark amusement in his tone.
“You think I didn’t account for that? What did we coat your chains in, Jeongguk?” He asks condescendingly, and Jimin watches as the alpha’s face becomes marked with fury. “You remember how much it burned when it touched your skin? Imagine what wolfsbane feels like when it’s riddled inside your body.”
Jeongguk tenses, ready to pounce, while Baekhyeon’s hand tightens around the gun, finger beginning to pull at the trigger. Jimin’s arm is fucked, not trusting the accuracy of his aim with his left, fearing the gun might go off anyway even if he hits his target. He doesn’t think. Not about the ache in his ankle or the pain that awaits him.
Jimin throws himself in front of Jeongguk just as a loud bang deafeningly erupts around them.
Jeongguk catches him in his arms like it's a reflex, halting his momentum and trajectory when he turns him, face as pale as a ghost with eyes wide enough to have seen one, flashing with rapid emotions. Shock. Recognition. And then horror. They mirror each other as their gazes sweep down, both watching the way crimson soaks through his shirt-covered stomach, originating from a dark hole, spreading like a morbid flower that unfurls.
Their eyes meet again, Jeongguk’s reflecting panic, an edge of fright that penetrates the iris until it bleeds as surely as Jimin does.
“Oh,” Jimin hitches, the alpha supporting his weight when he stumbles, legs giving out from under him.
He’s carefully laid down on the floor, eyes heavenward, and even though it makes him cry through gritted teeth, Jimin adds as much pressure as he can stand to the wound, blood seeping out around his palm, warm and sticky as it flows down the sides of his torso and to the floor below.
Jeongguk is…where is Jeongguk?
The sounds of screams reach him then, Baekhyeon’s terror growing as a dark, beast-like shadow flies past Jimin’s field of vision, eyes as red as the very lifeforce that spills from him now, the sounds it makes something that Jimin will remember until the end of his days.
Which, very well could be today.
He thinks the gun goes off again. Maybe a few times before there’s a terrible crunching sound, and then—nothing.
When Jeongguk returns, his clothes are irreparably torn, blood adorning his mouth, spotted over his frame, and Jimin wants to reach out, make sure that he’s okay, but the slightest movement brings nothing but anguish.
Frantic whispers reach him through a veil, his body likely going into shock, limbs numb.
“You idiot,” the alpha hisses, though there’s an acute kind of torment to his voice, a wobbly unsteadiness to the words that Jimin would’ve never expected. “Why did you come here, huh? Why would you do that?”
“You’re fucking welcome,” he wheezes in response, and Jeongguk gives a wet laugh, cupping his cheeks in warm, calloused palms, thumbs tracing beneath the lids of his eyes while his own seem to swim in deep pools.
He’s crying.
Something pushes at the back of his throat like he’s going to be sick, and when he can no longer fight it, Jimin coughs it up, metal exploding on his tongue, blood trickling past his lips and down his chin. He’s no doctor, no matter how much he’s forced to act as one, but even he knows that’s a pretty definitive sign as to the state of his condition.
“Jimin,” the alpha breathes on a sigh when his eyes begin to feel heavy, a desperation to it that calls him back, even as the cold in the tips of his fingers and toes starts to flow further throughout his form.
“That’s t-the first time you’ve s-said my n-name,” he stutters, unable to work out why it makes him feel a small budding happiness, Jeongguk appearing more broken over the realization.
A hand covers his own over the bullet hole, and pain flares up in Jimin’s stomach, a loud keen sparking towards the ceiling as a consequence, even as the alpha tries to soothe him.
“Sorry. Fuck, I’m so so sorry,” Jeongguk apologizes, his regret clear even as he continues to add pressure, attempting to stave off the flow of blood, but it’s like trying to keep water from spilling out of a sieve.
They both know he’s not going to make it.
“Jimin,” he whispers again, sweeping the dark hair from his face with a bloodstained hand. “You don’t want to die, do you? Tell me you don’t, and I’ll fix this. I can make it better. You just have to tell me I can.”
The promise conjures memories, the omega recalling all those people that he was forced to watch die miserable deaths. It was brutal, ugly, and there was no dignity in it. There never is. Jimin doesn’t want to die. Who does? But at least he’s not alone. No one deserves to die alone.
“Don’t want to,” he slurs truthfully, trying to hold onto the thought even as it attempts to slip away. “Wanna stay.”
He feels his head being tilted as if from underwater, a nose tracing over his scent gland, replaced by lips that leave behind gentle kisses, and Jimin is instantly soothed, magnolia, cedarwood and camellias infused with blood. It calms him.
