It’s only once Jeongguk is elbow-deep in butter that he remembers he has a quiz tomorrow. Well—today, technically, since it’s somewhere in the dark hours between Tuesday and Wednesday, and he’s lost track of time. He’s lost track of a lot of things, and for a moment, he stops to think about… art history. That’s the reason he’s at this school to begin with, even if he spends most of his time trying to think up ingenious new ways to ruin the day of a bunch of stupid alphas.
The quiz is on the history of the colour field painting movement, which—he knows plenty about. He knows plenty about a lot of art movements, and now probably isn’t the time to think about abstract expressionism and Kenneth Noland. He’s too busy trying not to gag as he slides the stick of butter over the floorboards again, crawling backward a foot so he can cover more and more. The entire hallway is nearly white with butter. He can practically taste it from here.
It’s a strange situation to be in, and not for the first time, he takes a step back from it all. He thinks about it sometimes, especially in moments like these, thinks about what his parents might say if they knew exactly what he spent so many of his weekends doing or why he actually broke his arm last semester. They always sound so proud of him when they talk to their friends about their son, the president of Omega Tau, one of the most prestigious fraternities on the UCLA campus.
He can’t help thinking how disappointed they would be to find that his life as president usually involves this—sneaking into the Alpha Theta Chi frat house and fucking with everything and anything he can find. Tonight, it happens to be buttering the floors.
“This is disgusting,” someone mutters, and is quickly shushed by someone else; they’re working under the cover of darkness, the clock ticking nearer and nearer to three in the morning with each breath. Jeongguk thinks, idly, about his quiz tomorrow and the fact that he definitely hasn’t studied enough but—this is more important.
He pauses to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, taking a moment to survey the damage thus far; they’re only buttering the main floor, and only the areas that aren’t carpeted. It’s left the kitchen, bathroom, front entrance, and most of the hallways, which they’re currently working on at the moment. And it is disgusting; Jeongguk’s knees are coated with butter, his gloved hands no better.
They’re almost done, thank god. It was a struggle to actually break into the Alpha house in the first place, not to mention getting all of the omegas from his own house inside without disturbing any of their sleeping rivals, and—butter. There’s so much fucking butter.
“I’m out,” mumbles Taehyung where he’s on his hands and knees a few feet from Jeongguk, working on the hallway. Jeongguk silently slides an extra stick over. He knows they’re running out of time, because they need to get out before the alphas wake up and discover them, even though they’ll figure out what happened soon enough.
The image of the brutes slipping and sliding all over their own house as they race to leave for class is enough to bring a sweet, sweet smile to Jeongguk’s lips. It’s not quite the revenge they deserve for cutting all of the shower curtains in the Omega Tau house in half last week, but it’ll do for now.
They’ve been locked in this prank war for years and years, long before Jeongguk ever came to UCLA or got into the Omega Tau frat or became president. He doesn’t even remember why it started all those years ago, only that they have to continue it because if they don’t, the alphas will take it as a victory. And that’s the very last thing Jeongguk wants to happen—so. He’s buttering the floors.
It’s a shame he’s losing so much sleep over this. There’s less than a month left of classes and then finals and then—it’s Christmas break, and he knows he should focus on his classes instead of doing stupid shit like this. As a junior, he still has time left to pull his socks up and he’s been doing well enough all year, but he’s tired. Physically, sure, but tired of this as well, too, sometimes. There’s no reason he should want to be buttering the floors of his rival fraternity house at three in the morning when he could be sleeping soundly in his own bed.
Jeongguk is busy thinking about his own bed when light floods the stairwell at the end of the hallway, and he freezes, head snapping up. He feels Taehyung still beside him, but there’s no way to warn the other omegas, most of whom are in other rooms further away from him, and—talking quietly. He can hear someone laugh, and Jeongguk’s entire heart seizes inside his chest when he realizes they’re about to get caught.
“Fuck,” he hears Taehyung mutter, and then Jeongguk is shooting him a look, sending Taehyung crawling back down the hallway toward the rest of the omegas to tell them to get out as quickly and as quietly as possible. No one has come down the stairs, so Jeongguk thinks maybe, maybe—
And then he hears a gruff voice ask, “Why does it smell like omega?” from the stairwell.
Jeongguk sniffs himself and is met with a disgusting mix of stale scent blockers and the store-bought alpha scent they’d all doused themselves in to mask their own scent, to make sure none of the alphas actually realized they were being infiltrated. But someone must have forgotten. Someone who is about to be in very, very deep shit.
He hears movement from behind him, quiet and rushed. The door opens, and he knows that some of the omegas are escaping, but Jeongguk keeps still until he hears movement on the stairs, and then a large figure steps down into the end of the hallway and turns to look. For a moment, Jeongguk thinks the darkness might actually be enough to shield him—all of them—and then the alpha flicks the light switch for the hallway and they’re all doused in light.
“ABORT!” someone yells from behind him at the same time that the alpha in the hallway yells, “OMEGAS!” and Jeongguk throws the stick of butter.
“Go, go, go!” he yells as he jumps up from his spot on the floor; activity and noise burst around him as his frat brothers run for the door and there’s thundering on the stairs as alphas run for them; he takes a moment to look back and sees the first alpha hit the buttered hallway and immediately go down. Jeongguk can’t help but laugh knowing that the rest of them will meet an equal fate, and he runs the other way, heading for the door. He knows this house like the back of his hand already, skidding around the corner as he catches sight of the door with half of the others already piling out.
“What the fuck?” he hears from the hallway—another crash as an alpha goes down, a lot of banging as he imagines they keep crashing into the walls and doors—and he can hear shrieking that sounds suspiciously like Taehyung from somewhere further in the house.
Jeongguk hits the entrance room and—there’s butter all over the floor, sending him flying with a shout of his own as his feet no longer find traction. He collides with one of the walls painfully, shouting echoing through the house as more and more alphas wake to the desecration of their house.
“Guk!” he hears and turns to see Taehyung fighting off one of the alphas, smashing a stick of butter into his head.
“Get out of here!” yells Jeongguk as he pushes off the wall, trying to keep his balance as he slides toward the door. He’s so close, roaring alphas behind him as he takes one slippery step, and then another and another and—
Everyone stops yelling as Jeongguk loses his balance, toppling to the ground at the sound of the familiar, low voice. It sparks something in him, and he knows without having to look that the owner of the voice is using all of his fucking alpha dominance, pushing every last bit of it into his voice to make Jeongguk want to submit—but he doesn’t want to, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself to his feet and turns to look at the alpha standing in the doorway between the hallway and the entrance.
He’s silhouetted in the light from the hallway, moonlight from the open door creeping upon his feet, and Jeongguk knows that—he’s so close, he could just take one, two steps backwards. He could close the door behind him and leave.
Instead, he sets his jaw.
Instead, he narrows his eyes slightly.
Instead, he says, “Min Yoongi. What a coincidence.”
Someone flicks the light in the entrance on and Jeongguk finally sees him. Yoongi stands in the doorway with all of the authority of a frat president—an alpha frat president—his eyes dark and demanding. The other alphas have stopped their movement, waiting for their leader to command them, and Jeongguk knows that the omegas left in the house have stopped, too, waiting for—something. Waiting for Jeongguk to tell them to leave, maybe, or waiting for Yoongi and Jeongguk to tear each other apart, because they always seem to be on the verge of something similar at times like these.
Jeongguk has never quite understood where the vendetta between the two frats started, but oh, he gets it now. The sight of Min Yoongi sparks something deep-rooted within him, and he tries to keep his expression one of light amusement as he watches the alpha place his hand on the doorway, likely to keep himself from slipping on the butter.
“What a coincidence,” repeats Yoongi. His voice is laced with venom. “I wouldn’t agree with you, considering this is my frat house and it’s three in the morning and you’re the one who broke in.”
“We didn’t break in,” says Jeongguk, chuckling a little. “One of your big, dumb alphas gave us a key a few days ago. Didn’t you, Hoseok?”
The alpha in question, standing next to Yoongi, startles a little, taking a step back as Yoongi turns a murderous gaze on him—and slips on the butter, landing with a painful thump that has Jeongguk snickering into his hand.
“I’ll deal with him later,” mutters Yoongi, turning his gaze back to Jeongguk. It’s equally as murderous, and Jeongguk tries to stop something from tightening in his stomach—the anticipation, maybe, or the fear. He can never be sure what to expect when it comes to Min Yoongi, who has been known to terrify younger students just by walking past them, but has also been voted to be one of the best chapter presidents due to his welcoming and friendly attitude toward pledges.
Either way—“Why don’t you let us go, Min?” asks Jeongguk, glancing over his shoulder at the few omegas who, until now, have been frozen in place. At his question, the rest of them quickly scramble out of the house. The alphas let them go.
“I’m not very interested in them, if I’m being honest,” says Yoongi. Jeongguk looks back to him, tilts his head.
“And why is that?”
“Because I know for a fact that this was your idea,” says Yoongi. “You’ve been wanting to butter our floors for months but some of your more… delicate omegas have been worried about hurting us. Isn’t that right?”
Jeongguk narrows his eyes. Sometimes he’s convinced that the alphas have bugged their house somehow, although he supposes they’ve all got rats somewhere. As much as the frats might be rivals, it isn’t as though everyone in the organizations share the same contempt that the presidents publically have for each other.
When he doesn’t answer, Yoongi grins—and it’s not a comforting sight. “So I’d really rather just deal with you, Jeon,” he says. “We both know my boys will have something planned for you omegas within a week, and we’ll continue this war we’ve had since the very beginning. But I think we ought to pay special attention to you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” scoffs Jeongguk, only now realizing that he’s—alone in the alpha house, surrounded by a disgusting amount of alpha hormones that are beginning to make his head hurt. There’s something predatory about the way Yoongi is looking at him, and he doesn’t dare look at the rest of the alphas who are watching. “I know you’re obsessed with me, Min.”
Yoongi barks out a laugh. “Sure, Jeon,” he snaps. “Maybe if you stopped pulling idiotic tricks like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.”
“Like the shower curtain stunt was any better than this,” Jeongguk scoffs. “What were you trying to pull with that one?”
“We just wanted you to see some dicks,” Hoseok helpfully chimes in, to which someone smacks the back of his head, although Yoongi seems to take that thread and run with it.
“He’s not wrong,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest now that he seems to have the upperhand; he’s smirking now, and Jeongguk grits his teeth to keep himself from reacting. He knows he could still run, but now it’s more about the pride—more about being caught in the act and having to hold his own for it. Yoongi couldn’t get across the room toward him without falling, anyway, but Jeongguk still keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground. “I don’t imagine you see a lot of dick in your daily life, anyway.”
“More than you,” he shoots back, ignoring the laughing from the alphas. “And Seokjin pity-fucking you doesn’t count.”
He’s pleased with the few aborted laughs from the alphas, someone coughing into their hand to hide the fact that they are laughing—he’s less pleased with the look Yoongi gives him, like he suddenly doesn’t care about the distance or the butter between them. He’ll strangle Jeongguk at the first chance he can get, conduct of the university be damned.
“You disgust me,” says Yoongi.
“You’re the one with butter all over your floors,” says Jeongguk. As much as he’d love to continue the argument, though, he knows he’s run out of time to stall, and if the other omegas aren’t halfway back at the frat house by now, they’re going to die along with him. “So, anyway,” he continues, sliding one of his feet backwards a little. “If we’re finished here, I’m just going to—” He turns to dash out of the door and is met with a solid block of chest, almost slipping backwards before the alpha grabs his arm. Fucking Chanyeol and his dumb height.
“I don’t think so,” laughs Yoongi, and Jeongguk frowns as he turns back to see the alpha sliding (somehow gracefully) across the room until he reaches Jeongguk, too, clamps onto his shoulder with unnecessary force. “I can take it from here, gentlemen. Let me escort our lovely guest off the premises.”
“Get your paws off of me,” Jeongguk snarls, trying to wrench his arm out of Yoongi’s grasp, but the alpha is relentless, roughly dragging him through the door as the rest of the alphas cackle behind him.
Yoongi pauses on the doorstep, turning around to face the rest of his frat brothers. “I suggest the rest of you get on your hands and knees and start cleaning up this mess,” he spits, which effectively silences their laughter. “Starting with you, Hoseok. Fucking traitor.”
With that, he pushes Jeongguk down the stairs that lead to the front door and out onto the moonlit lawn. They’re silent for a moment before Jeongguk says, “What are you going to do with me, alpha?”
“I have a few ideas, omega,” Yoongi replies, a thread of dominance in his voice, and Jeongguk glances back at the still-open door to the house as Yoongi changes course and begins dragging him around the side of the house.
“Oh, yeah?” asks Jeongguk. “Like what? Gonna punish me? Get me on my knees and spank me like a bad boy?”
They round the side of the house, out of sight of the other alphas, and Yoongi finally lets go of his arm, but only so he can grab hold of Jeongguk’s chin, force him to look at him properly. There, Jeongguk sees that familiar smirk again—but there’s something a little different about it this time. Less angry, although just as predatory.
It’s just—“We did that last time,” growls Yoongi, voice low as he backs Jeongguk up against the side of the house, brings his face closer and closer. He watches Jeongguk carefully as Jeongguk—trembles a little, can feel Yoongi’s breath ghosting over his lips, then his jaw. Yoongi sniffs at his neck, makes a disgusted noise. “Did you really have to use the cheap alpha scent from the fucking Dollar Tree?”
“We can’t exactly afford the real stuff,” huffs Jeongguk, keeping as still as possible as Yoongi attempts to wipe off the scent from his neck. “Besides, it worked.”
“I like your natural scent too much,” Yoongi murmurs. “And it clearly didn’t work enough if you got caught.”
“Maybe I wanted to get caught,” smirks Jeongguk, and Yoongi finally pulls back enough to look at him carefully. Very carefully.
“You didn’t butter our floors just so I’d fuck you, did you?” he asks.
“Didn’t need to butter your floors to get you to do anything, hyung,” says Jeongguk, pulling off his butter-slicked gloves and then reaching up to pry Yoongi’s fingers off his chin. This time, he’s the one who leans close, smirk still curling on his lips as he brings his face a hair from Yoongi’s. “You’ll fuck me anyway.”
Yoongi seems to consider arguing—although Jeongguk knows he can’t. The thing is, Yoongi is so damn good at commanding the rest of his frat, at terrifying the omegas when he inevitably catches them in the act of trying to prank the alphas. The thing is, he’s good at making something coil tight and tight in the pit of Jeongguk’s stomach, but it’s never true fear or dread—it’s arousal.
“Is that what you think?” murmurs Yoongi, but there’s no malice in it. There’s no command, nothing that makes Jeongguk think otherwise. Yoongi is good at making everyone else submit to him, but Jeongguk has had him wrapped around his little finger since the beginning.
Jeongguk grins, shit-eating, and reaches out to curl his fingers in Yoongi’s shirt. He tugs forward, grin widening when Yoongi comes easily, so, so close—“I think,” he begins, only to be interrupted by a loud thump on the other side of the wall. He startles slightly, remembering that there are a group of angry alphas mere feet from them, alphas who, if they were to know the truth, would quite possibly murder the both of them.
Yoongi takes the opportunity in Jeongguk being distracted to nip at his jaw. “I think you should come with me,” he murmurs. “You didn’t butter the hallway from the back door, did you?”
“Obviously not,” huffs Jeongguk, but he lets Yoongi take his hand and lead him along the side of the house toward the back door, keeping silent the whole way even though anticipation curls low in his belly, along with the thrill of—silence, of secrecy. Of slipping into the house and heading up the stairs with Yoongi’s hand in his while the rest of the alphas curse him for keeping them occupied at three in the morning.
Jeongguk will go to his grave swearing that half of the pranks are just that—pranks, because he really is pissed about the shower curtain thing, or because it’s just what their frats do. But sometimes he just likes being able to fuck Yoongi in a bed without having to worry about being caught.
“That comment about Seokjin was out of line, by the way,” says Yoongi as they slip through the back door.
“You’re the one who said I didn’t see any dick in my daily life,” pouts Jeongguk—just a little. “I thought it was funny.”
“They laughed at me.”
“Aw, are you upset that all of your alpha friends think I’m funnier than you?”
Yoongi stops halfway up the stairs to look at him. Jeongguk grins, even though he’s a little afraid of what it might mean; he can’t help being a brat, especially when it riles Yoongi up so much.
“We’ll see how funny you are when you’re begging me to let you come,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk just—swallows tightly.
They’ve barely made it through the door to Yoongi’s room before Yoongi has him pressed up against it, lips on his jaw, his neck—everywhere but where Jeongguk really wants them, a whine already escaping him. It’s pathetic and he’ll blame his omega genes for it, but he likes what it does to Yoongi nonetheless; the alpha has one hand on his waist and the fiddling with the lock, making sure they’re going to be safe from someone walking in before he kisses a line up Jeongguk’s neck.
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk, tipping his head back against the door.
“Quieter,” replies Yoongi, and it—it’s not hot, it shouldn’t be, because Jeongguk is always loud. He likes being loud, can’t help the noises that escape him, but he knows that he doesn’t have a choice when all of the alphas are a mere floor below them. So he bites his lip, trying to keep quiet even when Yoongi forces his legs open with his knee so he can slip between them, conveniently brushing his thigh against Jeongguk’s cock.
“Hyung,” he tries again when Yoongi has been paying too much attention to the underside of his jaw, nosing there like he’s just trying to drown himself in Jeongguk’s scent. Jeongguk’s hands move for Yoongi’s hair, but he’s instantly met with resistance, the alpha pulling back and catching both of Jeongguk’s wrists in one of his hands.
There’s a careful look in Yoongi’s eyes—clouded only slightly by the arousal that blows his pupils wide—and then he’s leading Jeongguk forward with a hand on his wrists. “No touching,” he says.
Jeongguk frowns. “That’s not fair,” he complains.
“You were just buttering the floors.”
“I had gloves on!”
“No touching, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk huffs, about to argue again, but then Yoongi turns and shoves him onto the bed, letting go of his hands in the process. There’s definitely something predatory about him now, as Yoongi gets onto the bed after him and crawls his way up Jeongguk’s body, pausing when his face is an inch from the omega’s.
“Are you gonna be good for me, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head slightly. Jeongguk hates how it makes something curl low and hot in his stomach, how his mouth goes a little dry. He wants to blame it on Yoongi’s scent already getting to him—he’s surrounded by it, drowning in the woodsy scent that permeates the entire room, but he knows that it’s never just been the fact that Yoongi is an alpha. It’s never been about biology, about the fact that their brains are wired for this.
It’s just—Yoongi. It’s always just Yoongi.
All he has to do is look at Jeongguk like that and every bit of brattiness melts away.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk whispers back, resisting the urge to surge upwards and just kiss Yoongi. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”
“Don’t need me to tie your hands?” asks Yoongi quietly. Jeongguk’s stomach gets a little tighter. So do his pants.
He shakes his head in response, sliding his arms up in the space between them and clasping his hands together above his hands. They won’t stay there, he already knows, but—it’s the attempt that counts. It makes Yoongi grin anyway, a little warmer than before, and he finally leans down to peck Jeongguk’s lips.
“Good,” he says, leaving it at that—and leaving Jeongguk to whine again as Yoongi is suddenly gone. Jeongguk keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, trying not to get light-headed from Yoongi’s scent as it fills every part of him, trying not to start leaking slick like he’s desperate. He’s not, although it’s been a few days.
“This is supposed to be a punishment, by the way,” he hears from across the room, and Jeongguk lifts his head enough to see that Yoongi has shucked off most of his clothing, folding them neatly on the dresser. He might just be the neatest frat boy Jeongguk has ever met, and he tries not to let his mouth water at the slight bulge in Yoongi’s boxers. It does nothing to help his own hardness, quickly turning his eyes back to the ceiling when Yoongi returns.
As Yoongi begins tugging off Jeongguk’s clothing, too, he adds, “Did you hear me, Guk-ah?”
“Yeah,” replies Jeongguk.
“You broke into my house,” says Yoongi almost conversationally as he slides off Jeongguk’s jeans, then makes quick work of his shirt. “Buttered my floors, might have injured some of my alphas. And then you have the nerve to think that you deserve something from me.”
Jeongguk—will not apologize, and he’s resolute about it, but he still lets out a little whimper when he’s suddenly left stark naked on the bed with Yoongi hovering over him again, fingers trailing lightly over the omega’s sides. “Isn’t that right?” asks Yoongi.
“I won’t touch,” says Jeongguk. Yoongi quirks an eyebrow, leans down a little more—he’s so close, lips barely brushing against Jeongguk’s, and the anticipation curls hot in Jeongguk’s gut.
“Say you’re sorry, Jeongguk,” whispers Yoongi. Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut because he—won’t, he refuses to, but Yoongi is still trailing his fingers over his chest, moving down and down and then away, refusing to cross the line that Jeongguk needs to leap over. He hates himself just a little for wanting a kiss, too, hates how much power Yoongi has over him right now.
Still, there’s no alpha dominance in the words. Yoongi is just waiting for Jeongguk to decide on his own, to decide that he wants Yoongi to fuck him more than he wants to be a prideful bastard about a little prank.
Instead of apologizing, Jeongguk whispers, “Please kiss me.”
He keeps his eyes closed, just in case. Yoongi’s fingers stop their feather-light touches, instead sliding up and up until he has one hand around both of Jeongguk’s wrists again. It’s a forewarning, and Jeongguk’s eyes open to see Yoongi staring at him, something dark and wanting in his eyes.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk has no time to bask in the small victory before Yoongi’s lips are on his, crushing them together. Jeongguk makes a noise in the back of his throat, arms already straining against Yoongi’s hold as Yoongi kisses him hot and heavy in an instant, prying Jeongguk’s mouth open and licking into it within seconds. There’s nothing gentle about it, but he feels it anyway—feels the way this is familiar, like fitting puzzle pieces together.
Yoongi’s hand fits on his wrists. His mouth fits against Jeongguk’s, tilting his head just so to deepen it in a way that makes Jeongguk want to whine again, but it’s swallowed by Yoongi, anyway, as his other hand finally, finally wraps around Jeongguk’s cock.
He lets out something akin to a gasping moan, feels the first bit of slick leak out of him as Yoongi thumbs over the head of his cock, doing nothing more. His arms strain again, and he doesn’t want to fight but he has to, because he just wants to touch Yoongi, wants to get his hands in his hair, wants to do something as Yoongi nips at his bottom lip. Like a warning.
“I said no touching,” he whispers against Jeongguk’s lips, but Jeongguk is too focused on everything else to really listen; he knows he’s stronger than Yoongi, can easily break out of his hold, but it’s something about—trust, something about submission. Even if he wasn’t an omega, he knows he’d do anything Yoongi wanted, and he tries to keep himself still when Yoongi begins sloppily kissing down his neck again.
He keeps moving down, down, hand eventually leaving Jeongguk’s wrists, and Jeongguk sucks in a breath when he knows where Yoongi is going; he braces himself for the mouth on one of his nipples but he can’t help the cry that leaves him anyway, at least under Yoongi flicks the tip of his cock in response.
“I also said you have to be quiet,” says Yoongi, voice low, and Jeongguk just nods because he knows, he knows that being loud means getting caught, but he also knows that Yoongi is purposely aiming for all of his most sensitive spots. He’s testing Jeongguk, seeing how far he can go before a real punishment has to happen.
Jeongguk is determined to last through it, hands grasping at the pillow above his head in a desperate attempt to keep himself from moving when Yoongi finally gets low enough to spread his legs. He’s been steadily leaking this whole time, knows just from the way Yoongi laughs a little, one finger ghosting over Jeongguk’s hole.
“Cute,” he hears, and Jeongguk clamps his teeth down onto his lips. “Too bad you’re all wet down here. I almost wanted to make you use the butter for other purposes.”
“You wouldn’t,” whines Jeongguk. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
“You’d probably like it,” muses Yoongi, which—might actually be true, but he has no time to worry about it before the alpha is suddenly sinking one of his fingers into Jeongguk’s hole. He lets out a yelp of fuck before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, and he keeps his eyes closed before he knows if he looks down at Yoongi, he’ll probably just say something he’ll regret. Because Yoongi always looks the best when he’s between Jeongguk’s legs, trying to work him open with one finger sliding in and out easily, squelching a little with all the slick pooling out of Jeongguk’s hole.
He wants to touch. He wants to touch so fucking badly, but he keeps one hand pressed to his mouth and the other fisted in the pillow, even when Yoongi adds a second finger.
“We have to be quick,” says Yoongi, almost as an afterthought as he scissors Jeongguk open. He seems to pay no mind to the way Jeongguk is squirming a little, struggling to keep his arms in place, “considering it’s three in the morning and it won’t take that long for everyone to clean up. Think you can come quick for me, baby?”
Jeongguk nods his head because Yoongi doesn’t even have to ask; he could probably come from Yoongi’s fingers alone—has done it plenty of times before. He needs Yoongi’s cock inside of him first, though. After a moment, he calms down enough to say, “Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Yoongi’s fingers stop, buried deep in Jeongguk’s ass, and he finally looks down to see the alpha staring at him incredulously. Despite himself, Jeongguk lets out a giggle, and then wiggles downward, trying to fuck himself on Yoongi’s fingers.
“You’re a brat,” mutters Yoongi, although he lets it slide as he begins pumping his fingers. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”
“Yeah, but you know you can’t—ah,” Jeongguk gasps as Yoongi adds a third finger, hands moving of their own volition when they fly down to grasp at—something, anything, he doesn’t even know, but he knows it’s a mistake as soon as Yoongi uses his free hand to catch one of them. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, steadily sliding his fingers in and out of Jeongguk’s hole to stretch him, and that’s… probably worse. Jeongguk’s stomach tightens in anticipation, the same thing he felt when he first saw Yoongi tonight, but there’s a horrible thread of excitement along with it.
The thing is, Yoongi likes to talk when they fuck. Silence is foreboding. Silence is uncomfortable.
After a minute of nothing but Jeongguk’s whimpers and the sound of Yoongi’s fingers sliding in and out of his ass, Yoongi seems to figure it’s enough. He removes his fingers from Jeongguk’s ass, wiping them and the slick off on the inside of Jeongguk’s thigh, and then he—gets off the bed.
For a moment, Jeongguk panics, thinking that perhaps he’s just going to leave it like that—Jeongguk’s cock hard against his stomach, hole open and ready. It would be a worse punishment than anything else he could think of, and Jeongguk begins to sit up only to see that Yoongi isn’t leaving. Instead, he makes his way over to his drawer and pulls out—a tie. Jeongguk thinks that the faculty likely don’t approve of students using their school ties for things like this. Yoongi doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, not as he returns to the bed and grasps both of Jeongguk’s hand with his, quickly tying the fabric around them.
Jeongguk swallows tightly, keeping silent as Yoongi ties his wrists together with frightening speed and precision, and it’s only when he’s done that Yoongi pauses. He carefully slides a finger in between the fabric of Jeongguk’s wrists before he murmurs, “Not too tight?” And it’s—nice, maybe, the bit of concern and care in his voice when he says it, pausing only to make sure that Jeongguk is comfortable and safe and okay with it.
Jeongguk stops himself from reading into it, since that’s just the right thing to do in this situation, and just shakes his head. Yoongi nods. And then he steps out of his own boxers, grabs a condom from the top of his side table, and returns to the bed.
Finally, he kisses Jeongguk again—the omega latches onto it, hating the restraint on his hands already because he still wants to touch, but he just kisses Yoongi with everything instead, distracting him from everything else until he feels the nudge of Yoongi’s cock at his hole. He lets out a little gasp, ignoring the strain in his arms in favour of focusing on Yoongi’s hands—one holding open his thighs, the other rubbing circles into the side of his waist.
Sex with Yoongi has always been just—sex. But there’s something about the way Yoongi holds him anyway, the way he kisses him gently as he pushes in, that makes Jeongguk want to bare his neck. Makes him want something more, makes him want everything—wants Yoongi’s scent all over him, wants his scent all over Yoongi. It goes straight to his head as Yoongi pushes in and in, filling Jeongguk up as he lets out a whine into Yoongi’s mouth.
Yoongi doesn’t let go of him even as he bottoms out, still rubbing smooth circles into his skin. And despite the need to go quickly, he just—stays there, pressing kisses into the side of Jeongguk’s mouth, his top lip, his nose. Jeongguk breathes through the stretch, trying to relax into the bed, trying to keep his arms from tensing up.
It’s easy, somehow, with Yoongi draped all over him, already whispering praises into his ear—how good he is, how good he feels, because even if this is supposed to be some sort of punishment, he knows that Jeongguk can never get by without praise. Without reassurance, without knowing that he’s doing something right and good. Without knowing that Yoongi might just care about this more than he lets on.
Jeongguk takes advantage of it, just for a minute or two—even when he knows he’s adjusted to the feel of Yoongi’s cock, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything because Yoongi is busy kissing him properly, one of his hands moving up to brush back his hair. Because Yoongi is busy murmuring praises, because he’s busy doing whatever he can to make it good for Jeongguk, and that’s. That’s what he wants, really. He likes when Yoongi fucks him. But he likes when Yoongi takes care of him more.
But then he hears a noise from downstairs and Jeongguk is reminded that this is supposed to be some quick fuck while everyone else is occupied—just like every time they fuck. They’re not supposed to do this, because they’re supposed to hate each other. Even if it’s becoming less and less about the physical for Jeongguk and more and more about just—liking Yoongi, despite their public rivalry, he knows he can’t let it be more now.
So he hums low in his throat, wrapping his legs around Yoongi’s waist before he murmurs, “Move.”
And like that, his moment of pretend is over. Yoongi leans back, just enough to give himself better leverage, draws his hips back and back, and then thrusts them forward, beginning to fuck him properly. He goes slowly at first, and Jeongguk moans at the slide of Yoongi’s cock inside of him, spurred on by the slick that still leaks out of him. He keeps his hands away even though he wants to touch—Yoongi, wants to touch himself, wants to do something as Yoongi thrusts in slow and deep.
He thinks it’s in an attempt to keep him quiet, but it doesn’t really work as he lets out another low moan. It’s too loud, and Yoongi knows it—the alpha reattaches their lips again, just to keep him quiet even though Jeongguk just likes kissing him anyway, trying to breathe through Yoongi’s pace as it begins to quicken.
It’s hard to breathe, though, not because it hurts—but because the air is thick with both of their scents, with Jeongguk’s slick and both of their pheromones, and Jeongguk gasps a little when Yoongi picks up the speed again and snaps his hips into Jeongguk.
“Fucking hell,” murmurs Yoongi, speaks against Jeongguk’s lips and they’re no longer kissing, just breathing against each other as Yoongi’s hands find Jeongguk’s waist. His grip is tight as he fucks into Jeongguk, lips trailing down the omega’s jaw again. “How are you so tight when I fuck you so often?”
Jeongguk lets out a breathy laugh that quickly turns into a moan when Yoongi’s cock brushes against his prostate, just right. “Are you complaining?” he asks, and he thinks he hears a growl in response.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, though, just works at pounding into Jeongguk, hitting his prostate as the omega gasps. Suddenly, it’s not enough—he doesn’t need the praise anymore, doesn’t need Yoongi’s hands on his waist. “Touch me,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his arms strain against the tie around them. “Touch me, hyung, please, please—”
The alpha kisses him instead, stopping his pleas, but Jeongguk whines loudly into his mouth, almost threatening to get loud enough to alert someone to his presence if Yoongi doesn’t listen to him—because somehow it’s always a bit of a game between them, and he doesn’t mind playing.
“Needy,” mutters Yoongi, but he does it anyway, slowing the pace of his hips as he sits up enough to get a hand on Jeongguk’s cock. From there, he begins rolling his hips instead, grinding into Jeongguk as he begins fisting his cock lazily and Jeongguk lets out a sigh, something like relief. He’s reminded that Yoongi told him to make it quick, but now he wants to draw it out, wants to stay here—he always wants to stay here, drowning in Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.
And then Yoongi says, “I don’t know if I should even let you come,” and Jeongguk opens his eyes, mustering up enough of a glare even though it’s hard when he’s overwhelmed with how good he feels—Yoongi’s cock in his ass, Yoongi’s hand on him. “You did break a lot of rules.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” whines Jeongguk, unsure if he even has other words.
Yoongi stops. Just—stops, stilling his hips with his cock still deep in Jeongguk’s ass, hand closed around the base of Jeongguk’s cock. He looks down at Jeongguk with a tell-tale smirk and Jeongguk almost lets out a pathetic little sob because he’d been close, he’d felt the coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter and now it’s stalled. He tries to roll his own hips down only for Yoongi to squeeze his cock in a warning, eyebrows rising.
“Hyung,” whines Jeongguk. It’s not fair how much power Yoongi has over him—nothing to do with being an alpha, everything to do with how much Jeongguk wants him.
“Are you sorry, Jeongguk-ah?” asks Yoongi. “For breaking in and buttering my floors and then making me fuck you, anyway?”
“I didn’t make you do any—” he gasps as Yoongi squeezes his cock again. He falls silent, figuring this might be some sort of emotional manipulation that isn’t overly healthy, but he’s not sure what he expected. Yoongi can be an asshole when he wants to be, and he likes to play with Jeongguk when he knows he has the omega right where he wants him—on the urge of breaking down, where he’d say just about anything to get what he wants.
And Jeongguk, if he’s being honest, doesn’t care enough to fight back against it.
Letting out a sob, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Yoongi-hyung, please,” and he doesn’t even want to see the triumphant on Yoongi’s face as he starts up all at once again, pumping Jeongguk’s cock as he leans down and, with his mouth against Jeongguk’s ear, whispers, “Come for me, baby.”
Jeongguk does—with a bit of a cry, head thrown back. Yoongi strokes him through it, and then just as quickly lets go of his cock and grabs both of Jeongguk’s thighs, kneeling up so he can begin fucking back into him with earnest. Jeongguk doesn’t have the heart to think that he’s oversensitive, letting out a low whine as Yoongi fucks him hard and fast, chasing after his own release.
He likes that, too—when Yoongi knots him, when he stays. But he knows needing to be quick means it won’t happen, and when he feels Yoongi’s cock beginning to catch on his rim, Jeongguk feels tear pricking at the backs of his eyes. He is oversensitive, but it’s not about that, and he tries to ignore the strange emptiness in his chest even though Yoongi is still filling him, pounding into him over and over as he gets harder and harder to move, and then—at the last second, he pulls out, letting go of Jeongguk’s legs in favour of peeling off the condom and coming directly onto his stomach.
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything about it, because he knows he’s not supposed to. He just lets out a bit of a groan as Yoongi collapses on top of him.
“Hyung,” he mutters. “That’s gross. Also, my arms hurt.” Yoongi makes a grunting noise, but doesn’t move otherwise. “Hyung,” he tries again. “The sooner you clean me up, the sooner I can leave and then you don’t have to worry about your dumb alphas finding me.”
That seems to spur Yoongi on, at least, and he pushes himself up enough to reach over and untie Jeongguk’s wrists. The tie wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but he rubs at the skin anyway, inspecting Jeongguk’s wrists carefully. And then he kisses each of them gently, keeping his gaze away from Jeongguk, and Jeongguk tries to keep his stomach from doing something stupid like turning into knots.
Yoongi is in the middle of cleaning them up when there’s a knock at the door. Jeongguk panics for a moment, wide eyes turning from the door to Yoongi, who stares back at him for a moment before putting his finger to his lips in a silent call to be quiet. Then he turns toward the door and hollers, “What?”
Hoseok’s voice filters through the door—“We’re done cleaning,” he says.
“Then go the fuck to sleep,” says Yoongi. After a moment, he adds, “We’ll work on retaliation tomorrow.”
That seems to appease the other alpha, who doesn’t say anything back. Jeongguk assumes he’s left and is about to say something when he hears, a little quieter, “We should probably open the windows too. It seems like omega really strongly over here.”
Jeongguk can’t help it—he lets out a giggle, although the look that Yoongi gives him doesn’t help in making him want to keep silent. Still, everything is silent after that so Jeongguk figures it’s safe to speak again, giggling as he helps Yoongi finish cleaning up before he begins grabbing his clothes off of the floor.
“You have any more of that cheap alpha scent?” asks Yoongi as Jeongguk tugs on his clothes. “It smells awful, but hopefully it’ll keep the boys from asking questions about why my room smells like an omega.”
“Just tell them you fucked some other omega,” says Jeongguk with a shrug. “Works every other time, doesn’t it?” There’s a smirk on his lips, although he hates the words—hates that he and Yoongi can’t just be together properly. He supposes if they’d gone public when all of this had first started, it might have been different, but it’s too late now. Instead, he gazes over at the window, trying to decide how much it would hurt to jump out before Yoongi speaks instead.
“They’re going to be everywhere,” he says, and when Jeongguk looks at him, he’s leaning against the headboard and decidedly not looking at Jeongguk. “You might as well just stay. You know, to keep yourself from getting caught.”
“Yeah,” says Jeongguk, a teasing tilt to his words as he makes his way back to the bed. “To keep myself from getting caught.”
He crawls on, not bothering to check the time—it’s somewhere between three and four and he doesn’t have class until the afternoon, anyway—before he pulls back Yoongi’s covers. He’s been here enough to know that he’s welcome, to know how it works, still smirking as he watches Yoongi get under beside him.
It’s not until they’re under the covers, an awkward few inches from each other, that Yoongi says, “Shut up.”
“I wasn’t saying anything.”
“I can practically hear you smirking.”
“I’m not,” argues Jeongguk, although the words are ruined by the giggle that he lets out. “You can just admit that you want to cuddle with me, hyung. It happens too often to be a coincidence.”
“I don’t want to cuddle you,” says Yoongi with a huff. “You’re like a fucking octopus and you smother me and it gets too hot and it’s not enjoyable at all.” Jeongguk waits, staring at the ceiling for one, two, three seconds—Yoongi sighs. “Get over here.”
Jeongguk laughs as he goes, turning onto his side so he can shuffle over to Yoongi’s side of the bed. He thinks about fitting—it’s more than just physically, more than just sex. Jeongguk curls into Yoongi and it makes sense, how their legs tangle together and Yoongi’s arms move to wind around him. How he fits his face into the space between Yoongi’s neck and shoulder, presses his nose into the alpha’s skin. He breathes in, filling himself with Yoongi’s scent again even though it’s already all over him—he likes the reminder anyway. Likes to think that this is where he belongs.
Some time later, Yoongi murmurs “Goodnight, bun,” and Jeongguk already knows he’s half-asleep because it’s the only time he uses pet names, but—Jeongguk allows himself one moment of flushing at it, of nuzzling further into Yoongi’s chest.
“Goodnight, hyung,” he murmurs belatedly, after he’s heard Yoongi’s breathing even out. He thinks—he likes this. He thinks about how, in some other world where their frats didn’t exist and they weren’t supposed to hate each other, he could have this. He could have this always. Sometimes, he thinks about how they’ve never really put a label on whatever they do, how he’d probably call it friends with benefits if he needed to, but there’s something else. There’s something about how Yoongi holds him against his chest, how he breathes into his hair. How he calls him bun when he’s most vulnerable, how he’s gentle and sometimes Jeongguk has to remind himself not to mistaken it for more.
Maybe it’s not the time to worry about it. Maybe there’s never a time to worry about it, so he just shuts his eyes and presses further and further into Yoongi’s hold and tells himself to go to sleep.
And in the morning, when he wakes up before Yoongi—because he always wakes up before Yoongi—he slips out of the alpha’s grasp. He plants a careful kiss against Yoongi’s forehead.
He leaves the hallway outside of Yoongi’s door buttered, because he’s still a member of Omega Tau and he’ll be damned if he lets the prank fail just because he’s fucking the president of Alpha Theta Chi.
