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Yoongi does not wish to go there.

He’s 28, for fuck’s sake, yet his parents still try to mingle and set him up on blind dates. They want grandpups and say—out loud—that Yoongi is wasting his prime time by being single for years and not knotting someone up.

As an alpha, this line of thinking feels ridiculous. But he goes anyway. One last time, he promises himself. One last time doing something for them, not for him. It’s not his fault he doesn’t feel anything for the omega girls he’s been meeting. He has a preference for male omegas—something his family does not approve of.

Yoongi tries his best to look good but simple, not putting much effort into something he doesn’t even want. He takes a long, warm bath with his favorite tangerine-scented soap, letting it calm him down and relieve the stress before heading to what feels more like war than a date. His hair is long, black as the night, cascading over his shoulders in silky waves. He dresses in sharp, all-black clothing—Valentino, of course. He knows his date might be the type to appreciate it, someone looking for money and stability rather than something warm… something he secretly wishes for himself.

He wants a family. A good one. A big one that doesn’t feel like the one he was raised in. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. He’s also focused on work, loving what he does as an architect—especially designing light structures, something that has always fascinated him. And deep down, he knows a female omega will not be in his future. Still, he remains respectful, polite, and caring toward them, as much as he can.

The restaurant is beautiful and pristine, traces of white and gold resting along the walls like quiet luxury. A large chandelier, studded with diamonds, shines above the entrance. He knew something like this was coming—something extravagant, something that screams I’m rich while serving tiny portions as a sign of respect to some pretentious chef who thinks food should be plated for aesthetics rather than to satisfy hunger.

But Yoongi goes in anyway. He promised, and he is a man of his word. While waiting for his date to arrive, he appreciates the live music being played by an male black haired stunning omega—at least, that’s what he assumes—on the trumpet. The soft jazz melody fills the space, adding a cozy rhythm that makes the place feel even more luxurious.

His date arrives late—just five minutes, likely to make a grand entrance, he assumes. The woman is beautiful, her long black curls tied up elegantly, and she’s dressed to kill in a flowing red dress so refined that it draws envious stares from the other guests.

Her name is Mina, Yoongi remembers. She’s the daughter of someone important—probably involved in politics—but he can’t quite recall. He probably should. She smells like roses and something sharper that Yoongi cannot quite identify. It’s not his favorite scent at all, and it already makes his nose sting. But he is polite. He stands, and they bow to each other before he helps her into her chair, as a gentleman would. Because he is one.

There’s small talk. Yoongi compliments her, lying that he’s happy to be there, just as she is probably lying when she says she feels the same. He can imagine the waiter approaching the table slowly, as if he’s mentally preparing himself to deal with rich people who order strange food.

He smells the omega server before he sees him—tangerine. His favorite. His mouth immediately starts to water, and he struggles to keep his composure as the server greets them softly and offers wine and the menu.

“Good evening,” he says softly. “My name is Jimin, and I’ll be your server tonight. May I offer you some wine?” 

Mina accepts for both of them, noticing that Yoongi is tongue-tied, while he stares down at the menu in despair, trying not to look at the beautiful, delicious server.

The omega—Jimin—serves the glasses quietly, elegantly, if that’s even possible. Mina asks Yoongi, “Are you okay, sweetheart?” noticing that he’s much quieter than before.

Yoongi finally regains his composure and clears his throat, making eye contact with her. “Yes, I am.” Then he turns to the server. “I would like to order now.”

And his world ends when their eyes meet.

Jimin is the prettiest omega he’s ever seen—slicked-back blonde hair, large black glasses framing his small face, his body toned even beneath the black-and-white uniform. He looks like a model straight off the runway, someone who shouldn’t be working here at all, but being served instead.

As Jimin takes their order, Yoongi just sits there, feeling pathetic, his heart beating so loudly he can almost hear it, and he can feel himself starting to sweat.

Jimin leaves, being the polite, sweet angel that he is, and Yoongi can finally breathe again.

Mina starts asking about work, but Yoongi cannot focus on her at all. His eyes keep drifting back to Jimin, watching him smile, watching him be gentle with other guests—this beautiful being Yoongi doesn’t even have the words to describe.

He excuses himself and heads to the nearest restroom so he can calm down and wipe away the sweat. This was not supposed to happen today. God.

He washes his face quickly and stares at himself in the mirror.

You can do this. It’s just dinner with someone I don’t want at all, while being served by a Greek god. No big deal. The omega waiter should be his dinner and dessert, his brain adds, making Yoongi groan as he breathes deeply, trying to calm himself down.

The food isn’t ready yet when he comes back, but Mina is sitting there with a bored expression that makes Yoongi feel embarrassed.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” she asks, a slight edge of anger in her tone.

Yoongi nods as he sits back down. “Yes. Don’t worry. We can talk about whatever you’d like now.”

Mina makes a pleased sound and starts rambling to Yoongi about work, politics, and things he doesn’t care about at all. He’s so bored, replying with simple politeness and forced respect, that he catches himself looking at Jimin again.

Jimin looks back at him, catching his gaze and probably thinking, Fuck, their food is taking so long. But Yoongi allows himself to look a little longer, because Mina is laughing about something he didn’t hear at all.

She notices, though. “Yoongi? Are you listening at all?”

Yoongi blushes bright red and apologizes. “I’m sorry, I got lost in my thoughts.”

Mina’s smile falls. “Oh.” It turns awkward and silent for a while. 

They’re saved again by Jimin, who brings their orders to the table, polite and cute as always. He smells so good—better than anything Yoongi is eating tonight, he’s sure.

The dinner is awkward as fuck. Yoongi does not understand Mina’s political point of view at all—he actually kind of resents it. The food doesn’t taste good either; he’d rather be eating at McDonald’s. His only source of relief is watching Jimin work silently, trying to look less stunned and more composed, out of respect for Mina.

When the night ends, Yoongi feels relieved that it’s finally over, but he doesn’t actually want to leave. He says goodbye to his date as politely as he can, walking her to her ride, and as soon as she’s out of sight, he heads back into the restaurant, where Jimin is cleaning their table.

“Oh, you’re back. Did you forget something?” he asks as nicely as he can.

But Yoongi isn’t thinking at all now. Now that he can finally take a proper look—from head to toe—Jimin looks like a dream Yoongi never knew he needed.

His brain fogs over, and the first thing he blurts out to Jimin is, “I need to get you pregnant.”

“Excuse me?” Jimin looks horrified, as if he just hallucinated something.

Yoongi blinks, staring straight into Jimin’s eyes—then it hits him.

What. Did. He. Just. Say.

His entire body freezes before panic floods through him.

“Oh my God—no, I didn’t mean that, I’m so sorry—” he stammers, bowing so fast he nearly loses his balance. His face burns bright red, mortified beyond belief. “I swear I’m not insane. I don’t even know why I said that. Please forget I said that.”

Jimin laughs brightly, his cheeks pink as well, and says, “Thank God your date isn’t here to hear that—I’d get in trouble,” he jokes sweetly.

“She’s not— I mean, she is a date, technically, but not really. It’s not like that. She’s just… someone my parents wanted me to meet,” Yoongi rushes out, words tripping over each other. “I’m not into her. At all. I just—yeah. It’s not like that.”

He winces slightly, running a hand through his hair, fully aware he sounds ridiculous—like he’s desperately trying to justify himself to a stranger.

Jimin laughs again, still a little embarrassed, but quickly slips back into professional mode and asks, “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“Go out with me.”

A few people in the restaurant are already staring at them, which makes Jimin blush so hard he turns pink.

“I—please—I don’t—I mean, I want to take you out. If you’d like to. Can we?” Yoongi is mortified, but his mouth just won’t shut up.

Jimin gently guides him outside, reminding Yoongi in a low voice that he’s still on shift. The night air is cooler, quieter, the noise of the restaurant fading behind them.

“You’re kind of insane, you know that?” Jimin murmurs, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

Yoongi exhales shakily. “Yeah. I gathered that.”

There’s a pause. Too close. Close enough for Yoongi to catch the tangerine scent again, softer now, intoxicating in the open air.

“I don’t usually do things like this,” Jimin admits, glancing away for a second. “But… you seem honest. Just very impulsive.”

“I am,” Yoongi says immediately. “About you, at least.”

Jimin’s cheeks turn pink again.

After another charged second of silence, Jimin pulls out his phone. “Give me your number,” he says, trying to sound professional again—and failing slightly.

Their fingers brush when they exchange phones.

Yoongi feels shivers run all over his body from that tiny brush of contact, like his skin suddenly turned hypersensitive.