But then he feels teeth; sharper than they should be, and sinking into his flesh so deep that Jimin thinks if they were to be removed, they would pull his soul out with them. It’s the claim of a mating bite, a tie beginning to form that will forever link the two together.
What sounds like a howl tears through the quiet, Jimin’s mouth wide to accommodate the immense emotion that it warrants.
And that’s when he’s introduced to real pain.
— ∆ —
In the midst of chaos, Jimin's only coherent thought plays on a loop.
It hurts.
One minute he’s on the ground, the next he’s lifted, held against a body that smells of magnolia and cedarwood, a cry leaving him at the way his wound is compressed, and then he blinks and he’s back inside the factory, Jeongguk climbing the stairs with him in his arms while Namjoon trails after them.
“—the hell happened? Where were you?”
“I don’t have time to answer your questions. He’s been shot.”
“You went after Lee Baehyeon, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, and he’s dead. You’re welcome.”
“Then how did Jimin—”
“He followed me. Put himself in front of a bullet because he didn’t know better.”
“Who’s fault is that?”
Even beneath the pain, Jimin can feel Jeongguk’s anguish over the accusation, but the alpha doesn’t let it show as he barrels into the infirmary, and gently places his trembling form on a cot. The only “Doctor” is now a patient. It’s a funny notion, the urge to laugh slipping passed Jimin’s lips as if he’s become unhinged, the other two looking at him with obvious concern only for the sound to devolve into a tortured whine. Jeongguk quickly approaches the cabinet that he keeps all of his supplies in and begins to rummage through it, left to navigate his organization system while Namjoon kneels down at his side, Jimin’s vision doubling, but he’s able to see the way their pack leader’s gaze trails over him, eyes narrowing when they come to his neck.
“What did you do?”
“I claimed him,” Jeongguk bluntly admits, suddenly right there, several things in hand and a fire to his eyes that makes them burn.
HIs voice sounds muffled, Jimin fading in and out, but he still hears the two speak heatedly.
“You turned him,” Namjoon murmurs, an accusation to his words.
“He’s turning now, but there’s a bullet in his gut that’s coated in aconite.”
“Fuck.”
“You might want to hold him. I need to get it out but it’s starting to close.”
Jimin can’t even begin to fathom what they’re talking about. All he knows is that it looks as though Jeongguk holds an alarmingly long pair of tongs, and Namjoon hovers above him, keeping Jimin's arms pressed to the cot before nodding at the other alpha, a signal to proceed.
Jimin screams when something stabs through the opening in his abdomen, feeling as if it’s purpose is to savage his insides, and he’s so loud his ears ring with it, barely able to hear Namjoon’s words as they attempt to comfort again, his tear-filled eyes stuck on the way Jeongguk’s features are pulled tightly in concentration, the tongs continuing to search. Jimin keeps crying, guttural noises that sound almost animal in nature while he suffers, before Jeongguk’s grip pushes the tongs closed, a relief to his voice when he exclaims, “I got it.”
Slowly, he extracts the instrument, pulling it out completely, and there, in its grasp, is the bullet.
The pain subsides, but it’s different now, like a shifting of bones, an ache in the very marrow that leaves him restless, unable to feel a moment's reprieve, just a constant gnawing sting.
“Should we sew him up?”
“It’s already healing,” Jeongguk answers, his voice unsteady. “Any discomfort is from the shift now.”
“How long will it take?”
“Depends. Could be hours. Could be days.”
Jimin doesn’t think he’ll survive days of this.
“You should go get cleaned up,” Namjoon suggests, “I’ll put him in his nest, make him comfortable.”
“He’s not staying here,” Jeongguk informs, leaving no room for argument. “He’s coming with me.”
“Jeongguk—”
“We belong to each other. I claimed him,” the alpha growls, menacing even to Jimin’s ears, though Namjoon remains calm with the next blow he delivers.
“He’s marked, but you aren’t. As of now the claim only goes one way. You might want him close because you’ve tied yourself to him, but what he needs now is stability. Familiar surroundings. You should set aside your selfishness and think about what’s best for him.”
“I am what’s best for him. No one can help him weather what he’s going through now but me. I’m taking him.”
He hears Namjoon sigh, and it seems for once he doesn’t try to put up a fight. The next thing Jimin registers are thick, strong arms lifting him again, and then it all just fades away.
— ∆ —
Jimin loses his grip on time, only aware of small, fleeting instances. Like the dark of Jeongguk’s basement, illuminated by candlelight, his sweet scent chasing away the ache in his core. He blinks and then the alpha is stripping away his ruined, blood-soaked clothes, cleaning his tacky, bloodstained skin with the warmth of a soft cloth over flesh that has somehow knitted itself back together again. In another moment of clarity, Jeongguk is buried in his neck, clinging onto Jimin as if he’s afraid he’ll slip away, murmuring gentle words meant to calm him, while the wail of an animal resonates nearby, and Jimin makes out quiet promises like, “I’m here with you,” and “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be alright.”