Chapter 2: v for vexing
“I think your alpha senses were tingling,” Jeongguk says anyway, grabbing his backpack from where he left it at the side of Yoongi’s bed. “And you were upset that another alpha wanted a piece of me, so you had to go and piss all over your territory, so to speak. Which is stupid, by the way, because you don’t own me.”
It’s with his usual wariness that Jeongguk enters the Omega Tau house after his classes on Friday. He’s gotten used to checking a room before entering it, looking for any signs that one of the members of Alpha Theta Chi have been inside and have meddled with something. His ability to see trip-wires or find hidden cameras is uncanny—sometimes he wonders if he could genuinely apply for the FBI at this point—and still, the alphas always seem to come up with something new.
There’s no bucket of water on top of the door to fall on his head, though, or even a bunch of overturned cups just waiting for an innocent omega to pick them up and send spiders scurrying all over the floors. It’s been three days since the butter prank, though, and he knows some of the omegas are getting antsy. The alphas never go more than a week without retaliation.
Still, Jeongguk’s just—a little tired, a lot glad that he doesn’t have to worry about a prank. There’s only a week left of classes, and then finals—which not only means final exams, but final art projects, ones that he has been working on for a month already. After two and a half years, he should be better equipped to deal with all of this, but Jeongguk can tell he’s stressed, not only from the general feel of it, but from the way his scent has changed, just a little.
Sighing, he makes his way through the house toward his bedroom, where one of his final art projects waits for him. It’s a Friday, which means he should be relaxing, but he can’t—not this close to the finish line. The house is emptier than he imagined, or maybe his frat brothers actually have social lives and are doing something greater than him with their Friday evenings.
It’s when he gets to the second floor and, more importantly, where all of their bedrooms are, that he realizes he was very, very wrong to think he might be one of the only omegas home—and very, very wrong to be relieved about a lack of a retaliation prank.
There, crisscrossing the corridor and blocking his way to his own bedroom at the end are wires attached to the doorknobs of the rest of the bedrooms. The alphas have wired the doors together, effectively keeping anyone from getting in—or out. Jeongguk stares for a moment before he heaves an even greater sigh; this close to the end of the semester, he cares less about the fact that one or more alphas snuck into the house or that he’s going to need to find a pair of wire cutters to fix the mess. He cares about the fact that it’s keeping him from taking a fucking nap.
“Jeongguk-ah, is that you?” he hears, muffled through the first bedroom door—of course it’s Taehyung.
“Yeah, hyung?” asks Jeongguk.
“I was taking a nap,” says Taehyung. “Now I can’t get out.”
Jeongguk rubs at his face for a moment, tries to decide how much he cares about Taehyung. He imagines there may be other omegas stuck in their rooms, too, and maybe he can just call Baekhyun or one of the other seniors to deal with it.
After a beat of silence, he replies, “Yeah, the alphas wired the doors together.”
“Motherfuckers,” he hears, and it almost brings a grin to his lips. It’s a great prank, if he really thinks about it, but he’s too busy thinking about other things to think about that. Too busy thinking about finals and the basketball game on Sunday and how he hasn’t seen Yoongi since they fucked on Wednesday and it’s really not that long, but it feels like something is missing—
“Are you going to get me out?” Taehyung asks. Jeongguk snaps himself out of his thoughts, instantly looking down to the wire that connects Taehyung’s bedroom to the one across the hall.
“It’s not that easy,” he says after a moment. “Do you need to get out now?”
“I mean, I kind of have to take a piss,” muses Taehyung. “But I guess not.”
Jeongguk knows what a good president would do. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, already setting his backpack down at the top of the stairs. “I have to go find some goddamn wire cutters.”
“You’re the best, Gukkie!” Taehyung calls through the door as Jeongguk turns and heads back down the stairs, cursing the alphas under his breath as he goes. He’s tired and stressed and doesn’t want to do this, but he has to—because that’s just how this works. It’s how it’s always worked, and the rules aren’t going to change just because there’s only a week left of classes.
In the end, he calls maintenance, tries to get himself out of his stumped mood as he waits. It takes longer than he wants as more omegas come home from their classes and see what the alphas have done; some of them sit down at the dining room table right there and start hashing out revenge plans as Jeongguk tries not to fall asleep where he sits. He’s grateful, somewhat, that other people aren’t so stressed about the end of the classes that they can even think about pranks. Wishes he were one of them.
Finally, the wires get sorted—the maintenance doesn’t ask, considering the amount of times this kind of thing happens. Jeongguk offers a quick thank you once the rest of the omegas have been freed, watches as Taehyung runs for the bathroom. Finally, finally. He can take his own nap, making his way back up the stairs to get to his room.
Reaching his own bedroom, Jeongguk is careful to check for any signs of a trap. There’s no wire, nothing that would suggest they’d even been inside his room—he doesn’t even bother locking the door, since the alphas apparently have an expert lock picker in their ranks. He flicks the light on, dropping his backpack on the floor before taking a moment to stretch his neck, casting his eyes around the room and—
Jeongguk isn’t the cleanest person in the world, at least when it comes to his bedroom, but it’s an organized kind of chaos. He knows where things are, and his art supplies usually aren’t strewn all over his desk like that. They’re never strewn all over his desk, and Jeongguk’s heart is already in his throat when he hurries across the room to search for whatever the fucking alphas have taken. But once he’s put everything back in its proper place, it appears they haven’t taken anything.
And then he looks over and sees one of his final projects peaking out from the side of the desk—and that’s never there either. He stops breathing altogether as he grabs the canvas carefully, pulling his art out from the side of the desk only to be met not with the nearly-finished landscape painting he’s been doing for his Advanced Painting class, a project worth 40% of his final grade—but with massive, ugly black strokes covering his careful, tireless work.
For a moment, all Jeongguk can do is stare at—his painting, ruined. His final project, ruined. Dread fills him, panic at seeing something he’s been working on for almost a month and was meant to secure him a high grade in his class completely gone to waste. He thinks he might cry.
And then he actually sees what the marks say and his panic turns to rage.
Jeongguk slams the door shut with one hand, the other already angrily searching for the right contact on his phone; he knows they generally agree not to make much more contact than texting during the day, just in case, but he doesn’t give a shit if anyone hears him. He’s practically breathing fire as he holds the phone to his ear, pacing back and forth and staring at the painting set up on his desk. He’d poured blood, sweat, and tears into that painting. He’d skipped outings with friends, lost sleep, done everything he could to ensure that it was perfect and now it says—
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is deep, ragged. It does nothing but make him angrier.
“What the fuck did you do to my painting, you piece of shit?”
There’s nothing but static and silence, and then—“What?”
“I know you and your stupid fucking alphas were in my house today!” snaps Jeongguk. “You fucking wired the doors together, and then you ruined my fucking final art project, you fucking—”
“Do you think it’s funny, Yoongi? Pulling pranks is one thing, but going out of your way to write something so disgusting on my work—”
“Jeongguk, stop yelling.”
“Do you know how long I’ve worked on this painting, hyung?” asks Jeongguk, a little quieter this time, but not because Yoongi asked for it. He’s not in the mood to give Yoongi anything he wants right now. “This painting is due in ten days and I’ve been working on it for almost three times as long as that and now I have to fucking start over because you and your asshole alphas think it’s—”
Jeongguk stops. The words catch in his throat, heart almost skipping in his chest. It takes his brain two, three seconds to catch up with his body, but then he knows that Yoongi commanded it, Yoongi made him stop because he’s an alpha and Jeongguk’s stupid omega brain listened. Before he can snap about that, too, though, Yoongi is rushing off into a static-filled monologue.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, rushed and—panicked, he’s panicked. “Yeah, we wired the doors together, but I don’t know what you mean about your art. We didn’t go anywhere near your room. Bedrooms are off limits, remember?”
Jeongguk stares at the painting for a long moment. There’s genuine confusion in Yoongi’s voice, a vague sense of panic and—worry, if he listens close enough. It’s hard to hear over the phone, hard to hear over the pounding of his own heart and the rush of blood in his eyes, but he listens. He has to listen.
“Then why does my final art project say cumbucket on it in black ink?” asks Jeongguk quietly. The strokes are quick, uneven. Jagged. He can practically hear the laughter that must have filled the room at that, but the more he thinks about it, the more he knows it can’t be Yoongi’s laughter. Yoongi has never said a derogatory word about him being an omega—not when Jeongguk didn’t want him to, anyway. That’s a different matter, though.
Yoongi doesn’t speak for long enough that Jeongguk begins to think that maybe he was wrong, maybe Yoongi has been found out, and then—“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes. “Guk-ah, I swear I didn’t know about that. I didn’t agree to that. I never would, you know that.” There’s something soft about his voice, something soothing. Jeongguk knows he’s right, and he’s still angry, but he knows his anger has been directed toward the wrong person.
Because Yoongi—Yoongi loves Jeongguk’s art. Yoongi asks about Jeongguk’s art projects and asks to see them and gives genuine feedback about what works and what doesn’t. Yoongi lets Jeongguk ramble about his art history classes, sometimes, when it’s late and Jeongguk is too wired to sleep after they’re coming down from post-orgasmic highs or even actual highs, sometimes. Yoongi listens. Yoongi wouldn’t ruin his final art project because he knows how stressed Jeongguk has been about it for the past month, and he said it looked beautiful the last time they fucked in Jeongguk’s bedroom and he caught a glimpse of it. Most of all, Yoongi doesn’t lie to Jeongguk, not about his art—never about his art.
So Jeongguk swallows tightly, sinking onto his bed as all of the adrenaline of being angry rushes out of him. “Okay,” he says. Suddenly, he feels very small. “But someone still did it, and it was one of your alphas.”
Yoongi sighs, the sound crackling through the phone. “I know,” he says.
“If I find out who it is, I’m going to tear his fucking throat out,” Jeongguk adds.
This time, there’s a breathy laugh—he can see Yoongi’s face just from the sound, lips curled back in a gummy smile, eyes as nothing but half-moons. “I know,” he repeats. “I don’t suppose he left a calling card, though.”
“Just a disgustingly derogatory word clearly meant for me,” Jeongguk grumbles. “I seriously have no idea what I’m going to do about this, hyung. I fucking—I worked so hard on this.”
“Can you take it to your professor?” asks Yoongi.
The very idea makes something curl in Jeongguk’s stomach, something he doesn’t like. “I don’t think so,” he admits. “I’ll… figure it out, I guess.”
“Let me take care of the other part, at least,” says Yoongi. “I’ll fix it on my end. This kind of behaviour isn’t tolerated and it seems someone has forgotten that, and they need to be punished for that. Don’t worry about it, okay, Guk-ah?”
Jeongguk thinks for a moment—he trusts Yoongi, of course. Yoongi is a good president, which not only means treating all of his frat brothers with kindness and fairness, but also disciplining them if needed. Considering one of them broke one of the only rules the frats have about the prank war, Jeongguk knows that they won’t get away with it. He knows Yoongi will deal with it, but—he doesn’t want to let go. Yoongi being fair means he probably won’t beat the shit out of the alpha like Jeongguk wants to. Or maybe, because it was Jeongguk’s art project and not one of the other omegas’—maybe it’ll be different. Jeongguk doesn’t want to think that Yoongi will let his own personal interest get in the way, but he does. He does because that would mean something about Yoongi.
“Jeongguk?” Yoongi asks, waiting. Waiting.
“Yeah,” says Jeongguk with a shake of his head. “Yeah, of course, hyung. You worry about the prick who did this and I’ll worry about the painting.”
“Good,” says Yoongi. “I know you want to kill him, but that’s not going to help you get a good grade in this class. Leave it to hyung.”
Jeongguk hates that, just a little. Something about Yoongi not only being older, but also being an alpha, as though Jeongguk can’t take care of himself just because he’s an omega. He knows Yoongi doesn’t see it like that, knows it’s just logical for Yoongi to figure it out, but Jeongguk has always hated the idea of being reliant on an alpha just because of biology.
Still. There’s nothing he can do on his end, so—“Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” murmurs Jeongguk, quieter, conscious now of the fact that these walls aren’t thick and someone might hear him. The yelling would have been in character for what they expect, but not the gratitude. Not the softness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Yoongi. “Take a stress nap or something, okay?”
“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees. “Okay, bye, hyung. See you on Sunday.”
When he hangs up, he pauses for a moment, and then he turns and throws himself against his pillows, letting out something caught between a scream and a groan into the fabric. He isn’t sure if it’s about the art or Yoongi. These days, it’s always hard to tell.
All of this used to be so easy, he thinks, back when he was wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as a freshman. He’d come to Los Angeles with big ideas, big dreams. He’s wanted to teach art classes since he was old enough to take art classes himself, and at first, that’s all his degree and time at UCLA had been—a means to an end. And then he’d become a pledge for Omega Tau, one of the best omega fraternities on campus. And then he’d gotten in and been roped into the ridiculous rivalry the frat had with Alpha Theta Chi.
That had been simple at first, too—as a freshman, the older omegas used to make him do a lot of the dirty work, the stuff that risked him getting caught. But it was fun and he liked it. It was something funny to do on the weekends, a way to grow closer with his own frat brothers when they were inevitably pranked by the alphas in return.
And then—and then he met Min Yoongi.
That had been the easiest thing of all when he was a freshman, even when he was a sophomore. Yoongi was the small, scary alpha from Alpha Theta Chi, a political science major, the one who always seemed to be behind some of the most ingenious pranks pulled on the omegas. He was annoying. And he hated Jeongguk.
It’s strange, really, that they became friends with benefits before they ever actually became friends. There was something about being stuck in a closet together, something about scents and hormones and being lonely. There was something about realizing they had a shared passion for music and Marvel movies. There was something about—a challenge, something about Jeongguk being too much of a brat and Yoongi taking it as his personal mission to break him down, bit by bit.
By the time they became the presidents of their respective frats, both at the beginning of the current school year, it was too late to say anything about what they were. When they’d both just been members of their frats, a secret sexual relationship didn’t mean much, but Jeongguk had been the one to decide they ought to keep it secret; he didn’t need the older omegas saying something about it, didn’t need anyone trying to stop it because of conflicting interests. When they were both voted president, there was never even a question of if they had to choose one or the other: presidency or sex. Jeongguk has always been good at keeping secrets.
The thing is, he doesn’t want to think about the fact that it’s been almost a year and a half, doesn’t want to think about how he knows the exact day this all started because he knows everything about Yoongi, knows everything about their strange little relationship. He doesn’t want to think about how sometimes he craves Yoongi’s company even more than Taehyung’s or Jimin’s, and how it never really has to do with Yoongi’s dick. It doesn’t matter. He likes Yoongi, of course, but as friends. They’re friends, at least under the cover of night and usually under actual covers.
It seems like a stereotypical omega thing to turn it into something more, so he’s not. He can’t, because that would make interacting in public extremely hard.
And that’s—impossible, because by luck or fate, Jeongguk and Yoongi happen to be involved in too many similar extracurricular activities, or loosely part of the same friend groups. Luckily, Jeongguk usually doesn’t have to worry about doing more than just trying to ignore Yoongi, because no one expects them to talk—no one expects anything but vague hostility from him when it comes to Yoongi, and if he secretly spends too long staring at Yoongi when they’re within fifty feet of each other, no one has to know.
Besides, when he’s a cheerleader for Yoongi’s basketball team, it’s kind of hard not to stare at him all the time.
That being said, Jeongguk is decidedly not looking at Yoongi as the elder warms up for the game against Detroit on Sunday. He’s just—looking at the court in general, where Yoongi happens to be. There are lot of other attractive men with their muscles on display, and besides, if he really thinks about it, Yoongi is kind of small and skinny compared to lots of them and if Jeongguk wanted to pick someone, he probably wouldn’t go for the limp noodle with—
“Earth to Jeongguk,” someone says, snapping their fingers in front of Jeongguk’s face, who startles slightly and looks over to see Jimin watching him with an amused expression on his face. “I know you’re like, super gay, but can you not spend half an hour before every game drooling over the basketball players?”
Jeongguk has the good sense to blush, just a little. “As if you don’t drool over them, too,” he shoots back, glancing at the court again before he focuses entirely on Jimin.
Instead of arguing—which means Jeongguk is right—Jimin just says, “Some of the girls want to practice the cupie stunts, if you’re not too busy.”
Jeongguk sighs. “We’re not even shaky on those ones,” he grumbles, although he knows it’s not hard to just hoist the flyers up for a few seconds anyway; it’s his entire job as a cheerleader, and he supposes they all want to do get the crowd excited with some fancy moves from the cheerleaders, even if all of them only care about the girls.
In any case, he does what he’s told—he’s been a cheerleader for years, although he’ll admit he has a much easier job than most people who have to actually get into the air. At least his tumbling is up to par with most of the cheerleaders, save for Jimin, who could easily out back-handspring any member of the cheer squad any day.
Still, he can’t help but glance over at the court as the squad is brushing up on some of their dance moves for the half-time show. It isn’t hard to spot Yoongi—bleach blonde hair, practicing lay-ups on the other side of the court. Jeongguk has always been interested in sports, so he needs no explanation to understand just how important Yoongi is to the team as a point guard, but he still lets Yoongi rant about the sport and his games if they end up together after. That’s usually only on the good nights, though, when they win and Yoongi isn’t looking to get smashed with his teammates.
Only time will tell for tonight.
“By the way,” says Jimin, pulling Jeongguk’s attention back to him as the alpha hands him a water bottle. He has to speak a little loudly to be heard over the sounds of the warm-up music. “Are you planning on going to the party at Beta Sigma on Friday?”
Jeongguk takes a drink of his water, swishes it around in his mouth. “Depends on how badly I need to drink,” he says once he’s swallowed.
“C’mon, Guk, it’s the last week of classes,” says Jimin. “You’ve lasted through the whole semester, and you should celebrate. With me.”
“You just want someone to make sure you don’t streak across campus again.”
“Hey, I did that on purpose.”
Jeongguk raises an eyebrow before he hands the water bottle back. “I’ll think about it,” he says. In truth, he’s still stressed about what happened to his painting—he figures he might take Yoongi’s advice anyway and go to his professor, just in case something can be done, but he’s still prepared to hole up in the art studio on campus and redo the whole thing before it’s due at the beginning of next week. Not to mention he has other projects due and a handful of final exams to study for. Going to a party and effectively losing two days of precious study time probably isn’t the wisest decision, but—
“Taehyung told me he’ll pay for pre-gaming,” Jimin adds, as though that will change Jeongguk’s mind. In all honesty, it kind of does.
“Only if we go to In-N-Out first,” decides Jeongguk.
Jimin beams. “Deal,” he says. “And if any of your precious rivals are there, I’ll even let you throw a drink at them or something.” As one of Jeongguk’s only friends that isn’t in a frat, Jimin has a unique perspective on it all. He always tells Jeongguk that the rivalry is stupid, although as a definite chaotic evil, he, of course, doesn’t mind getting involved if he can or at least watching with amusement as the two frats duke it out through pranks.
“If I wanted to throw a drink at them, I wouldn’t wait until a party,” says Jeongguk, taking the opportunity to glance over at the court again. Yoongi is the only Alpha Theta Chi member on the team, which is probably a good thing. In truth, Jeongguk really isn’t that big of a fan of the rest of them, save for some of the ones who are actually nice people and don’t take the rivalry too far, like Hoseok or Seokjin.
Speaking of—he glances over into the crowd, the seats slowly filling as supporters from UCLA and Detroit Mercy make their way into the arena. He knows where to look because the alphas always sit in the same spot when they come to support Yoongi, and he’s thankful that it’s usually far away from where he and the rest of his cheer squad sit when they’re not busy doing cheers or trying to hype up the crowd.
It’s with a certain amount of satisfaction that he spots not one but three alphas who look a little worse for wear. All three of them have shaved heads, which—wouldn’t be much of a problem if Jeongguk didn’t know that all of the members of Alpha Theta Chi have been growing their hair out for the semester, like hockey players during play-offs. It wouldn’t be much of a problem if he didn’t know that their hair has become a source of pride over the past few months, which means not having any is embarrassing. It’s shameful.
It’s a punishment.
Jeongguk bites back the stupid grin that threatens to curl on his lips, eyes finding Yoongi again on the court. He has no idea how the alpha found out who ruined Jeongguk’s art, and maybe he still wants to give them black eyes, but he’s happy either way.
“I’m just saying,” Jimin continues, tugging Jeongguk further back on the sidelines to leave room for the girls to begin a little dance routine with their pom-poms. “It would be—oh hey, look.” He points upward to the jumbotron, where Jeongguk sees that the pre-game kiss cam has begun. Where he sees that the screen is showing he and Jimin standing on the sidelines, decked out in their baby blue cheerleading outfits. It’s early enough in the warm-up that there aren’t many people in the arena to begin with, but Jeongguk has to wonder why the camera person decided to pick on him.
In any case, he looks back down to Jimin, who is grinning something maniacal at him. “What do you say, little omega?” he asks.
“Don’t ever call me that again,” says Jeongguk, although there’s a hint of amusement in his voice anyway—Jimin is smaller than him, so Jeongguk has taken to calling him little alpha to get a rise out of him.
“It’s just a little kiss,” laughs Jimin, already stepping closer, and Jeongguk rolls his eyes.
“Might as well,” he says. “I know you’ve been wanting to kiss me since you first met me, so I’ll put you out of your misery and pining and just let you do it.” Jeongguk giggles, grabbing Jimin’s face with both of his hands to bring him close and—
Jimin lets out a yelp, head jerking forward, but not to kiss Jeongguk; he snaps upright a second later, hand instantly flying to the back of his head as Jeongguk drops his face and looks, bewildered, after the basketball that bounces down the sidelines after it collided with the back of Jimin’s head.
He hears some laughter—whether from the crowd or the others on the sidelines—but then he looks over to the court, where he spots Yoongi standing ten feet away.
“I think you missed, asshole,” yells Jimin, pointing to the basketball hoop on the end of the court.
Yoongi shrugs, already turning to chase after the basketball. Still, Jeongguk hears what he calls over his shoulder, derisive and oh-so-casual—“No, I didn’t.”
Later, after they’ve won the game with a sweeping 106-73, and after Yoongi texts him with the usual come over?, and after Yoongi has fucked two orgasms out of him and he’s pulling on his clothes again, Jeongguk says, “You didn’t have to hit Jimin in the head.”
Yoongi, half of the sheets wrapped around him where he’s lounging in his bed, looks up from his phone. “Yes, I did,” is all he says.
With a sigh of exasperation, Jeongguk buttons his jeans. “He’s complaining about a concussion,” he says.
“You can’t get a concussion from that,” snorts Yoongi, already focusing on his phone again. Jeongguk watches him for a moment, considering—something. Considering jealousy, considering possessiveness. He and Yoongi have never put a proper label on their relationship and have never had to. They just fuck regularly and pretend to hate each other the rest of the time. Still, they’ve never had rules about not being with other people at the same time.
“I think your alpha senses were tingling,” Jeongguk says anyway, grabbing his backpack from where he left it at the side of Yoongi’s bed. “And you were upset that another alpha wanted a piece of me, so you had to go and piss all over your territory, so to speak. Which is stupid, by the way, because you don’t own me.” He heads for the en-suite, kicking Yoongi’s own clothes out of the way.
“I know I don’t own you,” Yoongi says, a little belatedly, and then—“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking a piss, what do you think?” asks Jeongguk as he closes the door behind him, flicking on the light. Still, he keeps silent, waits for Yoongi to catch up with the pissing comment he’d made earlier, because Yoongi always has something to say about his alpha tendencies.
It’s only once Jeongguk has uncapped Yoongi’s shampoo and poured half of it down the drain that he hears the alpha speak from outside the door, a little louder so Jeongguk can actually hear him.
“Maybe I just didn’t want to see that gay shit on the jumbotron.”
“That’s awfully homophobic of you for someone who is gay himself,” says Jeongguk, uncapping the next bottle and frowning for a moment before he dumps the contents into the shampoo bottle.
“I’m pan, actually,” replies Yoongi.
“Beside the point, hyung,” says Jeongguk. He frowns as the shampoo bottle is returned to its full contents, grabbing the popsicle stick next so he can mix the two together. Yoongi’s shampoo is normally white and this—isn’t, but he doubts the alpha will notice.
“The kiss cam is supposed to be on the crowd, anyway,” says Yoongi, who seems to be growing increasingly defensive about the whole thing, which makes Jeongguk grin, just a little and only because Yoongi can’t actually see him.
As he stirs the shampoo, he says, “I think you just need to admit that you didn’t like the idea of someone else kissing me. Or me kissing someone else.”
There’s another pause, long enough that Jeongguk is able to mix the liquids together and chuck the popsicle stick in the garbage, recap the shampoo and return it to its spot in Yoongi’s shower. He flushes the toilet just to keep up appearances.
“What do you expect met to say?” asks Yoongi as Jeongguk opens the door, hiking his backpack over his shoulder. “Isn’t it natural for alphas to feel threatened by each other?”
Jeongguk smirks as he makes his way back to the bed, kneeling on it so he can shuffle over to Yoongi’s side. The alpha is watching him now, eyebrows raised as he expects an answer. “Just say you were jealous,” he murmurs, leaning down to connect their lips in a firm kiss. Yoongi gives into that, at least, trying to chase after him when Jeongguk pulls back with a raised eyebrow. “It’s okay, hyung, I won’t tell anyone.” He hops off the bed, heading for the window as his usual escape route.
“Where are you going now?” asks Yoongi, and Jeongguk can’t help but think he looks kind of adorable, hair all ruffled and eyebrows furrowed as he practically pouts through the question. Scary alpha, passionate point guard. It always comes down to what he lets Jeongguk see in moments like these, when he’s vulnerable and asking why Jeongguk is running away, as though it’s just normal for them to spend nights together.
Jeongguk doesn’t answer, just pushes the window open. He sticks one leg out, straddling the windowsill before he looks back at Yoongi, who is watching him. Always watching him. “I wasn’t going to actually kiss him, you know,” he adds. “You should know by now that you’re the only one I want to kiss, anyway.”
Jeongguk is in the middle of his Exhibition Technique class the next morning when his phone vibrates with a new text message. He waits until he’s sure his professor won’t call him out for it—he’s sitting near the back of the classroom, anyway, and he’s sure the professor is as done with this class as everyone else, so maybe she won’t say anything—before he opens the message, hiding his phone behind his laptop screen.
Greeting him is a sight that makes his mouth go a little dry.
thanks for the new colour
wanted to change it anyway
Jeongguk stares for. Longer than he wants to admit. It wasn’t supposed to look like that. It wasn’t supposed to look good.
His thumbs hover over the keyboard, where he types out one thing after another before deleting them all. Things like fuck you but also fuck me and that wasn’t me, guess you’re just getting old and why is your nose so boopable. In the end, it’s just—
what the fuck
don’t like it?
that’s not the point
how do you manage to make grey hair look good
is that what you were doing in my bathroom last night?
knew you weren’t taking a piss, you little shit
you need to get your hair cut
as if you don’t like pulling on it
next time i’ll skip the dye and just shave it
you’d still want me to fuck you
can you not talk about your dick for like two seconds pls
so you don’t want me to fuck you?
no i’m angry and want to suck your dick
meet me outside arts 246 in ten minutes
what if i’m busy
Jeongguk leaves him on read, packs up his supplies, leaves class even though there’s at least twenty minutes left before they’re meant to be dismissed. It’s just—there’s something that has settled low in his gut, something that always settles there when he’s with Yoongi. When he so much as thinks about Yoongi, about his scent, about his hands. One of the freshmen had suggested slipping hair dye into some of the alphas’ shampoo bottles, and now Yoongi is walking around with grey hair and it’s not supposed to look good.
He’s angry about it. But he’s a horny kind of angry, that kind that makes him want to let Yoongi wreck him, which is—not helpful when it’s Monday morning and he has two other classes to get through today. He supposes this wouldn’t be such a terrible backfiring if he was allowed to drool over Min Yoongi in public, but now he’ll have to rearrange his entire schedule to fit in as many stupid rendezvous with Yoongi as possible before the dye washes out.
Jeongguk makes it to their meeting point first, leans against the wall and taps his foot against the ground impatiently. He does not, under any circumstance, look at Yoongi’s selfie again, because he doesn’t need to do that to himself, not before Yoongi is even here and is forced to deal with the consequences of it.
After five minutes, he texts Yoongi again.
tick tock, old man
your dick isn’t gonna suck itself
how can you call me an old man and then talk about sucking my dick in the same breath
you better be multitasking right now
like texting you and watching netflix at the same time?
Jeongguk wants to call his bluff, but in all honesty, he isn’t sure if Yoongi is bluffing. It’s not the first time they’ve done something less than school appropriate on school grounds, and he’s not even sure where Yoongi is. Expecting him to high-tail it across campus might be unreasonable, but he has praised Jeongguk’s blowjob skills before so surely—surely.
It’s times like these that make him think maybe everything between them is just physical—but when he finally catches sight of Yoongi casually making his way down the near-empty corridor toward him, Jeongguk’s heart does this weird thing in his chest. He tells himself it’s not because somehow he misses Yoongi even though he saw him not twelve hours ago, and it’s not because there’s just something about Yoongi that commands all of his attention, all of him every time they’re together.
It’s probably just the grey hair. But Jeongguk can’t even really see it, hiding under the backwards snapback Yoongi is wearing as he saunters down the hallway. Jeongguk checks his phone, just to keep himself from staring, and sees that it’s been twelve minutes. He should be a brat about it, but he can’t really bring himself to when Yoongi finally reaches him, glances both ways to check if anyone important is watching.
Yoongi has the audacity to say, “Hey,” like it’s casual, giving Jeongguk a crooked grin. Jeongguk just—glares as best as he can while already sporting half of a boner, grabs Yoongi’s wrist, and drags him across the hallway toward the bathroom.
Someone is washing their hands at the sink, and Jeongguk barks a, “Get out,” before pushing Yoongi into one of the stalls. He cares less about if someone walks in because at least they won’t be able to see them, and he’s more worried about dealing with his needs at the moment anyway. Yoongi’s still smirking like a bastard as Jeongguk crowds into the stall after him, turning the lock before coming face to face with the alpha.
He practically tears the hat off Yoongi’s head, watching the strands of his hair flop gracelessly back onto his forehead. Up close, he sees that the dye job is less thorough than it would have been if Yoongi had actually known what was happening; there are a few lighter spots where the original blonde comes through and some of his scalp is a little grey, too, but—fuck it all. He really does look good.
“I’m mad at you,” huffs Jeongguk even as he lifts a hand to run through Yoongi’s hair, just to feel it. Yoongi was right, after all—he does like running his hands through it, pulling on it. It’s the only reason he hasn’t tried to throw a fit about Yoongi letting it get a little long.
“Are you?” smirks Yoongi, leaning against the side of the stall but otherwise letting Jeongguk inspect his hair. “I couldn’t tell from all the dick talk. Did you bring me here just to touch my hair or are you going to get on your knees?”
“I don’t like your tone of voice,” says Jeongguk, and he’s frowning because—he is angry. “Normally I’d walk out of here from that kind of comment, but I really do want to suck your dick, so you’re lucky.”
Yoongi lets out something caught between a snort and a chuckle, and he finally moves, lifting his hands to secure them on Jeongguk’s waist so he can tug the omega closer. Jeongguk’s still inspecting his hair, trying to figure out how it’s making Yoongi look good when it’s literally the colour of the hair of every elderly man he runs into on the street.
“Are you going to at least kiss me first?” asks Yoongi, and Jeongguk finally stops, turning his eyes to look at the alphas.
“This isn’t that kind of blowjob, hyung,” he informs Yoongi. “This is an angry blowjob. An ‘I could bite your dick off at any second’ kind of blowjob. I’m doing this because I’m mad at how fucking good you look but this is not romantic in the slightest.” Jeongguk drops his hands to Yoongi’s pants, begins undoing the button without breaking eye contact. “So no, there will be no kissing involved. I don’t even want this to be enjoyable for you.”
“That’s kind of… counterproductive to what you’re doing,” says Yoongi, amusement filling his voice, and Jeongguk practically growls low in his throat, finally getting Yoongi’s button undone and pulling down the zipper. “Considering you’re going to put your mouth on my dick and that generally makes me feel good.”
“Can you shut up?” asks Jeongguk, glancing down for only a moment to survey the floor; it’s not the cleanest, but he has to do laundry tonight anyway, so he might as well get his knees a little dirty. He tosses Yoongi’s hat on the floor by his feet just to spite him. “You talking is kind of ruining how turned on I am because of your hair right now.” With that, he drops down, grabbing hold of Yoongi’s waistband and dragging his pants and boxers down with him.
Yoongi’s not hard, which—he’s not surprised about, considering he really has no reason to be, although it really only fuels Jeongguk’s annoyance with this whole thing. It’s not like Yoongi is forcing him to suck his dick, but Jeongguk is annoyed anyway, spitting into his hand before he takes hold of Yoongi’s cock and begins stroking it.
He hears Yoongi’s head hit the stall, wills him to actually shut up because he was serious about the talking deflating his own boner. He just—looks up to see Yoongi’s hair, his face, the long column of his neck. It’s no surprise to him that he’s physically attracted to Yoongi, but underneath it is some need to make him feel good anyway. To make Yoongi feel loved, feel wanted, to take care of him in a way that is entirely different from how Yoongi takes care of Jeongguk in return. Omega shit, he tells himself. Has to be omega shit.
Still, he finds himself watching Yoongi anyway, watching his face and his reaction as he feels Yoongi’s cock begin to fill and harden in his hand. Jeongguk likes to be selfish sometimes, especially when it comes to sex with Yoongi—likes to make Yoongi promise that he’ll rim him or fuck him until he’s crying and desperate to come—but there’s a part of him that’s desperate to please.
It’s part of what fuels him now, as he drops a kiss to the tip of Yoongi’s cock and hears the responding groan. It makes him grin, just a little, until he deems Yoongi’s cock hard enough and he kisses it again, then begins kissing a line down it, still stroking it with his hand.
“Fuck, just put it in your mouth,” groans Yoongi, and Jeongguk pinches his thigh.
“I said shut up,” says Jeongguk, although he licks a broad stripe up the underside of Yoongi’s cock anyway, effectively shutting him up—for a few seconds.
As Jeongguk mouths at the tip of his cock, Yoongi murmurs, “I thought I was the alpha.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t take the lead sometimes.”
His answer is clear enough, as Jeongguk finally takes Yoongi’s cock into his mouth, just the head to begin with. He likes the way all of the air rushes out of Yoongi’s lungs at it, the little sigh he makes, like he’s been waiting. And even though Jeongguk said that he didn’t care about Yoongi enjoying it, he knows that he runs off of praise, wants to know that he’s doing well, wants to know that Yoongi likes it.
But Yoongi always likes it. They’ve been doing this for long enough that Jeongguk doesn’t even need to ask, because he’s so attuned to Yoongi’s body, his reactions, that he knows what each sound and movement means. Sometimes he thinks he knows Yoongi better than he knows himself, despite the fact that they rarely ever see each other during the day unless it’s something like this.
It’s not the time to think about it, though—not as he sinks further down on Yoongi’s cock, just as quickly pulling back as he sucks at the alpha. He knows that Yoongi likes it wet, likes it sloppy. He pulls back so he can spit more on Yoongi’s cock, using his hand to spread it before he sinks down again, looking up long enough to see that Yoongi’s got his head thrown back, letting out little moans once in a while.
Maybe it’s a little more aggressive than usual—Jeongguk’s still angry, after all—and it’s quick and it’s dirty as he kneels in a bathroom stall and bobs his head. He hollows out his cheeks on the upstroke, pausing once he gets to the head and swirling his tongue around it to draw out a low moan from Yoongi, one that goes straight to Jeongguk’s own cock. He knows he’s hard, but he’s less worried about himself, focusing instead on bringing Yoongi closer and closer to the edge.
When his jaw begins to hurt, he pulls off entirely, offering kitten licks to the head of Yoongi’s cock instead, looking up at the alpha. Finally, Yoongi says something—“Yeah,” it’s breathed out, ragged. “Yeah, just like that, Guk.” Jeongguk knows he’s doing something right when Yoongi starts babbling, when he can’t keep whatever he’s thinking inside, and that’s when all the real praise comes out, and Jeongguk almost grins as he begins sucking at the head of Yoongi’s cock again.
“Fuck,” breathes Yoongi, finally dropping his head to look at Jeongguk. “Always make me feel so good. Such a—shit, such a good boy for hyung, baby.” Jeongguk’s own cock twitches in his pants, and Jeongguk finally begins palming himself, trying to take the edge off as he sinks down on Yoongi’s cock again, going and going until—
The bathroom door opens.
Jeongguk feels Yoongi’s hand in his hair before he registers what’s happening, and then Yoongi is pulling him off his cock, staring down at him with his index finger pressed to his lips in a silent plea to be silent. It’s impossible not to see Jeongguk’s knees from below the stall, but he keeps silent anyway, both he and Yoongi’s ragged breathing surely giving them away as footsteps echo through the bathroom. Stop at a urinal on the other side of the room, far enough away that Jeongguk’s panic subsides easily.
He stares up at Yoongi, a string of spit still connecting his lips and Yoongi’s cock, and then with a careful eyebrow raise, tries to tug his head forward. Yoongi gets the idea soon enough, loosening his grip on Jeongguk’s hair just enough to give Jeongguk full control, hand instead skimming through his locks as Jeongguk brings his mouth back to Yoongi’s cock.
He’s careful about it, quiet as he tentatively licks at the head of Yoongi’s cock again. He sees Yoongi’s nose scrunch, just a little, a sign that he’s trying not to move or make any noise, and Jeongguk decides to challenge him on it by continuing. He takes Yoongi’s cock into his mouth again, slowly sinking down, down, all the while maintaining eye contact with the alpha, as though to test if they can get away with it.
Maybe Yoongi’s breathing too loudly for it, maybe Jeongguk doesn’t actually care if the other person in the bathroom knows what’s happening—he just keeps going, relaxing his throat and challenging his own gag reflex until he feels Yoongi’s cock hit the back of his throat. Yoongi inhales—too loudly, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet bathroom with the only other sound being someone pissing.
Jeongguk holds it, swallows, closing his eyes to fight against tears that threaten to form, and he’s never been the best at deep-throating even though he’s always trying, and he feels Yoongi’s grip tighten in his hair, trying to pull him off as the base of Yoongi’s cock begins to inflate. Jeongguk goes, but not without hollowing his cheeks again, sucking as he drags his lips tantalizingly slow back off Yoongi’s cock.
He dares to look at Yoongi as he does it, sees the way Yoongi’s eyes are screwed shut, like he’s trying not to make a sound, and then, just as the door opens and shuts again—Jeongguk spares a thought to realize that the fucker didn’t wash his hands—Yoongi lets out a low groan of, “Fuck,” and comes in Jeongguk’s mouth.
It’s—a lot, and Jeongguk sputters a little as he pulls off entirely in surprise, getting the other half onto his face because alphas just have to come so fucking much—“Christ,” says Jeongguk after he’s swallowed, wiping the come off of his lips and nose with the back of his hand. “Give me a warning next time.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, still breathing hard where his head is tipped against the stall. He imagines Yoongi would say something like you swallowed anyway if he wasn’t too busy trying to come down from the high, which is why Jeongguk chose to be a brat in the first place. Yoongi always gets a little soft after he’s come, a little vulnerable, and this isn’t exactly the time nor the place for it.
So Jeongguk gets up from the floor, stretching out his legs before he grabs some toilet paper and roughly cleans off the rest of his face. He trusts Yoongi to pull up his pants himself, although he’s distracted by Yoongi hooking his fingers through Jeongguk’s belt loops and pulling him closer.
“Let me,” he murmurs, and Jeongguk looks down to the see the bulge in his own jeans.