“Here’s my number,” Jimin says. “If your date really went that bad,” he quickly adds.

“I don’t—I don’t want her. I want you,” Yoongi says boldly, making Jimin’s eyes widen.

Then he immediately realizes what he just said and starts apologizing again. Such a pathetic alpha.

Jimin says he needs to go back to work. Yoongi nods and tells him he’ll text him soon. Jimin nods shyly before heading back inside the restaurant.

Yoongi feels like a new man. He starts dancing down the street, hopping in happy little steps toward his car. He can’t believe the night ended like that—he doesn’t give a fuck about Mina—but seeing Jimin just made his life clearer, all of his illness cured, his heart feeling alive again. And he can’t wait to text him and take him out.

It turns out that taking Jimin out takes a long time. Jimin is always working, so their schedules never seem to match. It’s almost a month later when Yoongi finally parks in front of Jimin’s apartment, his hands slightly trembling on the steering wheel.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. Once. Twice. Three times.

He fixes his hair, adjusts his collar, exhales deeply. His heart won’t slow down. He feels ridiculous—he’s handled multimillion projects, negotiated contracts with ruthless clients, stood in front of entire boards without flinching.

And yet, sitting outside Jimin’s apartment has him sweating like a teenager on his first date.

He glances at his phone. No new messages. Good. Bad. God.

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself, grabbing the flowers he bought before finally opening the car door.

When Yoongi sees him after all that time, his heart nearly stops. He forgets how to breathe when Jimin looks like that.

Jimin looks nothing like he did in the restaurant uniform.

He’s dressed simply, but it suits him in a way that feels unfair. A light, slightly oversized button-up shirt hangs loosely over his frame, the fabric thin enough to hint at the lines of his toned body beneath. The top buttons are undone, exposing just a glimpse of the collarbone—devastating.

His hair is a soft blond, lighter under the daylight, falling naturally across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, almost delicate. The round glasses rest neatly on his nose, framing sharp but gentle features—high cheekbones, soft lips, eyes that seem observant and thoughtful all at once.

There’s something quiet about him. Not shy, exactly. Just composed. Grounded. Like he doesn’t need to try to be noticed.

A black shoulder bag hangs casually at his side, one hand gripping the strap as he looks off to the street, unaware he’s being watched.

And Yoongi thinks—absurdly—that if he were a painting, people would stand in museums just to stare.

Their eyes meet, and Yoongi forgets every rehearsed line he practiced in the car.

Jimin blinks first.

“You came,” he says softly, almost like he’s surprised.

Yoongi nods, suddenly aware of how dry his throat feels. Then he remembers—right. The flowers.

“I—these are for you,” he blurts out, stepping forward and holding out the bouquet he’s been gripping so tightly the paper is slightly crinkled.

Jimin freezes.

“For me?” His eyes widen behind his glasses as he carefully takes them, like they’re something fragile. “No one’s ever brought me flowers before.”

The shock on his face melts into something softer. Warmer. His cheeks turn pink again.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over the petals. “Thank you.”

Yoongi swears his heart grows three sizes.

“I should put them in water,” Jimin adds quickly. “Do you—do you want to come inside for a second?”

Yoongi nods a little too fast.

Inside, Jimin’s apartment is cozy and lived-in. Soft lighting. A faint scent of detergent and something citrusy lingering in the air. Jimin moves carefully toward the kitchen, searching for a vase.

Before Yoongi can properly take everything in, a familiar sound drifts from the living room—

A soft trumpet note.

He turns.

There, sprawled casually on the couch, is the omega from the restaurant—the one who had been playing jazz that night. Except now he’s wearing loose home clothes, hair falling freely around his face.

The omega lowers the trumpet slowly, eyes narrowing in recognition.

“Oh,” he says.

Jimin looks up from the sink. “Taehyung, this is Yoongi.”

Taehyung’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.

“The alpha who almost caused a scandal in the middle of the restaurant?” he asks lazily.

Yoongi feels his soul leave his body.

Jimin makes a strangled noise. “Taehyung!”

But Taehyung is already standing, walking closer with amused curiosity, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“So,” Taehyung says, crossing his arms. “You’re the bold one.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “I prefer the one who knows what he wants.”

Taehyung hums, unconvinced.

Meanwhile, Jimin gently places the flowers in a vase, adjusting them with surprising tenderness. When he looks back at Yoongi, his expression is soft.

“They look perfect,” he says quietly.

And suddenly, Yoongi doesn’t care that he’s being evaluated by a jazz-playing omega roommate.

Because Jimin is smiling at him like that.

Before Taehyung can tease them any further, Jimin grabs his keys and gently nudges Yoongi toward the door.

“We should go,” Jimin says quickly, trying to hide his smile.

Taehyung calls out from the couch, “Be safe!”

Yoongi pretends not to hear him.

The afternoon sun is still high, warm against the pavement as they walk side by side toward the aquarium. The city feels calmer at this hour, softer somehow.

Inside, daylight filters through the high glass panels of the building, mixing with the blue glow of the tanks. The place isn’t crowded—just a few families, quiet footsteps echoing across the polished floors.

Jimin slows down in front of a massive tank where rays glide like floating shadows beneath the water.

“They’re so peaceful,” he says, leaning a little closer to the glass.

Yoongi hums in response.

But he isn’t looking at the rays.

The natural light pours in from above, catching in Jimin’s blond hair and turning it almost golden. His white shirt looks soft in the afternoon glow, slightly translucent where the sunlight hits it. His profile is calm, focused, completely unaware of the way Yoongi is staring.

Yoongi does not give a single fuck about fish.

Not when Jimin looks like that.

After a moment, Jimin turns his head slowly, catching him again.

“You haven’t looked at the tank once,” he says, amused.

Yoongi doesn’t even hesitate. “I am looking.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“At the prettiest thing here.”

Jimin laughs under his breath, cheeks tinting pink. “You’re unbelievable.”

And yet, he steps just a little closer to Yoongi anyway.

They keep walking, slow and close, and Yoongi can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is to be standing side by side with someone as gorgeous as Jimin.

The light from the tanks reflects softly against Jimin’s face, making him look almost unreal.

“You could be a siren,” Yoongi says suddenly. “Or a merman. You look divine. Like a myth.”

Jimin makes a small, flustered sound. “Aish, hyung, are you on drugs? Stop saying things like that.” He covers his face with one hand, trying to hide his smile—and his blush.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi mutters, adjusting his shirt nervously. “I’m pathetic.”

Jimin peeks at him through his fingers.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I like it.”

There’s a teasing, almost devilish smile on his lips now.

They end up sitting down inside the aquarium café area, sharing something light to eat. The conversation flows more easily than before. Yoongi talks about being an architect, about how he mostly works with light structures and how fascinated he is by the way space changes depending on illumination.

Jimin listens carefully, chin resting on his hand.

When it’s his turn, Jimin talks about his life—briefly, almost rushing through it. Working long hours at the restaurant, sharing rent with Taehyung. But since the place is top quality, the pay is good enough for them to live comfortably.

“I like being independent,” Jimin says. “Even if it’s exhausting sometimes.”

Yoongi looks at him like he just said something revolutionary.

When they move to the outdoor section of the aquarium to see the seals and other animals, the afternoon breeze is gentle and cool.

Without warning, Jimin slips his hand into Yoongi’s.

Yoongi nearly forgets how to function.

They walk like that—fingers intertwined.

The flirting shifts. Jimin grows more confident, slowly realizing the effect he has. He catches Yoongi staring at his collarbones when the wind moves his shirt slightly. He notices his gaze dropping to his mouth when he speaks.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin murmurs, amused.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like I’m the exhibit.”

Yoongi doesn’t even deny it this time.

“Well,” he says quietly, squeezing Jimin’s hand a little tighter, “you are the only thing here worth staring at.”

Jimin’s smile softens.

But his grip tightens back.

They stop near the seal enclosure, laughter and splashing echoing softly in the background. A few children run past them, pointing excitedly at the animals, but Yoongi barely registers any of it.

Because Jimin has turned toward him.

“Why do you keep looking at my mouth?” Jimin asks casually.

Yoongi freezes.

“I’m not,” he lies terribly.

Jimin hums, unconvinced.

The afternoon light hits just right, catching on the thin frame of his glasses. Slowly—deliberately—Jimin steps closer. Close enough that Yoongi can feel the warmth of his body. Close enough to see the faint pink tint across Jimin’s cheeks.

“You are,” Jimin murmurs.

Yoongi swallows.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, pretending to think. “Is there something on my lips?”

He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb lightly across his own bottom lip.