It reminds him of the way he used to try and console the dying, and Jimin thinks that that’s what this is. He’s dying, while Jeongguk remains at his bedside, recognizing the sound of that wailing animal to be himself.
When next he wakes, it’s with a clarity he hasn’t felt in a long while, taking stock of his body and nearly releasing a sigh at what he feels.
The pain is gone. All of it.
A snuffled breath catches his attention, and Jimin looks to his right, eyes roving over Jeongguk’s sleeping figure curled up next to him, his features soft and lax. He can hear the way his heart beats steadily in his chest, the shift each minor inhalation and exhalation brings on the mattress, blankets rustling. It’s as if his hearing has been improved, and when he turns to the dark of the room, his eyesight as well, adjusting to reveal every hidden corner. Slowly, and with a grace Jimin is sure he didn’t used to possess, he silently climbs from the alpha’s bed, and makes his way upstairs.
Jimin doesn’t run into anyone on the way to his room where he gathers a change of clothes before heading towards the converted showers on his level, thoroughly scrubbing clean whatever grime remains. Reverently, his hands slide over his abdomen, tracing along a new spherical scar that shines in the light.
There's no way he should've survived.
He’s different, he knows that much to be true. Sight, sound, taste, all of his senses heightened somehow, as if he’s been going through life numb. In the foggy reflection of a second floor window, Jimin eyes the bite on his neck, tracing the geography of it with the tip of a finger, and knows it to be the cause.
He leaves the factory, the full moon lighting his way though it’s no longer necessary, and traverses the now familiar path to the old meat packing plant, his strength and stamina improved, the thick snow no longer holding him back. Even before he’s inside the building, Jimin knows it to be empty, picking up no sounds of movement or life beyond its walls. He enters just as he did days ago. Weeks ago? It’s hard to say. But the smell of blood has faded, even though it's soaked into the floor to stain it, turning a dull brown color. The bodies have been removed, replaced with the faint scent of the broken rival pack collecting their dead.
Making his way deeper into the underbelly, Jimin follows the same route he took last time, until he stands before that industrial freezer, palms clammy, what feels like electricity crackling between his fingers. He pushes the door open, and imagines that it once was heavy, might’ve even given him some trouble, but now it swings easily under the barest of pressure. As he walks inside, a shiver runs throughout his form, his wolf—louder now than it ever was before—raises its hackles.
Jimin hates this room, the sight and smell of it assaulting his senses. There’s dried blood everywhere, a surgical tray full of tools designed to cause pain, coupled with contraptions that look as though they’d be more at home in a dungeon. Chains hang from the ceiling, clinking together with a breeze that is not present. There are ghosts here, revealing unspeakable horrors, a story unfolding before him.
Jeongguk finds him there, Jimin having no doubt that he would, the alpha making his presence known as he cautiously approaches, and he remembers the stories his mother told. The name she gave the creatures in them.
“You’re a Were,” he says in greeting, not turning to face him, keeping his eyes on those dangling chains instead.
He can smell the aconite from here.
Jimin used to think they were tales his mother told, like Santa Claus, meant to keep children in line. It wasn't until he was older that he learned the monsters that featured in those stories were real. Werewolves. Not much is known about them, except that the subspecies is in possession of greater abilities than regular wolves, including the ability to shift into the form of their animal counterpart. They’re said to be so rare that there’s only a handful of them in the world, though that number is most certainly inaccurate, given how careful and secretive they are. Maybe if that weren’t the case, Jimin would’ve seen the signs sooner, attributing the alpha’s wildness and strength to it upon their first meeting.
“I am,” Jeongguk truthfully reveals.
“And now so am I.”
It isn’t a question, but he answers it anyway.
“You are.”
Jimin’s eyes never stray from the implements, stomach chruning when he sees how each and every one is covered in blood.
“The Lees held you here? Tortured you?”
“They did,” Jeongguk answers, closer now, and it feels as if his responses are perfunctory for a reason, almost like he needs them to be in order to create a distance between him and the memory. To protect himself.
But Jimin needs answers. Not only that, he’s owed them.
“Why?”
The shuddering breath that releases next to him is enough to have Jimin turning, their eyes finally meeting, and his breath catches in his throat, sure he’s never seen anyone more beautiful, the red that tints Jeongguk’s iris finally discernable with his heightened vision, a permanent fixture. There's a phantom sensation of discomfort, trauma that does not belong to him but feels as if he shares it all the same, the beginnings of a connection formed between them that lets him in on the alpha’s mindset, and his voice is far softer and imploring when he adds, “Please tell me.”