“Paws off,” says Jeongguk, slapping Yoongi’s hands away. “I told you I don’t want this to be enjoyable for you, and I know how much you like jerking me off, so I’ll do it myself.” Which is probably counterproductive again, but he cares less. Now that he’s actually sucked Yoongi’s dick like he wanted to in the first place, he’s finding this whole scenario less appealing. Yoongi still looks disgustingly good with grey hair, but Jeongguk is no longer desperate and now he’s just stuck in a cramped stall in a bathroom that, in all honesty, kind of smells.
He doesn’t look at Yoongi, though, because Yoongi always gets this look after he’s come. He looks at Jeongguk like he hung the moon, which is stupid because all he did was put Yoongi’s dick in his mouth for a few minutes, but—maybe it’s something more. And Jeongguk knows if that he lets himself see it, he’ll let Yoongi do whatever he wants. He’ll let Yoongi do anything.
“I only called you here for the blowjob,” says Jeongguk, and maybe he’s being sulky, but he doesn’t care. He tosses the toilet paper in the toilet and leans over to flush it, still avoiding eye contact with Yoongi as he reaches over the other way to undo the lock and open the door.
He has to squish himself against Yoongi to do so, though, and that’s when Yoongi takes his chance—winds his arm around Jeongguk’s waist, holds his close. “It’s never just a blowjob,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk finally looks at him. The look is still there—maybe the look is there more often than just after his orgasms, but Jeongguk won’t think about that, not now. Not ever. “Close the door, Guk.”
He does. It’s still gross, he thinks, but maybe it’s less gross when Yoongi leans forward to kiss him and Jeongguk lets him. When Yoongi’s hands start wandering and Jeongguk lets them. It’s never just a blowjob. He didn’t bring Yoongi here to make out in a public bathroom, but that’s what happens anyway because it always ends up like this, somehow—with Jeongguk giving into Yoongi, with Yoongi giving him more, more.
Jeongguk wants to say he hates it, but he comes into Yoongi’s hand anyway, sighing Yoongi’s name into his mouth, hands gently tugging on Yoongi’s grey locks. He wants to say he hates it but he can’t because maybe he doesn’t.
When they leave—one at a time, after Yoongi has fixed Jeongguk’s hair and given him a peck on the nose—Jeongguk tries to decide if he got what he wanted. It’s always a power battle between them, a push and pull. Somehow, at the end of the day, Yoongi always wins.
Somehow, at the end of the day—Jeongguk always lets him.
Chapter 3: v for vodka
“God, your thighs are like… wow, can you suffocate me with them?”
Jeongguk twists in the grip still on his waist, alarm written clear across his face as he sees Yoongi sitting under him, head tipped back against the sofa and a dopey grin on his face. He’s flushed, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. There’s a hazy look in his eyes already, one that tells Jeongguk he’s had a lot more to drink than Jeongguk himself, and that means—that means the filter is already gone and now they’re in public, surrounded by hundreds of other students and Jeongguk is sitting in Yoongi’s lap and Yoongi is drooling over his thighs.
“Uh,” says Jeongguk.
just a quick warning for this chapter: there's a smut scene where yoonkook are drunk, but it's all consented, but if that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Do these pants make my ass look fat?” asks Jimin from where he’s inspecting himself in Jeongguk’s mirror, face undoubtedly scrunched up in concern; Jeongguk’s too busy texting one of the other Omega Tau juniors about their latest prank to look up, but he doesn’t have to worry about answering.
“Depends what kind of fat you’re talking about,” says Taehyung from across the room. “Do you mean fat as in unattractive, which, I have to say, is not a synonym for fat in the first place so if you do mean that then you need to stop thinking that kind of thing right now. You’re beautiful no matter how—”
“I meant the ‘ph’ kind,” deadpans Jimin.
A pause—“Then yes,” says Taehyung. “10/10 would bang.”
“Can you two, like, not flirt in front of my salad?” mutters Jeongguk, still not looking up from his phone. He’s never been sure what goes on between Taehyung and Jimin, but he’s never bothered to ask. Jimin flirts with just about everyone regardless of dynamic or biology, and Taehyung is always eager to latch onto that, so. He’s just going to let them do whatever they want.
Jeongguk pockets his phone and looks up in time to say, “But I agree,” before getting up from his bed.
“You don’t even have a salad,” says Taehyung a little belatedly. He picks up Jeongguk’s cologne, dabs some on himself before sniffing the bottle. “Hey, this smells really good.”
“I know,” says Jeongguk, stealing it from him and putting it back on his dresser. “Are you done stealing my cologne and my clothes?”
“Wait, these are yours?” asks Jimin, turning sideways so he can stare at himself in the mirror again. “Why have I never seen you wearing them?”
“Because you stole them the day after I bought them,” says Jeongguk, and. Yeah, they do look great on Jimin, probably better than they’d look on Jeongguk, which was why he didn’t try to steal them back. Taehyung’s always stealing his clothes, too, as though his closet has become the community closet. It’s not something he wants to worry about at the moment, though.
“Wait, I want to check out your jackets,” says Taehyung, and Jeongguk grabs his arm to shove him toward the door.
“You two are the ones who want to go to this party in the first place, so let’s go,” sighs Jeongguk, although he ends up standing around for another five minutes as Jimin fixes his hair and Taehyung gets into his closet anyway, rooting around for a bomber jacket even though he’s already wearing one—not Jeongguk’s, but also not Taehyung’s, either, because everyone in the house just expects Taehyung to sneak into their rooms and steal their clothes at any given time.
Finally, they pile out of the Omega Tau house and into Jimin’s car, packed to the roof with alcohol that, true to his word, Taehyung bought. It’s probably not legal, but they’ve never really paid attention to those kinds of laws, and Jimin cranks the radio up as they speed their way to In-N-Out because it’s the only reason Jeongguk agreed to doing this in the first place.
It’s been a long, hard semester. It’s been a long, hard week, although the week wasn’t the only thing that was hard thanks to the stupid hair dye prank that backfired. When Jeongguk gets stressed, it’s more likely that he’ll cut off all contact with other humans and retreat into the studio or the gym or his bedroom, preferring to figure it out on his own. Yet he’s seen Yoongi more this week than he did in the past three combined and yeah, maybe his ass kind of hurts, but it’s worth it. It kept his mind off of finals for the most part, a good excuse to get him out of the house so that he didn’t die by accidentally drowning in paint.
Jeongguk supposes letting loose for one night might be a good idea. It’ll be another stressful week after, as it’s finals weeks, and although he’s not planning on getting wasted, he does know that Jimin and Taehyung will make sure he’s at least having some fun while they’re doing body shots off of one another or off of themselves, if that’s even possible.
They order burgers and fries and milkshakes at the restaurant, the building mainly empty due to the time of night. It’s a tradition for the three of them, anyway, to sit in the back corner booth and toss fries at each other, and although Jeongguk usually spends more time just listening and watching the antics of his friends, he has to admit—he can feel the stress leaving him bit by bit the longer he sits there, basking in their presence. Letting himself forget about the hard work of the semester, letting it all wash out of him. It’s almost over.
“No, we did that last time,” Taehyung is saying, gesticulating wildly with half a burger in his hand. The ketchup keeps dripping closer and closer to his jacket—Jeongguk’s jacket.
“I thought you did the butter thing last time?” says Jimin. Jeongguk thinks he may have tuned into the wrong part of the conversation, sipping on his soda and hoping they don’t rope him into it.
Taehyung takes a bite of his burger as he shakes his head. “That was last last time,” he says. “The alphas wired the doors together—I was stuck in there for hours! Almost pissed myself until Jeonggukkie here called maintence—” shit—“so someone suggested we get them back the same weekend, throw ‘em off their rhythm. Jeongguk snuck in and put grey hair dye in Yoongi-hyung’s shampoo.”
Jimin’s eyes turn to him, something mischievous sparking in them. Jeongguk already knows what he’s going to ask before hedoes, and anticipates it by shoving a handful of fries in his mouth.
“Oh, he did?” asks Jimin. “I’m not going to ask how because I know you have your ways. But I am going to ask how it looks. Awful, right? No one can pull off grey hair.”
Jeongguk can’t help but remember—the bathroom floor, Yoongi’s come in his mouth. He takes his time chewing the fries.
“Uh, yeah,” he says once he’s swallowed, avoiding eye contact by focusing on grabbing more fries, dipping them in ketchup. “Yeah, he looks pretty stupid. Not that he doesn’t look stupid otherwise.”
Taehyung snorts. “I don’t know how Jeonggukkie doesn’t think Yoongi-hyung is like, the hottest alpha on campus,” he says, and then just as quickly—“Other than you, of course.” Jeongguk glances up to see Jimin settling back in his seat, somewhat sated for now. He has even more of a praise kink than Jeongguk does, he’s sure of it. “I’m just saying that Min is objectively hot but Jeongguk’s always clowning him.”
“He’s got a small mouth,” says Jeongguk with a shrug, pulling everything out of his ass because he can’t let himself say what he really thinks about Yoongi’s face, which is that it was probably carved by angels before the world began or something. He likes to wax poetic when he gets dunk.
“Small lips are culturally more beautiful in Korea,” says Jimin.
“We’re not in Korea,” Jeongguk deadpans. He eats another fry.
“Yeah, but we are Korean—”
“Jesus, fine, I guess Yoongi’s not that bad looking,” Jeongguk sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly not looking at either of the two. “He’s better than some of the other crusty alphas in his frat. Probably objectively better-looking than plenty of people on campus, but it’s not like I’m going to—kiss him or something, that’s just gross and wrong.”
Jeongguk falls silent, and so does the rest of the table. It’s uncomfortable for four, five, six seconds, and then someone snorts. Taehyung.
“Okay, Gukkie,” he says, amusement lacing his words, and he steals a fry from Jeongguk’s tray. “We’re not asking you to suck his dick.”
It’s hilarious. They’re always joking about it, making comments about how hot hate sex between Jeongguk and Yoongi would be, and it’s funny because they have no idea. They have no idea that it’s so far beyond that point that sometimes Jeongguk wakes up alone in his bed and has a moment of confusion when he doesn’t understand why Yoongi isn’t there. Sometimes when Jeongguk gets a grade back on some of his art, his instinctive response is to open his chat with Yoongi first. Sometimes when they’re fucking, he finds himself thinking about forever.
“Good,” he mutters, but Jimin and Taehyung are already off, talking about something else. He eats the rest of his fries, hopes that Yoongi isn’t going to be at the party. He doesn’t have a basketball game until next week, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him to come, but Jeongguk knows that if Yoongi is there, he’ll want to down a whole bottle of tequila himself. It’s just—public. He’s not good with Yoongi and public.
Once Jimin and Taehyung have stopped arguing about—chemistry or something—they pile back into Jimin’s car and crack open their first beers. Jeongguk, despite not originally planning on drinking much, downs his first one in two minutes flat, reaches for another.
“Woah there,” says Jimin despite being half done his first as well. “Where’s the fire?”
“We’re drinking on Tae’s dime, are we not?” he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and Taehyung scoffs.
“You could at least use honorifics,” he mutters, but Jeongguk just takes a swig of his beer. In all honesty, he doesn’t even like beer, but it was all Taehyung bought because apparently it’s better than just getting a bottle of something stronger. He’s not going to complain when he doesn’t have to pay.
After a moment, Jimin just has to make it worse—“I think he’s preparing for the inevitability of running into your rivals,” he says, eyes sparking from where he’s sitting in the driver’s seat and looking over the seat at Jeongguk in the back. “More specifically, one Min Yoongi.”
Jeongguk scowls, just a little. “So what if I am?” he asks.
“We’re not taking you to the party if you’re in a bad mood,” replies Jimin. “Right, Tae?”
“That’s an awful threat, considering I didn’t really want to come in the first place,” says Jeongguk, more into his beer than anything, and he sees Jimin and Taehyung share a look—one that only spells trouble.
Taehyung speaks first—“Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” asks Jeongguk.
“He means,” says Jimin, “that you’re in like, a really bad mood, and you’re never in this bad of a mood even when we bring up Yoongi-hyung. And I think you really need to slow down on the beer.”
Jeongguk—pouts as he brings the beer away from his lips. He can’t tell the truth—that he’s afraid of seeing Yoongi because the grey has washed out just enough to look even better, this airy mix between grey and blonde, and he can’t keep his dick from getting hard at the very sight because he’s practically been classically conditioned at this point. He can’t say that Yoongi and alcohol don’t mix because Yoongi doesn’t have a filter when he’s drunk and Jeongguk knows what kinds of things come out of Yoongi’s mouth when he doesn’t have a filter—never anything gross, never anything wrong. Just. There are some things that might make Jeongguk cry, because they’re not the lovely sort of things he says in broad daylight when he’s sober or not with his dick buried in Jeongguk’s ass.
Can’t say that he’s spent all week trying to redo his painting and it’s not going well, that he still has two other final art projects to finish and two final exams to study for on top of that, and he doesn’t know how to make the tension in his shoulders go away. Doesn’t know how to tell Yoongi that maybe he doesn’t want to fuck every time they see each other, that maybe these days he just wants someone to pet his hair and tell him that he’s doing good in every other aspect of his life, too.
What he can say is—“It’s just school. I’m sorry for raining on your guys’ parade.” He offers them both an apologetic look because it’s true; the both of them have been so excited about the party all week and all Jeongguk has done is complain and sulk, even now. “You can really take me back to Omega Tau if you don’t want me hanging out at the party.”
“Nonsense,” says Jimin instantly, reaching back to smack a hand on Jeongguk’s knee. “I think you just need to get there and let loose for a little bit.”
“If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to,” adds Taehyung. “But this might be good for you. Don’t get so wasted that you don’t wake up tomorrow, but maybe putting school out of your mind for one night is a good idea.”
They’re so genuine—they’re so good at knowing him, at forcing him into the right situations. Getting wasted might not be a morally right situation, but if he takes a step back, he knows they’re right. Jeongguk just has to forget about Yoongi, because maybe Yoongi won’t even be there. Maybe he’ll be too busy with other people, maybe the party will get shut down the moment they get there anyway.
Jeongguk grins. “Alright,” he says. “I’m not drunk enough to get there, though, so let’s go for a cruise first.”
By the time they do arrive to the Beta Sigma house, it’s crawling with students—and Jeongguk is pleasantly buzzed from the beer, trying his hardest to put the stress and worry of finals out of his mind. He thinks it’s working, especially as he focuses on what’s happening right in front of him, focuses on being part of the conversation with Jimin and Taehyung. Focuses on being a stupid college kid for one night.
With music pounding through the house, Jeongguk lets himself get lost in it. Every inch of the house is crowded, and Jimin turns to call, “Let’s get drinks!” over the music before latching onto Taehyung’s wrist and tugging him through the crowd. Jeongguk trails after them, trying not to bump into any of the already-drunk students although his own coordination is just a little off from the alcohol he’s already consumed.
Vaguely, he remembers that saying about drinking beer before liquor, but he cares less when they get into the kitchen where bottles upon bottles litter the counter.
“What’re you having, Jeonggukkie?” yells Jimin despite the fact that it’s quieter here, and Taehyung is giggling into Jimin’s shoulder, and Jeongguk knows he’s already lost them. “I’m a certified bartender! Here, this.” He begins grabbing random bottles and dumping a few ounces into a cup, and Jeongguk is vaguely aware of what a bad idea that is, but he takes it away, sipping at it tentatively before he makes a face when he pulls away.
“You need your certification revoked,” he says, but he keeps the drink anyway because it’ll do the trick. Before he can request something else, anyway, he hears, “Jiminie!” from the other side of the kitchen and looks over to see Kim Namjoon—cheeks a little flushed, whether from the alcohol or the rising temperature in the house, red solo cup clutched in his hand. Empty, probably.
“Namjoonie-hyung!” calls Jimin, rushing over to drag the beta towards the group. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Ah, Hobi always needs someone to make sure he doesn’t do anything he regrets,” says Namjoon, giving Jeongguk a knowing look like—Jeongguk is supposed to understand that, which he supposes he does because he’s somehow always in charge of making sure Jimin and Taehyung make it home alive. Home being his bedroom, where they inevitably crash at the end of a night of drinking. “Speaking of Hobi—” Namjoon pauses, as though listening for the tell-tale signs of his boyfriend’s shrieking in the next room over, and then he makes his way to the counter. Uncapping a bottle of vodka, he raises an eyebrow at Jeongguk and Taehyung. “The alphas have a bone to pick with you.”
Jeongguk takes a sip of his drink just to have something to do, trying to hide the little smirk into the cup although he ends up coughing a little because the concoction really is terrible. It’s Taehyung who loudly claims, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, good sir!”
As if on cue, there’s a loud, “Joooooniiiie!” from outside the room before Hoseok literally—combat rolls into the room, giggling before he pops up from the ground and throws himself over the back of Namjoon. “Where did you—oh.” He notices the other three, turning a massive smile on Jeongguk and Taehyung in particular. They may be from opposing frats, but Jeongguk has always felt as though Hoseok cares less about the rivalry than most others in Alpha Theta Chi—he’s too carefree for that, just wanting to focus on his schooling and having a little fun on the side.
Jeongguk knows that’s the truth when Hoseok doesn’t say anything but, “Was Joonie telling you about how all of the alphas want to kill you? ‘Cause I don’t. This is great!” He peels himself off of Namjoon, striking a bit of a pose in the middle of the kitchen and gesturing to the glitter that practically covers him from head to toe.
Jeongguk has to admit that it does work quite well with Hoseok’s outfit and his general personality. It doesn’t even look like he made an attempt to brush it off, like Jeongguk is sure many of the other alphas have, although he also knows that it would have been in vain. Glitter doesn’t come out of clothing for shit.
It was Taehyung’s idea—sneaking into the Alpha Theta Chi house and sprinkling entire bottles of glitter on top of the ceiling fans the night of the party. It hadn’t been easy to accomplish and had taken extra work to make sure that the alphas actually turned on the fans once they were all ready to leave for the party, but evidently, it worked. It looks fine on Hoseok, but Jeongguk can’t wait to see how hideous the rest of the pretentious alphas look, knowing that they care much more about their fragile masculinity and would rather die than be caught covered in glitter.
“Hobi said some of the alphas got so angry that they decided not to show up,” says Namjoon as Hoseok does a few twirls, evidently wanting to model his glitter-fied outfit. “I don’t know why they didn’t just change their outfits, but it might be for the best. I’m sure they’d want to kill you if they saw you here.”
“Yoongi wants to kill you,” says Hoseok off-handedly, doing one last twirl before he flops all of his weight onto Namjoon again. “Better not let him see you, Jeonggukkiiiiie. And I want to dance with my boyfriend, so if you’ll excuse us.”
Jeongguk’s too busy thinking about how Yoongi is here and he’s not drunk enough for that, so he knocks back the rest of the disgusting drink Jimin poured for him. It’s a shame he has no idea how long it’ll take for it to actually begin working, to get him to the point where he might actually forget whatever is about to happen, but Jimin and Taehyung are already pouring more drinks for themselves and Jimin’s giggling as he says, “Good luck, little omega!” before Taehyung drags him out of the kitchen with drinks in hand.
He stands alone in the kitchen for a minute, trying to decide if it’ll be safer to stay here or to head out into the actual party. If he’s here and Yoongi wants to get a drink, there won’t be any chance for escape, but at the moment, Yoongi is out there and Jeongguk leaving the kitchen means he runs the risk of running into him. It’s strange, really, the way his stomach is clenching at the idea of seeing Yoongi here, as though he doesn’t see him in other public spaces. As though he doesn’t sleep with him several times a week.
Jeongguk doesn’t know why he’s nervous, but he decides the only way to solve it is with more alcohol. He pours himself something that is more alcohol than soda, heads out of the kitchen like he’s running into war.
In the end, it takes Yoongi almost an hour to find him—he doesn’t know if Yoongi is actually looking for him, but it takes almost an hour nonetheless. Jeongguk bides his time with drinking his alcohol more slowly, the world growing topsy turvy as time wears on. He finds Jimin and Taehyung again for a time before they disappear again, lets Hoseok challenge him to a dance battle (which he unfortunately loses, because even wasted, Hoseok can’t be beat), doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t look for Yoongi. He sees a lot of glitter, but no one tries to kill him.
He’s in the middle of talking to some girl in his department about the cultural importance of Roy Lichtenstein’s Drowning Girl when a pair of arms encircles his waist and he’s tugged backward. Jeongguk goes with a yelp, caught off guard as he stumbles backward and then he’s falling back, but he falls into something a lot softer than the ground and it takes him a disorientating moment to realize someone has tugged him into their lap.
More specifically—“God, your thighs are like… wow, can you suffocate me with them?”
Jeongguk twists in the grip still on his waist, alarm written clear across his face as he sees Yoongi sitting under him, head tipped back against the sofa and a dopey grin on his face. He’s flushed, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. There’s a hazy look in his eyes already, one that tells Jeongguk he’s had a lot more to drink than Jeongguk himself, and that means—that means the filter is already gone and now they’re in public, surrounded by hundreds of other students and Jeongguk is sitting in Yoongi’s lap and Yoongi is drooling over his thighs.
“Uh,” says Jeongguk, trying (and failing) to loosen Yoongi’s grip on him.
“Where are you going?” Yoongi whines, head lolling on the back of the sofa, and his eyes are hooded as he looks at Jeongguk. “Stay with me.”
Jeongguk sends a panicked look outward, and his eyes land first on the girl he was previously talking to, who has thankfully moved on. It’s not like everyone knows about the rivalry and surely half of the people here wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing Jeongguk sitting in Min Yoongi’s lap, but. The other half.
The other half would have something very, very interesting to say about that.
“Yoongi-hyung, please let go of me,” whispers Jeongguk when he sees someone across the room watching them curiously. He pries at Yoongi’s hands, and for a drunk man, the alpha is surprisingly strong. “Yoongi.”
“Bun,” replies Yoongi, which is—not something he’s ever called Jeongguk in public, and for good reason. It makes Jeongguk shiver, just a little, but it’s not the right time nor context. “Can’t stop—stop thinking about your mouth—”
Jeongguk twists around again, slapping his hand over Yoongi’s mouth as the panic spikes. There’s no possible way he can let Yoongi say that kind of thing out loud, no matter how loud the music is. He squirms, hoping that it’ll make Yoongi let go of him, but he regrets that when the alpha just kind of—groans under him.
“Min Yoongi, I swear to God,” huffs Jeongguk, finally managing to pry Yoongi’s hands off of him and he launches himself up and off the alpha’s lap, eyes skirting the room again. He lets out an awkward chuckle, saying, “He’s super drunk,” just in case anyone is listening. Just in case anyone cares.
But Yoongi isn’t okay with that and he’s already trying to get up from the sofa as well, losing his balance a little before he latches onto Jeongguk’s arm. “You’re so hot,” he says a little too loudly, grip bruising on Jeongguk, and Jeongguk is not drunk enough for this. “You’re so hot, Gukkie, I jus’ wanna—fuck you, please, God.”
Jeongguk blanches, especially when a group of girls near them shoots him bewildered looks and he quickly says, “He said fight, he wants to fight me,” and Yoongi sticks his face in Jeongguk’s neck, mumbling, “No, wanna fuck you.”
This is. Worse than Jeongguk imagined it would be. This is worse than anything he thought it would be, because he’s used to Yoongi saying nice things about him when he’s drunk, but maybe that’s just when they’re alone, maybe that’s when he isn’t horny because they’ve already fucked and now he’s just pressing up against Jeongguk, hands finding their place on the omega’s waist like they belong there—because they do, they do, but not in the middle of a frat party—
“Yoongi,” says Jeongguk carefully, hands awkwardly trying to push at the alpha’s shoulders to get him off. “Yoongi—”
“Please, Jeonggukkie?” mumbles Yoongi, mouthing a little at his neck and there are people looking—“Please, like you so much, wanna—wanna touch your pretty cock and—” He hiccups, leaning further into Jeongguk and Jeongguk—latches onto his shoulders instead, takes a little step back to see if Yoongi comes with him. He does. He always does. “Want you to eat my ass.”
Jeongguk stops at that, hates the way his cock twitches in his jeans and he shouldn’t be—interested although his own tipsy mind is beginning to get hazier the more Yoongi murmurs into his skin, the more the alpha presses their bodies together, and does he really care about people seeing them? Is it really that big of a deal?
And then—Hoseok is suddenly standing in front of him, eyebrows furrowed. “Is that Yoongi-hyung?” he asks, and Jeongguk’s thoughts stop short, somewhere with his tongue in Yoongi’s ass.
“He’s really drunk,” says Jeongguk, already taking another step back and dragging the alpha with him. “I don’t know why he’s clinging to me, I think he’s just—going to be sick? Yeah, he’s going to be sick. If you’ll just—sorry, I’m gonna—” He twists out of Yoongi’s grasp only to grab his wrist, dragging him through the crowd with haste. Jeongguk has no time to worry about what Hoseok might think, counting on the other alpha’s level of intoxication to erase that detail out of his memory by the morning.
It’s only once Jeongguk is trying to find a place for—well, he’s not sure what, but a place—that he realizes how much he’s drunk, too. He can’t walk in a straight line, keeps bumping into people and apologizing as Yoongi ties to plaster himself against Jeongguk’s back and it feels. Strangely reminiscent of Hoseok and Namjoon in the kitchen, which makes no sense because Hoseok and Namjoon are dating and have been for two years already and Yoongi just wants Jeongguk to eat his ass. Yoongi only ever wants Jeongguk for sex.
That’s what he tells himself, anyway, because otherwise he’ll focus too much on how Yoongi has somehow slipped his hand into Jeongguk’s halfway through the crowd and he’s stopped muttering about ass eating and blowjobs, but maybe that’s worse. Maybe he’s just going where Jeongguk is taking him because he trusts him, because some part of him—the part that is left when the alcohol has stripped him off his cocky, tsundere attitude—knows that this is where he’s safe, this is where he belongs.
Jeongguk reaches the stairs and doesn’t stop to wonder why his eyes have suddenly gotten a little wet, just pulls Yoongi with him. He still doesn’t know where they’re going.
“Hey, isn’t that Min Yoongi?” someone asks and Jeongguk barrels past them because he doesn’t have time. He reaches the first floor, skips the first door because it’s always occupied anyway. Jeongguk goes for the last door instead, pushing it open and finding the bedroom blessedly empty—he’ll feel bad for whoever lives in this room, maybe, but right now he’s more worried about dealing with a drunk Min Yoongi, who has gone suspiciously quiet.
He pulls Yoongi into the room, closes the door behind them. Leaves them doused in darkness for now as he leans against the door and stares at the shape of Yoongi, barely visible through the bit of moonlight coming through the window.
There’s a pause, and then—“Are you going to eat my ass now?” asks Yoongi.
Jeongguk groans. “You can’t just say things like that in public, hyung,” he says. “Even if you’re really drunk and probably don’t even know what’s happening.”
“I’m not that drunk,” argues Yoongi, even though Jeongguk can smell it—it’s not a very good smell, at least when it’s mixed with the rest of Yoongi’s usual scent. Makes him a little sick to his stomach if he’s being honest, but he’s just going to have to deal with that.
“You were trying to grope me in the middle of a crowded party,” deadpans Jeongguk.
“Doesn’t mean I’m drunk.”
“Someone could have seen us.”
“What if I wanted them to?”
In the darkness, Jeongguk can feel Yoongi’s eyes on him. There’s a moment of clarity, a moment of understanding, where Jeongguk thinks that maybe Yoongi really isn’t that drunk. And then—“Wait. ’m mad you,” mutters Yoongi.
Jeongguk lets out a sigh, letting his head fall back against the door as Yoongi stumbles toward him, almost losing his balance before his hand finds Jeongguk’s neck somehow, and he holds on. Comes close. “You fuckin’ got me full of glitter,” says Yoongi, although the words are less threatening because they’re slurred. “Ruined my whole outfit.”
Although Jeongguk can’t see said outfit at the moment, he saw it moments ago. He’d know what it is, anyway, since Yoongi exclusively wears black, which is why Jeongguk chose pink glitter for the prank. Jeongguk tilts his head down anyway, and Yoongi is so, so close; he presses his body up against Jeongguk until they’re chest to chest, faces inches apart. From here, Jeongguk can make out the flecks of glitter that have somehow gotten caught in Yoongi’s eyelashes, the few on his cheeks. Tentatively, Jeongguk lifts a hand to Yoongi’s face, drags his thumb across the alpha’s cheekbone as though he can remove the glitter. It doesn’t work.
“I think you look better with it,” says Jeongguk quietly. “My pretty little hyung.”
“M’not little,” argues Yoongi.
“You are compared to me,” says Jeongguk, straightening up so he can grow to his full height, which admittedly isn’t that much greater than Yoongi’s, but he’s always used it to take the piss anyway. It never fails to rile Yoongi up. “I bet I could toss you across the room if I wanted.”
The response he’s expecting is not, “Fuck, I’m hard.”
Jeongguk is quiet for a moment. “Are you—hyung, do you have a muscle kink?” he asks.
Yoongi’s hand slides down to Jeongguk’s bicep, which he gives a squeeze. It’s accompanied by a weird little groan, and Jeongguk is honestly a little bewildered—“I don’t usually like really beefy guys,” admits the alpha. “Like, it’s weird because stereotypically the alphas are the really jacked ones and I’m supposed to be the one holding you down but fuck.” Yoongi tips forward enough to just kind of—press his face into Jeongguk’s chest and stay there, breathing.
Jeongguk stands there, staring over Yoongi’s head and considering. Maybe Yoongi isn’t as drunk as he appears and maybe Jeongguk is drunker than he thinks and maybe he ought to do something about the fact that his cock is still kind of half-hard in his jeans from the talk of eating Yoongi’s ass and Yoongi is covered in glitter and his hair is still grey and he’s there, just holding onto Jeongguk like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s asking for something, and Jeongguk—Jeongguk never has the power. Jeongguk never gets to call the shots because he’s the omega, but more than that, because he always gives his power over to Yoongi.
He likes being a brat at the best of times, but the truth is that he likes when Yoongi takes care of him. Their dynamic works because it’s built into them, but it also works because it’s just who they are, and it’s meant to be that way. But now Yoongi is asking, waiting, placing something in the palm of Jeongguk’s hand and giving him the power. He’s giving Jeongguk the power.
It’s not much of a question of whether or not he’ll use it.
There’s a satisfaction that settles in Jeongguk’s gut when he grabs Yoongi’s shoulder and starts walking him backward, manhandling the alpha through his stumbling feet as Yoongi’s head whips up to look at him. “What’re you doing?” he asks, although he goes willingly until they reach the bed and Jeongguk shoves him onto it.
“What you asked for,” says Jeongguk, voice low—he can feel himself growing harder at the idea of having all the power now, especially with Yoongi looking up at him with suddenly bright eyes—a little hazy, still, and a little terrified. Jeongguk’s not sadistic, but it’s so rare that Yoongi looks at him with anything but a smirk in the bedroom, so maybe he’s enjoying it. Maybe he’s enjoying it a little too much.
“O-oh,” Yoongi stutters, although he scrambles up on the bed, knocking some clothes off in the process.
“Take off your clothes,” Jeongguk demands, pulling off his own shirt as he waits for Yoongi to fumble his way through it. It’s still too dark so he stumbles over to a lamp on the bedside table, turning it on and casting them in an orange glow as Yoongi manages to get out of his shirt but is apparently having trouble with the rest.
Yoongi groans. “Help,” he says. “Guk-ahhhh, help me.”
And Jeongguk does not find it cute, even though Yoongi is whining a little, just makes his way to the edge of the bed and yanks Yoongi’s jeans the rest of the way down from where they’ve gotten caught around his thighs. There’s still glitter all over them, and he’s a bit sad that it’s not all over Yoongi’s skin, too, but it might be for the best—he doesn’t need that in his mouth.
“Boxers, too,” says Jeongguk, to which Yoongi makes a bleating noise, and the omega rolls his eyes before sliding those off of the other, too. “Gonna make me do everything here, hyung?”
“I’m drunk,” says Yoongi.
“Thought you weren’t that drunk.”
“Suck my ass.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?”
Yoongi—giggles. It’s quiet at first, just a shaking of his chest as he flops on the bed, and then it gets louder as Jeongguk stands there and stares at him. Yoongi only laughs like that when he’s drunk, with all abandon, when he doesn’t have to worry about what people are thinking of him. It makes Jeongguk begin giggling too, crawling onto the bed and over Yoongi’s thighs until he’s straddling him, hands placed on either side of Yoongi’s head.
The alpha lifts his arms, hands coming to cradle Jeongguk’s face as he tugs him down, down, until Yoongi bumps their noses together. “You’re cute, Jeon Jeongguk,” he giggles, and it’s. So intimate. Jeongguk has had Yoongi’s cock up his ass several times a week for almost a year, but somehow this is new, this is making Jeongguk’s stomach tie itself in knots over and over, at the way Yoongi holds his face and looks into his eyes with something warm and hazy.
It’s only then that Jeongguk realizes the power in their relationship has nothing to do with who is in charge during sex—it’s this. Yoongi will always hold all the cards because Jeongguk can’t stop himself from wanting this more than he wants to be fucked.
And then Yoongi ruins it by adding, “But yes, go on. Suck my ass, eat my dick. I mean… Wait—”
Jeongguk snorts, tilting his face forward so he can give Yoongi a peck on the lips. “I get it, hyung,” he says, and then he puts the stupid butterflies out of his mind so he can shuffle down Yoongi’s body. He removes his weight from Yoongi, giving the alpha a smack on the hip. “Turn over.”
Once Yoongi has tuned over, face half smushed into the pillows—“This doesn’t even smell like anything, fucking betas,”—Jeongguk grabs his hips and forces the alpha onto his knees, smoothing his hands over the expanse of skin before him. It’s not often that Yoongi lets do this, something about vulnerability, something about taking control. Jeongguk plants a kiss to the base of Yoongi’s spine, hears the little sigh the alpha lets out. Something tells him it’s going to be a mostly non-verbal experience.
“Have I ever told you that you have a very nice ass, hyung?” asks Jeongguk as he gives Yoongi’s cheeks an appreciative squeeze.
“Once or twice,” he hears Yoongi murmur.
“Good, because it is very nice,” he says as he spreads Yoongi’s ass cheeks, knocking the alpha’s knees a little wider so he can get a good look at Yoongi’s hole, biting at his lip. “A whole meal, if you will.”
He knows Yoongi wants to say something snarky to that, so he plants a kiss on Yoongi’s rim instead. The response is another sigh—better than anything cocky—and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to add another kiss, then lick a stripe from his perineum upward.
Yoongi lets out a low groan of fuuuuck, already a little breathless, and it’s good. It’s not direct praise, but it lets Jeongguk know that he’s doing something right anyway, because even if he’s in charge, keeping his grip on Yoongi’s ass firm and hard, there’s still a part of him that needs to know he’s doing well. The sound Yoongi makes encourages him to continue, licking at Yoongi’s rim as he hears the alpha’s breathing begin to get quicker, harder.
It’s only once he sucks on the rim that Yoongi lets out something akin to a yelp. “Yeah, shit,” he says, and Jeongguk pulls back in time to see Yoongi begin fisting himself, which—he should probably say something about, but he’s not going to deny Yoongi anything, not when he’s drunk and asked for it.
So Jeongguk sticks his face back in Yoongi’s ass, finally, finally slipping his tongue into Yoongi’s hole as he goes. He kneads Yoongi’s cheeks as he does so, licking inside as he hears Yoongi moan something low and almost hiccupped above him. “Jesus,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk’s tongue moves faster, digging into his ass with renewed fervour. “Can you—fucking, Christ—let me—” He has no idea what Yoongi is asking for, pays no mind as he alternates between licking inside his ass and sucking on his rim, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
It’s sloppy—Jeongguk can feel spit all over the bottom half of his face, running down his chin but he pays no mind. He’s had in his jeans, too, but he hasn’t started leaking yet, so that’s a good sign. Except—“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” says Yoongi from where his face is still pressed into the bed, hand moving over his own cock at a quick pace.
Jeongguk takes it as a challenge, almost, diving back in as he licks inside Yoongi’s ass. He adds one finger for good measure, sliding his index finger through the mess of spit alongside his tongue, and he hears the gasped oh before he pumps one, two, three times and Yoongi is groaning long and hard.
The omega pulls back, breathing heavily as Yoongi collapses sideways and leaves Jeongguk to see the mess he’s made on the bed. Now he really feels bad for whoever owns the room, but his head is hazy and his thoughts messy, so he doesn’t stop to worry about it. Just rolls Yoongi over completely, licking at the bit of come on his stomach, moving up and up until he reaches Yoongi’s neck, which he nips at. His jaw, which he kisses. His lips, which he ghosts over entirely.
There’s a grin on his lips as he sees the look on Yoongi’s face—eyes closed, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “Good?” asks Jeongguk.
Yoongi takes a few deep breaths. “Yeah,” he breathes. “S’what I wanted. Brilliant performance.”
Jeongguk giggles, ducking down to press a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek before he straightens up and wipes at his mouth and chin to get some of the spit off. He’s still hard though, feeling uncomfortable in his jeans, and although he’s not wet with slick yet, he can already feel some wetness in his boxers and even though Yoongi looks half-dead, he says, “You were serious about the ass eating, but uh—“ Jeongguk coughs. “Were you serious about wanting to fuck me?”
Yoongi’s eyes snap open, surprisingly clear. “Fucking hell, do you need to ask?” he says, trying to wiggle out from under Jeongguk. “Just lemme—get hard again, won’t be difficult.”
The utter eagerness makes Jeongguk giggle a little, and he decides that a drunk Yoongi is a sort of Yoongi that he wishes could come out more. Even if sober Yoongi tears down a lot of walls when they’re together, it’s still different. This Yoongi is all too happy to get what he wants without trying to be nonchalant about it, and Jeongguk is all too happy to give it to him. He’s giving himself something in the process.
He hops off of the bed, quickly stripping out of his jeans and boxers as well as Yoongi scoots himself to the top of the bed, sitting against the headboard as he lazily begins to pump his cock. Jeongguk takes his time searching for a condom in the nightstand, because there has to be one—it takes him a minute, rooting through old snack wrappers and crumped pieces of paper until he finds what he’s looking for.
Returning to the bed, he tosses the condom to Yoongi—realizes he’s probably a little drunker than he thought he was when the little packages goes flying and hits the headboard beside Yoongi’s head.
“Jesus, no wonder you’re not a basketball player,” says Yoongi.
Jeongguk responses by smacking the side of Yoongi’s leg, to which the alpha lets out a chuckle, but he pays no mind as he settles between the alpha’s open legs and sets about stretching himself.
He likes letting Yoongi watch—figures it’ll help with the boner thing—as he circles his rim with one finger. He’s wet enough for that, at least, training his eyes on Yoongi’s fattening cock as a sort of motivation as he sinks one finger into his ass and lets his mouth fall open at the feel. It hasn’t been very long, but he goes as slow as he dares anyway, pumping one finger in and out of himself.
He adds the second and third when he’s ready, quickening his pace but keeping himself from hitting his prostate because he likes keeping that for later—likes letting it happen in the heat of it, letting out a little puffs of air as he watches Yoongi stroke himself to hardness and finally get the condom on. Jeongguk grows impatient, quickly scissoring himself open and figuring he’s ready when he sees that Yoongi is.
“Do you wanna—” begins Yoongi before Jeongguk climbs into his lap, not giving him the chance to finish the question, which was likely about how he wanted to do this.
“I’m still using your muscle kink against you,” says Jeongguk, smirking as he bats Yoongi’s hands away from his own cock and positions himself instead, grabbing hold of the base of Yoongi’s cock to keep it steady before he nudges it against his rim. “So you’re just gonna—ah, sit there and take it.” It’s a nice twist to what most alphas might say to their omegas, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, just fits his hand on Jeongguk’s waist, props his knees up enough, and gives him a lazy grin.