Yoongi’s brain shuts down.

“N-no.”

“Then why,” Jimin continues softly, leaning in just a little more, their faces now only inches apart, “do you look like you want to memorize them?”

The world goes quiet.

Yoongi’s grip tightens around Jimin’s hand unconsciously. His heart is pounding so hard he’s sure Jimin can hear it.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Yoongi breathes.

Jimin smiles.

“Maybe,” he whispers.

And then he leans in just slightly more—close enough that their noses almost brush—but instead of kissing him, he pulls back at the last second.

“You’re very easy to tease, hyung.”

Yoongi stares at him, completely wrecked.

Jimin just squeezes his hand and starts walking again like nothing happened.

But there’s a small, victorious smile playing on his lips.

Jimin barely takes three steps before Yoongi snaps.

“Hey.”

Jimin turns, still smiling smugly.

That 's his mistake.

Yoongi lets go of his hand only to grab his wrist gently but firmly, pulling him back. 

“Don’t,” Yoongi mutters.

“Don’t what?” Jimin asks innocently, though his eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“Don’t do that and walk away like nothing happened.”

Jimin opens his mouth to tease him again—but Yoongi closes the distance first.

He pulls him in and kisses him.

It’s sudden and warm and a little desperate, like Yoongi has been holding it in for weeks. His hand comes up to Jimin’s waist, steadying him, their bodies fitting closer than either of them expected.

For a second, Jimin freezes.

Then he melts into it.

The world tilts.

The afternoon air, the sound of water splashing, distant chatter—it all blurs.

Until—

A child gasps dramatically somewhere behind them.

Yoongi breaks the kiss instantly.

He steps back like he just committed a crime.

“Oh my God,” he mutters, face turning bright red. “I’m so sorry. There are children. I’m so sorry.”

Jimin stares at him for half a second—

Then bursts into laughter. 

“You,” Jimin manages between laughs, “are unbelievable.”

Yoongi covers his face. “That was inappropriate. I lost control. I’m sorry.”

Jimin steps closer again, eyes soft now.

“It was,” he says, trying to look serious and failing. “A little indecent.”

Yoongi groans.

“But,” Jimin adds, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice, “I didn’t hate it.”

His thumb brushes lightly against Yoongi’s wrist this time.

“Next time,” Jimin whispers, glancing around dramatically, “maybe somewhere without an audience?”

Yoongi swallows.

“Next time?” he asks.

Jimin smiles.

They walk around the aquarium a few more times, hands intertwined, shoulders brushing, teasing each other in low voices. Every now and then, Jimin bumps his hip lightly against Yoongi’s just to see his reaction.

It works every time.

By the time the sky starts turning orange and purple, the place is quieter. The lights around the paths glow softly as evening settles in.

Yoongi clears his throat. “It’s getting late. I can take you home.”

Jimin looks up at him slowly.

“Already?” he asks, tilting his head.

Yoongi hesitates. “Unless you’re tired.”

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he bites his lower lip—subtly at first, then a little more deliberately. He looks up through his lashes, pretending innocence.

“Actually…” Jimin says softly, stepping closer. “I was thinking…”

Yoongi’s heart rate spikes instantly.

“We could spend a little more time together,” Jimin continues, fingers tracing lightly along Yoongi’s sleeve. “If you want to. I’m not that tired.”

There’s something different in his tone now. Less shy. More intentional.

Yoongi swallows.

“You want more time?” he asks carefully.

Jimin nods once, slow. “If you can.”

The innocence in his expression is completely betrayed by the small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Yoongi exhales shakily. “You’re not as sweet as you pretend to be.”

Jimin steps even closer, their bodies almost touching.

“Maybe I just feel safe enough to stop pretending,” he murmurs.

“Pretending what?”

“That I don’t want you. Too.”

The ride to Yoongi’s apartment is thick with heated silence. Jimin keeps brushing against him subtly, just enough to make Yoongi look over at him at every red light, jaw tight with restraint.

Jimin wants a one-night stand.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Yoongi doesn’t argue when Jimin suggests going to his place. He just nods, jaw tight, heart racing harder than it did all afternoon.

The moment the apartment door closes behind them, the tension snaps.

It’s not rushed exactly—just inevitable.

Hands find waists. Clothing falls somewhere near the entrance. Their mouths meet again, this time with no seals, no children, no audience. They stumble toward the bedroom like they’ve both already decided there’s no turning back.

Yoongi kisses him like he’s starving.

Jimin laughs once against his lips—breathless, excited—and then pulls him closer.

The night becomes a blur of skin and warmth and tangled sheets.

Yoongi maps him slowly at first, reverently, like he’s afraid Jimin might disappear if he moves too fast. Kissing down his stomach, lingering, breathing him in like he’s something sacred.

There’s something about Jimin’s stomach that makes Yoongi lose his mind.

Maybe it’s the softness or it’s the warmth beneath his palm. Maybe it’s the way Jimin shivers every single time Yoongi’s fingers trace idle, absent-minded lines across the smooth skin.

Yoongi pretends it’s unconscious (it’s not).

His hand drifts there constantly—thumb brushing slow circles, fingertips mapping invisible patterns as if memorizing something sacred. Like he’s already imagining futures written beneath that skin.

Jimin notices.

“You really wanna get me pregnant,” he murmurs, voice heavy.

Yoongi just hums, leaning down to press featherlight kisses along his abdomen. Fluttering, reverent, almost innocent at first. Until the kisses grow slower. Open-mouthed kisses. Warmer kisses. 

Jimin’s breath stutters.

Yoongi rests his cheek there for a moment, inhaling deeply, like grounding himself.

There’s instinct in him—strong, ancient, possessive. When he presses a kiss there it isn’t just desire.

Jimin’s fingers thread into Yoongi’s hair.

“Hyung—” he whispers, voice already unsteady.

His hands already resting on Jimin’s hips, his forehead pressed against his stomach. But the scent there—warm, sweet, intoxicating—pulls him lower. His nose brushes along the inside of Jimin’s thigh, breath warm against sensitive skin. 

“Hyung…” he warns softly, though there’s no real resistance in his tone.

Yoongi hums in response, fingers tightening slightly as he parts Jimin’s thighs just enough to settle there. He inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

He presses his face closer, rubbing gently, marking the skin with his scent. Not biting. Not hurting. Just surrounding Jimin with him.

“You smell so good,” Yoongi murmurs, voice thick, almost dazed.

Jimin’s fingers slide into his hair automatically, scratching lightly at his scalp.

“You get so clingy,” Jimin teases softly.

He presses a lingering kiss there—warm, deliberate—and then rests his cheek against Jimin’s inner thigh like it’s the safest place in the world.

And then he starts moving up again, while Jimin’s underpants are soaked with slick, the sight of it making Yoongi hungry and hard within seconds.

“This is what I wanted to eat back that day,” he murmurs, kissing Jimin through his panties.

“Y-yeah?” Jimin moans. “You can eat now. I’m a good waiter,” he teases, making Yoongi laugh softly too.

Yoongi dives in like a devoted man. He doesn’t take Jimin’s panties off yet; he just keeps licking and kissing him there, where his heat is pulsing, while Jimin moans loudly, wanting him closer. When he finally takes the panties off, Jimin is dripping—beautiful and glowing as he lies there shyly, looking at him, sweat already shining across his face.

“Yoongi, please,” he pleads.

“Please what, beautiful?” Yoongi teases, kissing his inner thighs again.

Yoongi has always been the kind of alpha who softens instead of hardens when he falls.

It isn’t dominance that consumes him, it’s devotion. The scent of his omega is what unravels him first. He buries his face against Jimin’s cunt just to breathe him in, like oxygen isn’t enough anymore. Like he needs that specific fragrance to survive.

He’s obsessed with the softness, too. The gentle curve of Jimin’s waist beneath his palms. His smooth skin under his fingertips as he traces absent-minded lines, memorizing every inch as if he’s studying architecture again —except this time, the structure is warm and alive and trembling beneath him.

“Please, fuck me,” Jimin begs.

Yoongi stills, suddenly realizing that Jimin is naked on his bed while he still has his pants on.

He practically trips over himself getting his clothes off, nearly losing his balance with his pants, all hurried hands and flushed cheeks. It would’ve looked ridiculous if it wasn’t so painfully endearing.

Jimin can’t help it — he laughs, bright and fond, propped up on his elbows as he watches Yoongi fumble like an overeager teenager.

But the laughter slowly fades as Yoongi finally straightens in front of him, no more fabric, no more distractions. Jimin’s breath catches mid-giggle, his lips parting as his gaze drifts — and keeps drifting.