Taking another deep breath, Jeongguk does.
“They wanted to be like me. Thought that by imprisoning me they could force me to bring about the change in anyone they wanted. But they needed to test it first, and not on their own. Not on anyone they cared about.”
“So they kidnapped members of our pack.”
The alpha nods.
“They tried everything. Injecting the blood they’d stolen from me into others, pulling out my teeth to simulate a bite, and when that didn’t work, they built those to ensure I would latch on,” he reveals, motioning towards the same devices Jimin has been staring at that look as though they were designed to force a jaw open. “None of it worked, having the opposite effect than what they wanted, my blood toxic to anyone who isn’t like me. They couldn’t figure out why, and I refused to tell them.”
Jimin remembers his own pack mates. Injection sites of what was thought to be drugs in the inner crook of elbows, veins poisoned and visible beneath the flesh as they died horrible deaths.
“What were they doing wrong?”
“It’s not something you can force," the alpha answers. "I guess the only way I can describe it, is you have to think of it in terms of venom. A snake’s venom doesn’t affect its own species, and there are instances of venomous creatures giving what’s called a ‘dry bite.’ Only I can choose who to pass it on to, but that didn’t stop them from trying.”
They stare at each other, Jeongguk’s eyes almost wide and doe-like, and Jimin is sure he’s never appeared so nervous. So innocent.
“And you chose to pass it to me.”
“Yes.”
Jimin nods, remembering how volatile the alpha was when he first came to them, how; once he woke, he chose to lash out rather than ask questions, a frightful rage that Jimin more than understands now, months later, especially staring at this room, getting barely a taste of what he was put through.
“How did you escape?”
Jeongguk’s teeth sink into his bottom lip before motioning to the shackles on the floor.
“There was a defect in one of the links. I kept track of how many were in the building at any given time. Waited until several left and then pulled as hard as I could. I just kept running once it snapped.”
There’s a tingling flutter in the tenuous connection between them, manifesting as an itch in the bite that adorns Jimin’s neck. His hand comes up, the flesh oversensitive when the tips of his fingers trace over it, Jeongguk’s breath hitching next to him as if he feels it too.
“You claimed me,” he announces, stating the obvious.
“I did.”
His lack of explanation has anger flaring up in Jimin’s stomach and he seeks to hurt because of it.
“But I don’t claim you.”
Jeongguk doesn’t show any outward reaction, except in his eyes.
His eyes bleed as if wounded.
“You don’t have to. That’s not why I did it.”
“Then why did you? Could you not have bitten me somewhere else? Did it have to be here?”
He rubs it again, Jeongguk’s pupils dilating, but he doesn’t answer, and Jimin knows he’s been caught, something in his demeanor that looks like rejection. If a Were’s mating bite is anything like his species, if not reciprocated Jeongguk will likely live a life of despondency as he’s already tied himself to Jimin.
But why?
Why would he willingly choose such a fate?
“Answer me.”
With a stuttering breath of defeat, Jeongguk finally does.
“I did it because I wanted to. Because I want you. If I didn’t, there was still a chance you could’ve died. I acted as an anchor in case you were too weak to go through the change. It allowed me to give you my strength through the partial connection that was formed.”
The alpha put himself at risk just to give Jimin a chance. He’s done something so intimate and irreparable that has forever changed the course of his life, while still allowing the omega the chance to walk away.
“Tell me you hate me,” he hears himself whisper.
“Jimin—”
“Say it!” He demands, needing to hear. “Say that you hate me.”
Jeongguk holds his gaze, those doe-eyes appearing like glass as he accommodates him.
“I hate you.”
But Jimin can hear the inflection in it now, the same one that’s always been there, but with his advanced hearing and the stirrings of Jeongguk’s emotions through their fragile connection, he recognizes it for what it is.
“Liar,” he accuses wetly, and Jeongguk doesn’t try to deny it. “It’s not true. It’s never been true, has it?”
“No,” the alpha answers, the truth in it ringing loudly, “it hasn’t.”
Slowly, Jimin crosses the space between them, the distance shrinking with each step as Jeongguk stands there, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his eyes tracking Jimin’s every move. They’re expanding, growing larger by the second, and Jimin feels his own contract, taking in the poignant scent of camellias, magnolia and cedarwood.
They smell like they belong together.