“Okay, baby,” says Yoongi.
Jeongguk takes a breath, and then sinks down on Yoongi’s cock. The stretch burns a little at first, but he keeps going until he bottoms out, sitting with his ass flush against Yoongi’s hips. He feels so full, letting his head loll back as he lets out a little groan, feels Yoongi’s hands tighten a little on his waist.
He sits there, letting himself adjust to the stretch as he tips his head forward and sees Yoongi with his eyes closed, with an almost pained expression on his face.
“What?” asks Jeongguk, one of his hands coming up to brush against Yoongi’s cheek again—the glitter is still there, sparkling in the light from the lamp. He looks unfairly ethereal.
“I’m trying not to move,” admits Yoongi in a low voice. “Just wanna—fuck you, fuck.”
Jeongguk pinches his cheek. “Not allowed,” he says, although it’s the indirect praise he needs again, something warm bubbling up in his chest before he takes a few more deep breathes. He can feel more slick sliding down his thighs despite the girth of Yoongi’s cock stretching him wide, but he figures he’s adjusted himself to move.
So he moves his hips upward, pulling off of Yoongi’s cock until only the head is snug inside him, and then he sits back down, a little rough. Yoongi’s mouth falls open as Jeongguk groans, hand falling to the alpha’s shoulder where he hangs on, using it as leverage as he repeats the action again and again, slowly at first and then faster as he begins to build up a rhythm. Yoongi’s grip is still tight on his waist, but it’s more encouraging than anything, the alpha letting out moans as Jeongguk begins to bounce in his lap.
He squeezes Yoongi’s shoulder as he picks up the rhythm, bouncing faster and faster as his breaths come harder. His own cock bobs against his stomach, but he pays it no mind as he focuses on the feel of Yoongi filling him, his mind growing hazier and hazier. It’s not entirely from the alcohol, though, more like some instinct to want more, to want everything Yoongi can give him even though Jeongguk has placed himself in charge.
When it’s not enough—too slow, mostly—he lets go of Yoongi so he can lean back instead, hands gripping Yoongi’s legs on either side of him as he bounces faster, in earnest, keeping the strokes short and fast. From this angle, the drag is better, head thrown back as he groans out Yoongi’s name.
“Doing so good, baby,” murmurs Yoongi from where his head is lolled back against the headboard, hands wandering over Jeongguk’s sides and stomach. “Take me so well.”
“Yeah,” huffs Jeongguk, squeezing his eyes shut as—he gasps when Yoongi’s cock finally hits his prostate, and he works on pounding it again and again, bringing himself closer to closer to the edge as Yoongi’s hand suddenly encircles Jeongguk’s cock, closing around it as he starts pumping him like he knows.
He does, probably. Yoongi always knows.
“Just like that, Guk,” hums Yoongi, slurring more and more with each word, like he’s somehow getting drunker—“Want you to come on my cock, just like that.”
Jeongguk—whines, can’t help himself as he hits his prostate again, sounds growing needier and needier when he can feel something coiling tight in his stomach. He needs it, needs the release, focuses on the feel of Yoongi’s big hand on his cock, stroking him faster and faster.
At the last second, he pitches himself forward, pressing himself up against Yoongi’s chest as he buries himself in the alpha’s neck and sinks down one final time on Yoongi’s cock. He grinds down, letting out a low moan as something snaps in him and he comes. He sits on Yoongi’s cock through it, mouth open and breath hot against Yoongi’s neck. The hand on his cock stills, feels the warmth of his come smeared between the both of them, but he keeps himself hidden in Yoongi’s neck as he waits one, two, three seconds.
And then he begins grinding down, hard and slow, trying to work Yoongi up to it, too; he hasn’t felt Yoongi’s cock begin to swell yet, knows he’ll have to get off before the knot forms entirely because they can’t afford to be stuck together in someone else’s bed in the middle of a party. It’s risky doing this at all, but it’s a bit late to think about that now as Jeongguk whines into Yoongi’s neck again, grinding down harder even though Yoongi has been silent, hands not even in their customary spot on Jeongguk’s waist, and—
He hears something that sounds awfully like snoring.
Jeongguk pushes himself away from Yoongi’s chest in an instant, stopping the movement of his hips as he sees that Yoongi is—fucking sleeping, head tipped back against the headboard and mouth hanging open slightly. The alpha snores a little on the inhale, completely out of it even though Jeongguk is still sitting on his cock.
For a long, long moment, Jeongguk just stares at him. He wants to be angry because Yoongi was the one who asked for this and now he’s gone and fallen asleep right in the middle, before he got his own release, but there’s nothing much Jeongguk can do save waking Yoongi up and finishing it, but—he’s not sure that’s the best idea at the moment. He licks his lips. He lets out a sigh.
And then he slowly shifts, sitting up until he can pull himself off of Yoongi’s still-hard cock. It’ll go down in time, and he knows it’s probably a dick move to leave Yoongi just sleeping there in some beta’s room, but it’s probably for the best. Silently, a bit dejectedly, he grabs some tissues from the box on the dresser, cleaning up Yoongi’s stomach and chest from where Jeongguk came on it.
He cleans himself up next, as best as he can at least, and tosses out both the tissues and the condom he pulls off of Yoongi’s cock. No doubt the alpha will wake up in a few hours, hopefully before one of the betas walks in on him, but he does his best to cover up Yoongi anyway, tilts his head sideways just in case the alpha throws up.
It could be funny, the fact that Yoongi fell asleep in the middle of sex. Mostly, Jeongguk feels an emptiness in the pit of his chest, something caused by the knowledge that he has to leave. He has no other choice, because staying would mean someone would walk in on them. Someone walking in on them would mean them getting caught, would mean some sort of scandal that would be disastrous for the both of them.
He knew at the very beginning that this relationship with Yoongi was different, that it had to operate entirely in secret, and he was ready to deal with whatever that meant. It feels a little different now, though, when he’s forced to face the whatever of the deal.
So Jeongguk just—leaves. He presses a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead and leaves.
It doesn’t take long to find Jimin and Taehyung once he returns to the rest of the party. It’s a bit odd, realizing that there is still a party happening—music blasting through the house, students drinking and dancing and celebrating the end of term. Jeongguk is still sweaty, but he runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself look less like he just got fucked by someone as he spots his friends lounging on one of the sofas.
He stops in front of them, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I’m gonna… head home, if that’s cool with you two,” he says. “I can just walk since Omega Tau isn’t far from here.”
“Are you sure?” asks Jimin. “It’s not that late and we didn’t get here that long ago.”
“Yeah,” laughs Jeongguk, but it feels a little fake. Why does it feel fake? “I’m not feeling too good—I think I drank too much beer when we were pregaming.”
“I told you to slow down,” says Taehyung, but he gets off of the sofa anyway. “Do you need me to walk you there?”
“I’m okay,” says Jeongguk, pushing a little on Taehyung’s chest to get him to sit down again.
“Wait,” says the other omega, eyebrows furrowing before he sniffs the air. “Why do you smell like alpha?”
Jeongguk can’t help but blanch, unsure how he’s supposed to answer that, but Jimin comes to the rescue when he grabs Taehyung by the waistband and tugs him back onto the sofa. “He obviously found someone to go back to Omega Tau with,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I get you, Gukkie. You don’t have to explain yourself to your hyungs.”
Thankful that he doesn’t have to deal with their questioning—although trying to play the part of him embarrassing at being found out in the absolute wrong way—he begins backing up through the crowd. “Okay, Jimin-hyung,” he laughs. “I’ll see you guys back at the house later.”
“Tae can crash at mine if you need your room to yourself,” winks Jimin, and Jeongguk takes that as his cue to turn and flee.
“Get that alpha dick, Jeonggukkie!” he hears Taehyung call when he’s halfway across the room, and it just makes him move faster, pushing through the crowd and music and noise until he reaches the front door and finally spills out into the cold, night air.
Jeongguk takes a deep breath, gasping for air as he hurries across the front lawn and to the sidewalk. He stands for a second, turning to look back at the house as he inexplicably feels tears stinging at the backs of his eyes. Maybe he’s just—drunk, and he gets emotional when he’s drunk, or maybe it’s the fact that the whole night was sort of botched because he had to just leave Yoongi there, or maybe it’s because of what Jimin said—maybe it’s because it’s the first time he’s truly come face to face with the fact that he can never tell the truth. He doesn’t have to explain himself to them, but he can’t because it would have disastrous consequences.
Jimin and Taehyung can joke about him fucking some random alpha all they want, but that’s not what he wants. It’s never been what he wants. And as he turns to head back to his own house, tears welling in his eyes, pathetically wiping them away, Jeongguk has to ask himself—what does he want?
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.
But something tells him it has something to do with the person he left asleep in a stranger’s bedroom. The person he left asleep in a stranger’s bedroom because he’s not allowed to stay, no matter how much he wants to.
Chapter 4: v for vulgar
And then he sees Yoongi’s expression change, just a little—it’s subtle, but it’s powerful. The way his eyes narrow just a little, the way his lips slant downward. The hand in his hair is suddenly comforting no longer, fingers tightening until he can pull Jeongguk’s head back just enough to force him to bear his neck.
When he speaks next, it’s in a low, careful voice, one that goes straight to Jeongguk’s cock—“Beg for it.”
warning that this chapter involves some uh,,, heavy degradation but again, it's consented!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Monday, December 11, 9:34 AM, Omega Tau meeting has begun,” says Jeongguk, banging the mock gavel against the top of the table he’s sitting at. It always makes him feel more important when he uses it, so he never misses an opportunity. The omega surveys the group of young men in front of him, all eagerly watching and waiting for what he has to say. They all know what he has to say, anyway, but there’s an almost palpable hum in the air. Everyone has been stretched taunt.
“I’ve called this meeting, as you know, to discuss the end of semester prank on Alpha Theta Chi,” continues Jeongguk. “It’s tradition for our frats to pull one last prank during finals week to finish off the semester, usually bigger and riskier than all of the others during the semester. We’ve had some brainstorming sessions before, but we need to work toward deciding an actual prank today.”
He pauses, looking down at the notebook he’d brought with him. There are a lot of ideas on it, but none of them have seemed to fit right. “It has also come to my attention,” says Jeongguk, “that the alphas are planning something big. Bigger than they’ve done in previous years, which means we need to top them. And if possible, strike before they do so that it scares them off and keeps them from actually pulling their prank or wanting to back down somewhat.”
During the rest of the year, the prank war is often fun and harmless. They’re little things the boys can pull on the weekends or when they have free time, random ideas they see on the internet or come up with while bored during class. The end of semester pranks, though, are something else. They’re terrifying. Jeongguk has some seen horrors in his life, and all of them had to do with the end of semester pranks. He has no idea what the alphas are planning, just that some of the omegas heard rumours likely started by the alphas themselves to try and scare the omegas. Even if the alphas are bluffing, Jeongguk isn’t. He wants revenge for the way they fucked with his painting, anyway.
“So,” he says. “I’m open to ideas.”
Taehyung is the first to pipe up, which isn’t surprising—he’s known for coming up with some of the most hilarious pranks the omegas have pulled. “We should poke holes in all of their condoms,” he says.
Which—“We did that last month,” someone else says. “We can’t reuse the same pranks.”
“Wait, when did we do that?” asks Taehyung, confusion his face.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Jeongguk. “It matters that we can’t do that again because we already did it. That’s not big enough, anyway.”
“What about putting a fish in the air vents?” one of the others suggests—Baekhyun, sitting near the back of the room. There are a few reactions among the group of omegas, agreements, someone just saying ooooooh for ten seconds.
“That could work,” agrees Jeongguk. “But it wouldn’t start smelling for a few weeks, at least.”
“Exactly,” says Baekhyun. “Everyone is leaving by the end of the week for Christmas break and no one will even be in the house for the next few weeks. They’ll leave thinking that we chickened out on a prank or just forgot, and then when they get back…” An almost maniacal smile spreads on his lips.
“They won’t know what’s hit them,” the omega beside him adds.
Jeongguk can’t help thinking about… coming back to school, trying to go over to the Alpha Theta Chi house to fuck Yoongi and not being able to do because of the stench. It’s impossible to always have their little rendezvous at the Omega Tau house, so maybe it’s selfish, but he finds himself already putting that idea to the bottom of the list. As president, he always has to give his seal of approval before any prank goes ahead, so if he really doesn’t want to deal with that, he can just nix it.
“Alright, well, that’s an option,” he says, calming down the chatter that has started since the suggestion. Someone’s already talking about which fish would smell the worst, trying to figure out who will be on campus for the longest to be able to sneak in and set the trap. “I still think we should do something big earlier, though. The fish thing is… admittedly pretty brilliant as a sneak attack, but if we want to keep the alphas from doing whatever they’re planning, we have to do something else.”
“We can’t stop them,” says Taehyung. “That’s the whole point of the prank war—to let it happen. We’ve been doing this for like, three hundred years,” Jeongguk eyebrows furrow, trying to remember how old their school is, “so it’s not like they’re just not going to pull a prank because we do something worse.”
“We can still get the upper hand,” one of the freshman says. “No one’s going to win the war, but we can win the battle.”
“Isn’t that like, an old proverb?” someone asks.
“No, that’s like ‘lose the battle, win the war’.”
“So in that case, the alphas would have the upper hand because they’re losing the battle?”
“That’s only if you lose on purpose.”
“So that means—”
“Okay,” snaps Jeongguk, banging the gavel again. “Let’s get back to the task on hand. We have the fish idea, anything else?”
He’s met with silence, all of the omegas watching him as though they expect him to start coming up with all of the ideas. Surprisingly, Jeongguk doesn’t actually do a lot of the planning himself, not because he’s not creative, but because he’s busy with other things. And everyone else comes through in the end anyway.
Except for now, apparently.
“Nothing?” he asks with a sigh. “I know it’s Monday morning and some of you have finals later, but this is sad, even for the end of term.”
“Wait,” says Taehyung, and Jeongguk looks over to see a familiar look in his eyes. It’s a look that says he’s about to sprout some genius idea. “Why don’t we do their prank on us?”
For a moment, Jeongguk just stares at him. And then someone says, “Holy fuck,” and the room erupts in chaos. There’s a lot of shouting, someone crowing about how brilliant Taehyung is, someone shouting questions about the logistics already, and Jeongguk finds himself growing a little more excited with it all. He’s been so stressed about finals that he’s kind of forgotten how much he actually loves being in this frat thanks to the pranks, thanks to coming together with his frat brothers to pull something like this.
“Alright, alright!” calls Jeongguk, banging the gavel for a third time to quiet everyone. “That really is brilliant, Taehyung, so thank you. If we can find out what they’re planning and execute it before they can, then it’ll throw them off, surprise them, and I doubt they’ll try to pull it on us as well, especially because we’ll be expecting it and be able to stop it, hopefully, whatever it is.”
“As long as it’s something we can do,” someone says.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Jeongguk says.
“And how do we find out?” questions a senior.
Jeongguk surveys the omegas again. “I know some people have their ways,” he says. “We’ve been able to find out similar information in the past, or get keys to the house. Some of the alphas are fucking stupid, so it shouldn’t be hard to get something out of them.” There’s a satisfying rumble of laughter among the omegas. He never tires of insulting the alphas for their intelligence, even if he knows some of them have 4.0 GPAs. It’s just—stereotypes.
“We just need to do it quickly,” continues Jeongguk. “We don’t know when they’re planning to do this, but they only have until Friday if they want to make sure most of us are here. I suggest doing your best to get something out of them as soon as possible.” After a moment, he adds, “Of course, don’t neglect finals, but like. This could be the best end of semester prank we’ve ever pulled and I expect all of you to do your part in making sure it pans out.”
Jeongguk knows, of course, that he might have the most advantageous position out of all of them, considering he’s fucking the Alpha Theta Chi president. He and Yoongi haven’t planned a meeting until near the end of the week, since they’re both busy with finals and Yoongi still has a basketball game to play. But maybe that can change.
As if on cue, after he’s ended the meeting and sent the omegas on their way, he gets a text from Yoongi asking if he’s free for the alpha to come over. Jeongguk thinks about—the art projects he still has to finish, the written finals he has to study for. His first is in the afternoon, so he should probably be cramming right now.
He’s got duties to perform, though. For the good of the war, of course, but he’s also never going to say no to an opportunity to get laid.
In the end, Jeongguk doesn’t get anything out of Yoongi, anyway. It’s almost as though Yoongi knows, warding off all of his questions when Jeongguk tries to turn the conversation—not that there is much conversation—toward the prank war and the end of the semester plans. Jeongguk rides him lazily, teases him about what happened at the party, although he keeps all of his more private feelings about it to himself. After a few days of distance, he thinks it was likely just a weak, drunken moment that led him to have such an emotional reaction to leaving Yoongi behind.
Because that’s just what they do—their relationship has never been about more than having sex, and that’s not going to change. Jeongguk doesn’t want it to change. He goes back to normal because he has to, because there’s no way he can bring that sort of thing up to Yoongi without probably getting laughed at. Sometimes he thinks maybe there is more, like when Yoongi cuddles him after they fuck, or when he tells Jeongguk to stay, or when he calls Jeongguk bun.
But he doesn’t think about that. He puts his mind to other things, more important things, like pranking and finals. He kicks Yoongi out of the Omega Tau house after, making sure he’s not seen by any of the other omegas still home, spends an hour or two distractedly trying to study for his first final.
Jeongguk writes his final. He goes home. He stares at the almost-finished painting he had to restart nine days ago, the one that’s due tomorrow. Even though it’s an entirely new painting, he can still see cumbucket written all over it, like that’s what he really is.
He’s not in a good mood. He’s never in the best mood when it comes to finals, because he’s always trying to push himself harder and harder, to do better. He can always do better. With the pranks on top of it, he feels even more stress. They’re running out of time, and Jeongguk doesn’t know how else to ask Yoongi without raising more suspicions and having the alpha tell all of his frat brothers not to breathe a word of anything with an omega around.
He trusts that the others will be able to figure it out as he practically goes into hibernation in the school art studio, working tirelessly at his painting. He needs to make it perfect even though it’s rushed, even if his professor told him that she would be willing to give him special graces because of the situation with the original painting. It makes Jeongguk feel like a charity case, and he wants to earn his grades.
He spends all of Monday evening and most of Tuesday in the studio, steadily becoming more and more covered in paint and slowly beginning to lose his concentration. By the time his phone buzzes on the table, he almost can’t see straight when he looks at the painting, can’t see where he needs to improve. Taking a break might mean he loses precious time to work on the painting, but it’ll likely save his head.
When he grabs his phone, wiping his paint-stained hands on his already paint-stained jeans, he sees he’s conveniently ignored a small pile of texts.
There are fourteen from Taehyung, the first six sent seven hours ago:
OPERATION FIND OUT THE ALPHA’S PRANK SO WE CAN FUCK THEM OVER aka operation fotapswcfto IS A GO
aka i’m gonna get jimin to talk to namjoon hyung and see if hoseok has said anything to him because we all know hobi has a big fucking mouth!
also please remember to eat and stuff i don’t want you to die from paint fumes
can you die from paint fumes? is that a thing
i know you can die from SPRAY paint fumes but you’re not using that are you
ARE YOU USING SPRAY PAINT JEONGGUK-AHHHHHH
And then the next eight three hours later:
okay talked to jimin and he said yoongo hyung strictly told the alphas not to say anything about the prank to anyone
anyway like i said hobi has a big FUCkiNG mouth so he told joon that they’re planning on pulling it on weds night
so that only gives us !!! like a day to figure out what it is and pull it first
i know youre busy so i’m gonna rally the TROOPS so we can figure this out
i love u
jimin also says he loves u
but i love u more
Jeongguk rubs at his face as he reads the messages. He’d almost forgotten about the prank, although the knowledge that they only have about twenty-four hours to figure it out does nothing to alleviate his stress. If anything, he can just feel it all weighing on him even now as he looks over to his painting. It might be done, even though he’s a perfectionist, so nothing is ever really done. He has a written final tomorrow, too, which means that he should be studying for it, too.
Jeongguk lets out a groan. Checks the rest of his messages.
There are few from Jimin, too.
tae said you’re trying to figure out what the alphas are pulling on u guys for the end of the semester?
i’ll talk to joonie hyung about it but i don’t know if he’ll tell me anything
i can talk to seokjin hyung too but i think he’s been in the library for seventy two hours straight so i don’t know how coherent he’s going to be
good luck on finishing your painting! i know you can do it
That’s a little more promising, if Jimin can go straight to one of the alphas. And Seokjin might be more willing to talk to someone who apparently isn’t involved in either side of the prank war, although it’s not exactly a secret that Jimin is close with more than one of the omegas.
There’s a text from his mom, too, wishing him luck on his finals, telling him to FaceTime her when he’s finished his painting so that she can take a look. One from his dad, almost the same.
Then there’s—Yoongi, sent only ten minutes ago.
hey you’re stuck in the studio right?
Strangely enough, it’s the one message that actually calms his nerves. Makes him feel a little less frayed, even if Yoongi hasn’t really said anything that should calm him. It’s the only message he responds to.
yeah i’ve been here for like eight hours today
not to mention the four hours i did yesterday
does it take that long to do a painting?
when it’s the painting for your final in a class that you need to do well in to graduate, yeah
i was just teasing you, guk
i know you put a lot of hard work into everything you do
is that a compliment, hyung?
i’m not allowed to say something nice about u?
you’re just usually talking about my dick when you say something nice about me
you do have a nice dick
this went downhill so fast
i wasn’t planning on talking about your dick when i first messaged you
i was actually just uh
wondering if you’d eaten anything today?
Jeongguk stares at the message for a long, long moment. It’s certainly not the first time that Yoongi has worried about his well-being, and certainly not the sort of thing that’s out of the question for him to do, but it’s so unexpectedly lovely that the omega finds himself wanting to cry, just a little.
i had something to eat like six hours ago haha
i’m coming over, you want korean stuff or
Jeongguk’s heart kind of—does this weird thing in his chest. There’s a stupid grin on his face, but only because no one can see him.
u know what i like
The first thing Yoongi does when he shows up with two massive bags piled with food is sit in front of Jeongguk’s painting for three long, silent minutes. Jeongguk stands behind him, hands clutching at one of the bottles of water that Yoongi brought with him, as he waits. It’s not that Yoongi’s opinion has ever mattered more than anyone else’s, it’s just that—maybe Yoongi’s opinion has begun to matter more than anyone else’s.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yoongi looks over his shoulder at Jeongguk.
“It’s really good,” he says. “I know you think I’m just saying that, but it’s really good, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk tries to keep his lips in a straight line. “I dunno,” he sighs, pulling up a second stool beside Yoongi so he can sit and examine the painting as well. “I just feel like it’s missing something.”
“Well, it’s not cumbucket written across it,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk scoffs, absently flinging a hand out to smack the alpha in the chest.
“Maybe I’ve just been staring at it for too long,” admits Jeongguk with a sigh.
Yoongi is silent for a few seconds. “I don’t know a lot about art,” he says. “You’re the one doing the art degree, so I’m sure you have a much better judgement than me, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do. You worked on the original painting for what, a month? And you’ve recreated it here and it looks fantastic, Guk-ah, it really does. I just think that you’re never going to be satisfied with it because that’s how humans are.”
Jeongguk frowns. “I guess,” he says.
“When I play a basketball game,” says Yoongi, “I could land every shot, sink every lay up or three-pointer or pass. I could do everything perfectly on paper, but I’m still going to feel like I could have done better. Art and basketball are two entirely different things, but it’s still us doing both—and we’re…. I dunno, cursed or some shit to always see the flaws in our own work.”
The truth is, Jeongguk knows he has a point. Jeongguk knows he has a really good point, but he looks at the painting and he’s still restless. Always restless.
“My professor is trained to see the flaws in my work, too,” he settles on, trying to ignore the clear whine in his voice. “If I think it’s not good enough, I doubt she’ll think it’s good enough.”
“Jeon Jeongguk,” says Yoongi, turning to face the omega. “This is due… tonight at midnight, right?” Jeongguk nods. “You’ve been working on this non-stop for almost ten days, and you’ve been in here for like a billion hours straight. If you don’t call it finished now, you never will, and then I’ll have to carry your bones out from here.”
Jeongguk, despite himself, giggles. “That’s so nice of you, hyung,” he says.
“As if I’d let you not have a proper burial and shit,” says Yoongi, laughing. “So you’re gonna call it quits, right? It really does look lovely. I think you’ll get a great mark.”
With a sigh, Jeongguk turns away from the painting, Yoongi’s right—there’s nothing more he can do. There’s no point in beating himself up for it either, because even though it’s not the original painting, it’s a pretty damn good second copy.
“Yeah, alright,” he says. “I’ll stop staring at it.”
“And you think it’s a really good painting?” adds Yoongi expectantly.
That is admittedly harder to agree with. Yoongi must sense his hesitation immediately because he sighs, hops off of his stool, and pulls Jeongguk off of his, too. Then he manhandles Jeongguk until he’s standing in front of the painting, Yoongi behind him. Jeongguk is forced to stare at the painting, although he’s much, much more distracted by the way Yoongi wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s middle, holding tightly onto his waist. The way he presses his mouth into the back of Jeongguk’s neck.
The way he murmurs, ”Say it’s a really good painting.”
“Hy-ung,” says Jeongguk, voice pitching into a whine at the end.
“Jeongguk-ah,” says Yoongi, voice low and low, vibrating against Jeongguk’s neck. “Say it’s a really good painting.”
At first, Jeongguk just stands there. It’s partially because he doesn’t want to admit it, partially because he doesn’t want to say it and make Yoongi let go. But then the alpha is squeezing him just a little, nipping at the back of his neck in a warning, and Jeongguk stammers out, “I-it’s a really good painting.”
“Say it’s going to get you a great mark,” says Yoongi.
“It’s going to get me a great mark,” Jeongguk repeats.
“Say you’re an amazing artist.”
“I’m an amazing artist.”
“Good,” says Yoongi, planting a kiss on the back of Jeongguk’s neck, then another on the first knob of his spine before he lets go entirely, and Jeongguk feels a little lightheaded, a lot cold—“Now, food.”
Jeongguk hands the painting in after he and Yoongi finish their meal, true to his word that he’ll stop staring at it and trying to find ways to improve. He gets paint all over Yoongi in the process, feels a little disgusted when they end up making out against the table and he tastes it, just a little. Yoongi goes with him to drop off the painting with his professor, something about moral support, although Yoongi says it’s just so that Jeongguk doesn’t think about turning around and trying to add more paint to it again.
For that hour, he doesn’t feel so much stress. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest as he leaves the classroom without the painting in hand, but then he remembers—he has another final tomorrow. And they’re running out of time to figure out the alphas’ prank.
All at once, everything comes crashing down again. He bids Yoongi goodnight, goes back to his own house. Feels a little like crying again, but not for the good reasons anymore. He opens his textbook. Realizes he already misses Yoongi, like a fucking phantom limb.
Jeongguk’s final the next day goes terribly.
He knows as soon as he leaves the exam room that he might have fucked up the whole thing, although he does his best not to start panicking. It’s not a super important class to begin with, but he’s a perfectionist and that means even the unimportant classes are still important, at least in his mind. He trudges back to his house, feeling heavy and heavy, snapping at one of the omegas who tries to ask him about the progress on figuring out the alpha prank. They’re running out of time. He doesn’t think he cares anymore.
The omega just wants to look forward to crawling into bed and ignoring everyone for the rest of the day, but when he makes his way into his bedroom, he’s faced with—the still life drawings he still needs to put the finishing touches on for tomorrow. He’s almost finished, which should be a relief.
But Jeongguk stares at the drawings and only sees another fucking mountain to climb.
He has little under twenty-four hours to finish and it certainly would never take that long, but something just snaps within him and he throws his backpack on his bed, already leaving the room as he reaches for his phone and sends a customary text to Yoongi.
He doesn’t even ask permission, just writes i’m coming over, leave the back door unlocked as he storms out of the house and slams the door behind him. He’s just—so stressed, feels like he’s coming unravelled as he realizes he’s only halfway through finals week and doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last the next two and a half days, how he’s supposed to lead a group of omegas who are relying on him to somehow pull a fantastic prank out of his ass even though he has no ideas, no will, and he’s so goddamn confused about what he feels for Yoongi and he just—just needs someone to take all control from him. Needs someone to make him compliant, needs someone to take care of him by taking over him, and there’s only one person he knows who can do that.
Who can do that the way Jeongguk needs it to be done.
Yoongi is already waiting in his room when Jeongguk gets there, after he’s not-so-stealthily snuck past several others in the house; he’s sure at least one of the alphas has seen him, but he doesn’t care. He’s here for one thing and one thing only. And Jeongguk doesn’t say a word, because Yoongi seems to know anyway, like he always does; Jeongguk closes Yoongi’s door behind him and Yoongi sort of nods, maybe to Jeongguk, maybe to himself. Stalks forward until he can hold Jeongguk’s face in his hands, and kisses him.
Normally when they fuck, there’s so much talking—teasing, praising, Jeongguk being a brat. This time, there’s nothing but the slick sounds of their lips as Yoongi captures Jeongguk’s mouth and the omega instantly opens for him, letting Yoongi in and in. Wanting to give him everything, wanting to give up everything. Yoongi licks into his mouth, hands already beginning to wander down and down until they’re secure on his hips.
The kiss is bruising, almost—as hard as Yoongi presses, Jeongguk presses back harder. He’s trying to say something in it, something that he’s not quite sure how to put into words, but Yoongi responds the way Jeongguk wants him to because they’ve been doing this for long enough. Their bodies are in tune. Yoongi nips at his bottom lip, drawing a short moan out of Jeongguk before the alpha is suddenly turning him around, roughly pushing him toward the bed. Jeongguk’s knees hit first and he falls backward, Yoongi immediately crawling onto the bed after him and reattaching his lips on Jeongguk’s neck.
And even as Yoongi begins sucking marks there, occasionally biting into the flesh and licking over it just as quickly, Jeongguk knows it’s not enough. It’s not enough to just let Yoongi do what he wants, because Yoongi always does what he wants. Normally, that’s all that Jeongguk wants too, but this time, he wants more. Needs more. Needs to have every last bit of him stripped away, laid bare for Yoongi to see and do with as he will.
He could blame it on his omega biology, the innate desire and will to submit to an alpha. He could blame it on years and years of being a perfectionist and panicking when things don’t go his way, years of learning the best way to cope with it all—learning that the best way is to just become… completely at the mercy of someone else, someone who takes away all of his will so that there’s nothing to panic over, because he’s not allowed to make a single choice.
Whatever it is, Jeongguk slides his hands into Yoongi’s hair and weakly tugs upward until Yoongi willingly brings his face up, until their noses brush together. He can already feel some of that stress leaving him, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk. It’s embarrassing to ask, even if he knows it’s what he needs. Even if he knows it’ll be what helps him most. “Hyung, call me a slut.”
He feels more than hears Yoongi’s sharp intake of breath, the way his eyes search Jeongguk’s. He knows what it means, too. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“Hyung, please,” whispers Jeongguk, trembling just a little. “I’m a slut, call me a slut, I’m—”
“Okay, Guk-ah, okay,” Yoongi is quick to say, one of his hands moving up to smooth back Jeongguk’s hair. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
Jeongguk nods, trying to ignore the prickling of tears at the backs of his eyes—whether because Yoongi is always so good to him, always does what he needs or wants without much questioning, or because all of the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks is finally coming to its peak here, in this room, in his body.
And then he sees Yoongi’s expression change, just a little—it’s subtle, but it’s powerful. The way his eyes narrow just a little, the way his lips slant downward. The hand in his hair is suddenly comforting no longer, fingers tightening until he can pull Jeongguk’s head back just enough to force him to bear his neck.
When he speaks next, it’s in a low, careful voice, one that goes straight to Jeongguk’s cock—“Beg for it.”
“I said,” Yoongi ghosts his lips over Jeongguk’s jaw, up and up until they’re brushing against the shell of his ear—“Beg for it.”
Jeongguk lets out a groan, not wanting to admit that it’s already working, already getting him worked up, but he gives in all too easily. “Please, hyung,” he says, tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. He squeezes them shut. “Please, please, pl-ease, hyung, call me a slut—ah!” He yelps as Yoongi tugs his head back even more, pain shooting through his scalp with the grip the alpha has on his hair.
“You’re not a slut, Jeonggukkie,” says Yoongi, voice suddenly sweet. Jeongguk almost begins to beg again, but Yoongi beats it to him, face in view so Jeongguk can see the wicked smirk on his lips—“You’re my slut. My pretty little cocksleeve. Dumb fucking omega. Isn’t that right?”
Jeongguk whimpers, tries to nod his head even though he can’t with the grip Yoongi has on his hair.
“Use your words, baby,” says Yoongi. “Or would you rather use your mouth for something else? Hm?”
He lets out a whine, feeling heat pooling in the pit of his stomach and he squirms a little, wanting to touch, but Yoongi anticipates it—he always anticipates it—and lets go of Jeongguk’s hair so he can catch the omega’s wrists instead, leaning back so they’re no longer nose to nose. He stares at Jeongguk until Jeongguk breathes out a shaky, “Yeah.”
“Yeah what?” asks Yoongi, relentless.
“Yeah, I’m your s-slut,” and Jeongguk is red, red, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to fight against Yoongi’s hold, at least at first. And then Yoongi palms Jeongguk’s hardening cock through his jeans and Jeongguk lets out a gasp.
“And this?” asks Yoongi.
“Yours,” Jeongguk chokes out.
The omega opens his eyes to see a predatory smirk on Yoongi’s face. He can practically feel his cock twitch. “Good,” says Yoongi, removing his hands entirely. “Now that we’ve gotten that sorted out, why don’t you take your clothes off? You’re useless with them on.”
Jeongguk scrambles to get his clothes off, knowing he’ll get no help from Yoongi—this Yoongi, who likes to sit and watch and make Jeongguk work for every bit of it. Make him work for every touch, every kiss, every stupid drop of come, because he doesn’t deserve it. Because he needs to earn it, because he needs to earn Yoongi. He gets caught in his shirt a little, but Yoongi just sits there on the other end of the bed, watching him with an impassive look on his face, like he’s bored. It makes something uncomfortable build up in Jeongguk’s chest but it’s better than the stress he’s been feeling, so he’ll take it. He knows it’ll be worth it in the end, anyway.
Finally, his clothes are a pile over the side of the bed and he’s sitting with his legs open, waiting. Wanting Yoongi to touch him, because he’s already hard and he knows it won’t take much for him to begin leaking slick too, not with Yoongi playing right into everything he needs.
Yoongi just raises an eyebrow. “You’re useless like that too, baby,” he says, twirling his finger with a short whistle and Jeongguk immediately turns over, gets on his hands and knees. Presents his ass to Yoongi like he knows he’s supposed to.
“Much better,” murmurs Yoongi, and Jeongguk hangs his head, feels shame curl up in him at the idea of Yoongi just admiring him, knowing what kinds of comments are coming next. “So eager for me, aren’t you?” The words are accompanied with a smack to his ass, which makes Jeongguk jump a little, trying to keep the yelp inside. “So eager for a cock to stuff you full. I’m surprised you haven’t fucked yourself with your fingers already so you’re open and dripping for me—do you expect me to do all the work, you little slut?”
“N-no,” Jeongguk gasps out, trying to argue, but Yoongi smacks his ass again and he shuts up.
“Too late anyway,” hums Yoongi, a thread of disappointment in his voice. “I can do it for you, but you’re not going to like it, baby boy.”
Jeongguk swallows tightly, because they both know he will. He likes it when Yoongi is a little rough with him, not only because it lets him let go more easily and focus on something other than whatever is bothering him outside of these four walls, but because it always means Yoongi is extra caring afterwards. Cuddles him harder, kisses his forehead more. A little pain during sex is nothing compared to how Yoongi makes him feel after.
So he just keeps his mouth shut even as he feels a trickle of slick run down the back of his thigh. Yoongi seems to notice too, for he wipes it off with his finger before saying, “You’re even eager for that. Fucking disgusting.” And then he grabs Jeongguk by the thighs, forces them wider before he pushes down on the space between the omega’s shoulder blades, effectively forcing Jeongguk’s front onto the bed, where he presses his cheek into the sheets. It feels oddly reminiscent of what happened at the party, but the power dynamics are completely different and he didn’t think Yoongi was on the verge of crying.
Yoongi gives him no warning before he pushes his first finger in, all the way to the second knuckle, and Jeongguk lets out a gasp, lurching forward slightly. He’s not wet enough for it, but he tries to adjust anyway, even if Yoongi doesn’t give him time for that, either, just starts finger fucking him instantly. Jeongguk lets out a wanton moan, trying to breathe through the slight sting.
“So tight,” Yoongi murmurs from behind him. “That’s a problem, sweetheart.”
Jeongguk sniffs. “Why?” he asks, and Yoongi adds a second finger, making him keen.
“I thought we already established that you’re my little omega slut,” says Yoongi matter-of-factly, seemingly unaffected by the way he’s moving his fingers in and out of Jeongguk’s ass at an almost brutal pace. “How am I supposed to fuck you whenever I want if you’re walking around with a tight asshole? What if I get an urge, hm?”
He tries to respond, he really does—but Yoongi adds a third finger too fast and Jeongguk lets out a high-pitched wail, grabbing at the bed sheets as he presses further into the bed and tries to ignore the sting of tears, and Yoongi just doesn’t stop, keeping the same pace with three fingers even as he smacks Jeongguk’s ass again. “I asked you a question,” he snaps.
Jeongguk can only let out a moan, adjusting to the stretch of Yoongi’s fingers enough to become coherent enough to even remember that he’s supposed to answer. He’s properly wet now, the squelch of Yoongi’s fingers in his ass sounding obscene even to his ears, and when the pleasure begins to kick in, he reaches for his own cock.
And Yoongi—Yoongi notices, of course. He grabs Jeongguk’s cock first, half-draping himself over the omega’s back so he can reach, but he doesn’t start stroking him, doesn’t give him any release—just holds it, prevents Jeongguk from doing what he wants. What he needs.
The alpha hums against Jeongguk’s back. “Not allowed, darling,” he says. “You won’t even answer my questions but you think you can touch yourself?” He jams his fingers into Jeongguk’s ass as far as they’ll go, brushing up against Jeongguk’s prostate, and the omega lets out a yelp, latching onto Yoongi’s wrist as though that will change anything as the tears finally swell in his eyes.
“Pl-please,” he whimpers. “Please, please, fucking—touch me.”
There’s a long, horrible moment of silence, and Jeongguk realizes he’s made a mistake.
When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just keeps his fingers buried in Jeongguk’s ass and the other hand wrapped around the base of his cock, Jeongguk panics—“I’m sorry!” he practically shouts, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. “I’m s-sorry, please—ah, shit, I’m your slut, please, hyung, please—“ He babbles, unsure what he’s even saying as he starts crying harder, and it’s pathetic because it’s been five minutes but he can’t stand not being praised, not being taken care of. It’s what he asked for, but the pressure has already bubbled over and he just needs to be fucked.
Jeongguk tires himself out soon enough, falling into silence as he breathes heavily into the bed sheets. Only then does Yoongi say anything, slowly beginning to stroke Jeongguk as he coos.
“Aren’t you cute?” he asks, but his voice is still mocking. “Crying like a baby just because I won’t touch you. Isn’t this what you want?” His hand moves torturously slowly, up and down and up and down but not fast enough, with not nearly enough pressure, and Jeongguk chokes out another sob. He can’t say no, though, knowing it’ll just make matters worse, so he stays silent. It’s better than nothing, he tells himself. It’s better than nothing.
It works surprisingly fast, anyway—Jeongguk concentrates on the feeling of being full, although not full enough, wiggling back a little against Yoongi’s fingers in hopes of hitting his prostate again. He focuses on the feather-light touches of Yoongi’s hand on his cock, letting his own sensitivity work to his advantage as he feels the heat coil tighter and tighter in his stomach.