The playful grin softens into something quieter. 

“Oh,” Jimin breathes, cheeks flushing a deeper pink, suddenly very aware of just how BIG this moment is. It’s a huge moment, for sure. 

“You’re huge,” he says, looking up at Yoongi, desire written all over his face.

When Yoongi finally enters him, Jimin’s eyes can’t help but roll back, the pleasure almost too much, the feeling of fullness overwhelming. His moans grow louder, his nails digging into Yoongi’s back — and Yoongi doesn’t go soft; he sets a brutal pace.

His movements are fast and hard, and Jimin is almost crying from how good it feels, the warmth low in his belly building faster and faster until he can’t hold back anymore. Pleasure crashes through him, squirting all over spilling and soaking Yoongi’s sheets, the force of it pushing Yoongi out as Jimin trembles beneath him.

Jimin lies there stunned, chest heaving. “That’s never happened before,” he moans breathlessly. “It felt… really nice.”

Yoongi laughs and goes down on Jimin again, licking him slowly, his slick everywhere now, making the room smell like something sinfully sweet. Jimin still moans from hypersensitivity, but Yoongi kisses him better softly while holding his own cock in his hand, leaking precum.

When Jimin is ready again, he goes back in. The moans grow louder, more sensitive and desperate from Jimin. His pace isn’t slow at all, making Jimin feel it everywhere. He can see the bulge of Yoongi’s big cock on his stomach when it swells just that little bit, making Yoongi go feral on him and building another orgasm that hits so good it makes Jimin melt into the sheets, his vision going white, while Yoongi keeps brutally fucking him, and his moans turn into screams of pleasure. Yoongi doesn’t stop. The feeling of making his omega feel good is better than anything he’s ever experienced. He keeps moving, faster and faster, until his thighs begin to ache and his knot starts growing.

This time, he’s the one trying to hold back his moans, but he can’t help it — soft groans slip past his lips anyway. At one point, instinct surges through him, sharp and possessive, and he leans toward Jimin’s neck.

Jimin gently catches his hair.

“Not biting yet,” he says softly, even though he’s flushed and trembling. “It’s the first date.”

Yoongi stills immediately.

He looks up at him, breathing hard.

“Then let me fix that,” Yoongi murmurs.

Jimin blinks, confused for half a second.

And Yoongi, still holding him close, his knot growing bigger and bigger, asks—

“Go out with me again.”

Jimin stares at him.

“You’re asking me out right now?” he breathes, half-laughing, half-moaning.

“Yes,” Yoongi says without hesitation. “Because I don’t want this to be just one night.”

“You’re crazy,” Jimin whispers, moaning at the sensation of being full.

“About you? Yes.”

Jimin smiles, exhausted and happy and full.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Second date.”

Yoongi falls over Jimin softly, his knot twitching as he comes inside him, instinctively making sure nothing spills out. He grunts, a low rumble in his chest, while Jimin kisses his hair gently, purring at the intimacy, completely sated.

They stay like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, trading slow, sleepy kisses and soft touches. Yoongi traces gentle patterns along Jimin’s body, while Jimin plays with the ends of Yoongi’s hair, smiling every time he feels a small content rumble in his chest.

There’s no rush anymore —just warmth, quiet breaths, and the kind of closeness that feels safe. Jimin presses a lazy kiss to Yoongi’s temple, then to his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, giggling softly when Yoongi chases his lips for more.

They fit together easily, limbs tangled under the sheets, hearts still racing but slowly calming down. It’s tender and a little messy but completely theirs.

For a while, neither of them moves.

They’re warm and tangled together, skin sticky, sheets a mess beneath them —but Yoongi is too busy listening to Jimin’s breathing slowly even out to care about anything else.

Jimin hums quietly, nose pressed against Yoongi’s collarbone.

“I don’t wanna move,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Yoongi lets out a tired laugh. “We kind of destroyed my bed.”

“Not my problem,” Jimin whispers, already half gone.

Yoongi kisses his hair. “It is when you’re sleeping in it.”

It takes effort —so much effort— but Yoongi eventually shifts, groaning dramatically as he untangles himself. Jimin immediately whines at the loss of warmth, reaching for him blindly.

“I’m right here,” Yoongi murmurs. “Just changing the sheets. Two minutes.”

Jimin watches him through heavy eyelids, looking unfairly pretty even like this—flushed, hair messy, lips swollen from kisses. Yoongi moves slowly, tired muscles protesting, but he works carefully, peeling the ruined sheets away and replacing them with clean ones. 

“Should we shower?” Yoongi asks, though he already knows the answer.

“No,” Jimin says firmly,  “Tomorrow.”

“Eat something?”

Another sleepy mumble. “Later.”

After the sheets are changed and the lights dimmed, Jimin ends up curled in the middle of the bed —their little nest half-formed from pillows and blankets Yoongi barely remembers arranging.

Sleepy omegas don’t drift off alone —not when their alpha is still moving around the room. Jimin lies there languidly, eyes heavy, body loose and warm, but stubbornly awake. He hugs one of Yoongi’s pillows to his chest, nose pressed into it, breathing in the faint trace of his scent.

“Hyung…” he murmurs softly, not demanding —just calling.

Yoongi finishes in the bathroom and turns off the last light before walking back to the bed. The second the mattress dips, Jimin visibly relaxes. He immediately scoots closer without even opening his eyes properly. Yoongi smiles, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his chest.

Jimin melts. A quiet purr vibrates out of him as Yoongi cradles him, one hand rubbing slow circles along his back, the other brushing through his hair. He presses his nose to Jimin’s temple, then his cheek, then his neck —soft, affectionate scenting, warm breaths against sensitive skin.

“So pretty,” Yoongi murmurs. “You did so well today.”

Another purr. Louder this time.

Jimin nuzzles under his chin, completely boneless now, fingers curling in Yoongi’s chest. He smells content and sweet. Every time Yoongi praises him —soft good boy, beautiful omega, mine in that gentle, awed way— Jimin’s body relaxes a little more.

Yoongi tightens his hold slightly, kissing his forehead. “Sleep, Jimin.”

And finally, finally, Jimin lets go.

His breathing deepens, purring fading into soft little sighs as he drifts off cradled against Yoongi’s chest —safe, scented, praised, and completely adored.

Yoongi stays awake a little longer, just listening to him, thumb brushing lazy lines over his back. He’s never felt more certain about anything in his life.

When Jimin wakes up, he feels so good he doesn’t even know how to explain it.

Yoongi is already up, between his legs, sucking and licking his clit like his life depends on it — like a starved man who can’t stop pleasing his partner. He moves with slow devotion, like he could stay there forever, unable to get enough.

“G-good morning,” Jimin breathes out, holding onto Yoongi’s messy bed hair to keep him close.

“Morning,” Yoongi answers, not stopping, focused entirely on making Jimin fall apart first thing in the morning.

It works.

His fingers and tongue move with practiced devotion, and Jimin doesn’t last long at all. His moans grow louder, body tensing before pleasure rushes through him, leaving him trembling and breathless — and leaving Yoongi flushed and satisfied between his legs.

“God, Yoongi, you want me so bad,” Jimin pants, already flushed and damp with sweat. He pushes Yoongi up gently and kisses him deeply, tasting himself on Yoongi’s tongue, the kiss slow and heated.

“Be a good alpha and lie down for me,” Jimin says sweetly, eyes shining with playful command.

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate. He obeys eagerly, stretching out beneath him, hands already reaching, completely willing to let Jimin take control.

Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi big cock slowly, feeling him half-hard and warm from just eating him out, stroking lazily while leaning down to press soft kisses along his stomach.

Yoongi lets out a quiet moan, still a little sleepy, hair a mess against the pillow, but already completely affected.

Jimin looks up at him through his lashes, licking his lips in a way that makes Yoongi’s breath hitch.

“You’re going to stay right there,” Jimin says softly, voice honey-sweet but commanding. “And I’m going to take care of you.”

He kisses lower, slow and teasing, never quite giving Yoongi what he wants, just enough to make him tremble.

“O-okay,” Yoongi whispers, already flushed. “Please.”

And Jimin smiles, pleased with how easily his strong, devoted alpha falls apart for him.

When Jimin straddles him, Yoongi feels like he’s in paradise, the warmth and closeness making his head spin. Jimin starts moving slowly —painfully slow— clearly teasing and enjoying the way Yoongi reacts.

Yoongi lets out a low grumble and tries to pull him down for a kiss, but Jimin keeps dodging his mouth, smiling mischievously as he rolls his hips at an unhurried pace.