The omega’s hands come up, and as gently as he can conforms them to Jeongguk’s cheeks, fingers framing his ears, the tips burying into soft strands, and he feels the heat of Jeongguk’s palms curling around his waist, pulling him closer, like he can no longer hold back, refusing to let him slip away.
Jimin waits until their eyes meet and hold before declaring, “I don’t share.”
There’s just enough time for confusion to take over the alpha’s expression before Jimin’s lips meet his. The kiss is messy, and uncoordinated, but once Jeongguk shakes off the shock, his own hands grip into him tighter, pulling him closer and deepening it, a hot, wet tongue tracing over the seam.
“I don’t want anyone else,” Jeongguk breathes out against his mouth in response, and Jimin swallows the words down, watching the way Jeongguk’s lust-filled features scour over his own.
Their lips meet again, and when Jimin jumps, Jeongguk catches him, legs wrapping around the alpha’s waist, the fingers in those long dark strands using their grip to pull and direct the alpha where he wants. A growl vibrates against him, Jeongguk’s scent filled with arousal, and it makes his dick twitch in his jeans, slick already trickling out of his hole.
“You’re so easy for me, aren’t you Jimin.”
The way he speaks his name in that deep voice has a familiar, constant thrum throbbing between his legs.
“You’re one to fucking talk.”
And with that his hand snakes down in between their bodies, palming over Jeongguk's already hard dick, his growl devolving into a hoarse moan.
“Never said I wasn’t. M’not afraid to admit it.”
“And I am?”
“You tell me.”
Instead Jimin kisses him again, petting over his monster cock and swallowing down the choked laugh Jeongguk gives. He gets impatient, fingers fumbling with the clasp and zip, yanking them open, wanting to finally get his hands around that thick, heated flesh. Once he does Jimin’s groan of appreciation combines with the alpha’s, and he beams even as Jeongguk sways on his feet, slamming him against the nearest bloodstained wall.
It feels dirty to be doing this here, the place where Jeongguk was tortured and later liberated himself, and the place where Jimin was murdered and reborn.
“Think you can take it all,” Jeongguk taunts, tongue tracing from his lips to his chin before his blunt teeth bite into it, drawing out a hiss from him.
“Better than your betas ever could.”
“They’re not mine,” Jeongguk argues, the heat of his breath igniting Jimin’s skin.
“What about me? Am I yours?”
They’re rutting against each other now, the sound of their clothes tearing away, skin against skin.
“I want you to be. I put my claim on you a long time ago,” he whispers, eyes trailing down to his lips, and Jimin vividly recalls all the instances he traced them with his blood. “Want to make you mine.”
“So do it ,” the omega counters almost childishly, his wrist flicking, thumb coming up to press against the swollen head, digging into the slit, pleased when Jeongguk whines. “Want every part of you. You gonna give it to me?”
“I’ll give it to you, pup. Make you beg for it. Make you cry on it.”
“Fuck you. Now fuck me.”
Long fingers circle his rim just as Jeongguk dips his head and takes his left nipple into his mouth, teeth worrying the bud when that hand thrusts and two fingers enter at once.
God, they’re so long. And thick.
His mind is already broken and it’s only his fingers, breath catching in his throat, eyes glazed.
As if reading his thoughts, Jeongguk’s tongue flattens, giving the nipple in his mouth a broad lick and a strong suck before pulling away, entirely too smug when he whispers, “Imagine how much better it’ll feel when I’m inside you. Fucking you. Knotting you.”
Jimin whimpers, those fingers spearing into him, locating his prostate easily and probing at the sensitive bundle of nerves. When Jimin begins to thrash, Jeongguk backs off, scissoring those digits to open him up. A third one joins the other two, pumping into him and spreading inside before a fourth is added as well. The thick cloud of their combined scents, their arousal and now the slick that’s leaking generously from Jimin’s rim is enough to have him feeling dizzy, head leaning back against the grimy wall, exposing his throat.
Jeongguk takes advantage, fingers increasing speed as his mouth closes over the newly made bite, teeth sinking into the mating mark.
Jimin’s vision whites out, and he comes all over his and the alpha’s stomach. Carefully, those fingers pull out one by one while Jimin pants against the wall, heart beating so fast he fears it’ll give out soon. He doesn’t notice Jeongguk’s grip adjusting until it’s too late, A squeak escaping as the alpha uses his strength to raise him up the wall even higher so the back of his knees hook over his shoulders, that sound turning into a squeal when a hot wet mouth swallows the entirety of his still-hard dick, licking away any come that remains before releasing him to move further down where his lips seal over his leaking hole.
“Oh my—holy fuck!”