He lets out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and screwing up his face when he thinks he’s going to come but—it never happens. Yoongi lets go of his cock, slides his fingers out of Jeongguk’s ass and he’s left with nothing, a surprised cry leaving him when he finds himself denied entirely of his orgasm.
Yoongi tsks behind him when Jeongguk tries to straighten up, just presses a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down. “Do you think you deserve to come?” asks Yoongi. “You haven’t done anything. Just sat there and cried like a bitch in heat. Do you think you deserve to come before me, slut?”
With a sniff, Jeongguk keeps his cheek pressed into the mattress. He feels so empty, knows that the only way it’ll be solved is by complying. “No,” he whispers.
He feels Yoongi’s finger circle his rim, teasing. Squeezes his eyes shut. “You don’t,” Yoongi agrees. “And you won’t. If you do, I’ll have to punish you.”
Jeongguk swallows tightly, unsure if punishment is something he’s supposed to want or not—it’s not something they’ve really done beyond simple edging or sometimes overstimulation, but he thinks that maybe it would help. It would help him focus on something else, help him be completely at the mercy of Yoongi, which is what he needs. He needs to get out of his mind somehow.
He doesn’t get much time to think about it before Yoongi is removing his hand from Jeongguk’s neck, but the omega is careful not to move. His knees are shaking a little and his cheek hurts, but he keeps himself where he is as he hears and feels Yoongi get off the bed. Hears clothes hit the floor, hears the bedside table open and close. Feels the bed dip as Yoongi gets on the bed again.
Yoongi grabs hold of one of his ass cheeks—hard, kneading it for a moment as Jeongguk tries not to let out a whine. He feels the head of Yoongi’s cock nudging up against his stretched rim, takes a deep breath because he knows it’s not going to be slow and gentle—and then without a word, Yoongi thrusts in.
Jeongguk lets out an involuntary cry as the alpha bottoms out in one hard thrust, keeps his cock buried there for a few seconds as Jeongguk desperately tries to breathe through the stretch and get adjusted to it. Yoongi’s still kneading his ass, making appreciative little sounds behind him, but Jeongguk knows he can’t ask for anything slow, isn’t allowed to say when or how fast Yoongi can move, so he can bites down on his lower lip and prepares for it.
Sure enough, Yoongi murmurs out a, “Good boy,” when he sees Jeongguk is just sitting there, taking it, and drags his cock out of the omega’s ass only to slam it back in just as quickly. It jolts Jeongguk, who lurches forward slightly, so Yoongi grabs hold of his waist, clutching tightly as he begins to pound into him from behind. It’s a brutal pace from the beginning, the sound of skin on skin reverberating through the room as Yoongi fucks him into with his own little groans, and Jeongguk’s crying again, suddenly, already feeling a little overwhelmed just because it feels good even if it hurts a little, but maybe he likes when it hurts a little.
Yoongi’s grip on his waist is bruising as he snaps his hips forward over and over, and the moment Jeongguk feels like he needs to touch himself again, the alpha commands, “Put your hands behind your back.” Jeongguk does it instantly—barely even thinks about it—and he’s forced to press his cheek even further into the bed without the added support of his arms as he clasps his hands behind his back and lets out a hiccupped moan that can barely be heard through the sound of Yoongi’s hips hitting his ass.
It goes on like that for a while—Jeongguk can’t see through the tears, although it’s not because it hurts. It’s because he’s already so far gone, already knows this is it; Yoongi is giving him no control, is taking whatever he wants, and it feels good. It feels good to let Yoongi do what he wants, to be used like all of the terrible things Yoongi has said to him in the past few minutes.
Once Jeongguk can feel his orgasm building again, he lets out a broken wail and Yoongi seems to get it. He thrusts in one last time, driving his cock in as far as it will go before he grabs hold of the omega’s wrists and tugs him upward on his knees. He forces Jeongguk back until he’s pressed against Yoongi’s chest, skin burning to the touch as Jeongguk tries to catch his breath.
Still, he’s given no release; Yoongi snakes one arm around his front to hold onto his cock, squeezing it at the base to keep him from coming, and snakes the other around his front until he can fit his hand snugly around Jeongguk’s throat—not squeezing, just holding.
Jeongguk’s breath hitches anyway. He knows that Yoongi won’t cut off his air, but he could and it makes him a little lightheaded anyway, knowing that Yoongi has that kind of power. Knowing that he’s willingly giving Yoongi that kind of power.
Yoongi’s lips are next to his ear, suddenly, breathing for a moment before he slowly begins to thrust his hips forward shallowly. “You’ve got a tight little ass, omega,” he growls. “A perfect little cocksleeve all for me. My cumbucket.”
It’s—weird, he thinks, hearing it from Yoongi’s mouth. He’d been so angry about seeing that word all over his art, but this time, it does nothing but make his cock twitch in Yoongi’s hand, makes something coil even tighter in his stomach. He groans, letting his head back against Yoongi’s shoulder as the alpha begins to speed up his thrusts, tightening his hold on Jeongguk’s throat just slightly. It’s a reminder of the position he has, the reminder that Jeongguk has to behave.
He doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t mind kneeling there with his body sagged against Yoongi, hands trapped between their bodies, as Yoongi fucks into him with increasing speed and desperation. It’s almost rutting at this point, the alpha moaning into his ear as he tries to stave off his own orgasm because he’s not supposed to come yet, he’s not allowed to come yet—but Yoongi is fucking him with quick thrusts, brushing up against his prostate occasionally to make him squirm, and he squeezes his eyes shut as another tear escapes him, curling his toes in an attempt to keep it all in.
Jeongguk keeps himself from grinding back onto Yoongi’s cock, keeps his eyes closed, just lets Yoongi fuck him into submission and some weird state of oblivion where it’s the only thing he can think about. He gets himself to that point by only focusing on the drag of Yoongi’s cock as it begins to swell inside of him and catch on his rim. Focuses on Yoongi’s hands on him, where their skin is pressed together. Focuses on Yoongi murmuring filth into his ear, things he doesn’t even comprehend anymore. He might be drooling a little, panting heavily and groaning as Yoongi squeezes his cock again, like a reminder.
Yoongi thrusts into him a few more times before he lets go of Jeongguk entirely, gives him a rough shove so he goes toppling onto the bed, where he stays, limbs heavy and breathing hard. He knows what’s coming next but doesn’t have the strength to move, closing his eyes as he hears Yoongi peel the condom off and then jerk himself off until he’s coming all over Jeongguk’s back.
“There,” breathes Yoongi from above him. “Now you’re pretty.”
Jeongguk responds with a groan, all too aware of the fact that he hasn’t come yet when he feels his hard cock trapped between the bed and his stomach, but Yoongi knows too, because he takes hold of the omega’s arm and turns him over—effectively smearing come all over the bed sheets, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem—before opening his legs and settling down between them again.
And even though Jeongguk is a little sore already, Yoongi lines up again, thrusts his cock back in, at least up to where his knot is. “C’mon,” he says, draping himself over Jeongguk as he begins fucking him again, just softly, just gently. He nips at the underside of Jeongguk’s jaw, one hand snaking between their bodies to tweak his nipples. “Gonna come for me, baby?”
It’s all the permission he needs, doesn’t even wait for Yoongi to get a hand on his cock before he’s coming between them with a low moan. He hasn’t said a proper word in ages, doesn’t think he could form one, as a blissful sort of haze has already taken over. It’s weak, somehow, even if it’s the sort of release he’s been craving and he tries to catch his breath as Yoongi draws his cock out properly and gives Jeongguk a kiss on the neck, jaw, the corner of his mouth.
There’s a moment—a single moment of something in between whatever it was and whatever it will be, just a moment where Jeongguk almost forgets it’s all fake. And then Yoongi pushes himself up slightly, enough so that he can look at Jeongguk’s face, and asks very softly, “Okay?”
Jeongguk opens his eyes to see—nothing but pure concern and adoration on Yoongi’s face. It’s so different from how he looked at him before that another tear escapes him, but this time, Yoongi catches it with his thumb, rubs over his cheek to dry off the other tears that he’s cried.
Not trusting himself to form the words, Jeongguk just sniffs. Nods.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” asks Yoongi, wiping away the last of Jeongguk’s tears and moving to card his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair instead, swiping it off of his forehead and back down again a few times because he knows it calms Jeongguk down. He’s still in the middle of it, feeling sore but good, so he just shakes his head. Closes his eyes again because he thinks he could fall asleep like this, with his own come all over his stomach.
With those reassurances, Jeongguk knows what’s coming next. What he needs the most after something so mean: praise.
“You did so well, baby,” says Yoongi, planting a soft kiss on the side of Jeongguk’s mouth, then his nose, then both of his cheeks. “Such a good baby bun, yeah? Listened to me and didn’t even act like a brat. Love you so much, baby, you’re so good.” He kisses Jeongguk’s lips next, presses one, two, three kisses there as he rubs circles into the omega’s cheeks, and Jeongguk thinks maybe there’s something he ought to focus on in that, something that doesn’t quite seem right but he can’t figure out what it is—“I hope it helped. Whatever you needed, I hope it worked.”
Jeongguk hums low in his throat, lets Yoongi pamper him with kisses and praises as he sinks into the bed and. It did work. He feels physically drained, but in a good way, in a way that tells him even the stress of finals and his art projects can’t bring the tension back—at least not yet. He can’t even think about finals now when he’s too busy thinking about Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. Doesn’t want to think about anything else, anyway.
When he’s sufficiently satisfied with the amount of praise Yoongi has given him, he opens his eyes again and knocks his knee into Yoongi’s hip. “Think I’m gonna stick to the sheets,” he murmurs, and Yoongi lets out a giggle before he plants one last kiss to Jeongguk’s lips and begins peeling himself off of the omega.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll clean you up.” He does—very quickly, but very lovingly. Like he’s holding something precious, and he has to know that Jeongguk is already getting needy the moment he leaves the bed, because he’s back in record time, wrapping the both of them up in blankets before slipping under the covers and tugging Jeongguk into his space. Jeongguk goes willingly, curling into the familiar nooks and crannies of Yoongi’s body, fitting himself there nicely until he’s safe and warm in the alpha’s arms.
They stay like that for a while—Jeongguk just breathes in Yoongi’s scent, lets himself bask in this. And then Yoongi says, “You know I don’t actually mean anything I said, right?”
Jeongguk’s lips curl upward as he leans forward to plant a kiss on Yoongi’s collarbone. “I know,” he replies. “I asked you to say it and I know you never would if I didn’t.”
Then—“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi only ever does that kind of degradation when Jeongguk asks, and Jeongguk only ever asks when he’s upset or stressed or needs to take his mind off of something. It proves to be a good release, but ultimately, the best way to get him out of his mindset and reality for long enough to actually have a moment of peace, even if that peace comes from being called terrible names and not being allowed to come.
Jeongguk shifts a little, watching his own fingers trace delicate patterns on Yoongi’s stomach. “School stuff,” he admits after a while. “I think I fucked up my final today and I got home to see a painting I still have to finish and I just—I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why this semester is so much harder than all the others, but I just—I needed—”
“Hey, I know,” says Yoongi, tilting his head to press a kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead. “You don’t need to rationalize it to me. And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just like knowing what’s going on in your head.”
“I’ll be okay once the week is over,” sighs Jeongguk. “Just needed something before that.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
Jeongguk blushes a little, tilting his head up so he can see Yoongi’s face. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I know it’s not really your thing, but it means a lot that you do it anyway. For me.”
Yoongi grins, dips down to kiss the tip of Jeongguk’s nose. “I’d do anything for you, bun,” he says. “Don’t feel weird asking me for anything, okay?”
It’s strange, maybe, that the first thought that comes to Jeongguk is a question of whether Yoongi would retract that statement if Jeongguk asked for something more than this. It’s not the first time that sort of thought has ever entered his head, but it’s the first time he thinks it with such clarity. The first time he doesn’t feel afraid of thinking it.
Rather than acknowledge that, though, he snuggles back into Yoongi’s neck. “Okay,” he replies. “I really do feel better, though.”
“Good,” Yoongi smooths down his hair, trailing his hand down Jeongguk’s neck to his back, where he lightly traces his fingers up and down. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sure you didn’t fuck up your final. You’re one of the most determined, hard-working, and ambitious people I know. Your standards are just way too fucking high, and you’re still top of your class even if you didn’t do so well.”
Jeongguk is less inclined to agree with that, but before he can come up with a good enough answer to counteract it, he hears his phone ding from where it’s still in the pocket of his jeans, somewhere on the floor of Yoongi’s room.
“Leave it,” says Yoongi instantly, tightening his hold on Jeongguk.
“I should really check it,” says Jeongguk. “It might be something important.”
After more reluctance from Yoongi—who tries to entice Jeongguk to stay in bed with more kisses and an ass grab—Jeongguk manages to grab his phone from his jeans. He returns to the bed, anyway, letting Yoongi grab him and plaster himself over the omega’s back like a needy boyfriend as he checks his messages only to see he’s gotten a few from the time he’s been with Yoongi.
He checks the oldest first, from Jimin—
hey guk i just want to warn you!!!
i talked to seokjin-hyung about the prank that the alphas are doing and he said they’re stealing your whole house’s suppressants???
kind of a dick move if you ask me but maybe you can stop them
Jeongguk stops. Ignores the way Yoongi is biting at his shoulder, smoothing his hands over the omega’s hips. They’re going to steal your suppressants.
He’s off of the bed in an instant, grabbing his clothes as he hears Yoongi make noises of surprise and protest behind him. The stress is instantly back, not even minutes after it left him, and he just says, “I’m sorry, hyung, something came up at Omega Tau. I have to go.”
He thunders down the stairs, barrelling past two alphas on the way out as he runs for his frat house—he has to warn them. He has to stop the alphas from doing their prank, has to tell the omegas to hide all of their fucking suppressants. He can’t let them be stolen.
There’s a bit of anger, maybe, that Yoongi would even allow such a prank to go through no matter how brilliant it is. It’s just—it’s a sacred sort of thing. They’ve never messed with biology, never truly stopped to play with the fact that they’re alphas and omegas. But now the alphas are daring to break into their house, into their rooms, root through all of their personal belongings, and taking the one thing that they’re entitled to as omegas.
By the time he reaches Omega Tau, Jeongguk is fuming.
By the time he reaches Omega Tau—
Taehyung opens the door as Jeongguk is running up the front drive, already prepared to shout a warning. But he knows, just from the look on the other omega’s face. He knows it’s too late.
“They took our suppressants,” says Taehyung. “Literally all of them. Those fuckers really—” He stops himself, gritting his teeth. “And now we don’t have a fucking retaliation prank. They won, Jeongguk. We just let them win.”
Chapter 5: v for victim
There’s a moment where he knows Yoongi is confused—but it’s only a moment, and then he hears a quiet, “oh,” and Yoongi lifts his arms to wrap around Jeongguk’s middle. Holds him tight.
“Where is he?” yells Jeongguk as he slams the door open—the door to Alpha Theta Chi, only minutes after shutting it behind him on his way back to Omega Tau. “Where the fuck is he?” His eyes are wild as he stares at the few alphas standing in the entrance, staring at him, frozen. He’s seething. He knows he looks wild, knows he looks terrifying, but—that’s the point.
“Who?” someone asks.
“Min fucking Yoongi!” Jeongguk shouts, and he thinks—he’d left Yoongi in his bedroom, stark naked and still coming down from an orgasm. He doesn’t give a shit as he barrels past the alphas, heading for the stairs and the bedrooms where more alphas are peeking out due to the noise. He thunders up the stairs, fuming, fuming.
They took all of our suppressants. Literally all of them.
“Min Yoongi!” his voice almost cracks with anger, loud and threatening as he shoulders past a smaller alpha on his way to Yoongi’s room. “You fucking cunt—“ Someone steps in front of him when he’s five feet from Yoongi’s door, holding his shoulders, and he shoves at—Hoseok, it’s Hoseok, and the older student looks at him with bewildered eyes.
“Jeongguk,” begins Hoseok.
“Get the fuck out of my way, you two-faced bastard,” snaps Jeongguk, finally succeeding in pushing Hoseok out of the way. He takes a moment to turn and glare at the alphas that now litter the hallway, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “All of you can get out of my fucking sight! I want to talk to—”
“Jeongguk?” he hears, and turns to see Yoongi standing in the doorway to his room—clothed, thankfully, although his hair is a little worse for wear. His own expression is one of confusion, alarm as he sees how Jeongguk is standing there, hands curled into fists. Filled with rage.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” yells Jeongguk, charging for Yoongi—Hoseok isn’t fast enough to stop him and he reaches the alpha, shoving Yoongi with all of his strength. He’s reminded of his own ability to push Yoongi around if he needs to when the alpha goes stumbling backwards, and Jeongguk doesn’t stop, just advances on him and shoves him again, making Yoongi trip onto the ground.
“You fucking asshole!” he’s stopped from pouncing on Yoongi by someone holding his arm, then someone else holding his own arm; he thrashes, trying to get free—“You’re disgusting, Min. All of you are, fucking dumb brutes.” Jeongguk watches as Yoongi scrambles to his feet, still looking as confused as ever, and the hands don’t leave him, still holding him back as Jeongguk stops struggling.
“Calm down,” snaps Yoongi, and no part of Jeongguk wants to submit, not anymore—“Use your words, Jeongguk. Why are you angry at me?”
Jeongguk—laughs. “Nice try,” he snaps. “You’re really going to claim ignorance in this? Your own fucking end of semester prank?”
“Our prank?” asks Yoongi, eyes skirting to the two alphas holding Jeongguk back. “We didn’t pull our prank yet.”
“Oh really? You fucking stole our suppressants, you disgusting pig. Do you even know what you’ve done?”
There’s a gasp from beside him—he turns to see Hoseok holding him back, staring at him with horror on his face. Which—doesn’t make sense, why doesn’t that make sense, and Jeongguk looks over to see the same look at Yoongi’s face: horror, surprise. Still that confusion. And then—“We didn’t steal your suppressants,” says Yoongi carefully, hands out like he’s dealing with a wild, wild animal. “If your suppressants are gone, it was someone else. Jeongguk, you know our rules.”
“Yeah, I know the fucking rules,” Jeongguk spits. “And I know your broke them! Seokjin told Jimin that your fucking prank was stealing our suppressants, so don’t try to weasel your way out of this.”
Yoongi’s eyes leave his—look over him, to someone standing further away. Jeongguk twists out of the alphas’ grip, turning to see Seokjin standing at the end of the hallway.
“What the fuck?” asks Yoongi. “You changed the prank?”
“No, Yoongi,” begins Seokjin, taking a step forward, but Yoongi is already storming down the hallway toward the other alpha.
“You stole their suppressants?” demands Yoongi. “That goes against every fucking rule we have about this!”
“It’s not like that—”
“Our suppressants are gone,” says Jeongguk. “I hope you fucking know that’s a form of sexual assault. You’re forcing us into a position of sexual vulnerability without our consent. You really thought that was a good idea for a prank?”
“Jeongguk,” says Yoongi, turning to look at him. “Believe me, I had no fucking idea about—”
“You keep saying that!” yells Jeongguk. “You had no idea about your alphas ruining my art, you had no idea about your alphas stealing my suppressants. What kind of fucking president are you if you can’t even know what’s going on under your own roof?”
Yoongi’s expression darkens—just slightly. And then—
“It was them,” says Seokjin, quickly cutting in. “The ones who ruined your art, I mean. They’re the ones who stole your suppressants. It wasn’t all of us.”
Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow. “Then why the fuck did you tell Jimin that was the prank?” he asks.
“I didn’t!” says Seokjin. “I mean—yeah, I did, but I couldn’t explain everything to him because I had to make sure you found out and I don’t have your number so I thought it was just easier that way. The three who ruined your art decided to steal your suppressants instead of pulling the actual prank and they told me before they ran off to do it so I thought telling someone would maybe stop it.”
For a moment, Jeongguk just stands there. His mind is reeling, unsure what to believe or what to react to—it appears that Yoongi didn’t know about the prank, appears as though it wasn’t something that was decided on by the entire frat but only by three vindictive alphas who seem to have something against Jeongguk.
And then he thinks… the fact still remains. Someone stole his suppressants. “Where are they?” he asks, already taking off down the hallway, pushing past stunned alphas as he heads for the stairs. “I’m going to fucking tear them apart.”
“Jeongguk,” calls Yoongi, catching his arm, but Jeongguk rips it out of his grasp.
“I don’t care if you fucking knew about it or not,” he snaps, sparing Yoongi only a glance before he’s running down the stairs. “They’ve harassed us and they’re not getting away with it.”
“Jeongguk, stop,” and he has no idea who says it but he’s already down the stairs, stalking through the house in hopes of finding the three of them. He knows who they’ll be thanks to their short hair—they’d had it shaved as a punishment after they ruined his art, after all.
“I hope it was worth it!” he yells, ignoring the thundering of feet down the stairs behind him. He starts throwing open doors, scouring through the house for the ones responsible. “You have no idea what you’ve just done to yourselves and to all of us. I’m going to get you fucking expelled if I can have it my way, and that’s only after I’ve kicked your dicks into your fucking throats—”
“Jeongguk!” Yoongi yells from behind him, and once he reaches the end of the hallway, the omega turns around, fire in his eyes as he glares at the alpha.
“What?” he snaps.
“Jeongguk, stop,” he says, because he’s always fucking saying it—“Listen, they’re not here. They haven’t been here all day. I think the best way to deal with this is… going to the school.”
Jeongguk pauses. He hadn’t thought about bringing it to the school board first, but… if he’s right about this being a sexual assault issue, then it’s not something that can just be fixed by a punch to the face. If he wants to make sure they get their suppressants back and the ones responsible are punished in the first place, he knows it’s the best idea. But he doesn’t feel like being civil.
But first—“Are you serious that you didn’t know about this?” he asks quietly, still angry. Always angry.
“Jeongguk, I swear to Christ I didn’t give anyone permission to steal your goddamn suppressants. I’ve given the go ahead for some pretty shitty pranks in the past, but this is—this is—” Yoongi stops, shaking his head. He tries to reach out, but Jeongguk flinches away instead. “I didn’t. I didn’t even know they were planning it.”
“And why were they planning it, hm?” he asks. “Why do they continually try to fuck with me and the fact that I’m an omega? What do they have against me?”
“They’re assholes, Guk,” says Yoongi. “They’re always making comments about omegas. It’s not—an excuse, but I’m not surprised either.”
Jeongguk takes a breath. Takes another. The anger isn’t going away, but it feels so oddly reminiscent of the issue with his art—he’d jumped to the conclusion that it was Yoongi’s fault only to be told that Yoongi was innocent in it all. At this point, he doesn’t know if he should believe that, even if he never thought Yoongi was capable of doing that sort of thing. Suppressants have never been something they can play with, nothing that can be messed with, and now the alphas have not only broken into their rooms and violated their personal space, but they’ve taken something so vital to their existence.
If any of them go into heat over it—
“They need to be punished,” says Jeongguk. “And not just some fucking hair cutting. I mean really punished, Yoongi. They need to be expelled for this behaviour, especially if they did it with the intention of purposely fucking with our biology. Got it?”
Yoongi nods. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “I know this isn’t something to be taken lightly. I—we can go to the school together, okay?”
“I need to get my fucking suppressants back,” says Jeongguk. “I need to find those assholes and make them give all of them back.”
“I think the school might have a better chance of forcing them to do that,” says Yoongi. “If you attack them like I know you want to, you’re just going to get in trouble and this is going to become an even bigger mess than it needs to be.”
Jeongguk stops, scrubbing at his face as he sighs. From where they’re standing, Yoongi is thankfully blocking him from the rest of the house—he can hear commotion, alphas talking, probably discussing what happened. He hopes for their sakes that they’re all talking about how none of them knew about it.
“Fine,” he says. “We’ll go together and I expect you to let me do all of the fucking talking since you could never understand what this kind of thing means, considering you’re an alpha. And if it turns out you’ve been lying to me and you condoned this shit, I will not hesitate to rip your fucking throat out.”
He pushes past Yoongi after that, stalking out of the house without sparing any of the other alphas another glance. They don’t deserve his goddamned attention anymore.
If there’s one thing Jeongguk hates about being an omega, other than the stupid degradation and name-calling that happens when he doesn’t want it, it’s—suppressants. His biology dictates that he’s meant to go through heats once a month, the insatiable need to be filled and fucked and taken care of. It’s not like he doesn’t feel something close to that every time he’s around Yoongi anyway, but it’s different. It’s survival. It’s bullshit, is what it is. He’s been on suppressants since he presented as a sixteen-year-old, because at least they keep it all at bay, preventing him from having heats in the first place. At least he doesn’t have to worry about hiding in his room for a few days just to keep himself from trickling slick everywhere he goes, and to keep any passing alpha from trying to get a piece of him.
It’s the worst part, he thinks. The animalistic parts of it all, because he knows that alphas and omegas can act like civil humans around each other most of the time. Throw some hormones and pheromones into the mix, though, and there’s nothing left. Nothing but bare bones and vulnerability and something that says fuck, fuck, fuck.
So—the alphas stole all of his suppressants. Yoongi claims he knew nothing about it, claims that their original prank was covering the inside of the Omega Tau house in shaving cream and then sprinkling hair everywhere, and—Jeongguk wants to believe him, wants to believe him so fucking badly, because he doesn’t want to think that Yoongi would be so despicable as to agree to stealing suppressants. Still, he doesn’t know what to believe, so he’s leaving it in the hands of the school.
By the next morning, all he knows is that they’re going to run an investigation into what happened, that the three alphas reportedly responsible for it all are at least suspended. All he knows is that they fucking confessed, thinking it was funny, claiming that they wanted to out Jeongguk—although out him for what, he’s yet to find out.
All he knows is that they were forced to apologize, that they were forced to give the suppressants back to all of the omegas, which they did.
Except for Jeongguk’s—because they destroyed his.
Not only is it malicious, but also frustrating, because the government only provides enough free suppressants to be taken daily for the month, which—is nice, he knows. It could be worse. The government could see them all as nothing but warm bodies to be used, but he supposes that wouldn’t make sense considering their current president is an omega, too.
The problem is, suppressants outside of the usual dosage given by the government are fucking expensive. And a hassle to get, involving multiple visits to clinics, a pile of paperwork, and a short waiting period. Maybe it’s all done to discourage omegas from losing or misusing their suppressants, but whatever it is, Jeongguk is angry. He’s never had to buy suppressants because he’s always been diligent about taking them and keeping them in a safe place. No one has ever bothered to mess with his suppressants because they’re such a vital part of his existence.
Until now, of course. Now, he’s going to be out a lot of money and a lot of time when he’s still writing finals. Jeongguk has two finals left—one written, one art project. Instead of studying or working on his art, though, he’s sitting at a fucking clinic waiting for some old nurse to call his name so that he can explain that he’s lost his suppressants. So she can take his blood and ask all sorts of invasive questions about his sexual history and why the fuck he lost his suppressants in the first place.
Jeongguk sits in a chair near the door, leg bouncing with impatience. He checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes—9:29. He has four and a half hours until his next art final project is due, and he knows he hasn’t done enough. He’s never done enough. It’s just—art, he should know it. He should know it but he can’t stop thinking about everything else. There’s something tight in his chest, something that was there yesterday and was relieved only slightly by seeing Yoongi. It doesn’t matter now what they did, because of the prank, because he’s never felt more stressed in his entire life. He wants to scratch out of his own skin.
Instead, he checks his phone again. No messages, no notifications. No new ones, anyway—he’s been getting texts from his frat brothers for the better part of the past seventeen hours asking what they’re supposed to do. Asking if they’re still going to play a prank, asking what’s going to happen to the frats in the first place because of the investigation by the school board. The truth is that Jeongguk doesn’t know any more than they do, only that there could be disastrous consequences for everyone involved, even the omegas—even if they didn’t do anything particularly wrong.
After another ten minutes of sitting and waiting and no one calling his name, Jeongguk finally opens the Omega Tau group chat. It’s been filled with anger and confusion for hours, although it appears some of the members have attempted to come up with some perfect revenge prank. All of them are fucking awful. Jeongguk doesn’t even bother reading back any of the messages, just types up a message of his own so that they’ll all finally shut up and stop bothering him about what to do.
we’re not doing a revenge prank
this is real, serious shit now and you all need to shut up about pranks
just be glad that you’ve got your suppressants back and lay off the alphas
He doesn’t bother to see the response, just locks his phone and lets out a sigh, sinking down the chair and letting his head fall back against it. The alphas that weren’t part of the theft are potentially being dragged through the mud anyway, and he doesn’t want them to have to deal with a prank on them on top of that. Revenge through that wouldn’t be enough, anyway. He wants the three responsible to never be able to get jobs in their entire lives. For now, he’s just—going to try to get through what he can.
He’s so close to the end of all of this, anyway. If he can just get through the next two days—the next two finals, then he’ll be able to go home for Christmas break. He can stop worrying about frats and pranks and idiot alphas for three weeks. The very thought of being with his parents, having his mother’s homemade cooking, getting to see his brother and have their usual Christmas celebrations brings a bit of peace to his mind, letting his eyes close as he sits and imagines it all.
Two days. Then he can put Yoongi out of his mind, too, which might actually be for the best considering all of the weird turmoil he’s felt in their relationship, too. All one-sided, of course, which makes it worse—Yoongi just sees him as the same old Jeongguk. There’s no point in spending his days mulling over what their relationship means when it’s always meant the same thing. Always will.
Jeongguk’s phone rings.
It jolts him out of the bit of reverie he’s found, lips turning downward into a frown as he considers just letting it go. It’s probably one of the omegas anyway, wanting to know some stupid thing like why they can’t do a revenge prank or how his quest for new suppressants is going, and maybe he can just use theirs instead—
Someone near him clears their throat, and Jeongguk opens his eyes to see a woman staring at him from where she sits. It’s only then that he remembers he’s not alone—rather, he’s sitting in the middle of a crowded, public clinic. The ringing is annoying.
With a nod of his head in apology, he grabs his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. He’s pleasantly surprised to see that it’s not one of the omegas but his own mother, as though all of his thoughts about the peace and comfort of home have alerted her about his own stress. Even hearing her voice always helps to calm him, so he’s eager to accept the call.
“Hey, Mom,” he says when he picks up, straightening in his chair.
There’s a grin on his lips until he hears it—the faint sniff from the other end. There’s nothing else.
“Mom?” he asks, worry flooding him. “Mom, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He hears the sniff again, and then someone clears their throat. It’s distinctly his mother—he used to spend so much time with her as a child, clinging to her far more than to his father. He’s attuned to every part of her. Would know the sound of her breathing in a heartbeat.
“Jeongguk-ah,” she says, and her voice cracks, just a bit.
“Mom, what’s going on?” he demands, panicking now. “Are you okay? Do you need—”
“I’m fine, Jeongguk-ah,” she’s quick to reassure him. But there’s still that break in her voice, and it sounds like she’s been crying. Sounds like she’s been crying for a very long time.
“What is it?” he breathes.
Jeongguk’s heart—stops entirely, stuttering in his chest as his mind instantly jumps to the worst. He’s died, he’s been in an accident, he’s gone blind, he’s been attacked, kidnapped, Jeongguk has to go home—
“He’s sick, Jeongguk,” continues his mother. “It’s—something with his brain, we don’t really know. It could be bad. It’s—” She stops, and Jeongguk knows. He knows what she does when she’s about to cry, knows that she just closes her eyes tight and tries to stop it, especially when it’s front of him. The hushed sob gives her away.
“Mom,” he whispers, tears springing to his own eyes, and there are people looking at him—a nurse makes her way into the waiting room, calls out his name, but Jeongguk gets up to leave, hurrying out of the doors with his phone pressed to his ear so that he can hear everything. Every little sound.
“It’s very serious,” his mother continues after a moment, voice quiet. “He’s been in for testing these past few weeks and we don’t have an official diagnosis, but it could be—” She stops again. Jeongguk’s mind finishes the sentence anyway, things like disease or desolation or death.
Jeongguk leans against the doorframe of the clinic, doesn’t bother to stop the tears that begin to spill over onto his cheeks. For long, long moments, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have anything to say, doesn’t know how he can—begin to put into words what his heart is doing within his chest, doesn’t know how to ask the questions he needs answered. Doesn’t know how to ask his mother how long it’ll be before the love of her life is six feet under.
Instead, he just. Breathes. When he thinks he’s got it under control, wiping pathetically at his tears, with his mother breathing on the other end of the line, he asks, “Do you n-need me to come home?”
She’s quick to say, “No, baby, you have to finish your exams.”
He’d forgotten. “I can get them deferred,” says Jeongguk. “The university will understand. If you need me to be there, I can.” He’s coming home in two days, anyway, but—there’s a yearning. He needs to be there now.
But she says, “It’s okay, Jeongguk-ah. If you want to come home, you can, but we’ll be okay for a few more days.” She doesn’t sound okay, but as an alpha, she’s always meant to be the strong one. Jeongguk knows this. That doesn’t stop him from wanting to be there, to hold her, to be held. To know that even if everything goes wrong, they’ll still find a way to last through it. “We have to do more tests anyway,” she adds quietly. “It might be best to just get through this part before you come back and be there for him. It might not be as bad as they think anyway, so just—finish your exams. We’ll still be here when you’re done and then we can be together for the holidays.”
Part of him doesn’t want that. Part of him wants to go home, knowing that there’s something so much bigger than his education or his stupid frat house or his relationships now that his dad is sick. Now that he might be—dying. But he also knows that his mother is right. There’s no point in rushing home now when they don’t even know what’s wrong for sure, and if they can separate the clinical part of it from the emotional, it’ll be easier. He’s worked hard enough on his studies to want to see them through to the end, anyway.
So Jeongguk whispers, “Okay.” He wipes at his eyes again, wills himself to stop crying. He can’t stop thinking about the first time he told his dad that he wanted to be an artist, can’t stop seeing that proud look on the man’s face. The way he’d said, you can be anything you want to be, Jeongguk-ah. Now maybe—maybe he won’t even see Jeongguk graduate from this dream of his, won’t get to see his first professional artwork. Won’t get to see his galleries, won’t get to proudly display Jeongguk’s art all over the house and give the neighbours tours and say that’s my boy.
Jeongguk covers his mouth to keep the desperate noise he makes from being picked up by the phone, although he thinks his mother knows anyway—she’s always known when it comes to him.
“I love you, Jeongguk-ah,” she says, because she knows. She knows. “I would have waited to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you would be angry—”
“Never,” he says, dropping his hand. “I would never be angry at you for telling or not telling me. I’m glad you did, even if…” Jeongguk sniffs. Wipes at the last of his tears, wills them to just stop. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay, Mom, I promise.” He doesn’t want to worry her, not when she has to worry about his father. He really will be fine, surely, just—after he goes home and cries for a while. Once he gets it all out.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Mom, it’s okay,” he says. “I’m more worried about you and Dad and—I’m fine, I promise. I will be. I’ll see you on Saturday, okay? Only two days. Call me if you need anything or you find anything out, okay?” It’s hard to say, hard to accept that he’ll have to live with this for two days before he can go home and even see his father. Before he can put all of this down somewhere.
He’s dealt with emotionally difficulties before, though. He’ll be fine, just like he told her. He’ll have to be, anyway.
When they hang up, after minutes of reassurances and goodbyes, Jeongguk lets out a long, deep breath. He wipes his eyes. And then, in a split second decision, he texts Yoongi.
Yoongi gets to Omega Tau before Jeongguk does. He knows because someone makes a comment about smelling an alpha when he gets into the house, but Jeongguk ignores the other omega as he makes his way up the stairs and to his room. Sure enough, Yoongi is sitting on his bed when he enters, and he turns to look at Jeongguk with something akin to a smirk as soon as the door opens.
Jeongguk doesn’t know what Yoongi expects. All Jeongguk had said in his text was come over? which is—usual for their meetings. Their rendezvous. One of them texts for the other to come over, and they do, and they fuck, and they go home.
Still, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since Jeongguk stormed into Alpha Theta Chi and tried to tear Yoongi a new asshole. They’ve haven’t spoken much since they went to the school together, since the search was on for the three alphas who stole the suppressants in the first place, and all of the omegas were called in for the apology and for the alphas to give back the suppressants they had in their possession. It’s been a whirlwind of speaking to staff and official-looking people and questioning, but maybe Yoongi is expecting sex anyway—a part two to the de-stressing they had yesterday.
This time, though, when Yoongi stands up and meets him halfway, Jeongguk doesn’t kiss him. Doesn’t respond to the cocky little hey that Yoongi murmurs, doesn’t even think about it. He just curls his arms around Yoongi’s neck, ducks his head, and—holds on. Makes himself small and small until he can fit in the spaces of Yoongi’s body, burying his face in the juncture of Yoongi’s neck and shoulder. Stays there.
There’s a moment where he knows Yoongi is confused—but it’s only a moment, and then he hears a quiet, “oh,” and Yoongi lifts his arms to wrap around Jeongguk’s middle. Holds him tight.
Neither of them says anything. Jeongguk is grateful for it—for the way Yoongi doesn’t ask, just knows, just holds him and grounds him. Jeongguk breathes into it, letting Yoongi’s scent engulf him even if that can’t do anything to stop the overwhelming emotion that threatens to drown him.
He thinks he’s fine—until Yoongi begins to rub his back, just slowly. Just gently. And then the smallest crack appears in whatever wall Jeongguk put up to keep himself from falling apart on the way home, and he feels tears welling in his eyes. He doesn’t care that he’s never this kind of vulnerable with Yoongi, doesn’t care that the only time Yoongi has seen him cry is when he’s fucked Jeongguk to the brink of an emotional breakdown. Doesn’t stop to wonder why Yoongi was the first person to come to mind when he realized he needed comfort, needed someone to hold him and not let go, but it doesn’t matter because he chose right—he can never go wrong with Yoongi.
Jeongguk tightens his arms around Yoongi’s neck, buries himself a little deeper as he squeezes his eyes shut. It does nothing to stop himself from crying, though, the tears escaping him anyway as Yoongi’s hand continue its slow circle on his back. It’s not a hug from his mom, but it’s pretty fucking close. They’re both alphas—they’re both smaller than him, but are better at taking care of him. They both love him, maybe. Hopefully.
Still, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just lets Jeongguk cry into his neck, makes sure to hold him tightly even when they start to sway a little, Jeongguk beginning to lose the will to continue standing. He can’t think about his dad, can’t think about illness. Can’t think about the future, not when it’s so big and scary and unknown, but he cries anyway—he doesn’t know how else to deal with it. Maybe he’s crying about everything else, too, about the stress and finals and the suppressants. Maybe this is just the cherry on top. Maybe he needed this a long, long time ago.
He lets out a choked sob, something that gets caught in his throat, and Yoongi’s hand slides up to his neck. He squeezes it just once, a sort of reminder. He tugs on the hair at Jeongguk’s nape, slides his fingers into Jeongguk’s hair. It’s big and warm and comforting and Jeongguk cries and cries, and it’s pathetic. It’s so pathetic but he doesn’t care because he wants to be selfish—wants to have this to himself. Maybe Yoongi doesn’t want to deal with a crying omega right now because he probably has his own finals and the investigation to deal with but for once. Jeongguk wants to take what he needs.
They stay like that, standing in the middle of his room, for as long as it takes for Jeongguk to stop crying. Until Yoongi’s scent calms him down enough to blink away the last of his tears, until he thinks that he’s taken just enough from Yoongi to at least look him in the eye. When he sniffs for the last time and begins to untangle himself from the alpha, Yoongi’s hands drop to his waist instead, pulling back just a little, until he can look at Jeongguk’s face.