“You’re going to kill me,” Yoongi mutters, breathing unevenly.

Jimin laughs softly, pleased with himself, and finally picks up the rhythm just a little. Yoongi’s hands slide firmly to his waist, holding him steady, fingers tightening as he loses himself in the feeling.

Yoongi is a complete mess —pathetic bed hair sticking up everywhere, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks flushed pink. He looks unfairly pretty like that, overwhelmed and needy as he knots Jimin again, unable to help himself while Jimin moves on top of him.

His hands slide down to Jimin’s plush hips, gripping firmly, fingers pressing harder and making them both gasp —then laugh breathlessly at how ridiculous and good this feels.

“That’s a good way to wake up,” Jimin says softly, leaning down to kiss Yoongi while they wait for the knot to go down.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist you,” Yoongi murmurs, still flushed. “You smell so good. It’s my favorite scent.”

He lifts Jimin’s wrist and presses gentle kisses there, then along his neck, nuzzling and scenting him affectionately, worshipping the omega draped warm and content over his chest.

“Ah, fuck, I have work today,” Jimin sighs softly, kissing Yoongi’s chest and resting his cheek there. “I wish I could stay here longer.”

“I can take you to work,” Yoongi offers immediately, nodding like it’s the most obvious solution.

Jimin smiles and pokes his side lightly. “No, silly. I need to go home first. My uniform is there.”

Yoongi groans quietly but pulls him closer instead of letting go.

They stay like that for a while longer, exchanging slow kisses and lazy touches, as if trying to memorize each other all over again. Jimin traces shapes on Yoongi’s skin; Yoongi smooths Jimin’s hair back gently, pressing soft kisses to his temple and lips.

Neither of them is in a hurry to move.

Eventually they do. Yoongi offers to run Jimin a bath, which he agrees to after sweating so much.

In the bathroom, Yoongi carefully prepares the warm water, adding his favorite tangerine-scented soap again. The fresh citrus smell fills the room, and Jimin laughs softly.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” he says, watching Yoongi test the water temperature like it’s the most important task in the world

They slip into the tub slowly, warm water wrapping around their tired bodies. For a while, it’s peaceful — just soft splashes, quiet sighs, and Jimin resting back against Yoongi’s chest.

But it doesn’t stay innocent for long.

Kisses start slow, lazy and warm against damp skin. Then they grow deeper, hungrier. Jimin turns in his arms, straddling him in the tub, fingers brushing water from Yoongi’s face before leaning down again.

One moment he’s relaxing in the bath.

Next, he’s curled in Yoongi’s lap, smiling against his mouth as the heat between them rises all over again.

At some point, Jimin rests his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder and laughs breathlessly.

“At this rate, I might end up pregnant… or at least sore,” he teases softly. “I should probably buy pills.”

Yoongi smiles, brushing damp hair away from Jimin’s face. “I’ll buy you anything you want,” he says easily. “And if you’re sore… we can always try something different.”

The warm water makes everything feel heavier, more sensitive. Jimin shifts in his lap, already flushed, already soft and pliant from earlier. 

Yoongi’s hands slide along his hips, grabbing his buttlocks, mesmerized by the size of it, by the way Jimin reacts to every touch, by the way his body responds.

They move carefully, unhurried.

Yoongi goes slowly into Jimin's asshole, murmuring praise against Jimin’s skin, kissing him to keep him relaxed, checking every reaction. The water laps softly around them as Jimin adjusts, breathing deep, fingers gripping Yoongi’s shoulders.

It’s a little overwhelming in the best way.

Yoongi can’t help the low sound that leaves him —half awe, half instinct— completely undone by how good Jimin feels in his arms.

When it’s over, Jimin leans back against him, laughing in disbelief, cheeks flushed.

“I can’t believe that felt that good,” he admits, still catching his breath.

Yoongi just kisses his shoulder, smiling softly, like he’s just discovered something precious all over again.

Very lovingly, Jimin kisses him and whispers, “You’re such a good alpha,” right against his ear, voice soft and warm.

Yoongi immediately whines in embarrassment, his face turning bright red all over again. “Don’t say that like that,” he mutters shyly, hiding his face in Jimin’s shoulder while Jimin laughs quietly at how easy it is to fluster him.

After a while, the heat settles into something calmer.

Yoongi reaches for the soap and gently starts helping Jimin wash, hands slowly and carefully. He lathers the tangerine-scented soap between his palms before smoothing it over Jimin’s shoulders and back, massaging lightly, making him hum in contentment.

“Turn around,” Yoongi says softly.

Jimin obeys, closing his eyes as Yoongi tilts his head back to wash his hair. He works shampoo through the soft strands, fingers massaging his scalp in slow, soothing circles. Jimin practically melts under his touch, leaning into it with a sleepy sigh.

“You’re spoiling me,” Jimin murmurs.

“Good,” Yoongi replies simply.

He rinses him carefully, brushing wet hair away from his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks gently. There’s something domestic and tender about it — less heat now, more care.

By the time they step out of the bath, wrapped in towels and warm from the steam, Jimin looks soft and relaxed, cheeks pink, hair damp and fluffy.

Yoongi presses one last kiss to his forehead.

“Still my favorite scent,” he murmurs.

And Jimin smiles, shy and glowing all over again.

Yoongi lends Jimin some clean clothes, a black hoodie and loose sweatpants that swallow him whole. The sleeves cover half his hands, the collar slipping slightly to one side, and Yoongi has to physically stop himself from pulling him back into bed.

“You look like you’re mine,” Yoongi says, trying to sound not in love.

Jimin grins. “Is that a good thing?”

“A very good thing.”

They don’t rush. Yoongi drives him home carefully, one hand occasionally reaching over just to squeeze Jimin’s thigh at red lights, like he needs to make sure he’s still there.

Halfway there, Yoongi suddenly pulls into a pharmacy.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jimin watches through the window, confused and then increasingly shocked as Yoongi returns with a small bag.

Inside: pills, pain relief, hydration drinks, vitamins… and chocolate.

“You bought half the store,” Jimin laughs, eyes wide.

Yoongi shrugs, suddenly shy again. “Just in case. I don’t want you to be sore. Or uncomfortable. Or anything.”

Jimin looks at him differently then.

“You’re really taking care of me,” he says quietly.

“Of course I am,” Yoongi replies, like it’s obvious.

When they finally reach Jimin’s apartment building, neither of them move to open the doors.

The engine is off. The daylight is brighter now. Reality is creeping in.

Jimin unbuckles his seatbelt slowly but doesn’t reach for the handle.

“I don’t really want to say goodbye,” he admits.

Yoongi’s hand immediately finds him again.

“Then don’t,” he says gently. “It’s not goodbye. I’ll text you in five minutes.”

Jimin laughs, but his eyes are warm.

He leans over the console and kisses Yoongi —slow, lingering, soft in a completely different way than before. 

“Second date,” Jimin whispers against his lips.

“Second date,” Yoongi confirms.

Jimin finally steps out of the car, oversized hoodie sleeves covering his hands, pharmacy bag tucked to his chest like something precious.

Yoongi waits until he’s safely inside the building.

And only when Jimin turns back at the door, smiling and waving, does Yoongi finally drive away, already counting the hours until he sees him again.

It’s evening, the city lights reflecting softly on the restaurant windows, and then Jimin steps out of the car like he just walked out of an airport runway.

Grey cardigan —soft, fitted, falling perfectly over his frame. Underneath, a darker shirt layered cleanly, simple but elegant. The cardigan sleeves are pushed slightly up, exposing his wrists— and Yoongi’s eyes immediately go there.

The glasses.

God, the glasses.

Thin frame, sitting low enough that when Jimin looks up through them, it feels deliberate. His hair is styled neatly but not stiff, brushed back just enough to show his forehead, giving him that composed, “I didn’t try too hard but I still look expensive” energy.

And the bag slung over his shoulder? Structured, sleek, the kind that makes him look like he just stepped off a late-night flight from somewhere important.

Yoongi forgets how to breathe.

It’s been a week. A whole week of texts, late-night calls, teasing voice notes —but seeing him in person again?

Different.

Jimin adjusts his glasses when he spots Yoongi staring.

“What?” he asks innocently.

Yoongi steps closer, slower this time, taking him in properly.

“You look like you’re about to ruin my life,” he mutters honestly.

Jimin smiles. “And you still showed up.”

Yoongi exhales, completely gone.

Second date.
And somehow Jimin looks even more dangerous than the first.