He slurps and he sucks and it’s so fucking good that by the time Jeongguk’s teeth graze there as well he’s sure he’ll come again just from this. A deep growl reverberates from Jeongguk’s lips to the sensitive flesh, the alpha burying his head deeper, shaking it back and forth like Jimin is hiding something in there. One of the hands that has a deathgrip on the alpha risks letting go just so he can stroke his cock to completion, come landing in Jeongguk’s hair this time.
He doesn’t seem to give a shit, and continues to eat Jimin out so enthusiastically that he fears he’s going to be pumped dry by the time he’s properly fucked. Jimin pulls on those wet strands, smearing the come over his own fingers and makes his demands.
“Fuck me now. Now! Fuck me now, Jeongguk—Jeongguk!” He cries, unexpectedly dropping down from the alpha’s shoulders until they’re level again, breath hitching when that big fat cock humps against his own, precome adding to the mess between his legs.
Jeongguk presses him more insistently against the wall, one hand circling around the back of his knee and pushing it up until it touches his shoulder before doing the same to the other one, bending him in half and exposing him to Jeongguk’s gaze.
“Fuck,” he hisses reverently, fingers petting over his wet, fluttering hole, pulling until he spreads open.
The pad of a thumb presses directly against it, adding pressure until he sinks it into the first knuckle before retracting, only to thrust back inside. This happens three or four more times before he finally pulls it out completely, hand slipping between them to wrap around his own engorged cock.
“Are you ready for me?”
“I’ve been ready, you—”
“Take a breath, Jimin.”
Jimin has just enough time to suck in air when he feels that large head bump up against his rim, the pressure this time almost unbearable when he begins to slowly breach past the first ring of muscle and sinks in.
A loud cry echoes around them, the omega’s body pumping out more slick, inner walls clamping down like a vice on the first few inches, speared on the tip.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Jeongguk growls through gritted teeth, swiveling his hips as if trying to carve Jimin open for his dick, stretch him out to make the glide easier.
“You’re so fucking big,” he retorts, afraid to breathe too deeply, sure he can feel the alpha at the back of his throat somehow.
“Relax, pup. It’ll hurt if you don’t. Don’t want it to hurt.”
“I’m fine,” Jimin tries to assure, not wanting to be treated like a piece of porcelain, even if he knows Jeongguk is right. “I can take it.”
“You are taking it. Just try and relax. Breathe.”
And with that he buries his face in Jimin’s neck, scenting him before placing soft open-mouth kisses along his mating bite, and both he and his wolf melt. Immediately he slips down a few more inches, a gasp leaving them both as he does, Jimin’s back arching while his prostate is stimulated.
“Fuck, you're so big!” He shouts in disbelief, a dark chuckle leaving the alpha as he begins to pump his hips in short increments until Jimin’s body can better accommodate him, the sound of slick and skin setting a fire to burn inside.
God, he’s never taken anything of this size. It feels as if Jeongguk is rearranging his guts, making a permanent space for himself. A home. How the hell is he meant to take his knot and come as well?
Seeming to sense his uncertainty, Jeongguk praises him. “You’re doing well, pup. You can take me, right baby?”
“I can. I can take you,” Jimin promises, saliva pooling in his mouth, feeling as if it’s begun to leak out of the corners of his lips.
Jeongguk licks it up, keeping it on his tongue before thrusting it back inside Jimin’s mouth, where he greedily sucks it down again. The omega falls another few inches, both of them groaning as he does, and Jimin feels like he’s losing his mind, because even as he’s sure he can’t take anymore, miraculously, he does. And even when he swears it’s too much, he feels desperate for more.
“Want all of it.”
“Be patient, pup. You’ll get it.”
But not fast enough for Jimin’s liking, His body heats up further, a tingling in his fingers that draws his attention. When Jimin looks, his once dull nails have grown into claws. The omega flexes them, unsure what to do before sinking them into his own palm. The pain blends with his pleasure, and Jeongguk gasps as if he feels it too, the scent of newly spilled blood filling the air. It coats his fingers, and when Jimin looks up, the alpha is already locked onto him, the crimson of his iris seeming to double in size.
With an almost smug upturn of his mouth, Jimin reaches out, painting Jeongguk’s lips with his blood for all the times Jeongguk did the same to him, only, his mouth opens in ecstasy, sucking the fingers inside, tonguing at the half-crescent wounds he’s left in his palm. The omega watches in amazement as his skin begins to heat and heal, the small openings stitching closed before his eyes. There’s blood smeared all over the alpha’s face, Jimin’s claws still out, and he trails them over the expanse of Jeongguk’s chest, getting an irresistible idea as he circles a nipple.
“Don’t,” Jeongguk warns, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a light to his eyes.