What Jeongguk sees there is unlike anything he’s ever seen. He’s seen Yoongi get angry, seen him get upset or frustrated. Seen him smile a lot, and laugh, seen him come countless times. But he’s never seen Yoongi look at him with so much unadulterated concern, with so much worry and with so much helplessness. It makes him hiccup a little, gasping in a breath as he wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. He doesn’t think he’s ever been a pretty crier, although Yoongi doesn’t comment on it as he lifts one of his own hands to help Jeongguk wipe away his tears, carefully rubbing at Jeongguk’s cheek with his thumb.
“Are you okay, baby?” asks Yoongi, voice quiet and quiet and it’s filled with—fuck, he doesn’t want to say love.
Jeongguk swallows tightly and shakes his head.
“Do you want another hug?” asks Yoongi then, wiping away a stray tear that escapes Jeongguk and then running his hands through Jeongguk’s hair, just to swipe the bangs off of his forehead.
In truth, Jeongguk could probably stand there all day and let Yoongi hold him, but it might get tiring. So he looks over Yoongi’s shoulder at the bed, muttering, “Wanna cuddle,” because he doesn’t really trust himself to say much more, and Yoongi grins anyway, rocking up onto his toes so he can press a kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead, and then takes hold of one of his hands to tug the omega toward the bed.
He’s gentle about it—about manhandling Jeongguk onto the bed, throwing off some clothing and textbooks to make room. He pulls off Jeongguk’s shoes, then crawls under the covers beside him, pausing for only a moment before he turns Jeongguk onto his side and shuffles up behind him. “I’d ask,” he murmurs as he fits himself against Jeongguk’s back and winds his arm around Jeongguk’s stomach, “but I already know you like being the little spoon.”
Jeongguk can’t argue with it because it’s true. He makes himself small again, letting Yoongi curl around him until their bodies are molded together, back to chest, legs tangling under the sheets. Lets himself breathe like that, with one of Yoongi’s arms curling around his middle and the other pillowing his head. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about Yoongi seeing his face when he feels tears spring to his eyes again, when he presses himself further and further into the bed like he can be swallowed by it.
Yoongi kisses the back of his neck, just lightly. Then he asks, “Is this about the suppressants?”
Jeongguk almost, almost laughs. “No,” he says, voice watery. “I mean, I—I’m fucking stressed about that, too, but. No.” He sniffs, the mention of fucking suppressants just bringing the stress back again—he can feel it in his bones, in his muscles, in his joints. It feels like something pressing him down and down and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Doesn’t know if he can get rid of it, but somehow, suppressants seem like nothing compared to the idea of his dad being sick. And how silly, he thinks, to have been so worried about suppressants when there was something worse going on under his nose.
There’s silence for a few moments, as Yoongi presses his nose into the back of Jeongguk’s neck. It’s a little cold, probably because of the weather—Jeongguk focuses on it, tries to get out of his own mind and think about all of the places Yoongi is just touching him. All of the places he’s being held.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi finally asks, and—Jeongguk thinks about yesterday. Thinks about when they were cuddling after Yoongi fucked him, when Yoongi asked the same question. He’d brushed it off because he hadn’t wanted to get into it, but now simple finals stress seems so silly.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he thinks about how this is the first time they’ve been in Jeongguk’s bed and haven’t fucked. Instead, he thinks about how this is the first time they’ve cuddled without fucking first. Instead, he thinks about how this is the first time—“My dad is sick,” he announces suddenly, voice louder than he intended. He feels Yoongi go still behind him. “I just got a call from my mom and she says he’s sick, says it’s… it could be really serious. They don’t know yet, but—” He feels it rising in his throat: the need to cry. He feels waterlogged, like he’s drowning, and he desperately tries to keep it at bay but he can’t and then he’s crying anyway.
“Hey,” whispers Yoongi, tugging on Jeongguk’s arm to make him roll over, and Jeongguk goes because he has no strength to resist, just lets Yoongi wrap both arms around him and hold him tight. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says—cries, one hand curling into Yoongi’s shirt as he presses his face into the alpha’s chest and he doesn’t know how they always end up here but it’s never different—“It’s o-okay.”
“No, it’s not,” says Yoongi. “Jeongguk-ah, that really sucks. I don’t… have the words to say, but I’m right here, okay? I’ll be here as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He wasn’t worried. Jeongguk realizes that he’s never been worried about Yoongi leaving because Yoongi never leaves, it’s always Jeongguk who does, he’s always the one who makes the decision but now he doesn’t want that. Now he needs this, now he’s glad for the way that Yoongi always seems to get it just right. He lets Jeongguk cry, hand smoothing down his back again, and it’s good.
“I’m j-just so overwhelmed,” hiccups Jeongguk. “I thought finals were bad enough a-and then the suppressants thing happened and now my dad.” His voice goes funny at the end, too high-pitched and pinched and he can’t say more, just presses himself further into Yoongi. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Finals are almost over,” Yoongi is quick to say, pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s hair. “And this suppressants thing will be solved soon, too, and then you can go home and be with your family. You—can’t stop your dad from being sick, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”
“What if it is?”
“Jeongguk,” says Yoongi. “You won’t let it be. You’re so strong, Guk-ah, so brave and beautiful and the best person I’ve ever met, I swear. It’s hard, I know, but you’ll get through it. And if you just want to fall apart right now, that’s okay, too. I already told you I’m here, right?”
Jeongguk just nods his head a little, sniffing. He’s gotten snot on Yoongi’s shirt already. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I just want him to be okay.”
“I know, baby,” Yoongi kisses his head again, just lightly. They stay like that for a time—Jeongguk doesn’t have anything else to say, doesn’t know what he could say. There are no words for the weight on his chest, for the knowledge that something could be seriously wrong with his dad but he’s been too busy worrying about his own life to even be a part of it. He tries to blink away the tears, but it doesn’t quite work, so he focuses on Yoongi again.
Focuses on Yoongi’s hand on his back, slowly moving up and down. Focuses on the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest against his hands. Focuses on the little kisses Yoongi presses into his hair, never leading anywhere, just—there. Always just there. He realizes that he feels safe here, that he feels whole, like Yoongi is not only holding him, but holding him together, and he trusts that he won’t have to worry about falling apart when he’s here, in Yoongi’s arms.
Once he’s calmed down again, the last of his tears drying, he shifts just a little. Enough to lift his head, to press a grateful kiss to Yoongi’s throat. Then he asks, “What have you done today?”
“You wouldn’t believe how many spiders I’ve killed today,” says Yoongi instantly, and Jeongguk, despite himself, giggles. Yoongi’s good at that—distracting him. “I always forget that California has fucking spiders even in the middle of December. I don’t know why I decided to go to school in a place that is still warm during winter.”
“Why did you decide to go to school in a place that is still warm during winter?” asks Jeongguk, snuggling a little further into Yoongi’s embrace.
“Basketball scholarship,” says Yoongi. “I had a few offers, but I figured I might as well live the fast life in Los Angeles.”
“It’s really not all that glamorous,” admits Jeongguk. “But maybe I think that because I’ve lived in the area all my life.”
“Some of us were fortunate enough to have spent most of our childhood in the homeland,” says Yoongi, poking Jeongguk’s side and he giggles again, squirming away a little but still refusing to let go of the alpha entirely.
He does poke Yoongi back, though. “South Korea treats omegas worse, so I don’t know how that’s fortunate,” he says. “Maybe because you’re an alpha so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“Actually, that’s true,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk pulls back enough to see the frown on his face. “And not fair. I guess you’re not treated very fairly here, either.”
Jeongguk shifts, pulling out of Yoongi’s grip enough to prop himself up with one hand on the pillows beside him. “It’s okay,” he admits. “There are always going to be people who think I’m inferior to them because of my biology, but I know it’s not true. Omegas aren’t just dumb, submissive people who are here to take care of everyone else. We’re not delicate, you know?”
“I know,” says Yoongi, grinning wide, wide. “You definitely weren’t delicate yesterday when you were literally about to murder me.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, flopping over so he can press his face into Yoongi’s chest in embarrassment. “I always jump to conclusions and get mad at you when you didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t blame you, though,” says Yoongi. “You thought I was responsible for it and if I were you, I would have wanted to murder me, too. You have every right to be angry at me even thought I didn’t know about it, precisely because I didn’t know about it. I should have, and I should have stopped it. And I’m sorry that it happened at all.”
“It’ll be sorted,” sighs Jeongguk, pulling away again. “And the people responsible will get what they deserve. They took a prank way too far and they’ll be punished for it and the rest of us will hopefully go on with our lives, no lasting damage done.”
“Speaking of which,” begins Yoongi. “Maybe I can help with getting you new suppressants, to take that off your mind at least?”
The omega pauses, looking over at Yoongi with furrowed brows. “What can you do about that?” he asks, wiping at his eyes.
“Well, I can get you some?” suggests Yoongi.
“You… don’t know anything about suppressants, do you?” asks Jeongguk, wrinkling his nose. He shifts a little, pushing Yoongi over until he’s on his back so Jeongguk can cuddle up to his side instead, laying his head on the alpha’s chest. He always liked that better, anyway. “You can’t just get them in a drug store, hyung. You have to go through a medical provider and everything, usually at a clinic where they take tests and stuff. They’re pretty specific to the person, so I can’t even just take someone else’s without risking it not being enough or being too much and having side effects.”
Yoongi makes a little, “oh,” sounding completely surprised.
“Yeah,” sighs Jeongguk. “They’re fucking expensive, too.”
“I can buy them for you,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk laughs. Just a little.
“That’s nice,” he says, “but I can pay for them. You said you didn’t know about the prank, so it’s not your fault.” Maybe it’s something about the warmth, something about being so close, but he’s suddenly finding it easier to believe that Yoongi really did have nothing to do with the theft.
“Can you at least let me buy you some food?” offers Yoongi. “Now, I mean. Have you eaten today?”
It’s strange, Jeongguk thinks. He’s still just as stressed and sad as he was before he got here, but it’s easier to deal with. Yoongi’s good at distracting him, good at making him get all of it out of his system instead of letting everything fester inside of him. He lifts his head, turning so that he can look at where the alpha is staring down at him, hand still in his hair.
“Okay,” he relents, grinning just a little. “But not right now. I want you to cuddle me more.”
Yoongi giggles, and Jeongguk’s heart flips—“Okay, baby. Whatever you want, I’ll do it for you. Just want you to be happy.”
Jeongguk doesn’t let him go for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. Even when his stomach begins rumbling, he keeps finding excuses to keep Yoongi with him, claiming that he’s too cold to be left alone or that his favourite take out places won’t even be open yet. The truth is that—it feels right to stay there. To let Yoongi hold him, to let himself heal like this. Cuddling with Yoongi for hours isn’t going to change anything in the long run, but he’s finding that it does change him, even if it’s just a little. Lately, it’s felt like all of their encounters have been cut short anyway, felt like this is something that has been needed for a very, very long time.
He does let Yoongi go in the end, though, watching as the alpha sneaks out of his window in order to go on a food run. Jeongguk stays under the covers, hugging his pillow, and the warmth leaves almost as quickly as Yoongi does. Then he’s left thinking about his dad, left thinking about the prank and all of the stress that has been crowding in on him for so long. It’s like Yoongi is the only thing that is able to keep the sadness at bay. Like he’s the only thing that has been able to keep anything at bay for a very long time.
Yoongi returns with bags of food—both actual food and snacks, junk, all sorts of drinks. Jeongguk finds himself surrounded by all of his favourite take out dishes, banana milk, Cheetos because they’re his guilty pleasure. Yoongi just grins when Jeongguk looks at him with something half-bewildered thanks to the sheer volume of food, and then Yoongi grabs Jeongguk’s laptop and opens up Netflix.
Turns on Jeongguk’s favourite comfort movie: 10 Things I Hate About You.
He sets it up on the end of the bed, sits up against the headboard, pulls Jeongguk and all of his snacks against him. Starts rubbing at the nape of Jeongguk’s neck almost instantly, because it’s always what calms Jeongguk the quickest.
And Jeongguk thinks nothing of it, at least under they’re halfway through the movie and he’s finished half of the food to the point of bursting and Yoongi has fallen asleep against the headboard, head tipped back with his mouth half-open. His hand is still buried in Jeongguk’s hair as Jeongguk snuggles against his chest, and Jeongguk looks up at him and he thinks—
He’s never told Yoongi that he loves banana milk because it reminds him of summers spent visiting his grandparents in South Korea, that it makes him feel better. He’s never told Yoongi that he loves when people play with his hair because it makes him feel loved, since it’s what his mother used to do when he was a child. He’s never told Yoongi about 10 Things I Hate About You.
He’s never told Yoongi about—any of it, never told Yoongi about how to cheer him up or calm him down, and yet he’s sitting in a nest of it. Yet Yoongi knew, yet Yoongi did it all anyway, because Yoongi pays attention. He’s done all of it, like a friend would. Like something more than a friend would.
It’s the first time they’ve ever just been together like this, because almost every other time they’ve been alone, at least in one of their beds—even in other people’s beds, in the school bathrooms, in cars—it’s been under the pretence of sleeping together. It’s always been to fuck and leave, always been nothing but sex. Most of their communication is through texts asking for the other to come over, through moans and praises and pillow talk.
They’ve always been—this, haven’t they? Friends with benefits, more benefits than friends.
But now, Jeongguk is staring at Yoongi and he’s thinking about everything Yoongi has done, not just today. Not just now. Thinks about all of it, thinks of every time Yoongi has held him after, about Yoongi giving him constructive criticism on his artwork and buying him food when he needs it and checking up on him when it’s unnecessary, every time he’s so much as smiled at Jeongguk and Jeongguk’s heart has done that funny thing.
That funny thing it’s doing now, when he realizes that it’s been a very long time since Yoongi has just been someone he fucks in secret.
Jeongguk looks at Yoongi and thinks—oh.
He gets it now.
He likes Yoongi. More than friends, more than friends with benefits, more than—more than like, maybe. He’s been fooling himself into thinking that he doesn’t, that he couldn’t, because he’s afraid that Yoongi won’t like him back. But maybe—
Yoongi moves in his sleep, making a little sound as he turns slightly and tightens his hold on Jeongguk. He stayed, Jeongguk thinks. He’s staying. He’s staying because Jeongguk needs him, because maybe it’s no longer really about the sex. He can’t help but think that Yoongi wouldn’t do all of this—all of the things he always does for Jeongguk—if he was only in it for a warm body to fuck. And maybe Jeongguk has been the stupid one, always a little late to the race. Always a little late out of the starting gate.
But Yoongi is sleeping, and he looks peaceful when he sleeps. And he’s holding Jeongguk anyway, and Jeongguk’s chest no longer feels so tight like this—he’s still stressed and the world outside of these four walls still sucks, but for now, maybe this is enough. Maybe this is okay. Maybe he doesn’t have to worry about it, and when he wakes up—when Yoongi wakes up, too, he can think about it. He can talk about it, about all of these strange feelings stirring up inside of him. About how maybe it would be nice if Yoongi didn’t have to sneak out of his bedroom when he leaves, how maybe he can fall asleep like this every night.
He does fall asleep like this—head resting on Yoongi’s chest, snuggled safely in the alpha’s arms. Filled to the brim with something he’d venture to call love.
When he wakes up, he’ll tell Yoongi.
When he wakes up, he’ll figure it all out.
When he wakes up—
Jeongguk wakes with a start, bolting upright in his bed as if waking from a nightmare, and for a moment, nothing is wrong because he always wakes up alone, and then—he remembers. His laptop has been turned off and carefully placed on his desk, food containers and wrappers missing. There’s a text from Yoongi on his phone, something about needing to check on how things are going with Alpha Theta Chi and something about having to write a final and something about hoping Jeongguk has a good rest and that he feels better. Something about talking later.
It’s fine, really. Or it should be. But Jeongguk can’t help feeling a little lost, a little empty as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, like he’ll never get the chance that he was hoping to take. There are finals and the investigation and Christmas break, and he can’t fit a conversation about them in there, can he? And even if he could, would he? With Yoongi no doubt under a different kind of stress, maybe even more than him considering his position as frat president and maybe even his position on the basketball team and oh, maybe even his position as a student at the university on the line.
It would be selfish to try to throw a question about their relationship into the mix.
But then—Jeongguk hands in his last art final for the semester and comes home to a little care package on his windowsill, one filled with all of the things he loves—his comfort foods, a poster of the stupid poem from 10 Things I Hate About You, a whole post-it notepad worth of encouraging messages and jokes, all in Yoongi’s handwriting.
But then—Jeongguk receives goodnight texts from Yoongi that consist entirely of cat gifs and heart emoticons, and it makes him laugh and laugh because Yoongi keeps misusing memes but he doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.
But then—Jeongguk gets questioned by someone from the school board the next morning about the prank war and their rules and the situation all over again, and Yoongi is there, and Yoongi sits next to him, and Yoongi holds his hand under the table even though they’ve never held hands before, but their hands fit and it feels right.
But then—Jeongguk writes his last final and Yoongi forces him out to celebrate, and he drags Jeongguk into the bathroom, but he doesn’t get on his knees. Doesn’t make Jeongguk get on his knees, either, just kisses him soft and slow in the safety of a bathroom stall and tells him he’s done so well, tells him he’s so brave and good and wonderful for making it through an absolutely hellish week, and Jeongguk is drunk enough that he wants to cry but Yoongi is so soft and lovely and maybe, maybe—
Maybe it’s no different from how it was before. Maybe Jeongguk’s just noticing it now because he’s looking, because he wants it, because he can no longer ignore the rabbit beat of his heart every time Yoongi does something to help. Jeongguk hasn’t told anyone else, not about his dad—but he doesn’t need to, because Yoongi is always right there. Yoongi is always one step ahead, always anticipating. Yoongi is taking care of him.
Yoongi has been taking care of him.
For the first time, Jeongguk is able to acknowledge that he wants Yoongi to take care of him, not just when it comes to sex.
And still, he keeps it to himself. The investigation continues, most of the omegas able to go home on Friday after finals end thanks to the school board concluding that Omega Tau as a whole isn’t at fault for what happened, although it’s a decision that can always be taken back. Some of the alphas go home, too, by the time the weekend is over, after being questioned over and over, after either admitting that they knew something or not. The original three in charge still haven’t admitted to anything more than actually stealing.
But Jeongguk stays, and Yoongi stays, because they have to. Because everything is at stake for them, because they’re in charge and this was done on their watch whether or not they knew and agreed to it. Because the silly prank war that has gone on since the conception of both of their frats has led to this, to something bigger than either of them.
Jeongguk spends the weekend on the phone with his mother, apologizing profusely for not being able to come home. He doesn’t tell her why, not wanting to worry her. He imagines some journalist will put it in the newspaper anyway, especially when the school board comes to verdict about what should be done about the frat and the prank.
Jeongguk spends Monday alone in Omega Tau, packing up for when he can actually go home. He’s been questioned enough over the past few days, exhausted with the effort of trying to be civil about something he’s still angry about. He thinks of his father, thinks of Yoongi. It’s all too much, and he knows that going home for a few weeks isn’t going to make it all go away, but maybe—maybe he can just turn some of it off for a while.
Maybe he can pretend some of it doesn’t exist for a while, even if that includes Yoongi.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m just putting my bags in my car,” says Jeongguk, tucking his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulls off his coat and tosses it on top of the bags in the backseat. “It shouldn’t take me long to—no, don’t worry, I won’t speed. It’s been almost a week longer than I would have liked, but I can wait a little longer if it means not getting a speeding ticket.”
He shuts the car door behind him, wiping at the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. It’s been unreasonably hot for December these past few days, but he hadn’t expected to have so many bags and boxes to carry with him, but moving home, even for a few weeks, always takes more than he originally planned. Now that he’s finally allowed to go home—on Tuesday morning, over three days after he expected it—he’s itching to get on the road. Physically.
Heading back to the house, he holds the phone with his hand again. “Be safe,” his mother tells him. “Your brother will be coming home later today as well, so we’ll all be together.”
It makes him smile as he trudges up the steps, entering the empty house for the last time. He just needs to do a last check to make sure everything is in order and lock the doors before he can leave. “Sounds good,” he says. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you soon. Love you, Mom.”
With that, he hangs up, sighing as he slips his phone into his pocket and wipes at his forehead again. Although he hasn’t been feeling well all weekend, he can already feel the stress leaving him, just a little, knowing that he’s finally going home. The mess with the school board isn’t quite finished yet, but at least he can put it out of his mind for now, and he can focus on being with his family. Being with his dad.
Jeongguk’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, seeing he’s gotten a text from Taehyung.
let me know when you’re leaving !!!
i’m still in the area so we can meet for lunch
He checks the time—almost noon—and then focuses on how hungry he is, only to find his stomach is aching just a little.
He heads up the stairs, checking each of the bedrooms to make sure there’s nothing pressing he needs to deal with. Checks the bathrooms, the kitchen, the basement. Makes sure there aren’t any dead fish hanging around in a vent, just in case. When he’s certain the house is clear, he heads for the front door again, pulling it shut behind him as his phone vibrates again: Taehyung. Except—eyebrows furrowing, he realizes maybe his stomach wasn’t aching with hunger. Now it’s less hunger pains, more real pain, like he’s gotten a stomach ache, but he hasn’t eaten anything for hours so there’s no reason for it.
Jeongguk ignores it. He locks the front door, pocketing the key as he turns toward his car, but he’s barely taken a step before a sharp pain shoots through his pelvis and he lets out a cry, stumbling forward. He catches himself on the ground before he falls entirely, breathing heavily as he tries to get back up only for the pain to shoot through him again—and this time, it stays, shuddering through him before he’s able to pinpoint the source of it somewhere in his lower abdomen, then back and back until—
Jeongguk scrambles for his phone, gasping as several things happen at once: first, he takes a deep breath and smells what can only be his own pheromones, thick and pungent, like he can taste them; second, he feels a trickle of slick leak out of him; third, he realizes he really, really needs someone to fuck him.
He stumbles down the steps, trying to ignore the pain that nearly cripples him as he goes—unlike any pain he’s felt before, because it’s not just pain but an itch somewhere he can’t reach, something that’s beginning to distract him from what he’s trying to do, and he can’t concentrate. In the few moments he can, he manages to find the right contact, manages to get down the front steps as he feels the stream of slick thicken.
Jeongguk thinks—he’s been hot for days, aching in different places, but he brushed it off as stress, as just needing to get out of the house and home to his parents for a while. He thinks—he’s been feeling particularly needy, more grateful than anything for the ways Yoongi has been trying to help cheer him up through the weekend, but he brushed it off as just feeling upset about everything that has happened.
He thinks—oh. He hasn’t been taking suppressants for the better part of a week.
Because he forgot. Because the alphas destroyed his old suppressants and he didn’t actually get new ones after running away from the clinic thanks to the news about his father, and he never went back, because he was stressed and busy and not thinking, not thinking, and now—
Jeongguk jabs the call button on his phone, feeling himself panic as he finds it increasingly harder to concentrate through the pain, through the slick leaking out of him, through the need for something to stop it, fix it, fuck him—
He doesn’t wait for the greeting when he hears the phone pick up on the other end, letting out a sob into his phone as he takes off down the street.
“Yoongi,” he cries, and he sounds so scared—“H-hyung.”
“Jeongguk?” he hears. “Jeongguk, what’s wrong?”
“I-I forgot,” he says, stumbling to a stop at the end of the street and closing his eyes; there’s already sweat dripping off of his forehead and it hurts so badly—
“Forgot what?” asks Yoongi, and his voice is so, so far away—“Jeongguk-ah, are you okay?”
“It hurts, hyung,” he whispers.
“What are you—”
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk. Breathe, breathe. “Yoongi-hyung. I think I’m in heat.”
Chapter 6: v for vixen
“Yoongi-hyung. I think I’m in heat.”
!!!!!!! the shit we've all been waiting forrr
please enjoy >:)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Yoongi-hyung. I think I’m in heat.”
At first, there’s nothing but silence—it grates against his ears, almost drowning out the thump thump thump of his heart, and he fears that perhaps Yoongi hasn’t heard him. Perhaps he thinks it’s a joke, the prank that the omegas never got to play, and then a wave of pain washes over him and Jeongguk lets out a high-pitched whine, doubling over as he clutches at his stomach.
“Hyung,” he wails into the phone, and that seems to do the trick.
“Oh my god, Jeongguk,” Yoongi begins, and he sounds as panicked as Jeongguk feels—“I—what? Fuck, how?”
“I forgot,” repeats Jeongguk, and only now does he realize there are tears welling in his eyes, whether from the pain or the heat or the discomfort. Either way, hearing Yoongi’s voice is drilling home one thing for him—he needs Yoongi. Needs needs needs.
“You forgot to—”
“Get new suppressants,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he tries to gain some clarity. He has to do something. He can’t just stand there in the middle of the sidewalk crying about how much it hurts and—oh fuck, what if an alpha walks by?
“I’m coming to Alpha Theta Chi,” he blurts out, says it before he even thinks it, but the moment the words are out, he knows it’s what he wants. What he needs. Jeongguk leaves his car and his belongings and just takes off down the street toward the other frat house, trying to ignore the discomfort of slick leaking out of him and the pungent smell of his own pheromones and how much it hurts, hurts—
“Wait, no,” Yoongi is saying. “Jeongguk, you can’t walk across campus when you’re in—fuck, I—I don’t know what you need.”
“You,” says Jeongguk instantly, the thought of Yoongi, Yoongi pushing him onward, helping him overcome the aching pains and the heat that pulses through him as he deliriously heads for Yoongi’s house. “I need you, hyung. It—ah, fuck, it hurts.”
He can sense Yoongi’s hesitation through the phone, the way he sucks in a breath, and the idea of Yoongi not helping him brings a fresh wave of tears to Jeongguk’s eyes, hormones out of whack as he stumbles over his own feet and almost goes crashing to the pavement.
“Please,” he whimpers. “Pl-please, hyung, fuck, please help me, i-it hurts so bad—“
“Okay,” he hears Yoongi say, but now it seems so far away as he straightens up and just—keeps going, he has to keep going. “Okay, baby, I’ll help you. Just stay where you are, I’ll come get you.”
“No,” Jeongguk whines, and it’s so hot, he’s sweating out of his clothing already—“No, I need—shit.” He’s finding it harder and harder to speak without just swearing, harder to move with how the heat and exhaustion seems to be wearing down his limbs, but he keeps stumbling onward. Even in this state, he knows the way to Alpha Theta Chi like the back of his hand. “Just come to—fuck, hyung, it’s so hot.”
“I’ve got you, baby,” says Yoongi, clear and loud in his ear, like he’s right there and Jeongguk can’t stop crying. “I’ll be there, okay, Guk-ah? I’ll take care of you, just—”
He’s not sure what makes him drop the phone—if it’s another striking pain in his abdomen or if it’s just because his hands have gotten so sweaty, but then Yoongi is gone and he doesn’t have the strength to stop and pick up his phone so he just runs, gritting his teeth through the pain. Every step is another step closer to relief, the pressure on his chest alleviated only somewhat knowing he’ll be with Yoongi, Yoongi, his alpha—
Somehow, Jeongguk gets to Alpha Theta Chi. The door is unlocked, the house blessedly empty, but he wouldn’t care anyway as he trips up the stairs, drenched in sweat, aching all over. His lower half is covered in slick, and he lets out a sob when he catches just a hint of Yoongi’s scent in the air. It’s not enough, though, and he gets up to the second floor and into Yoongi’s room, where all of it engulfs him at once. He’s crying again, because although this is what he wants, Yoongi’s scent somehow just makes it worse—because it’s the promise of Yoongi but Yoongi isn’t here, and it makes everything ache a little more, realizing that he’s already half-hard in his jeans as his omega instincts take over.
Without thinking, he heads for Yoongi’s bed. Rips the comforter and sheets off of it and then the pillows, too, throwing all of it on the floor. He heads for the closet next, grabbing sweaters and shirts and even Yoongi’s spare jerseys from out of the closet and adding those to the pile, too, before he goes rummaging through his drawers. There, he finds his favourite sweater of Yoongi’s—it’s big even on Jeongguk, and even though he’s sweating and overwhelmed with his high temperature, he immediately pulls the sweater over his head. He wants to drown in Yoongi’s scent, in Yoongi, because it’s the only thing that might make all of this better.
It’s with a sense of desperation and urgency that he returns to the pile in the middle of the room, frantically arranging it in a more organized way so that it’s more of a—nest, he realizes, he’s nesting, and he’s done it all with everything that smells most like Yoongi, but he doesn’t care, just collapses onto it with another sob. He needs Yoongi. He needs Yoongi and Yoongi isn’t here but he’s in even more pain that before.
Jeongguk would never call himself a desperate person. When he wants Yoongi to fuck him, he can be somewhat patient, and as much as he’s masturbated in his life, it’s never been debase, except—he can’t wait for Yoongi, not when he just needs something to fill him, not when he needs something to stop the itch in the deepest parts of him. So he scrambles to get his jeans off, desperate whines and whimpers leaving him when they get stuck to his thighs because of the slick that has begun to coat them. He manages in the end, throwing both his jeans and his boxers to the side before he returns to the nest he’s made.
Through the haze of pain and heat and need, Jeongguk is vaguely aware that Yoongi likely won’t be happy about much of this, but he grabs one of the pillows anyway, straddling it and grinding down on it in an instant. He lets out a cry at the friction, at how good it feels even though it’s not enough, never enough, and then he’s crying with frustration instead, already a mess of slick and tears as he buries his nose in Yoongi’s hoodie and times his grinding with his breathing, hoping it’ll take the edge off.
“Hyuuuung,” he moans, like Yoongi can hear it, like it’ll make Yoongi turn up faster, but it’s desperate and needy, helpless; when the pressure on his cock isn’t enough, Jeongguk tips forward until his entire face is pressed into the nest—part of Yoongi’s comforter, part of one of his jerseys. One hand moves to his cock, already wet with precome, and the other moves to his ass, dragging a finger through the mess of slick steadily leaking out of him so that he can push it inside of himself.
That’s how Yoongi finds him, only minutes later—face down, ass up, two fingers deep inside of himself. Breath coming in tight little hiccups, littered with moans and wails and pleads for Yoongi, Yoongi, hyung, alpha—Jeongguk doesn’t even notice he’s not alone in the room until he hears the sharp intake of breath from behind him and he turns his head against the nest, cheek pressed into the floor so he can catch a look at Yoongi where he stands in the doorway, clutching a shopping bag in one hand and his keys in the other.
Jeongguk doesn’t register the look on Yoongi’s face through his own tears, or through the sudden relief that washes over him when he sighs, “Yoongi-hyung.” Like a need. Like a prayer.
This time, the silence is worse. It’s worse because Yoongi is right there, staring at him with his mouth half open as Jeongguk continues to pump his fingers in and out of himself desperately. It’s not enough. Yoongi’s hands are so much bigger, fingers thicker, and Jeongguk moans at the very thought of having them buried inside him, frantically trying to reach his own prostate even though he’s having trouble.
And Yoongi’s still standing there.
“Hyung,” he tries again, voice cracking this time. “Please.”
Yoongi drops his keys—drops the shopping bag, too, as he lurches forward and drops to his knees beside Jeongguk, who lets out a choked sob as a fresh wave of Yoongi’s scent hits him. It’s like all of his senses have been heightened, every brush of fabric against him burning and burning, hair sticking to his forehead through the sweat, and slick leaking down his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut as he jams his fingers further into himself, and then Yoongi touches him.
It’s not much—just a brush of his hand over Jeongguk’s hip, something meant to steady him, but it feels electric and the omega cries out, back arching as he tries to stick his ass even higher. “Please, please, fuck,” he sobs, opening his eyes in time to see the way Yoongi’s pupils have been blown wide, the way his jaw is set; he’s straining, Jeongguk can tell, trying not to react to Jeongguk’s scent and the alpha part of him that is screaming for him to just do something.
“Jeongguk-ah,” begins Yoongi, and that’s not what he wants.
“Please touch me,” he whimpers, desperate. “Please, hyung, shit—I need—” He whimpers as another wave of heat passes over him, and even though he has two fingers buried in himself and his other hand around his cock, it’s not enough. There’s nothing that can satisfy him, but he wants Yoongi to try.
“Are you sure?” asks Yoongi. “I don’t know if that’s—”
“Don’t you fucking dare say it’s not a good idea,” snaps Jeongguk. “I need you, hyung, p-please.” When Yoongi doesn’t immediately move and something desperate instead claws its way up the omega’s throat, he tries again—“Yoongi-hyung, please. Touch me.” He hiccups, making sure to catch Yoongi’s eye when he adds, “Alpha.”
It’s like something snaps in Yoongi—whether it’s the word, calling on all of his instincts, the very basis of who they are, or whether it’s the sobbing and wrecked way Jeongguk is already speaking—and he moves, finally, first grabbing Jeongguk’s wrist and pulling his fingers out of himself. Then he latches onto his hips, pushing Jeongguk over until he’s on his back, staring up at Yoongi and the hard look on his face.
Yoongi has a hand on him in an instant—Jeongguk lets out a broken cry as he arches into it, already shaking as Yoongi begins to jerk him off. “Please,” he says, deliriously and blindly searching for the alpha with his hands; he connects with Yoongi’s chest and latches onto his shirt, tugging him down until Yoongi goes willingly, quickening the pace of his hand over Jeongguk’s cock.
“I’m right here,” says Yoongi, and it’s—soft. “Baby, I’m right here.”
“Help me,” cries Jeongguk, letting out a moan as Yoongi’s thumb swipes over the tip of his cock.
“What do you need?”
That’s the question—what does he need? He needs Yoongi, needs everything the alpha can give him, everything he’s willing to give him and then maybe some. He realizes, through the heat and the pain and Yoongi’s hand working expertly over his cock, that he’s no longer afraid. He’d been so panicked at first, certain that this wasn’t going to end well, but now that he’s here—now that Yoongi’s here—he knows there’s nothing to be afraid of. Yoongi will take care of him because Yoongi always takes care of him. Yoongi always knows what he needs, always knows how to calm him down or pick him up, always knows how to satisfy him. Yoongi is—his safety net, his safe haven, his home, home, fuck this isn’t the time to think about it—
“Need your fingers,” Jeongguk gets out, throwing his head back and he’s so close already, just thinking about Yoongi’s hands all over him, scratching the itch.
Yoongi doesn’t question it, just shifts and then there’s a finger prodding his entrance and Jeongguk lets out a shout before he’s coming all over his stomach and Yoongi’s sweater, still on but rucked up to his chest. For a moment, there’s blessed relief as the orgasm rocks through him—and then just as quickly, the ache returns.
He senses Yoongi’s hesitation, hands stilling and Jeongguk lets out a cry, trying to scoot back toward the alpha. His hands curl into the sheets and clothes under him, hurriedly chanting, “Don’t stop, don’t—fuck, hyung, keep going.” It’s almost as though coming made it hurt worse, because he knows it’s not enough, because his body knows what it needs but he hasn’t gotten there yet.
“It’s okay,” says Yoongi and his hands start moving again—one on Jeongguk’s still-hard cock, the other pushing his index finger into Jeongguk’s hole fully. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re doing so well, baby.”
Jeongguk lets out something akin to a sob; he hadn’t even thought about being praised, hadn’t even needed it, but he wraps himself in it anyway. Lets it wash over him as Yoongi adds a second finger almost instantly, pumping them in and out of him just like Jeongguk did, but it’s different, better, he brushes against Jeongguk’s prostate almost immediately and the omega lets out a wail, back arching.
“More,” he whispers. “More, more, hyung, I need—more, please.” It’s all he can say, begging, asking, knowing that Yoongi will give it to him—he does, adding a third finger to stretch Jeongguk out, searching for his prostate and nailing it over and over once he finds it. Jeongguk thinks he might be drooling, but he can’t tell with how wet his face is from sweat and tears and everything else, he’s so hot, and it hurts but there are moments of relief now, the satisfaction of knowing what’s coming.
And as good as Yoongi’s fingers are, Jeongguk knows it’s not enough.
“Hyung,” he lets out moments later. “Please, it hurts.”
“I know, baby,” says Yoongi, dipping down and pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s hip bone, and Jeongguk cries—because it’s so lovely, Yoongi is so lovely, and he’s doing what Jeongguk wants and not questioning it, not hesitating because he knows it’ll just make it worse. This isn’t much different from anything they’ve been doing for the past year, but it’s the implication, it’s knowing that this isn’t just something fun for them to do. It’s Jeongguk’s biology screaming for Yoongi, his very DNA needing an alpha.
“Hyung, hyung,” Jeongguk whimpers, and it’s like Yoongi gets it, just from that; he quickens the pace of his fingers, pumping in and out of Jeongguk almost brutally, stretching him wide in a way that might normally hurt but now feels good, better, not enough—he times the thrusts of his fingers with the strokes of his hand on Jeongguk’s cock, bringing him closer and closer even though another orgasm isn’t going to do anything.
“You’re so good, baby,” says Yoongi, lips still pressed to Jeongguk’s hipbone, littering kisses over it. “Such a good bun for me. I’m going to make you feel good, okay? Gonna take care of you, take all the pain away.”
Jeongguk just nods his head, trying to focus on Yoongi’s voice, on his lips as they trail closer to his cock. “My little omega,” says Yoongi. “Gonna come for me again? Come for hyung, baby. Know you want to.” He punctuates the words with a delicate kiss to the top of Jeongguk’s cock and that does it, the omega letting out a broken moan as he comes again. It’s just as strong as the first one, orgasm shuddering through him as he lets go and splatters his stomach—and part of Yoongi’s face—with come.
This time, the relief lasts even shorter than the first time.
He breathes hard as Yoongi slips his fingers out of Jeongguk’s ass, not bothering to wipe the slick off on anything; the nest is already wet with it, anyway. He travels back up Jeongguk’s body until they’re face to face, finally, and Jeongguk blinks up at him, sniffs even though he hasn’t stopped crying since he arrived.
“Hyung,” he cries.
“Jeonggukkie,” says Yoongi, wiping his face and then Jeongguk’s sweat-slick hair off of his forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Hurts,” he mumbles. “M’so hot.”
“Maybe you should take the sweater off, then,” says Yoongi, sounds a little amused even though the situation doesn’t call for it. If he focuses hard enough, Jeongguk can stave off the pain enough to respond, to take part in this stupid conversation, but the idea of taking the sweater off is too much and a few more tears spill over onto his cheeks as he shakes his head.
“No,” he whispers. “No, hyung, please, don’t—I want it, please.”
Yoongi ducks his head, presses a kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead, nose, chin. “It’ll make you feel better,” he reasons, finally pressing a delicate kiss to Jeongguk’s lips. “Make you less hot.”
“Smells like you,” Jeongguk whispers, far beyond feeling embarrassed about the fact that he’s crying about this, but Yoongi just coos, peppering a few more kisses onto his face. It’s a strangely delicate moment in the middle of the pain and heat and slick, and Jeongguk is still aching hard and Yoongi isn’t making it better. Yoongi’s making everything else ache, like his fucking heart and that’s not fair—
“C’mon, baby,” says Yoongi, tugging at the sweater, and even though Jeongguk cries, he doesn’t have the strength to fight it off. Lets Yoongi pull the sweater off and over his head, revealing just how sweaty he is underneath—he does feel a little cooler, but it’s not anything compared to what he needs.
“There we are,” says Yoongi, soft, soft, wiping Jeongguk’s hair off of his forehead again. “Better?”
He must have known it was coming—yet he sees the panic flash across Yoongi’s face anyway. It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t fucked him countless times, but it’s different. Jeongguk realizes, with a start, that Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s doing either, is terrified out of his mind, too, but just like always, he isn’t showing it. He’s refusing to show it because he knows that Jeongguk is the one who needs comfort and stability, knows that there’s only one person who Jeongguk can rely on right now and that’s Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.