The restaurant is simple, almost understated —very woody-coded. Dark wooden beams cross the ceiling, warm amber lights hanging low over solid oak tables. The air smells faintly of smoke, herbs, and grilled meat. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, the kind that feels intimate rather than loud.

It’s rustic in a deliberate way. The kind of place where the plates are heavy ceramic and the wine glasses aren’t overly polished, but everything tastes unforgettable.

Very different from the restaurant Jimin works at.

There’s no marble flooring here, no crystal chandeliers, no perfectly pressed uniforms or delicate plating arranged like art installations. Jimin’s workplace is sleek, modern, almost intimidating in its elegance.

This place feels grounded.

A little rough around the edges, like Yoongi.

And somehow, watching Jimin step into that space in his soft grey cardigan and glasses, looking polished and refined against all that dark wood and dim light, makes Yoongi’s chest tighten.

He doesn’t belong to this place.

He elevates it.

And Yoongi can’t stop looking at him.

Over dinner, between warm bread and shared wine, the conversation turns softer.

Jimin stares down at his glass for a moment before speaking. “Military time was awful for me,” he admits quietly. “I know it’s normal. I know everyone goes through it. But… I hated feeling stripped down like that.”

Yoongi listens carefully, eyes steady on him.

“I couldn’t choose anything,” Jimin continues. “Not my hair. Not accessories. Not even how I presented myself.” He lets out a small laugh. “When it ended, I kept asking the dumbest things.”

“Like what?” Yoongi asks gently.

Jimin smiles, a little embarrassed. “Like… ‘Can I wear earrings again?’ ‘Can I grow my hair longer?’ ‘Is this okay?’” He shrugs. “It felt silly, but I needed to hear yes.”

Yoongi’s expression softens immediately.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “So pretty.”

Jimin looks up at him, cheeks warming instantly. “Hyung.”

“No, really,” Yoongi insists, leaning forward slightly. “You’re pretty with short hair. You’re pretty with long hair. You’re pretty with glasses. Without glasses. With earrings. Without.” His voice lowers. “You’re just pretty.”

Jimin tries to hide his smile behind his wine glass, but it’s too late. The blush creeps up his neck.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi adds softly. “You should always get to choose.”

For a moment, the rustic restaurant, the dim lights, the background noise —everything fades a little.

Jimin reaches across the table and nudges Yoongi’s hand with his fingers.

“Then I choose this,” he says quietly.

And Yoongi swears he’s never felt prouder to be sitting across from someone.

Dinner stretches longer than either of them expects.

They talk about small things at first —favorite foods, cities they want to visit, embarrassing childhood stories. Jimin learns that Yoongi prefers quiet mornings, black coffee, and working late into the night when ideas won’t let him sleep. Yoongi learns that Jimin hums unconsciously when he’s comfortable, that he hates cold weather but loves winter fashion, that he secretly enjoys old jazz records because of Taehyung.

But beneath the easy conversation, there’s something else.

Jimin starts noticing Yoongi more carefully now that a week has passed.

Not just how attractive he is, though that’s impossible to ignore.

The sharp line of his jaw under the dim lights. The way his glasses catch the amber glow of the restaurant. The controlled way he sits, broad shoulders relaxed but present. There’s something grounded about him. Alpha in a quiet way.

Yoongi is always polite —thanking the waiter, holding doors open, listening without interrupting. But Jimin also notices the flicker in his eyes when he teases him too much. The subtle tightening of his jaw. The way his hand will settle a little firmer on Jimin’s waist, protective in a restrained way.

So Jimin tests it.

“You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes,” he says sweetly, tilting his head.

Yoongi doesn’t even deny it. “Have I?”

“You have.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re imagining things.”

Jimin smiles slowly. “Am I?”

There it is —that flicker again. That heat under the calm surface.

Yoongi reaches across the table, fingers brushing Jimin’s wrist lightly. “Careful,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

Jimin 's stomach flips.

He likes this. He likes how Yoongi loses composure just a little when he pushes. How the polite architect turns into something warmer, rougher around the edges, just for him.

And Yoongi, for his part, is equally fascinated. Because beneath Jimin’s softness is confidence. He knows he’s beautiful now. He knows the effect he has. And he’s choosing to use it.

By the time dessert arrives, their legs are tangled under the table, conversation quieter, smiles softer.

They’re not just attracted anymore. They’re learning from each other. And both of them like what they’re discovering.

The drive back is quieter than the one from the restaurant —not awkward, just heavy in that charged, end-of-date way. Soft music plays low in the background. City lights blur past the windows. Yoongi keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting loosely on Jimin’s thigh, thumb brushing small absentminded circles that make Jimin’s breath catch every now and then.

“You’re quiet,” Yoongi says softly, glancing at him.

“Just thinking,” Jimin replies, staring out the window with a small smile.

“About?”

Jimin turns his head slowly, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “About how you almost lost your temper when I teased you.”

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “I did not.”

“You did.”

A small pause.

“Maybe a little.”

Jimin laughs under his breath.

When they finally pull up in front of Jimin’s apartment, the engine turns off, but neither of them moves right away. The street is calm, lit by warm streetlamps.

Jimin unbuckles his seatbelt, then hesitates.

“My roommate’s out tonight,” he says casually.

Yoongi’s fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Jimin shrugs, pretending innocence. “So… it’s just me.”

Silence.

Jimin turns toward him fully now, one knee tucked under him on the seat. “Do you want to come inside?”

Yoongi studies him for a second, the soft cardigan, the faint flush on his cheeks, the way he’s biting his lip like he’s trying not to smile.

“You’re dangerous,” Yoongi murmurs.

Jimin tilts his head. “And you still showed up.”

Yoongi reaches for his keys again.

“Lead the way.”

The elevator is small. The doors slide shut with a soft mechanical sound, and suddenly they’re alone in a mirrored box with nowhere to look except at each other.

Jimin leans back against the wall, hands behind him, rocking slightly on his heels. He looks up at Yoongi through his glasses and smiles slowly, playful.

“You’re the one who is quiet now,” he says, voice light.

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He just steps closer.

The space shrinks.

Jimin’s giggles soften into little chirping breaths when Yoongi’s hand comes up, resting beside his head against the wall.

“Stop making that sound,” Yoongi mutters.

“What sound?”

“That one.”

Jimin does it again on purpose.

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly in visible despair then pulls off his glasses with one hand, rubbing his face like he’s trying to regain control.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he murmurs.

The elevator dings and the doors open.

They don’t move for half a second.

Then Jimin grabs Yoongi’s sleeve and pulls him out.

The apartment door barely closes before Yoongi kisses him. It’s loud and messy and desperate, hands grabbing at fabric, Jimin’s back hitting the door with a soft thud as he laughs into the kiss before it turns into a breathless sound.

Yoongi’s glasses are forgotten somewhere near the entryway.

Jimin grips his collar, pulling him closer, mouths sliding against each other, wet and heated and impatient in a way that feels completely different from the restaurant’s soft romance.

Yoongi lifts him slightly without thinking, and Jimin wraps his legs around his waist, still laughing between kisses.

“You said to be polite,” Jimin breathes.

“I tried,” Yoongi answered.

They want each other so badly it almost feels unreal.

By the time they reach Jimin’s bedroom, neither of them is thinking clearly anymore. Clothes disappear. Jimin is laughing one second and then gasping the next, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s shirt before it’s gone too.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” Jimin breathes, pulling him closer, closer, like even an inch of space is unbearable.

“You started this,” Yoongi mutters but he sounds just as gone.

The night blurs.

The bed creaks. Sheets twist. Their voices rise and fall —laughter melting into moans, teasing turning into something deeper and more instinctive. It’s knot after knot, heat building and breaking, bodies flushed with slick and sweat. Jimin clings to him like he’s drowning, and Yoongi holds him like he never plans to let go. Every time they slow down, one of them starts again. A kiss to the neck. A roll of hips. A whispered “again.”

The hours pass unnoticed. At some point, Jimin’s voice cracks from how much he’s been calling Yoongi’s name. Yoongi loses count of how many times he’s pulled him close, how many times instinct has taken over.

The window slowly shifts from black to deep blue, then to pale gold. And they’re still tangled together when the sun finally spills into the room.

Yoongi is breathing hard, forehead pressed to Jimin’s shoulder, waiting for his knot to soften, hands lazily stroking along Jimin’s sides. Jimin is boneless beneath him, smiling faintly, fingers tracing slow lines down Yoongi’s back.

“You’re insane,” Jimin whispers, but it sounds fond.

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

They’re both exhausted. Sore. Completely satisfied.