Jimin doesn’t listen, dragging the sharp points over skin until shallow cuts appear, the alpha’s breath hitching when he pierces the nub, and Jimin finally sinks down fully onto his cock, the air knocked out of his lungs. He feels Jeongguk’s fingers then, wet, having dipped them in his own blood, and covers Jimin’s mouth in it until they both appear to be beast-like creatures with insatiable appetites.
“Got what you wanted? Happy now?” he asks, tongue at the seam of his lips, and Jimin meets him in a kiss, the taste of them combined causing his cock to weep, more slick squirting out.
“Told you I could take you.”
“Oh sweetheart. You haven’t even begun to take me yet.”
Jeongguk fucks up into him then and Jimin’s world is set into a tailspin, the air punched out with each pump of those hips, more precome blurting from the swollen head of his cock. He tries to hold on, but even with claws it’s like he can’t find anything that would offer him stability. Anything but Jeongguk, the very cause as to why he’s been set adrift.
“Fuck—I…ahhh. Nghhh.”
Jimin can’t keep quiet, the alpha’s relentless thrusts punching out these little uh, uh, uhs that cause him to look entirely too pleased with himself. It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
Jimin keeps sliding down the wall, only the back of his skull and the tops of his shoulders touching it, Jeongguk’s hands working his hips down over his horse cock until he has no choice but to take every inch of him. Eventually, he seems to tire of the position, and smoothly lowers Jimin to the ground, right in the very place the omega took a bullet to the gut. Jeongguk must know it as well, his motions becoming more frantic, hands gripping into Jimin’s ass until he raises it up into his lap, bending him at an angle.
“Look,” he orders, motioning to Jimin’s stomach, and when his eyes slip down they widen at what they see.
Jeongguk’s dick bulges the skin obscenely, the imprint of the head poking through near his navel right where the bullet left a scar. He watches frozen as the alpha's hand caresses up the length of his abdomen, framing over the shape of his cock and stroking it over the flesh, pressing down until the pressure ignites, his prostate stimulated on both ends, and Jimin comes all over himself and the alpha’s hand. His tongue lolls, muscles locked as his pleasure reaches a peak, tremors taking over his body.
Somewhere far away, he hears Jeongguk laugh and coo, praising him for being so good, for taking it so well. He comes back to the alpha’s hips slamming into his ass, bent in half again in a bid to bring them closer.
“There you are. You still with me, pup?”
Jimin hums and gives a nod in answer, wrapping his arms around his neck as he rides out the storm, feeling raw, like an exposed nerve. If Jeongguk’s cock is a monster, then the way he fucks is like a beast, his speed brutal, stamina unrivaled, and for some reason Jimin remembers all of those times he eavesdropped on the alpha’s latest conquests, and how they spoke of how wild and unhinged he was.
He wants that same feeling.
“Mount me.”
Jeongguk’s hips falter, slowing before they come to a stop.
“What?”
“Want you to mount me.”
A tremor runs through his body at the words. Jimin can feel it, and those eyes flash as he slowly and carefully pulls out, not needing to be asked again.
“Present,” he orders, that softness gone from his voice, and Jimin’s eyes nearly roll up.
He rushes to do just that, rolling until he can push himself up on hands and knees, arching his back so that his ass is raised enticingly in the air. Jeongguk’s hands meld to it, admiring the roundness of his cheeks, fingers digging into the plump flesh. He gives it a harsh smack without warning then, ignoring Jimin’s surprised cry, seemingly wanting to watch it jiggle. He spanks Jimin again, rubbing over the spot until Jimin has to squeeze his legs together, both slick and precome dripping down to the floor below. Jeongguk spanks him with one hand, two fingers of the other plunging back inside.
It goes on like that until he feels as if he’s on the brink of madness, the spank comes just as Jeongguk fucks his hand faster, his prostate abused, the slaps gaining speed to match that of the other's pace. Finally, the fingers withdraw, and a gasp is wrenched from him when they're replaced with that thick cock which sheaths itself inside completely.
The impact of his hips against his red-spanked ass stings, the pain as addicting as the euphoria, eyes rolling up when the alpha’s hand sinks into the strands of his hair to pull him back onto it, his hole pummeled.
Jimin feels it then, a telling bulge at the base of Jeongguk’s dick, stretching his opening even further with each thrust. Until it becomes far too engorged to sink inside easily, adding unimaginable pressure as it catches on his rim. That grip in his hair pulls him all the way up until they’re both on their knees, back to chest, Jeongguk’s lips, teeth and tongue grazing his ear when he asks. “You ready for my knot now, pup? Think you can take it?”