Maybe it’s a bad time to realize Jeongguk is kind of in love with him.
The panic is gone as quickly as it came, and Jeongguk can’t focus on it anyway because another sharp pain shoots through his body, like it knows that he’s hesitating. He’s already come twice but it’s not enough.
“Hyung, please,” he whispers. “You said y-you’d take care of me.”
“I know, Gukkie, of course,” says Yoongi instantly, leaning over to run his hands over Jeongguk’s face, probably to get rid of some of the sweat. “I just don’t—I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to do something that you don’t actually want.”
“Always—fuck, always want you,” sniffs Jeongguk. “Just ‘cause I’m in h-heat doesn’t change that.” It’s not the time to be having a conversation about this, he thinks, and he’s fucking—delirious already, letting his head thump back against the pillow behind it, closing his eyes. If he could, he would fall asleep right here, already boneless and lazy, but there’s the itch. The itch that only Yoongi can take away.
“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks again.
“Fuck me!” Jeongguk yells, and he’s about to muster up the strength to grab Yoongi’s cock himself when the alpha finally complies.
“Okay, okay,” says Yoongi quickly, wiping away a few stray tears on Jeongguk’s cheeks before he leans forward to plant a kiss on the omega’s lips. “Okay, I’ll fuck you. I’ll make it better, okay?”
Jeongguk keeps his eyes closed, already too worn out and hot and upset to even think about opening them. But he feels it—Yoongi’s hands sliding down his body, rubbing comforting circles with his thumbs as they go. He feels Yoongi’s hands stop near the base of his cock—still hard, he’d practically forgotten about it with everything else hurting in his body—feels the light kiss that Yoongi presses to his stomach. Hears the sounds of Yoongi taking off his clothes, finally—items of clothing hitting the ground, zippers and buttons, and. He opens his eyes in time to look down and see Yoongi’s hard cock curving up toward his stomach.
He sighs with his entire body, practically feeling the relief already. It’s not enough, though.
It’s with some horror, though, that he sees Yoongi turn away, already reaching for—the bag of supplies he brought, maybe, or his nightstand, and Jeongguk knows what he’s searching for. “Hyung,” he tries weakly, but Yoongi isn’t paying attention—“Hyung.”
The alpha pauses, looking back at him with concerned eyes, like he’s expecting something else to be wrong. “What is it?” he asks instantly. “What do you need?”
“Don’t—” begins Jeongguk, letting out a half-sigh, half-sob. “Don’t use a condom.” And then, because even through the haze and pain, he knows Yoongi is responsible and going to argue with him—“It won’t feel as good a-and we got tested, it’s fine.” They did get tested, ages ago, but he knows that neither of them have been with anyone else since, and it’s true that he doesn’t think it’ll feel as good—won’t be as satisfying, won’t give him what he needs.
What he needs is to feel every blessed inch of Yoongi’s cock inside of him, every ridge and vein, needs to know there’s absolutely nothing between them. In his heat-addled mind, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
He’s not above begging, tears filling his eyes again when he sees the way Yoongi is looking at him—a little scared, again, but also like he’s not sure whether he wants to try arguing with Jeongguk or not. The lack of attention, the lack of hands on him is making him antsy, anyway, a whine catching in his throat as he squirms. “Yoongi-hyung, please,” he says, feels like he’s said it a thousand times already—“Please, fuck, just—don’t. We didn’t want to before—”
“Okay,” says Yoongi, like he’s talking to himself, convincing himself that this isn’t any different from every other time they’ve slept together, even though Jeongguk is already blissed out and sweaty and begging for it with little sounds that escape him almost involuntarily—“Okay, if that’s what you need.”
Jeongguk nods quickly. If he could think straight, he would realize that he could probably ask Yoongi for just about anything right now and Yoongi would give it to him, would go to the ends of the Earth to get it for him, just to make him happy, just to make him feel better.
Love, he thinks, it’s something about love—
“Jeongguk-ah, look at me.”
Jeongguk does, with half-lidded eyes. “Hyung,” he says.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and Jeongguk thinks about the last time they fucked, when Yoongi made him beg for it. Thinks about the last time Jeongguk asked him to come over, when Yoongi just held him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear and maybe, maybe—fuck, goddamn, it has to be his stupid hormones, but maybe. Maybe. It’s on the tip of his tongue, a confession—
He swallows it. He has to swallow it, just nods his head, knows Yoongi wants words so he groans, “Just fucking put it in me already,” and lets his head fall back again.
The first press of Yoongi’s cock against his rim has Jeongguk letting out a low moan, and he doesn’t understand why it feels so good already but he isn’t going to question it—just lets Yoongi press his thighs a little wider, opening up for him, always opening up for him. He’s saying something, probably praising him, probably telling him how good he is, but Jeongguk can’t pay attention; he’s too busy focusing on how much he needs it, how Yoongi is close but not close enough. He’s a mess of slick and sweat, heart hammering in his chest and he’s tipping over the edge between this and delirium, but then, but then—
Yoongi pushes in. It’s slow but sure and it’s more than his fingers, so much thicker and longer and better and Jeongguk lets out a low moan, drawn out and guttural, his whole being responding to feeling of Yoongi’s bare cock pushing into him. He can’t form words, just making noises that he hopes Yoongi can understand yes and more and maybe I love you.
It seems to take forever for Yoongi to bottom out, hips flush with Jeongguk’s own, and then the alpha is leaning over him, pressing every part of them together; it should be gross, he thinks, since he’s so sweaty and hot and pulsating with desire, desire, but he lets out a cry instead—a cry of relief, of safety, because finally, it’s what he needs. He can feel the satisfaction already beginning to settle in.
He only realizes that Yoongi is trying to speak to him when the alpha grabs his face, carefully curling his fingers around Jeongguk’s chin and shaking it a little, drawing the omega out of his reverie until he can focus his eyes on Yoongi’s face. He’s too busy thinking about—being full, thinking about wanting this, needing this, and how could he ever think about being with anyone else?
“Baby,” says Yoongi, the first word that breaks through to him, and Jeongguk makes a noise of acknowledgement. “I’m gonna move, okay?”
“‘Kay,” mumbles Jeongguk.
With his chest pressed to Jeongguk’s, one hand still on his waist and the other supporting himself beside Jeongguk’s head, Yoongi begins to pull out. Something in Jeongguk’s mind panics at it—he finds a burst of energy to raise his hips and lock his legs around Yoongi’s waist, keeping him somewhat in place, and Yoongi kisses the corner of his mouth like a reassurance, like a promise, and then slams back in.
It’s rough—rougher then they normally are, maybe, but Yoongi gets it. He gets that something gentle isn’t going to do anything for him, so although he’s still murmuring soft praises and caressing Jeongguk’s side carefully, there’s nothing soft about the way he immediately sets up a fast pace, thrusting his cock into Jeongguk’s hole over and over.
For a few blissful seconds, there’s only the sound of skin on skin—Jeongguk’s breath catches in his throat, unable to make a noise as he focuses on the drag of Yoongi’s cock against the walls, the way he pounds into him hard and fast and good. Finally, finally. It’s all he needed, back arching as he drives to drive his own hips backward for more, more, more and Yoongi is kissing down the column of his neck carefully, slamming his cock into him.
And then he finds his voice. Jeongguk lets out something akin to a wail, throwing his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders as well to hold him down, keep him from going too far; it feels good, impossibly good, and Yoongi has fucked him so many times before but this is different, this is his entire body screaming for it and finally being given what he needs, wants. His fingers dig into Yoongi’s skin as the alpha thrusts into him, mouthing at his neck. For long, long moments, they just stay like that—there’s nothing that needs to be said, and Jeongguk can only focus on Yoongi’s cock pounding into him again and again. He’s overwhelmed already, knows that he’s already crying, but if he thinks too much about the way Yoongi is handling him otherwise—what his hands and mouth are doing—it’ll be too much. It’s always too much.
Yoongi fucks him. Yoongi fucks him like he needs to be fucked, like it’s taking away the pain, and it is—finally, the only thing that Jeongguk can focus on is how Yoongi’s cock finally hits his prostate and he lets out a high-pitched moan, back arching again, and Yoongi gets it. He thinks he makes out the alpha muttering something about it, something about being good and pliant and brave, and then Yoongi shifts just a little, trying to nail his prostate.
It works, making Jeongguk keen over and over as it brings him closer to the brink, and it’s enough to distract him from everything else. He’s still sweating, not only from his body overheating due to the heat, but from the way Yoongi is draped over him, taking over every part of him. Hands on his waist, mouth on his skin, cock thrusting into him again and again, and Jeongguk loses himself in it. Lets himself get lost in it, because it’s good.
Because even if he’s in heat, he can make out the thought that Yoongi is always what he needs. Yoongi is always the only thing he needs, when he needs to be fucked and when he needs to be held, and didn’t Yoongi bring him food when he was in the middle of finals for no apparent reason? Hasn’t this just been the cherry on top of the cake, the last excuse he needs to realize something more, something—
Yoongi hits his prostate again, and Jeongguk comes. He isn’t expecting it, lets out an aborted moan that turns into something more of a hiccup as he spurts come between the two of them. It’s already weaker than it was at the beginning, but he doesn’t feel any relief as Yoongi keeps fucking him—gets that he just needs to keep going, that Jeongguk isn’t going to get overstimulated any time soon. Yoongi didn’t even touch his cock.
Jeongguk does, however, finally begin to pay attention to more than just the cock in his ass. Yoongi doesn’t even slow down, doesn’t stall—just keeps going, hips snapping into Jeongguk’s, and maybe this could be grander. Maybe there could be more than just the two of them like this, but it’s good. It’s enough. It’s what Jeongguk wants, with Yoongi this close, with Yoongi pressing kisses into his sweaty skin.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” he hears Yoongi say, although he can’t really comprehend it; he’s not even doing anything, just laying there and letting Yoongi fuck into him over and over. “Such a good omega for me, always willing to take what I give you. My baby, my sweet bun. Gonna fuck you as much as you need.”
Somehow, that’s what brings Jeongguk back to some coherence—the idea that Yoongi will do whatever he needs, the idea that he’s here even though there’s so much more going on out there. If he thinks about it, coming once like this didn’t do enough. He has no idea how many more times he needs to come before the itch goes away, because even though Yoongi is still thrusting into him, making his body shake like a little, it’s not enough.
He suddenly realizes that it’s not enough.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk whimpers, and he realizes that his fingers are still digging into Yoongi’s skin, and it must hurt, he didn’t mean it—“Hyung, i-it’s not enough. Fuck, I need—” Yoongi stops moving, cock pressing into him fully and he’s so full, stretched around the alpha, but somehow, it’s not enough. Suddenly, there’s a sort of itch and pain in the heart of him, and no matter what Yoongi does, it’s not reaching it.
Jeongguk opens his eyes to see Yoongi hovering over him, concern creasing his features. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks, words coming out in a puff of breath; he’s sweating too, hair sticking to his forehead, and Jeongguk can only focus on that for a moment. He brings one of his hands up to wipe it away, suddenly wanting to take care of Yoongi too, suddenly wanting it to be good for him too.
“Yeah, just—” Jeongguk begins, trying to wiggle back onto Yoongi’s cock even though the alpha hasn’t moved, and he finally finds enough strength to move himself. With a groan, he tries to roll them over. “Let me do it,” he breathes at the look of confusion on Yoongi’s face, and finally, the alpha lets him go—rolls over onto his back and slips out of Jeongguk in the process; the omega tries not to whine at the loss, at feeling so empty.
Jeongguk doesn’t often take charge when they’re together, preferring to be bossed around for once in his life, but suddenly, he needs to do it himself. Needs to take that pain away, needs to use Yoongi’s cock however the alpha will let him.
And he does let him—Yoongi asks, “What do you need?” like he’s been asking this whole time, and Jeongguk musters up the energy to clamber over to the alpha, climbing on top of him so he’s straddling him backwards, facing away. With some exhausted difficulty, he takes hold of Yoongi’s cock and sinks back down on it, letting out a sigh as he goes. Plants his hands on Yoongi’s thighs and hangs his head for a moment. Grinds down onto Yoongi’s cock, lets himself moan at the feeling, even though it’s not—it’s not enough, how is it not enough?
“Just let me—” he begins, huffing as he tries to catch his breath enough to form words. Yoongi seems to get it anyway, placing his hands on Jeongguk’s hips, and although Jeongguk can’t see him, he imagines Yoongi’s watching him carefully, trying to gauge his body language, trying to understand what he needs. It’s not that Jeongguk doesn’t trust him, doesn’t know that Yoongi can fuck him just how he needs but—it’s something more, something only he can understand, and he needs to do it himself. Needs to make sure he gets where he needs to be.
He takes a moment to catch his breath, letting the feel of Yoongi’s cock be enough for the moment; he’s still hard, somehow, and he doesn’t get it, doesn’t get how his body still needs more even now, when he’s had more than enough otherwise, but he’s so sensitive and he needs more, needs more—
With a gasp, he presses down on Yoongi’s thighs and lifts himself up, drawing Yoongi’s cock out of him before he sits back down. Already, it’s better, already he knows how to do it and he lets out another sigh as he repeats the action, fucking himself on Yoongi’s cock over and over in an attempt to give himself what he needs. He quickens the pace, panting as he starts bouncing properly, spurred on by Yoongi’s grip on his hips, the way the alpha grinds upward to meet Jeongguk’s downward momentum, trying to get—
“F-fuck,” Jeongguk gasps as Yoongi’s cock finally hits his prostate, and from this angle, it’s so much better, so much deeper, and he feels so full, so good—“Right there, fuck, hyung.” He can’t stop himself from beginning to babble, pleasure curling through him as he bounces faster, harder, trying to hit his prostate again and again, as Yoongi’s hands start wandering, fingers tracing over his hips and back and the dip of his spine, making Jeongguk shiver.
Jeongguk throws his head back as he tries to speed up, ignoring the burn in his thighs in favour of revelling in the ache that has somehow worsened, but feels better, like he’s stretching a sore muscle, knowing at the end of it, he’ll have nothing but relief. His fingers dig into Yoongi’s thighs, moaning wantonly as Yoongi grinds up particularly hard, saying something about Jeongguk being a good boy and—yeah, that’s what he wants, letting out a short sob.
Yoongi’s never fucked him without a condom, he thinks, even though they sort of planned on it; it was always just easier to use one in the end, even after they got tested, but there’s something about doing it for the first time now that is making Jeongguk’s head spin. He can feel every part of Yoongi, heat pulsing within him as he bounces on the alpha’s cock and lets it stretch him as far as it can, feeling it nudge against something other than his prostate—not anything within him, but the part of him that needs to be fucked and taken care of, the one thing his heat is making him chase after.
He can tell Yoongi’s about to come not only because his knot is beginning to form, still inside of Jeongguk, but because of the way the alpha’s hands clamp down on his hips again, the way Yoongi’s own moans become more erratic, and he needs it, wants it but—all at once, another bout of exhaustion hits him. The burn in his thighs becomes too much, losing all of his breath as he slams down on Yoongi’s cock a final time and just—sits there, head hanging low.
For a moment, Jeongguk just breathes, finding it increasingly hard to do so, and he watches as a few drops of sweat drip from his chin onto Yoongi. After a few moments, he feels Yoongi’s knot shrink again. “M’tired, hyung,” he whines, and Yoongi doesn’t complain—of course he doesn’t complain, just runs a hand up and down Jeongguk’s back in something he imagines is comfort. Even with Yoongi’s cock buried to the hilt in his ass, pressing incessantly against his prostate, he’s not full enough. He doesn’t understand why, just knows he needs more because he’s so tired, so exhausted.
“It’s okay, baby,” says Yoongi, voice bordering on wrecked, and then he’s sitting up with Jeongguk still in his lap, draping himself over the omega. It’s hot—too hot, too sweaty, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind. There’s a different sort of relief in knowing Yoongi is taking care of him despite not knowing what the fuck he’s doing either, like the alpha always just knows somehow when it comes to Jeongguk. Like he’s got Jeongguk memorized inside and out, knows what works, knows what doesn’t.
He’s been paying attention to Jeongguk for a very long time.
Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and Jeongguk lets out a little cry, letting himself relax backwards into the alpha’s hold as Yoongi wraps his arms around his middle. He presses another kiss to Jeongguk’s neck, under his ear, the edge of his jaw. “Doing so good, Guk-ah,” he murmurs. “My beautiful, brave boy.”
Jeongguk makes a noise in the back of his throat, something caught between a strangled cry and a sigh of agreement, dipping his head back against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Hyung,” he breathes. “Hyung, I need—please, ah.” He’s gotten too used to Yoongi’s cock where it is, needs more stimulation before the pain takes over, and Yoongi plants another kiss to his jaw because he knows.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “Just relax.” Jeongguk doesn’t think it would be possible for him to be any more of a ragdoll, sagged against Yoongi’s chest as the alpha lies back down, taking the omega with him. He lets out a whimper as it causes him to stretch a bit, Yoongi’s cock shifting inside of him, and he only has to wait a few moments to be granted what he wants.
Yoongi plants his feet on the ground properly, huffing slightly—briefly, Jeongguk wonders how heavy he is laying on top of Yoongi, considering he’s all but dead weight—and then begins thrusting slowly. Jeongguk barely has the energy to moan at it, but it’s good—Yoongi is still kissing the side of his neck, his jaw, one hand sliding up to toy with his nipples and the other sliding down to take hold of Jeongguk’s cock—red, neglected, still spurting precome as if it has anything else left to give.
Yoongi goes slowly at first, more grinding than anything, and Jeongguk can only let out garbled moans and words at the sheer amount of stimulation he’s being given—he jolts slightly as Yoongi rubs the nub of one of his nipples between his fingers, feeling overwhelmed and completely sated at the same time as Yoongi slowly strokes his cock, too.
And then the alpha picks up speed—starts thrusting into him properly, knocking their hips together and jolting him up Yoongi’s chest so that Yoongi has to hold onto him properly again. Jeongguk lifts his head long enough to look down and see—his stomach bulging with the force of Yoongi’s cock thrusting into him, letting out a moan because he’s so full and deep and it’s good.
“Hy-ung,” he breathes, each thrust punctuated with a little whining hiccup. Jeongguk’s hands scramble for something to do, something to hold onto. He throws one arm back, fisting his fingers in Yoongi’s hair and making the alpha groan into his ear, and—the other, he clamps onto Yoongi’s hand, the one wrapped around his stomach and waist, holding him down, holding him tight.
He’s desperate for it—Yoongi’s fucking into him harder and harder, nipping at his ear and playing with the head of his cock, and Jeongguk’s only vaguely aware of the tears and spit on his face, but he can focus on this—slipping his fingers between Yoongi’s and curling them into the palm of Yoongi’s hand and thinking it’s such a small thing, shouldn’t mean anything but it does.
“Okay?” asks Yoongi, breathes it into his ear—“Talk to me, baby.” Jeongguk lets out a hiccupped moan, head still thrown over Yoongi’s shoulder and he can’t say anything, too focused on the amount of stimulation he’s receiving and how Yoongi’s cock fells in his ass and how sore it is already, but they can’t stop—
“Good,” he finally mumbles. “It’s g-good, hyung, feels—” He gasps as Yoongi squeezes his cock, making him arch a little, and the alpha takes the opportunity to pound into him harder, like it’s possible, but—
—but fuck, it’s still not enough.
He doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know how to make any of this better, doesn’t know why Yoongi just fucking him isn’t making anything better, and he can’t stop himself from crying as Yoongi holds onto him and fucks up into him, still murmuring praises into his ear. He’s never been so hot and sweaty and upset in his entire life, never felt so desperate for something that he can’t even put his finger on.
It’s only when Yoongi groans into his ear, when Yoongi murmurs, “Fuck, I’m close,” that Jeongguk figures it out.
He’s content to let Yoongi continue fucking into him, noting with a shiver that his knot is beginning to form again, but Yoongi says, “Hold on, Guk, lemme—gotta pull out,” and Jeongguk panics.
“No,” he gasps even though Yoongi has already stopped thrusting, clamping both of his hands onto Yoongi’s arms where they’re wrapped around his middle. “No, hyung—”
“Jeongguk—” and despite Jeongguk’s whining, pleading for Yoongi not to, the alpha shifts until he pulls out anyway, knot hardly big enough to impede it, and Jeongguk can feel tears welling in his eyes at the loss. He finds another burst of energy to break out of Yoongi’s grasp, panting as he switches positions again, straddling and facing the alpha instead as Yoongi sits up, confusion on his face.
“Knot me,” says Jeongguk desperately, hands coming up to clutch at Yoongi’s shoulders. “Hyung, please, please, fuck—knot me, I need—”
“I can’t,” says Yoongi, eyebrows furrowing. “Jeongguk, we agreed I wouldn’t.”
“That was,” sobs Jeongguk, “that was before, when it was just—just, hyung.” He drops his head onto Yoongi’s shoulder, somehow knowing that the only thing that’s really going to give him any sort of relief in his heat is Yoongi’s knot, filling him to the brim and stretching him wide and keeping them together. Like they should be.
“Baby,” says Yoongi, one hand smoothing down the back of Jeongguk’s neck. “Jeongguk, you know what that means.”
He does—Yoongi has never knotted him before for good reason. Not only would it keep them literally stuck together for potentially hours, it’s also something special. Something culturally seen as best kept for mates, married couples, people who are planning on being together for a very long time.
Not for friends with benefits, surely.
But—but. But they’re not friends with benefits, are they?
“Please,” Jeongguk sniffs into Yoongi’s neck. “Please, hyung, I-I need it. Need you.” He doesn’t know how else to beg Yoongi for it, doesn’t know how else to make the alpha see that a knot is the only thing that’s going to help him, the only thing that’s going to really take the itch away, at least for now. Besides, they’re alone—besides, Jeongguk doesn’t want to leave Yoongi at a time like this, doesn’t imagine that he’ll want to be anything but as close as possible.
He doesn’t dare look at Yoongi’s face, though. Doesn’t want to see the potential rejection.
There’s a long, horrible moment of silence—and then Yoongi murmurs, “Okay.”
With all of the fight gone out of him, Jeongguk just wraps his arms around Yoongi’s neck and lets the alpha do all of the work. Lets him lift Jeongguk up just enough to position his cock at the omega’s entrance, lets him help Jeongguk sink back down on it. Yoongi keeps his feet planted as he immediately starts fucking into him again, thrusting him with a sort of desperation that Jeongguk can feel through the elder. Yoongi holds onto him, one hand on the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his waist, and neither of them say anything as Yoongi snaps his hips up into Jeongguk, wet sounds echoing in the room.
It doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to feel the base of Yoongi’s cock begin to inflate again. This time, though, Yoongi doesn’t try to pull out, just presses a kiss to Jeongguk’s temple as he keeps thrusting, breathing becoming more and more erratic even though he doesn’t have to say anything to warn Jeongguk. He can feel it, anyway—feels the way the knot begins to catch on Jeongguk’s rim, the way Yoongi’s thrusts become slower, harder, as he tries to force his cock into Jeongguk’s hole with the added difficulty of the knot.
Jeongguk tries not to clench on it, hiccupping as he focuses on the pleasure of it; it burns a little, but it’s a good sort of burn, and he can already feel the relief setting in, knowing this is what he wanted. This is what he needed. He lets out a little cry when Yoongi thrusts in one last time, pushing his cock as deep as it’ll go before he just—stays there. They both breathe hard for a long moment.
And then Yoongi says, “Okay.” His voice is shaking, broken. “Okay, that’s it.”
Jeongguk pauses, and then wiggles experimentally, feeling the burn of his stretched rim around Yoongi’s knot, but he knows they can’t separate now. For a moment, he forgets what is supposed to happen next, and then Yoongi squeezes him tight, lets out something akin to a growl, and comes inside of him.
It’s a strange feeling, Jeongguk finds himself thinking, sitting on Yoongi’s cock—on his knot—as the alpha comes and comes and just doesn’t stop, can’t stop, flooding into him with a rush that has something tight inside of him snapping, finally. With a whimper, both from the come and from his own orgasm hitting him, Jeongguk comes—entirely dry, he’s sure, although he doesn’t bother to look. It hurts.
He can feel Yoongi’s cock twitch inside of him, and then Yoongi sighs. And there’s finally, finally, a blessed moment of total relief. Jeongguk waits for the pain to flare up again, for another wave of heat to pass over him, for a sign that he needs more—but it doesn’t come. Instead, all he feels is utter exhaustion, sore all over but most especially in his still-stretched rim, Yoongi’s knot fit snugly inside of him.
But satisfaction, too, something bone-deep and settled, something that tells him he’s been sated, at least for now.
Jeongguk doesn’t move, still hugging Yoongi with his face buried in the alpha’s neck, almost afraid to pull back even a little. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to stop being this close, doesn’t want to put a single inch of distance between them when he realizes it’s not just gratefulness or relief overwhelming him. As Yoongi’s hands begin to stroke his neck, his back, rubbing circles into his spine, Jeongguk thinks—love.
They stay like that for a time, not moving, not speaking. It doesn’t feel right to break the silence yet, not after something so intense and needed, and Jeongguk is content to focus on the way Yoongi’s hands move over him gently, comforting as Jeongguk pants, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t know how many minutes have passed before he finally shifts, having caught his breath, having calmed down enough to pull back, at least enough to rest his forehead against Yoongi’s.
“Hey,” whispers Yoongi.
“Hi,” whispers Jeongguk.
The alpha hands move up and up until they’re cradling Jeongguk’s face, thumbs wiping at the tears and sweat and—drool, probably—that have coated the omega’s cheeks. Then he dips forward, planting a gentle kiss on Jeongguk’s lips.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
Jeongguk makes a noise, something that he means to sound content, although he’s not sure it comes across. He speaks anyway—“Good. Tired.”
“Is it—are you—” Yoongi begins, stumbling over his words like he’s unsure how to word what he wants. Jeongguk thinks he knows what he’s trying to ask anyway, and he grins as he bumps their noses together.
“I don’t need you to keep fucking me right now,” he says.
It sounds like Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief, and for the first time, Jeongguk remembers that this isn’t only emotionally and physically taxing for him, but for Yoongi, too. Now that some of the haze has cleared, he realizes he’s kind of just—used Yoongi, whether or not the alpha liked it.
Still, before he can apologize for it, Yoongi’s pressing another kiss to the side of his mouth, his cupid’s bow, the mole under his bottom lip. “Gonna move, okay?” he asks. “Just a little, so it’s more comfortable.” Jeongguk nods, bracing himself as Yoongi begins to scoot backwards little by little until they hit the side of Yoongi’s bed; he winces as Yoongi’s knot jostles within him, but he ignores it in favour of plopping his head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, cheek squished into the alpha’s skin.
“Do you need anything?” asks Yoongi, never worried about himself, and it almost makes Jeongguk want to cry.
“Water,” he says after a moment, and winces again as Yoongi shifts, presumably to grab one of the bags that he’d brought with him. Jeongguk keeps his eyes closed, too exhausted to even open them, and lets the comfort and safety of being in Yoongi’s arms do its job by keeping his heart preoccupied. After a few moments, Yoongi nudges him a little, bringing a bottle of water up to his lips, and Jeongguk opens his mouth to allow the alpha to pour some of its contents inside.
They go on like that—Yoongi giving him water, then feeding him some of the snacks he bought too, even though Jeongguk doesn’t ask for it. He never takes a hand off of the omega, always smoothing down his back or carding through his hair or giving him little kisses here and there, and Jeongguk—Jeongguk is happy. He’s sore and tired, but he’s happy.
“Thanks,” he says after a while, once Yoongi has finished feeding him. “For helping me.”
“I always want to help you,” replies Yoongi. “No matter what it is.”
“It was just—so scary. I didn’t know what was happening.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi plants a kiss to his temple. “We figured it out, right? I wasn’t going to let you go through that alone.”
“I know,” Jeongguk sighs. He snuggles in a little closer, beginning to trace patterns on Yoongi’s bare chest with one of his hands. He’s never been more comfortable in his life, despite having a cock still up his ass—he actually kind of likes it, considering it’s the one thing likely keeping his heat at bay. He likes being this close to Yoongi, anyway, likes knowing that there’s nothing that could tear them apart now. It’s how to should be, at least figuratively.
“You did so well,” says Yoongi, nuzzling into the side of Jeongguk’s face. “So gorgeous and good and you told me what you needed and took what I gave you. Didn’t even worry that I wasn’t gonna take care of you, ‘cause I did, hm? Always will.”
Jeongguk makes a noise. Means—keep going.
“You don’t have to worry about it, baby, always gonna take care of you,” continues Yoongi. “If you want me to.”
He nods immediately, horrified at the thought of Yoongi thinking otherwise—especially now, when they’re closer than ever, when Jeongguk realizes that this is the only place he really wants to be. As an unmated omega, he could have gotten any alpha to help him through his heat, but it wouldn’t have been the same, wouldn’t have been anything like this. Jeongguk would dare to say that he wouldn’t have been satisfied at all, because it wouldn’t have been Yoongi. Yoongi, who knows how to take care of him; Yoongi, who wants to take care of him; Yoongi, who was scared and worried, too, but didn’t question anything Jeongguk said because he trusts Jeongguk, too. Let Jeongguk take the lead because he understood that maybe being an alpha in this situation didn’t necessary mean being in charge all of the time.
Belatedly, Jeongguk realizes he hasn’t answered Yoongi with words so he moves his face enough to be heard as he says, “Want you to take care of me.”
“When all of this dumb suppressants shit is figured out,” says Yoongi, “maybe we can do that, l-like—differently.”
Jeongguk stops breathing for a moment, trying to process the words that Yoongi is saying. Differently as in—more of this, just cuddling and talking and less trying to get over being so horny all the time? Differently as in—publicly, without worrying about what might happen if everyone were to find out about their relationship?
Maybe it’s the words, or the sentiment, or the fact that Jeongguk’s still sitting on Yoongi’s knot—the fact that he does know what it means—but the omega sits up properly, answering Yoongi by pressing their lips together. It’s gentle, light—chaste, strangely, and he aches with it, realizing they hadn’t kissed the whole time Yoongi was fucking him and it just feels wrong because he loves kissing Yoongi, loves drawing those little sounds out of him, loves, loves—loves Yoongi, he loves Yoongi, and he’s overwhelmed with it, suddenly, heart beating rapidly in his chest as he pulls back.
Yoongi chases after him, giving him another kiss, and another, trying to pepper them all over Jeongguk’s face and Jeongguk places a hand on Yoongi’s chest, pushes back just a little. Looks him in the eye, ignoring the sudden spike of embarrassment and nerves, but he doesn’t need courage because he’s so certain of it, filled with nothing else.
He says, “Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi says, “Jeonggukkie.”
Yoongi came when Jeongguk called. Yoongi dropped everything, went out and bought supplies because he knew. Yoongi did everything Jeongguk needed without Jeongguk even asking, he stayed, he took care of him, and Jeongguk’s entire heart sighs before he opens his mouth and says—
“I love you.”
Jeongguk watches him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction—he sees the surprise flicker over Yoongi’s face, eyes widening as his mouth opens and then closes and then opens again like he doesn’t know what to say. And then the alpha’s eyebrows furrow, like he’s confused, and the silence isn’t funny anymore, just—sad and scary, and.
“I love you,” he repeats, a little desperately this time, and he has to close his eyes because there’s something horrible about the look on Yoongi’s face and he doesn’t want to see it, just bumps his head into Yoongi’s chin.
“Jeongguk, you’re in heat,” says Yoongi. “I think it’s just the delirium talking.”
“No,” says Jeongguk. “No, I—I knew it before. I think I’ve been in love with you for a really long time but I’ve been too stupid to see it because I didn’t want to think about what it meant because we’re supposed to just—fuck, that’s all this is supposed to be, but it’s not, hyung, i-it’s not.” He’s crying, Jeongguk realizes belatedly. “You always take care of me and you pay attention to everything about me and I never have to ask you for anything because you’re there anyway, and you didn’t even—fuck, you didn’t even question this, you just wanted to help and my heart is always doing funny things and it’s doing it now and I don’t—I don’t know how to make you see—” He gasps, lifting his head to look Yoongi in the eye, vision blurred with tears. “It’s not just the heat. It’s not just cause your c-cock is still in my ass, hyung, please.”
He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. From the look on Yoongi’s face—still a little confused, mostly something he’d dare to say is pity—the alpha doesn’t know either.
“Baby,” he says, sighs, like he’s trying to reason with Jeongguk. Yoongi lifts his hands, cradling Jeongguk’s face again, and wipes at his tears. “Baby, why are you crying?”
“Because,” Jeongguk all but wails, “because I l-like you so much and it wasn’t supposed to be like this but it is and I just want you to like me back, hyung, please—please love me back.”
Yoongi opens his mouth, expression softening, and Jeongguk’s heart seizes in his chest because—he’s going to say, he’s going to say it back, Jeongguk knows. He knows.
What comes out of Yoongi’s mouth isn’t a confession, though. In fact, what Jeongguk hears doesn’t come from Yoongi’s mouth at all, but from the hallway outside of Yoongi’s bedroom, a muffled call of, “Yoongles, are you here?”
Jeongguk, stupidly, turns to look at the door, confusion clouding his mind because he can’t put the pieces together—and then the door opens.
For a long, silent, horrifying moment, Jeongguk just stares at the person on the other side, hand still on the doorknob, mouth open mid-call as they stare back. He’s still hazy, he realizes, when it takes him two, three, four seconds to actually understand what’s happening, to understand that the person standing in the doorway is an alpha, one of the members of Alpha Theta Chi.
It’s one of the alphas that stole Jeongguk’s suppressants.
Time seems to stand still as they stare at each other, as no one moves or speaks or even breathes. They’re in a vacuum, all air and sound gone out of the room, and Jeongguk’s mind still hasn’t caught up with the situation. Can’t. Won’t.
It’s Yoongi who moves first—he grabs one of the blankets in the nest Jeongguk made, the nest they’re still sitting in, and throws it over Jeongguk, effectively forcing the omega to press his body back into Yoongi, hiding—hiding, too, because he finally gets it when Yoongi roars, “What the fuck are you doing?” at the same time as the alpha crows, “Holy shit!”
Jeongguk tries to block it out. All he can register is the shame and horror creeping up his body, suffocating him, as the shouting starts—“I fucking knew it!” says the alpha, laughs the alpha. “We knew you were fucking him! This is better than a confession, though, holy fuck—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” shouts Yoongi.
“Wait, let me—”
“I said, leave,” and Jeongguk cowers into Yoongi’s neck, terrified at the sheer amount of dominance that Yoongi is throwing into his voice, into the command, but the other alpha is still laughing. Jeongguk hears the unmistakable sound of a phone’s camera shutter going off.
“Why don’t you make me?” taunts the alpha, and when Yoongi doesn’t respond—“Holy shit. Holy shit, you knotted him! You can’t move!”
“If you don’t leave right now—”
“Is he in heat?” asks the alpha. “I can smell it. Fucking hell, Yoongi, are you mating him?”
“Fuck off,” growls Yoongi. “He just needed help. It doesn’t have to fucking mean anything, you fucking—it’s hormones. Now get the fuck out.”
“Jesus, alright,” says the alpha. “Glad to know you’re not in love with the stupid cocksleeve.”
“Who do you think I am?” snaps Yoongi. “Now get out.” After a pregnant pause, there’s the sound of retreating footsteps, along with laughter that echoes all the way down the hall and down the stairs and out. A door closes, probably the front door, meaning the alpha is gone. And then—silence.
It takes Yoongi a full thirty seconds to move the blanket, pulling it off of Jeongguk’s head, and Jeongguk knows what he’s going to say—knows it’s going to be filled with concern, anger, fear. Jeongguk beats him to it.
There’s no haze anymore, no lasting pleasure or warmth or surety—just. Anger.
“I just needed help?” he repeats, sitting upright so he can stare Yoongi in the eye. “It doesn’t have to mean anything? It’s hormones?”
Yoongi blinks at him.
“Are you—are you fucking serious?” asks Jeongguk, voice low, low. Angry. “That’s all I am to you? Just a goddamn—hole for your stupid cock? Always saying you wanna fucking take care of me, but the moment you’re given the chance to prove it, you just show your true fucking colours.”
“You’re just like the rest of them, aren’t you?” he snaps. “Just a dumb fucking alpha who only sees omegas as warm bodies. You think I’m just a fucking—a fucking cumbucket for you, don’t you?”
“No!” Jeongguk smacks Yoongi’s hands where he’s reaching for the omega. Doesn’t want them touching any more than they already are. “It’s just sex for you? After everything that’s happened, I’m just a good fuck for you? After I just—” He’s crying again. Just like fucking always, can’t control his stupid emotions—“After I just told you I was in love with you? And you tell the first fucking person you see that I don’t mean anything to you?”
“Jeongguk, that is not what just happened,” Yoongi insists. “You are not just a warm body to me.”
“Then why the fuck did you say that?” snaps Jeongguk.
“Because I was trying not to cause a goddamn scandal!” he yells. “Because he already took a fucking picture of us and he’s going to spread it to everyone because apparently he knew we were fucking, and now he’s going to turn it into a huge thing and it’s just easier if we pretend it’s not—”
“You want to pretend?” asks Jeongguk. “You want to pretend that we don’t mean anything to each other? I—I know we said we’d just sleep together and nothing more, but I can’t be the only one who felt like that changed.”
“It did! Of course it did—”
“Then fucking act like it.”
“You didn’t give me a goddamn chance to—”
“You had your chance,” snaps Jeongguk, and he’s so—so angry, so fed up and disgusted and he lets out a cry, smacking his hands on Yoongi’s chest as he tries to pull himself off of Yoongi’s stupid fucking knot—
“What are you doing?” asks Yoongi, hands clamping down on his hips to keep him down. “Jeongguk, you can’t—”
“I don’t want to be near you anymore,” cries Jeongguk, and it hurts but he’s too tired to do it, anyway, Yoongi’s grip on him too tight. “I don’t want your stupid cock inside me anymore.”
“You can’t just take it out,” says Yoongi. “Jeongguk-ah, please, just—” He stops. Sighs. “Jeongguk, please listen to me.”
And Jeongguk—doesn’t want to, but he’s so tired and angry and sad and he stops trying, slumps back down into Yoongi’s lap and lets himself cry with his head hanging.
“Jeongguk, I was going to say that I love you too,” says Yoongi, and. And. That should be it, shouldn’t it? That should be enough to take it all back, to prove to Jeongguk that there really is no reason to be angry, but—he can’t stop hearing Yoongi’s voice in his head, the way he immediately threw Jeongguk under the bus at the first chance he got. At the first sign of distress, at the first idea of someone knowing about them, like it’s a disgusting thing for them to be together, like Yoongi’s reputation is more important than Jeongguk—
“Don’t,” says Jeongguk lowly. “Don’t you fucking dare say that to me. Don’t try to go back on what you’ve just done to me.”
“It’s true,” says Yoongi.
“No, it’s not!” He lifts his head again, wipes angrily at his tears. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to be angry at you, but it’s too fucking late, hyung. God, you just—you really made me think that you cared about me. But you just wanted someone to put your dick in. I bet you got off on knowing it was the fucking president of your stupid rival frat. You liked the secrecy, didn’t you? Like playing a little game of how long you could go without getting caught, and then as soon as you did, you just—made it all my fault, made me the dumb, desperate omega who just needed a cock in my ass to make me happy.”
For the first time, Yoongi doesn’t immediately try to disagree. Instead, he just stares at Jeongguk, and the omega sees the way his expression changes—from helpless desperation to… anger.
“Really?” asks Yoongi, eyes flashing. “You really think I only see you as a hole for my cock? After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Everything you’ve done for me? You just made me look like a slut so that you wouldn’t have to admit to not being the emotionless, scary alpha frat president everyone thinks you are.”