The sunlight warms their skin as Yoongi presses one last slow kiss to Jimin’s mouth —softer now, sleepy, neither of them bothers to move. Still wrapped together, still breathing the same air, they drift off like that, tangled, warm, and completely unwilling to let go.

They wake up past 2 p.m. The room is warm, curtains half-drawn, sunlight spilling lazily across tangled sheets. For a moment, neither of them moves.

Jimin is curled into Yoongi’s chest, wearing nothing but one of Yoongi’s oversized black t-shirts. It slips off one shoulder, collar loose, fabric falling mid-thigh. His hair is messy, lips swollen, skin still faintly marked from the night before.

He blinks slowly.

“Hyung” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Yoongi hums in response, tightening his arms around him automatically. He nuzzles into Jimin’s hair, breathing him in like it’s the first thing he needs to survive.

“You’re warm,” Jimin murmurs.

“You’re clingy,” Yoongi replies softly.

Jimin only hugs him tighter.

They stay like that for a long time —Jimin lazily tracing shapes on Yoongi’s chest, Yoongi rubbing slow circles into his back. Every time Yoongi tries to shift away, Jimin makes a small protesting sound and tucks himself closer, practically burrowing into his neck.

“Don’t leave,” he chirps quietly.

Eventually, though, Yoongi glances at the clock and sighs. “You need to eat.”

Jimin groans dramatically. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Noooo.”

“You’ll get dizzy.”

Jimin peeks up at him. “Then feed me.”

He says it so naturally that Yoongi doesn’t even question it.

In the kitchen, Jimin sits on the counter in Yoongi’s t-shirt, legs swinging slightly, watching him cook like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Yoongi moves around barefoot, hair still messy, completely focused. He makes something simple but warm —eggs, toast, fruit, coffee. He plates it neatly, brings it over and Jimin doesn’t touch it.

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Eat.”

Jimin just opens his mouth expectantly.

“You’re spoiled.”

A tiny satisfied purr. Yoongi exhales, defeated but fond, and picks up a fork. He feeds him bite by bite. And every single time Jimin hums happily or lets out a soft chirping sound of approval, Yoongi feels his chest swell like he’s just won something important.

“Good?” he asks quietly.

Jimin nods, cheeks full. “Very.”

Yoongi wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and Jimin instinctively leans into the touch.

The air shifts.

Jimin slides off the counter and steps closer, hands gripping Yoongi’s shirt. “You’re such a good alpha,” he murmurs again, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Yoongi groans softly. “Don’t start.”

But Jimin does.

He kisses him slower this time, deeper, hands sliding up his chest. Yoongi’s hands settle on his hips, pulling him in. The kitchen counter presses into Jimin’s lower back as their mouths grow warmer, hungrier.

A soft laugh escapes Jimin’s lips between kisses.

And then—

The front door unlocks.

They freeze.

Footsteps.

“Oh?” Taehyung’s voice echoes from the hallway.

Jimin SHRIEKS.

He immediately buries his face into Yoongi’s neck, clutching him like a koala, hiding completely inside his shoulder. “No no no no no—”

Yoongi tries not to laugh.

Taehyung appears at the kitchen entrance, takes in the scene —oversized shirt, messy hair, Yoongi’s hands still on Jimin’s waist— and raises one eyebrow.

“Well,” Taehyung says calmly. “Good afternoon.”

Jimin makes another embarrassed noise and presses even closer into Yoongi’s neck, face burning.

Yoongi wraps an arm securely around him, protective and amused all at once.

“Morning,” Yoongi replies, completely unbothered.

Jimin groans into his skin. “Hyung, don’t.”

Taehyung smirks. “I leave for one night.”

Jimin refuses to look up, and Yoongi doesn’t loosen his grip once.

“Thank God you don’t have work today,” he teases, dropping his bag by the couch. “You look like you got hit by a truck. A very specific HUGE truck.”

Jimin lets out an offended squeak and hides even deeper in Yoongi’s neck. “Tae!”

Yoongi has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Jimin’s back.

Taehyung just smirks. “Relax. I’m not judging. I’m impressed.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone before this turns into a kitchen documentary.”

“Tae!” Jimin whines again, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“Eat something,” Taehyung adds casually over his shoulder as he disappears down the hallway. “And maybe hydrate. Both of you.”

The apartment goes quiet again.

Jimin slowly lifts his head, glaring toward the hallway before looking back at Yoongi. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

Yoongi smiles softly. “You’re still adorable.”

Jimin’s blush deepens, but he doesn’t pull away this time. Instead, he leans up and kisses Yoongi again, slower now, softer. A little shy and sweet.

“Finish feeding me,” Jimin murmurs against his lips.

Yoongi chuckles and reaches for the fork again, pulling him close with his other arm.

And despite Taehyung’s teasing echoing faintly from his room, the kitchen fills once more with quiet laughter, soft kisses, and the comfortable warmth of being exactly where they want to be.

Since Jimin doesn’t have work, there’s no rush.

After breakfast (and Taehyung loudly playing music in his room to “give them privacy”), Yoongi suggests a shower, mostly because they both still smell faintly like slick and cum.

The bathroom fills with steam quickly.

It starts innocently enough. Warm water cascading down, Yoongi washes Jimin’s hair again just because he likes the way Jimin leans into his hands. Jimin traces lazy shapes over Yoongi’s shoulders, watching droplets slide down his skin.

“You’re staring,” Yoongi murmurs.

“You’re hot,” Jimin answers easily.

That does it.

Kisses start slow, soft, open-mouthed, water running over their faces. Jimin backs Yoongi gently against the tile, laughing quietly when Yoongi’s hands settle automatically at his waist.

It’s slippery and warm and a little clumsy, but neither of them cares. The sounds of water mix with breathy laughs and muffled kisses. At some point, Jimin’s fingers curl in Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi lifts him slightly just to hear that soft surprised sound again.

The shower takes much longer than it should. When they finally step out, they’re flushed and smiling, wrapped in towels, completely unhurried.

The rest of the day feels soft. They order food instead of cooking again, sitting on the couch tangled together, Jimin half-lying on top of Yoongi while they watch something neither of them is actually paying attention to.

At some point, Jimin falls asleep mid-conversation, cheek pressed to Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi doesn’t move.

Later, they wake up and walk to a nearby convenience store just to get snacks. Jimin insists on holding hands the whole time. Yoongi pretends to be annoyed but never lets go. By evening, they’re back in the bedroom again, not frantic this time. Just lazy affection with slow kisses and cuddling.

Yoongi’s phone starts ringing. He glances at the screen.

His expression changes immediately.

Jimin notices.

“Everything okay?” he asks softly.

Yoongi hesitates before answering. “It’s my parents.”

He picks up.

Jimin can’t hear the other side, but he can hear the shift in Yoongi’s voice.

“Yes, Mom.”

A pause.

“No, it didn’t work out.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens slightly.

“I told you. We just weren’t compatible.”

Silence stretches. Jimin watches the way Yoongi’s fingers curl tighter against his side.

“I’m not being difficult,” Yoongi says quietly. “I just— I don’t want to mate with someone I don’t love.”

The word hangs in the air.

There’s more talking. His father’s voice joins in at some point firmer, disappointed. Something about Mina being a good match.

“I’m not discussing this right now,” he says finally, voice steady but colder. “I’ll call later.”

He hangs up.

The room feels heavier.

Jimin sits up slowly. “Was that about her? Your failed date?”

Yoongi nods once, staring at his phone. “They liked Mina. Thought it was ‘perfect.’” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Apparently I’m wasting my time.”

“You’re not,” Jimin says immediately.

Yoongi looks at him then —really looks at him— like he forgot for a second where he was.

“They think I’m being irresponsible,” Yoongi admits, quieter now. “That I should settle down. That I’m not getting younger.”

Jimin shifts closer without thinking, sliding into his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“You don’t settle because they want you to,” Jimin says softly. “You choose.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, tension bleeding out just a little.

“My mom asked if there was someone else,” he added after a second.

Jimin stills. “And?” he asks carefully.

Yoongi brushes his thumb along Jimin’s waist.

“I told her it’s none of her business.”

Jimin huffs a small laugh. Then, more seriously: “Are you upset?”

Yoongi nods faintly. “I don’t like disappointing them.”

Jimin cups his face gently, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You’re not disappointing anyone,” he says. “You’re just living your life.”

Yoongi’s shoulders finally relaxed and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jimin’s.

“They’d lose their minds if they knew about you,” he murmurs.

Jimin smiles softly. “Then maybe don’t tell them yet.”

A beat.

“I’m not Mina,” Jimin adds, quieter.

“I know,” Yoongi says immediately.