“I was made for it,” Jimin grits back, trying to keep his voice from wavering with overstimulation, the pleasure too much as he’s jostled, the new position feeling as if Jeongguk fucks into him even deeper than before.
The knot doesn’t go in easily, but Jimin’s body pumps out even more slick, his hole spasming, and the alpha doesn’t let up, keeps pushing and pushing until his opening expands, swallowing inch after inch, and finally it sinks in completely with a pop, the two tied together. Jeongguk only becomes more frantic after that, his hips humping into him in short, but forceful thrusts, pulling at his rim and making Jimin beg.
“Please baby. Want your come. Don’t you want to give it to me? Fill me up until I’m full with it.”
His words have the desired effect of spurring the alpha on, somehow his pace increasing, the sounds coming from his throat more animal than man. Jimin turns to him, head buried in his neck when he feels a telling tingle in his teeth, tongue tracing over what was once blunt, only to find sharp canines in their place, aching with the urge to bite. Mouth opening wide, he gives into it, and sinks them into Jeongguk’s scent gland, marking him and solidifying their bond.
They’re mated now, and the alpha’s response is instantaneous, body quivering, a raptured howl leaving his lips as his dick pulses, Jimin’s hand sliding down his stomach to feel it just before wet hot come begins to coat his insides. They fall to the floor, Jeongguk cushioning him so he isn't hurt or crushed, hand joining his over his belly as wave after wave of his release floods Jimin, the alpha continuing to shiver with his prolonged orgasm as the omega's belly distends with it.
They stay like that for a long while, continuing to tremble in each other's arms, Jeongguk's nose buried into his scent gland where it tickles over the skin and makes him feel oversensitive. If Jimin were ever rational, he’d probably mentally examine what they’ve just done and immediately come to the conclusion that this whole thing is one big fucking mistake they’ll learn to regret. But he’s never really been much for thinking things through, even less so whenever Jeongguk is involved.
“You bit me,” the alpha rumbles from behind him, stating the obvious, but even so it puts a small smile on Jimin’s lips.
“And?”
“It’s not something you can take back.”
He risks the neck ache in order to turn and pin Jeongguk in his stare.
“Don’t want to,” he murmurs. “Am I going to regret it?” Jimin asks, putting his fate in Jeongguk’s hands, heart skipping when the other gives a small shake of his head.
“No,” he promises. “You won’t regret it.”
Jimin can hear the truth in those words and with them he feels content.
— ∆ —
Somehow they manage to make it back to the factory, crashing into each other as they stumble inside Jeongguk’s room, the basement still warm and glowing with candlelight. They fuck on the alpha’s bed, and then again in the shower, the cold water doing nothing to extinguish the fire between them. By the time they settle against each other, Jimin feels bone weary and weightless, fingers floating above his mate to trace shapes into his skin, delighting when it makes him shiver, goosebumps breaking out over the surface, nipples becoming hard.
Jeongguk’s hand covers his own, forcing it still, his eyes holding a newly recognizable desire.
“You trying to go again, pup?”
Jimin stifles an unhinged giggle.
“Are you so easily turned on?”
“When it’s you I am,” he admits without shame, and Jimin’s smile widens until his cheeks hurt.
“You kind of slowed down during our last round. I’m not so sure you can keep up with me.”
The only warning he gets is a growl before he’s flipped over onto his back, Jeongguk’s body coverng his own, teeth baring to snap near his face, and Jimin pulls him down into a kiss, sure that he’s lost his mind.
But he’s in good company.
His claws extend, the new ability still making him giddy, and he shows them to Jeongguk as if proud.
“Wanna try something,” he admits, a glint in the alpha’s gaze and the curl to his lips speaking to the fact that he already knows what he’s thinking.
“I heal too fast, baby.”
“Then maybe I’ll carve my name over your heart until it scars.”
“I’d let you,” the alpha swears, a darkness to his voice that wraps Jimin up and holds him tight. “But you’d have to give me a piece of yourself in return.”
Jimin can live with those terms.
— ∆ —
Snow falls, blanketing the part of Seoul where the streetlamps no longer work, and no one cares to shovel the roads or salt the sidewalks as there are no people to make use of them. No one who matters, anyway. Here nature has begun to take over, civilization scooting away to where cars fill the roads and humans fill the shops, comfortable in their disregard for what they’ve abandoned.
Jeongguk and Jimin don’t mind, their pack making use of what was discarded. Out here, you can see the stars at night, the sky lit up in all of its natural beauty. They live how they want. Love how they want, and because of that they are truly free. If one were to brave the darkness, they would see two shadows chasing one another, surveying the area, their wolven eyes aglow.
On nights when the moon is full, crowds in the city swear they hear the howls of wolves.
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