And the way he says it —firm, certain— makes Jimin’s chest feel warm.

Yoongi pulls him closer, burying his face against Jimin’s neck, breathing him in like grounding himself. He lets himself relax, and Jimin holds him there, steady and warm, like he’s not going anywhere. 

It starts innocently. They’re walking past Dior, and Jimin slows down just slightly. 

Yoongi notices. Of course he does.

“Do you want to go in?” Yoongi asks, pretending it’s casual.

Jimin shrugs, lips curving. “We can look.”

They do not just look.

Yoongi watches Jimin drift through the boutique like he belongs there —fingers grazing fabrics, head tilted thoughtfully at structured jackets and soft silks. The lighting catches in his earrings. He looks expensive even before wearing anything expensive.

A sales associate brings out a fitted black blazer.

Jimin slips it on.

And Yoongi forgets how to breathe.

The jacket hugs his shoulders perfectly. It turns Jimin into something dangerously polished like he stepped out of a campaign shoot.

“Turn around,” Yoongi says quietly.

Jimin does. Slowly.

“You like it?” Jimin asks.

Yoongi swallows. “I’ll take it.”

Jimin laughs. “Yoongi.”

“I said I’ll take it.”

He doesn’t even blink at the total because this isn’t about money. It’s about the way Jimin looks at him when he realizes it’s not a joke.

The first time Jimin wears everything out? Yoongi is done for. They’re heading to dinner. Jimin steps out of the bedroom in the full look —black blazer fitted perfectly, trousers tailored, Dior belt catching the light, he looks lethal.

And he’s walking beside Yoongi.

People stare and Yoongi sees it all —the double takes, the subtle glances, the appreciation. And instead of bristling? He feels pride swell in his chest so big it almost hurts. They step off the curb and Yoongi, still staring at him like he’s witnessing a miracle, misjudges the pavement.

He trips.

Actually trips.

Jimin grabs him immediately. “Oh my god, are you okay?!”

Yoongi is red in the face. “I’m fine.”

“You just tripped.”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

Yoongi just looks at him.

Jimin’s expression softens.

And that’s the pathetic part.Yoongi isn’t suave about it, he does not pretend he’s not obsessed. He looks at Jimin like he cannot believe he gets to stand next to him. Like he won something he never thought he deserved.

It’s late at night when Jimin tells him to wait in the living room.

“Don’t come in yet,” Jimin calls from the bedroom.

Yoongi frowns. “Why?”

“Just wait, please.”

There’s rustling inside his bedroom.

Then—

“Okay.”

Yoongi walks in.

And stops.

Jimin is standing near the bed wearing a white babydoll dress, lace and chiffon, soft and sheer, the fabric floating lightly around his thighs. It’s delicate. Pretty. Almost innocent if not for the way it clings to his waist.

His hair is slightly tousled. His lips are a little pink and he looks so shy it makes Yoongi swoon. 

“Well?” Jimin asks quietly.

Yoongi stares.

Jimin tilts his head. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

Jimin smiles.

Because he does know.

Does he wear it to tease him? A little.

But more than that —it makes him feel beautiful. It makes him feel like the kind of omega that gets adored, not hidden. Yoongi steps closer slowly, hands hovering before settling on Jimin’s waist.

“You wear things like this just to torture me,” he murmurs.

“Maybe,” Jimin says.

Yoongi’s hands slide gently along his sides, over the delicate fabric, fingers tracing the lace edge at his hip. His kisses start at Jimin’s shoulder slowly and then they trail across collarbone, up the curve of his neck.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Yoongi whispers against his skin.

Jimin laughs softly, fingers sliding into Yoongi’s hair. “You look like you’re about to cry again.”

“I might.”

Because it’s overwhelming.

The fact that Jimin feels safe enough to stand there in something so delicate, just for him. Yoongi’s hands move lower, careful but firm, palms smoothing down Jimin’s sides, over his hips. “You’re so pretty,” Yoongi says quietly, like it’s sacred.

Jimin’s breath catches —because that’s the part that matters most. Yoongi pulls him close, lace crushed slightly between them, and buries his face in Jimin’s neck.

“I swear you do this to taunt me.”

Jimin smiles against his hair.

“I do.”

Then softer—

“But it makes me feel pretty too.”

And Yoongi melts completely. His kisses grow warmer, wandering again —jaw, neck, mouth— hands unable to stay still, sliding beneath chiffon just enough to feel skin beneath. Desperate in love.

And that’s the most dangerous part.

Because Yoongi isn’t just attracted.

He’s devoted. Hopelessly and pathetically. Irrevocably in love with the omega standing in lace in front of him.

“You don’t need this to be pretty,” Yoongi says quietly.

“I know.” Jimin’s fingers slide gently into Yoongi’s hair. “But when you look at me like that I feel it.”

Yoongi’s throat tightens.

Because he does look at him like that. His hands slip under the chiffon slightly, palms resting warm against Jimin’s bare waist.

“You are so—” Yoongi trails off, almost frustrated with himself. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Jimin tilts his head, teasing fading into something softer. “Tell me.”

Yoongi exhales, forehead pressing to Jimin’s.

“You make me feel like I finally got something right,” he says.

Jimin’s expression shifts, surprise, then tenderness.

Yoongi’s hands tighten slightly at his waist.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have someone like you.” His voice drops, steady but full. “I love you.”

Jimin’s fingers freeze in Yoongi’s hair.

“You—” His voice is small for a second. “You love me?”

Yoongi nods, eyes steady despite the vulnerability. “I do.”

Jimin’s eyes shine, lips parting in disbelief and something dangerously close to happy tears.

“You idiot,” he whispers, smiling shakily.

Yoongi frowns slightly. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”

Jimin laughs softly, leaning until their noses brush.

“I love you too.”

And when Yoongi kisses him this time, it’s different, slower. His hands move over Jimin’s back beneath the chiffon, not exploring but memorizing. Like he’s trying to learn the shape of the person who just said those words back to him.

“You really wore this for me?” Yoongi murmurs against his lips.

Jimin nods, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

Yoongi kisses him again, softer.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel pretty,” he whispers.

And Jimin melts into him, lace and chiffon forgotten, wrapped instead in arms that hold him like something cherished. The lace doesn’t stay untouched for long. Yoongi’s fingers trace the delicate straps first, following the thin lines over Jimin’s shoulders like he’s mapping something sacred. The chiffon shifts under his palms when he pulls Jimin closer, fabric whispering between them.

“You’re unfair,” Yoongi murmurs, voice low.

Jimin smiles softly, already breathless. “You love it.”

“I do.”

The lace brushes against Yoongi’s knuckles when his hands slide down Jimin’s sides, fingertips dipping just beneath the hem. The fabric lifts slightly, settling again, floating every time Jimin moves. Slow kisses trail from Jimin’s jaw to his throat, lingering there. Yoongi presses him gently back toward the bed, the chiffon fanning out when Jimin sits, the skirt pooling like something fragile and inviting.

Yoongi kneels between his knees for a moment, just looking.

The lace frames him beautifully. 

“You look like something out of a dream,” Yoongi whispers.

Jimin’s hands slide into his hair, tugging lightly, pulling him closer.

The dress shifts again when Yoongi leans over him, weight settling carefully, mouths meeting in a deeper kiss. The lace presses between their bodies at first —a teasing barrier—until Yoongi’s fingers hook beneath the hem and slowly push it higher.

The chiffon slides up Jimin’s thighs like water.

The room fills with quiet sounds, breath catching, fabric rustling, soft gasps swallowed into kisses.

Yoongi’s hands wander over warm skin now, reverent but no longer restrained. He kisses down slowly, unhurried, making Jimin arch slightly beneath him.

“You wore this just to watch me lose control,” Yoongi murmurs against his skin.

Jimin exhales shakily. “Maybe I like seeing you like this.”

And Yoongi does lose control —not in aggression, but in devotion. In the way his hands can’t seem to stay in one place and he keeps coming back to Jimin’s mouth like he needs it to breathe.

The lace eventually slips off entirely, forgotten somewhere on the floor.

But the softness remains.

The slow rhythm of bodies finding each other. The warmth of skin against skin. The way Yoongi keeps whispering small praises between kisses, like he can’t stop himself. Jimin clings to him, legs wrapping close, fingers tracing along Yoongi’s back. 

It 's not loud.

It 's intimate.

The kind of closeness where the world shrinks down to shared breath and tangled sheets and the faint memory of chiffon brushing the floor. And long after the lace is gone, Yoongi still looks at Jimin like he’s wrapped in something beautiful.

Because he is.