“You’re sitting on my fucking knot because I dropped everything and ran over here to help you!” snaps Yoongi. “Did you ever think that I could have been doing something important, hm? Like trying to save my fucking frat because some assholes decided it was a good idea to steal your suppressants? After all of the times I’ve come to your aid when you needed it, all of the times I’ve bought you food and helped you with your art and taken care of you, you really think I’m not genuine when I say I love you? Or that I at least care very deeply for you?”
Jeongguk grinds his teeth together. “No,” he says. “I really don’t think you’re being genuine. And maybe—maybe you are, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Because clearly it’s not the kind of love that you’re willing to fucking stick by, since you were so quick to deny that I even mean anything to you as soon as someone comes along to challenge that.”
“You’re so—” Yoongi growls, letting his head fall back against the side of the bed. “I can’t fucking believe you! I was trying to help us. You just want us to go public because someone caught us fucking? You really think that’s the best idea?”
“It’s a better idea than proving you only care about me for my ass.”
“Grow the fuck up, Jeongguk,” snaps Yoongi, glaring at him now. “I have never done anything to make you feel like I don’t care about you. Who was the one who dealt with the alphas when they ruined your art? Who was the one who immediately suggested going to the school when they stole your suppressants?”
“Oh, wow, what a fucking hero. Let me suck your cock like the grateful omega I am.”
“Don’t be a cunt.”
“See? That’s the only thing you can think about, isn’t it?”
Yoongi—sets his jaw. Jeongguk doesn’t want to be there anymore, wants nothing more than to run away but he can’t because they’re still locked together and suddenly he feels—disgusting, feels violated with Yoongi’s cock still buried in his ass and Yoongi’s come still flooding his insides, and he’s so stupid. So fucking idiotic to think that Yoongi could ever be more than an alpha who only sees him as someone to fool around with. Yoongi has a point, he knows, about scandals and reputations, but—but he thought he was worth more than that. He thought he meant more than all of that, and it’s clear he doesn’t.
“Jeongguk,” Yoongi begins. Softer this time, like he’s going to try to go back on everything he’s said.
“I get it, hyung,” says Jeongguk, ice cold. “You care more about your reputation than you care about me. You care more about—keeping up pretences than my feelings. It’s fine.” He sniffs, wiping at his tears again, tears that betray him. But it is fine; it’s Jeongguk’s own fault, fooling himself into thinking that Yoongi cared about him because he was nice, because he bought Jeongguk food and cuddled him when he needed, even though it’s clearly just been a rouse to get into Jeongguk’s pants this whole time. “Just forget what I said, okay?”
“Baby,” Yoongi tries, and—God, Jeongguk doesn’t want it to mean so much, but it does, it still does, because he can’t stop thinking about how much he loves it, how much he loves Yoongi with everything in him, and now he’ll never be able to look Yoongi in the eye again.
“Don’t,” says Jeongguk softly. “I’m going to leave and I’m going to go home and you’re not going to follow me. Okay?”
“Jeongguk, no,” says Yoongi. “You’re still in heat.”
“You don’t think I can find another alpha to help me?” he asks. “You think you’re the only one with a c-cock who can knot me?” He tries to make it bite, but he’s crying too hard, stumbles over his words. Yoongi recoils anyway, like Jeongguk slapped him. And Jeongguk wants to think good, wants to think I hope you can never look at me again without imagining me with someone else. But he can’t—because no matter how angry he is, no matter how spiteful and vindictive he wants to be, he still loves Yoongi. He still wants Yoongi to be happy and safe. Still wants Yoongi, period.
“Don’t talk to me,” he adds. “Just… don’t.” He stops. There’s nothing more to say.
The minutes that follow are awkward, horrible. Jeongguk can’t stop himself from crying as he sits on Yoongi’s cock and waits and waits and thinks about how quickly everything can unravel and how unfair it is. He finds himself going over every time Yoongi has made him feel loved, every touch and kiss and bowl of food that he’s bought for Jeongguk. Finds himself second-guessing them, trying to understand where he went wrong. Trying to understand where he got the wrong idea.
And Yoongi just sits there. Jeongguk won’t look at him, but he can hear Yoongi crying, too, sniffing occasionally. It’s pathetic. He hates himself for making Yoongi cry, even if it’s Yoongi’s fault—it has to be Yoongi’s fault. He thinks about the alpha, too, the one who caught them. Maybe he won’t spread anything around, maybe it’ll be fine. He imagines, hopes that Yoongi will track him down and stop him. Hopes the fucker will be expelled before he can so much as open his mouth about it all.
Finally, after—ten minutes, fifteen, he doesn’t even know, Jeongguk feels Yoongi’s knot shrink. He doesn’t even wait for it to disappear entirely, just wipes at his eyes one last time and uses Yoongi’s shoulders as leverage to get off. It hurts—his rim is sore, but his legs are too, after sitting in the same position for so long. Still, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at Yoongi as he finds his clothes haphazardly strewn across the room.
He won’t look at the mess they made, trying to ignore the feeling of Yoongi’s come trickling down his thighs. Hopes that making Yoongi clean the room up will hurt like hell. Jeongguk pulls on his clothes, wipes at his nose, pretends that he doesn’t feel empty, not only in a physical way, but in every other way, too.
Jeongguk leaves. He leaves.
He doesn’t look back—can’t, because he’s afraid of what he might see. Afraid that what he’ll see will make him come back, because even if he’s leaving physically, he knows without a doubt that he’s not taking his stupid fucking heart with him.
Chapter 7: v for volatile
“How do you get over someone you weren’t even dating?” asks Jeongguk.
wooooo angst time! i'd like to apologize in advance for the next few chapters. it's about to get real rough.
also! warning for a bit more degradation toward the end of this chapter ;~; i: am sad
i posted my v for vendetta angst playlist on twitter if anyone is interested, it's +here but truly the theme song of jk in this chapter is changed by bazzi if u wanna listen and cry with me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Jeongguk goes home—to his parents, to his brother, to his dog. He turns off his phone.
He doesn’t talk to Yoongi for three weeks. Doesn’t talk to anyone for three weeks, barricading himself in the little south Californian home he grew up in—the same bed sheets he had as a high school student, the same Christmas dinner he’s had for twenty years. The same traditions and neighbourhood and life, and it’s good. It’s good to have something familiar, something steady and solid, something he can rely on—something that won’t turn its back on him. Something that won’t turn out to be anything other than what he thought it was.
He finally tells his mother about what’s been happening—mostly because he comes home still in heat, mostly because she knows there’s something wrong the moment he steps out of his car in the driveway, and he was never good at hiding things from her anyway. She holds him when he cries, not just about Yoongi—about the suppressants, and the frats, and school, and the stress. She pets his hair like Yoongi does and it makes him cry harder, but he doesn’t tell her that.
Doesn’t tell her that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t push Yoongi out. Even if he takes a scalding hot shower the moment he gets home, scrubs himself for hours and hours until his skin is red and raw—he can still feel Yoongi, feel his hands, feel his breath. The worst part is that it’s not a bad feeling, because Yoongi was gentle. Yoongi was always gentle.
It’s more than that, though—he can’t get Yoongi’s voice out of his head, can’t stop finding things that remind Jeongguk of him. He spends three weeks trying to cocoon himself in something different but it only takes a moment to pull him out of it—his dog reminds him of Yoongi’s, of all of the pictures Yoongi has on his phone that he’d so happily show Jeongguk, cooing over Holly like a child. His brother watching basketball highlights reminds him of Yoongi’s games, of happy nights spent after games when Yoongi was coming off of the high of winning and sometimes he wouldn’t even want to fuck, just relay the entire game to Jeongguk like he hadn’t been there.
Jeongguk realizes, with some horror, that all of his clothes kind of smell like Yoongi. He finds one of Yoongi’s sweaters in his suitcase, a pair of his sunglasses in Jeongguk’s car. There are notes in Yoongi’s handwriting all over his notes, written during the times they’d try to study together, and every time he looks at the art he’s brought home, he can only see what Yoongi saw in them.
He thought that—coming home, leaving would mean that he would be able to remove himself from whatever mess he’d left behind at school. But what Jeongguk learns is that he and Yoongi are irrevocably entangled, their lives woven together in ways he hasn’t realized until now; they’d been so much more than just friends with benefits. They’d been so much more than friends. It’s only taken until now—when he’s trying, in vain, to pick apart the pieces of his life that are solely his and the pieces that are solely Yoongi—for him to realize. Jeongguk had made himself blind to it. But trying to extract himself from Yoongi, even this far removed, even in his own home, a place Yoongi himself has never touched, is impossible. It hurts.
On New Year’s Day, two weeks after Jeongguk first arrives home, his mother asks why he’s so sad. He looks at her—looks at the bags under her eyes, the new wrinkles on her face, everything she’s gained from trying to deal with having a sick husband and a son in crisis. The thing is, he’s never told her about Yoongi, not when they were together, and certainly not now. He wishes he could tell her, because mothers always know how to make things better.
But if he’s being honest, Jeongguk doesn’t know why he’s so sad. Doesn’t know why it’s been so hard to throw himself into Christmas celebrations like usual, doesn’t know why he spends so much time shut up in his room, tying and failing to draw anything that doesn’t look like Yoongi. It shouldn’t matter. Yoongi rejecting him shouldn’t matter because they were only supposed to be friends with benefits, and friends with benefits don’t develop feelings for each other.
Which means—Jeongguk is the one at fault, in a way. Yoongi hurt him and took advantage of him and didn’t protect him in his most vulnerable moments, but Jeongguk—Jeongguk put Yoongi on a pedestal. Jeongguk was the one who broke the unspoken rules, Jeongguk was the one who expected too much. And if they were just—fucking, then it should be easy to put it all behind him.
It’s three weeks—to reset, to resort himself. A new semester means a new chance, a new slate. He’ll go back to school after three weeks and he’ll be fine. He’ll go to class and he’ll run his frat and he won’t think about Yoongi, not even once—because Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t wallow.
He lets himself be sad for three weeks, because he doesn’t think he could be anything but. He tries to let his family heal him. He gets new suppressants, he prepares for his classes. He doesn’t talk to Yoongi. Doesn’t think about Yoongi, doesn’t dream about Yoongi, doesn’t fucking cry about Yoongi.
Jeongguk goes home. He pulls himself together.
And then he comes back.
“Sunday, January 7, 10:40 AM, Omega Tau meeting has begun,” Jeongguk begins after clearing his throat, shifting slightly in his seat as he looks down at the sheet of paper in front of him and then up to the overwhelming number of eyes staring back at him. It’s not—any different from the last meeting he ran or any of the meetings before that, but. There’s never been so much tension in the air, and he’s never been so uncomfortable sitting before his frat brothers before.
He clears his throat again, looking back down to the paper even though there’s only one thing written on it. The omega chews on his bottom lip, trying not to feel awkward, because it shouldn’t be; this is his frat, these are his brothers. But it’s obvious that something has changed.
“So,” he begins, clasping his hands on the table and looking up again. He finds Taehyung’s eyes. “I’m just… going to go ahead and address the elephant in the room, since I’m sure we’re all thinking about it. You may or… may not have found out, but, um—after the alphas stole our suppressants, I didn’t end up getting more and I… went into heat.” Jeongguk shifts again, noting just how many eyes skirt away from his, uncomfortable. He doesn’t like having this conversation either. “And… I think I should be honest with all of you when I tell you that Min Yoongi and I—”
“Guk,” says someone, and Jeongguk’s eyes snap over. It’s Taehyung, expression pained. “You… don’t have to tell us anything.”
“No, I do,” he says. “It’s only fair, considering you’re my frat and if we’re going to continue on, I need to be completely open. Yoongi—”
“No, Jeongguk,” someone else says. “You don’t have to tell us because—we already know.”
Jeongguk stops. Swallows tightly. For a second, it’s hard to grasp—“You… know,” he repeats. “What does that mean?”
It’s clear how uncomfortable everyone is—no one pipes up, shifting around in their seats, refusing to look at him. Jeongguk stares out at the group of omegas, feeling dread fill his stomach. He’s been gone for three weeks, cut himself off from everything and everyone so—in all honesty, he has no idea what happened after he walked away from Yoongi and Alpha Theta Chi. He just… assumed nothing happened.
Now his gaze turns to Taehyung again, his best friend—who looks guilty, suddenly, eyes skirting over to the others before the other omega stands up. He approaches Jeongguk, saying in a hushed voice, “I think we better talk, Guk-ah.”
Jeongguk is still confused, eyebrows furrowed as he looks from Taehyung to the others, but he gets up anyway, letting Taehyung lead the way into one of the side rooms and shut the door. Then the other omega turns to him, and the guilt is still there—stark and evident and horrible, hands wringing before he gestures for Jeongguk to sit on the sofa.
Jeongguk does, only because he’s suddenly become very afraid. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Why is everyone acting so weird? And what do you mean you already know?”
Taehyung sighs and then sits on the edge of the sofa across from Jeongguk. “I tried contacting you,” he begins. “Texted you, called. I even called your house but your mom said you didn’t want to talk, so… just know I really did try to let you know.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, like it’s painful to get out. “Literally everyone on campus knows that you and Yoongi-hyung were… a thing. It’s been the only thing anyone has been talking about for three weeks. It’s like—a proper scandal, since you’re presidents of rival frats and everything. I didn’t really… look at what a lot of people are saying because it’s gross, that’s your business and no one should be prying, but—it’s bad.”
Jeongguk just stares.
“Um,” says Taehyung, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I guess that alpha that, uh—walked in on you two? He told a bunch of people right away so that’s how it got out. I don’t know how much of it is the truth because you know how rumours get out of control, but I think everyone believes you two were secretly together for a while.”
He’s sick to his stomach as he thinks about it—a scandal, everyone knowing, everyone knowing when it all ended so horribly, and Yoongi said those horrible things because he wanted to protect them and now it’s ruined everything anyway. Jeongguk can’t comprehend it, but somehow manages to ask, “Was—um. Was there a picture?”
Taehyung shakes his head. “No,” he says. “There was nothing like that. I mean, I didn’t even believe it at first because there was no real way to prove it and he was one of the alphas that was always trying to fuck you over, right, but—”
“It’s true, Taehyung,” says Jeongguk. Swallows again. “We were… together. I mean. We were sleeping together.”
Taehyung looks—pained again, dropping his hand. “It doesn’t matter, Jeongguk, I’m not going to judge you or anything,” he says. “I think most people are just interested in it because of the whole secrecy thing and the fact that you hated each other publicly. No one cares who anyone else is fucking, you know? But I guess because it’s all high stakes or whatever… I dunno. The point is—it wasn’t just that alpha who started it.”
Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Apparently there were quite a few people who suspected there was something going on between you two,” says Taehyung. “The three alphas who stole our suppressants in the first place? They did it because they wanted to out you and Yoongi-hyung somehow. And they… managed to do it because some of our own frat brothers suspected it too and they didn’t like the idea, so they helped the alphas.”
“They left, Guk,” says Taehyung. “I guess they got what they wanted and they didn’t really like you that much anyway, so they tried to fuck you over. And then they dropped out of the frat because they got what they want.”
Jeongguk blinks. “Are you fucking serious?” he asks.
“It’s been… weird,” says Taehyung. “And—while we’re at it, I guess you don’t know that, um. Alpha Theta Chi got suspended. The investigation from the school board finished over the break and they suspended the frat for the rest of the school year, expelled the three alphas who started the whole thing, and Yoongi-hyung is suspended from the basketball team for a few games. Oh, and he maybe tried to kill the alpha that caught you.”
It’s a lot to take in. There’s a lot he’s missed, a lot he could have known and processed and been a part of if he’d just turned on his damn phone, and now that he’s back at school, it’s like being hit with a brick wall. He doesn’t know how to handle all of this—not only finding out that everyone knows one of the most intimate parts of his life, but that his rival frat has been suspended, he’ll never have to deal with the alphas again, and some of his own omegas turned against him.
And—“He tried to kill the alpha?” repeats Jeongguk, somehow only latching onto that part.
“I didn’t hear it from Yoongi-hyung himself,” says Taehyung, “but apparently as soon as you left, he went after him and beat the shit out of him. He got in trouble with the school and everything, but they didn’t really do anything about it in the end.”
Jeongguk tries to ignore the warmth in the pit of his stomach. Not that it matters—Jeongguk would have beat the shit out of him, too. And it doesn’t make up for the way Yoongi acted, but it’s something, at least.
“How do you know all of this, anyway?” asks Jeongguk.
“Like I said, it’s all anyone has been talking about,” says Taehyung. “And… Jimin knows from Namjoon, who knows from Hoseok. The findings of the investigation are public, too; they didn’t find Yoongi-hyung at fault for the suppressants thing, but they suspended the whole frat anyway because it was the actions of the frat and the prank war that led to the suppressants being stolen. We’re lucky they didn’t suspend us, too.”
Somehow, Jeongguk thinks that might not have been the worst thing. He’s not so worried about the frat, anyway—he’s more worried about the scandal, about everyone knowing what he does behind closed doors. About everything being in vain.
How is he supposed to show his face at school and know that everyone meeting his eyes knows about he and Yoongi? Knows some version of the truth, or some fucked up fantasy that they came up with—with he as the desperate omega, because that’s how it always is. No one ever cares about the alpha.
Jeongguk wanted this semester to be a new shot. Wanted everything to be wiped clean so that he could come back on a new note. But suddenly—he can feel the stress creeping up the back of his neck already, something new but something that feels so much like the stress of the last few months. No matter what he does, he can’t escape.
The omega tips forward, hiding his face in his hands.
“Everyone knows,” he says.
He can hear Taehyung sigh, shifting closer like he’s going to reach out. “It’s just rumours, Gukkie,” he says. “Even if it’s true, no one really knows that. Only you and Yoongi-hyung do and I doubt he’s going to go blabbing the truth to everyone.”
“But everyone knows.”
“They’ll forget about it in a few weeks. College students have a very short attention span and someone else will do something that grabs their attention. If you want, I can go streaking across the basketball court at the next game.”
“No,” Jeongguk groans, sitting back again. “I just—fuck. I don’t know what I expected. I just wanted to come back and forget about everything and forget about Yoongi, but it’s just—it’s everywhere. It’s going to be everywhere.”
He realizes, belatedly, that maybe he owes Taehyung more of an explanation. He only knows the rumours, too, even if he might have suspected the truth, but Jeongguk can’t be bothered to explain anything to anyone. No one else deserves to know the truth. He shouldn’t have to explain the truth to anyone, because what he and Yoongi did behind closed doors is no one else’s business, even his best friend’s. Everyone is going to look at him differently. Everyone is going to judge him, is going to think something, but—they did that already. Now it’s just for a very specific reason and everyone is going to be thinking the same thing.
But Jeongguk is nothing if not resilient. He’s broken-hearted, yes, and he’s tired and he’s stressed and the first day of classes hasn’t even started, but—being upset is what everyone expects. Being scared and awkward and wanting to hide is what everyone wants, is what those stupid alphas wanted when they started their smear campaign. They wanted to out him and they wanted to make him hide, but he won’t.
Even if it’s all pretend—hasn’t he been pretending for a very long time? It’s nothing new. All he has to do is pretend that Yoongi means nothing to him.
And he’s been doing that for a damn long time, so how is this any different?
Jeongguk gives a sigh. He wipes at his eyes, even if he wasn’t crying. He stands, smoothing down his clothing and giving Taehyung a careful look. “Alright,” he says. “Thank you for informing me. Now, I have a meeting to run.”
Jeongguk’s determination not to let anything bother him lasts remarkably well considering everyone won’t stop staring at him. It feels like he’s in middle school as he starts his first day of classes the next day and immediately finds himself to be the center of attention almost everywhere he goes—at least for a while. His classmates stop talking when he comes near, until he gives them a sickeningly sweet smile and asks what they’re talking about. A few people whisper in the corridors, like he doesn’t know they’re talking about him, but he does his best not to pay attention.
He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t. He takes the long way to his classes just to avoid running into people and he makes a point not to go on any social media site that he knows is inhabited by the people at his school so that he doesn’t have to see any of the rumours, if they’re still circulating, but—that’s just self-preservation.
He doesn’t talk to anyone because he doesn’t want to know what they have to say. He resolutely ignores the part of him that is keenly aware that he could run into Yoongi at any time, and the part that is keenly aware that he can’t avoid Yoongi forever because the alpha’s suspension from the basketball team will end and then they’ll be forced into the same room during games.
But Jeongguk is very good at ignoring all of that. He’s good at ignoring the looks and the whispers and the thoughts that crowd in anyway. So what if everyone thinks they know who he’s been sleeping with? So what if everyone has probably imagined it or gossiped about it? So what if everyone thinks he’s some stupid omega who needed an alpha to satisfy him and decided it was going to be his supposed rival?
Jeongguk gets through his first morning of classes and he’s fine.
And then he runs into Yoongi.
It’s less of an encounter, really, than a sighting—Jeongguk is heading down the corridor in the Arts building toward the lecture hall for his next class, backpack slung over one shoulder and phone in hand when he looks up and. He almost doesn’t recognize him at first—Yoongi’s hair is black now, and he’s almost drowning in the hoodie he’s wearing, hood up and bottom half of his face covered in a black mask.
But it’s him. Jeongguk would know him no matter what he was wearing, no matter the colour of his hair. He has Yoongi’s body memorized, the slope of his shoulders, the bend of his knees. He’s just standing in the corridor, looking at something on the wall, and it’s—it shouldn’t mean anything just to see him, but all at once, it’s like everything in Jeongguk’s world comes to a halt.
He can’t see anything, hear anything. His feet come to a halt and someone bumps into him from behind, but he pays no attention. It’s just—Yoongi. Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do with all the emotion that wells up inside of him, suddenly, like a visceral reaction. It’s—sadness and anger and want, a sort of longing he’s never felt in his entire life, like his body is only now remembering what it’s like to be with Yoongi’s, like it’s forgotten just how starved it’s been and it wants, it wants, but Jeongguk is resolute in staying where he is.
He’s not going to allow it, not going to allow anything. It’s been three weeks since he’s seen or spoken to Yoongi, but it was for a reason. There’s no reason not to continue the radio silence, and it’s fine. It’s fine. Seeing Yoongi doesn’t have to mean anything.
And then Yoongi turns his head toward Jeongguk, and their eyes meet—and Jeongguk sees the bags under his eyes, the way his skin is almost a sickly grey colour, and he sees the defeated sorrow in Yoongi’s eyes the split second before the surprise takes over.
Jeongguk is gone before Yoongi can even open his mouth, turning and heading for—he doesn’t know, but somewhere, anywhere, and quickly, quickly, clutching his phone too tightly as he spots the bathroom and runs for it, accidentally shouldering someone on their way out. He doesn’t apologize, just pushes into one of the stalls and slams the door behind him, locking it as he sits down on the toilet seat and—and.
Bursts into tears.
It’s just—he’s used to his own sadness. He’s used to the emptiness that has crept up on him in the past three weeks, he’s made friends with the grief and the loneliness. There are demons sitting on his chest, but he knows they’re there. What he didn’t expect was to see Yoongi’s, too, to realize that—maybe, maybe. All of this sadness isn’t only his own. And what is he supposed to do with all of this longing in him, all of his desire to go to Yoongi and hold him, fix whatever mess they’d made? What is he supposed to do with the parts of him that can’t bear to know that Yoongi is suffering too?
Yoongi deserves to suffer, he reminds himself. But he doesn’t want it, doesn’t want it, sobbing like a pathetic child in the bathroom. His cheeks are wet, tears dripping onto his shirt as he holds a hand over his mouth to keep himself from making too much noise. But he can’t stop it. Can’t stop all of these wounds from opening up again, even the ones he’d carefully stitched closed over the past three weeks.
Jeongguk can hear himself whining through the tears, squeezing his eyes shut when he realizes he can’t. Can’t do it alone, can’t suffer like this when no one understands—and that’s the problem with no one really knowing the truth. It was easy to have a good relationship when no one knew about it, but now that he needs someone to pet his hair and tell him that he’ll be alright—there’s no one.
Still, it’s with a trembling hand that he grabs his phone again. Jeongguk chokes on his next sob as he hastily wipes at his eyes, trying to see enough to open his phone and find a number, any number—he almost accidentally clicks on Yoongi’s name before a fresh wave of tears takes over and he scrolls past, jabbing at the first familiar name he sees after that.
It’s strange, really. He’s gone so much longer without seeing Yoongi; last summer, after they’d been secretly together for almost six months, Yoongi went back to South Korea for two months. Three weeks is nothing in comparison, but—they’d texted every day. They’d called and FaceTimed and Skyped with their hands down their pants and laughter on their breaths as Jeongguk tried to hide it from his parents. And oh, hadn’t it been fun to have something secret, to have something special and his own and now—now—
Jeongguk gasps, and it’s wet, and there are tears all over his face, but—he focuses on Jimin’s voice, clutching his phone as tightly as he dares. Jimin, who is maybe closer to this than he needs to be, but Jimin, who has always taken Jeongguk’s side anyway.
“Jeongguk, are you okay?” asks Jimin, picking up on the wet crying sounds, and Jeongguk sniffs, trying to control his crying long enough to say something back.
“Y-Yeah,” he manages, hating the way his voice sounds, and he lets out another sob before he just. Presses his face into his knees, phone still held to his ear.
“Jeongguk-ah, what’s wrong?” Jimin asks. “Do you need me to come pick you up from somewhere?”
“No, i-it’s okay, hyung,” says Jeongguk. “Just—fuck.” He suddenly realizes he has no idea what he’s supposed to say, has no idea what he can say—he has no time to explain, no time to tell Jimin everything from start to finish, and maybe this was stupid. Maybe he just needs to learn how to suffer in silence because no one will ever get it, not even if he tries to explain it.
There are no words to describe the way Yoongi has infiltrated his entire life and what it feels like to try to pick him out like new stitches, bit by bit, until all that’s left are the scars.
“Jeongguk,” and Jimin’s voice is calm now. “Talk to me, talk to hyung. You’re okay.”
Jeongguk lets out another wet sob, because he can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s face, can’t stop seeing it in the hallway—dark bags under his eyes. Yoongi is tired. Yoongi is sad. Jeongguk made him sad and it’s not—it shouldn’t be something that makes Jeongguk sad in return, but there’s this hole in the middle of his chest and seeing Yoongi is like pouring salt on it.
“I can’t—can’t do this,” he cries into the phone. “I-I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”
“Can’t do what, Gukkie?”
He rocks forward, squeezing his eyes shut even though it doesn’t stop the tears, and—“I miss him so much,” he whispers. “He f-fucking broke my heart and I want to hate him but I—I can’t, I can’t hate him because I miss him, I miss—” Jeongguk gasps in a breath, sitting up again. “Miss his stupid smile and his hands a-and when he calls me baby and it’s not—I don’t—”
“Jeongguk,” says Jimin, quiet and low and. Sad.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m crying like a fucking—idiot.”
“Jeongguk, it’s okay—”
“No, it’s not,” and Jeongguk wants to sound mad, but his voice is broken and wet and he can’t stop crying—“I j-just spent three weeks trying to put it behind me and then the first time I see him, I start crying and I can’t stop, like he just—it just hurts so badly. My heart hurts so badly, hyung, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“Take a deep breath, okay?” asks Jimin. Jeongguk does, rattling through the pain in his chest and the way his throat is clogged and the snot running out of his nose. “Just breathe for a second, Gukkie.”
He tries. He tries but it hurts. “I miss him so much,” he repeats, more quietly this time, more to himself than anything—like he’s realizing it for the first time. He misses Yoongi. He misses Yoongi because first days of classes always meant Yoongi finding him during lunch, if both of them had time off, and dragging him into an empty classroom. Sharing a sandwich or an energy drink, demanding to know what kind of awful professors Jeongguk has been saddled with for the semester. First days of classes meant Yoongi texting him at night with stories and pictures. First days of classes meant Yoongi sneaking into the Omega Tau house at ten to midnight to kiss him hello, to wish him luck for the week, to make plans because they could finally be together again.
First days of classes always meant first days with Yoongi, firsts of all sorts—it just meant. Yoongi. First days meant second days, meant finding time to fuck and cuddle and laugh about silly things, meant hiding, but it was fun to hide.
He misses Yoongi because somewhere along the way, school stopped just being about school. Stopped being about classes and his art and his frat. Yoongi was always—first. Yoongi was always the one good thing he could count on.
“Jeongguk,” says Jimin softly. His voice sounds so far away through the phone and Jeongguk feels lonely, lonely in this bathroom staff. He’s so fucking alone.
“How do you get over someone you weren’t even dating?” asks Jeongguk.
“Do you want me to come get you? We can talk in person and it might—”
“No,” says Jeongguk suddenly. He wipes at his eyes, finding that his tears have slowed enough for that. “No, I’m fine. I just—needed to talk to someone.”
“It’s okay to miss him, you know,” says Jimin, and of course he knows who Jeongguk is talking about without even needing to name him. Everyone knows. “Even if you weren’t dating. Whatever happened, it’s okay to miss him. It sounds like—he was a lot more than just someone you were fucking.”
Jeongguk doesn’t even know what Yoongi was to him. Still is, still could be, and maybe this is just a sign that he needs to do something about it. He needs to swallow his pride and his anger and pick up the phone, call someone other than Jimin or Taehyung, but—he can’t. He can’t because this is still Yoongi’s fault, and Yoongi doesn’t deserve to know Jeongguk is fucking crying over him.
“People won’t stop staring at me,” he adds. “Feel like a freak with two heads.”
“Don’t pay attention to them, Gukkie,” says Jimin.
“They’ll know I was crying.”
“Fuck them. Fuck all of them. They don’t have a right to know what went on with you and Yoongi-hyung. I don’t even have a right to know that, and if you—if you want to cry over it, cry over it. If you want to hit something, hit something.”
“I want to hit Yoongi,” mumbles Jeongguk.
Jimin chuckles, just a little. “Maybe don’t do that,” he says.
Jeongguk wipes at his tears again, sniffs. “He’s such an asshole,” he whispers. “And I hate him and I want him to die but I—I don’t, because every time I think about him, there’s just this part of me that wants to go to him. Is that normal?”
“Yeah, that’s normal,” says Jimin. “It’s going to hurt, Gukkie. You’re going through a break-up, essentially, and it’s going to take time. But if you really want to get over him… you have to last through it.”
Jeongguk considers, maybe, that it would be easier to just swallow his pride and talk to Yoongi so that he wouldn’t have to feel like this. And he knows that Jimin and Taehyung would support him no matter what, no matter what choice he makes. And maybe it’s too soon to tell, too soon to really decide—when he’s breaking down in public bathrooms over just seeing Yoongi, over just realizing that this isn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped.
But he has to believe Jimin. Has to believe that it’ll just be one day at a time, and maybe one day he’ll wake up and won’t think about Yoongi first, won’t hear the good and then the bad. Won’t feel like he’s missing something.
“Okay,” he whispers, sniffing again before he wipes at his entire face, wet with tears. “Okay, I’m sorry for calling you in the middle of the day.”
“I’m always here for you, Guk-ah,” says Jimin. “Especially if you’re going to have a good cry over a boy. Are you sure you don’t want to just come over?”
“No, I have class,” says Jeongguk, although he doubts he’ll go. Maybe he’ll just hide here until he’s sure that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found, and then he’ll go home and hide in his bed. And he’ll hide and hide for the rest of his life, because he doesn’t know how to face what frightens him, including—love.
“Alright, well, I’m coming over tonight anyway,” says Jimin. “Taehyungie says he needs help with homework but he hasn’t even had a class yet today, so I think he just wants an excuse to nap on my butt.”
Jeongguk giggles, despite himself. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks, hyung. I’ll see you then.”
“I love you, Jeongguk,” says Jimin. “You’re one of my best friends and I don’t like seeing you hurting, but I know I can’t take it away. So just—take care of yourself, okay? Until I can give you a hug later.”
Jeongguk nods into the phone, mumbling an agreement before Jimin hangs up and the line goes dead. He’s not sure he feels better, not sure that it did anything, but—crying is cathartic. It has to be. Jeongguk pockets his phone, sits up and wipes at his tears again. There’s no way he can get through class with red eyes and a red face, but maybe he can get out of the building without too many people staring at him.
And if they do stare, then so what. Maybe they’ll put two and two together. Maybe they’ll hate Yoongi for him.
Jeongguk spends the entire week hiding. He goes to class, but he sits at the back, hiding behind his laptop or his notebook; he’s a good student, always has been, but he keeps his head down, keeps his hand down. Doesn’t engage with anyone unless he absolutely has to, because the whispers follow him anyway. He waits for the day that everyone else finds something else to focus on, like Taehyung says they will, but it doesn’t come. Not yet.
It’s not easy in the frat, either. Everyone treats him a little differently, even though when he addresses it, they say they don’t care that he and Yoongi used to do things behind closed doors. But he knows they blame him for the suppressants, knows they find it strange that they’ve lost a few members of their own. Knows they look at him in a new light, like he could be hiding so much more, as though his sexual partners are any of their business.
He goes to the studio and he draws and he paints. He doesn’t even have to begin yet for his art classes, but he works anyway—Jeongguk has always used art as a way to express himself, to get out his frustrations and emotions, so maybe it’s no surprise that everything is so dark. Everything is so angry, or overwhelming.
And still, everything looks like Yoongi. He doesn’t even draw people but his art looks like Yoongi, anyway—Yoongi is in everything. Yoongi is everything, the landscapes and the abstract and the crowds. He’s in the paint itself, no matter what Jeongguk mixes it with.
He trashes almost everything he makes because it just makes him angrier. But still, he comes back with new canvas, new paint, new pencils. He’s determined to get it all out, because maybe if he can find a way to put all of his anger and pain on the paper, it won’t have to live in his body anymore.
After five days of avoiding everyone and everything, Jeongguk finally finishes his first week of classes and immediately heads to the studio. He keeps his head down, as he always does, eyes trained on his shoes as he weaves through the small crowd of students leaving the university for the weekend and then—
Jeongguk’s shoulder collides with someone and he stumbles, only muttering an apology before he looks up to see—Namjoon.
He stops. He and Namjoon aren’t exactly… friends, but.
“Jeongguk,” says Namjoon, eyebrows raised like he’s surprised to see Jeongguk at the university he’s gone to school at for the past three years.
“Namjoon-hyung,” says Jeongguk with a nod, already feeling awkward. He and Namjoon aren’t exactly friends, but Namjoon and Yoongi are. Jeongguk has done very well not to interact with anyone who might be on the other side of all of this and now… this.
“How are you doing?” asks Namjoon, and it’s—it’s too pointed to just be a regular friendly question. Jeongguk feels the discomfort bubbling up his throat, knowing that Namjoon knows, probably knows better than most people because Hoseok knows, because Hoseok is best friends with Yoongi.
Jeongguk’s response is clipped—“Fine,” he says.
Namjoon looks awkward as he says, “Look, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries—”
“But,” Namjoon says anyway, “maybe if you just talked to—”
“Don’t,” snaps Jeongguk, suddenly angry. “Don’t you fucking dare mention his name to me. I know you’re friends or whatever—”
“He’s living on my couch, Jeongguk,” says Namjoon, like that’s supposed to change anything, which. It kind of does, maybe. But Jeongguk refuses to feel sorry for him.
“It’s not my fault his frat got suspended,” says Jeongguk. “Maybe if he would have been a better president and, I dunno, person, then we wouldn’t be in this situation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a studio to get to.”
He doesn’t bother to hear what Namjoon has to say, or to look at the expression on his face. Jeongguk just turns and heads back down the hallway, the way he was heading in the first place. And—Namjoon doesn’t deserve that, he knows. Namjoon is a nice guy, just trying to help, but Jeongguk doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need people trying to butt into his business, trying to make him pity Yoongi when all of this is Yoongi’s fault to begin with.
Once Jeongguk makes it to the studio, there’s a certain aggressive nature to the way he sets up his supplies. He’s practically humming with it, clenching his jaw as he thinks about—how everyone just thinks they know, everyone thinks they have the right thing to say to him. Everyone thinks they can fix it. And maybe Namjoon does know better than other people, but that doesn’t give him the right to try to tell Jeongguk that if only he would talk to Yoongi, as if that’s even an option.
The omega stares at the empty canvas before him. He grabs his phone and then his headphones, plugging them into the device before he slips them into his ears. Turns on the angriest music he can find, just to rile himself up a little more, just to get everything out and out and out. The truth is, Jeongguk doesn’t want to be angry. He doesn’t want to feel this all of the time, but he does.
He stares at the canvas and he thinks about every rumour he’s heard about himself in the past five days, thinks about the word cumbucket painted all over his art, thinks about the news article he read just this morning about the alphas that were expelled and might have legal consequences to face because of their actions. Thinks about how they dragged him into this mess, thinks about everything they’ve ruined for him—his school year, his reputation, his one good fucking relationship. Lets all that anger rise up and up and up.
And then Jeongguk begins to paint.
He submerses himself in it, in the music, in the feeling. Slashes his paintbrush over the canvas again and again even though he doesn’t know what he’s painting, but it becomes some sort of angry thing, reds and blacks and whites mixing together in some abstract expression of his heart. Of his heavy, dirty soul. He finds himself sweating, breathing heavily, half covered in paint as he keeps going even once the entire canvas has been covered, going over and over what he’s done like the more paint he puts on the canvas, the less anger he’ll have within him, and he thinks it’s working, thinks it’s working—
There’s a hand on his shoulder.
Jeongguk startles, whipping around with the paintbrush still in his hand and he accidentally smacks his hand against the side of the head of the person who touched him, standing behind him.
“Fuck,” he says, yanking the headphones out of his ears and turning to look at—
Jeongguk freezes, holding his headphones in one hand and the paintbrush in the other as he stares. It’s a testament, maybe, to his emotional state that he doesn’t immediately break down like last time. Or maybe it has something to do with the painting, the anger that has resided in his body instead of the sadness for the past few days. Either way.
“What the fuck do you want?” he snaps and Yoongi straightens up in front of him, expression unreadable.
“I’ve been calling your name for like, five minutes,” says Yoongi, which. Isn’t an answer. Jeongguk doesn’t—doesn’t want to talk to him, already feels like he’s suffocating. He’d been planning on avoiding Yoongi for as long as possible, and now it’s only been five days and here he is, just thinking he can waltz right back into Jeongguk’s life like nothing happened.
“I said, what the fuck do you want?” repeats Jeongguk, voice and face stony.
“Namjoon told me you’d be here,” says Yoongi.
Jeongguk’s lip curls. “Fucking Namjoon,” he says. “Stop stalking me. I don’t want to fucking talk to you.” It’s a far cry from the way he reacted the first time, breaking down in the bathroom. But he’s had some time to reflect on how he wants to deal with this, and maybe just shutting Yoongi out entirely is the best way to go about it. Jimin said it would take time, said it would hurt. But he’s not interested in letting it hurt.
He keeps his gaze away from Yoongi’s face, instead inspecting the paintbrush because he doesn’t want to see the hurt or the anger or whatever Yoongi wants to give him.
“I’m not stalking you,” is the brilliant thing Yoongi has to say in response.
“Okay,” says Jeongguk. “So leave.”
He can sense the hesitation—doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up as Yoongi’s scent takes over his entire body. Doesn’t like how his body reacts to it, even though his mind is still angry and upset—it’s just. Yoongi has only ever meant good things, and his presence has only ever been comforting, and it’s like his body finally has something to lean on. Feels like he’s been wound up and up for almost a month and now that there’s something warm and familiar, he can just let go and—he doesn’t want that. He won’t allow that.
Jeongguk’s gaze crosses to Yoongi again, sharp. The alpha is watching him with furrowed brows. “I just…” begins Yoongi. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Check on me?” repeats Jeongguk. “Like you actually fucking care about me now? In case you’re wondering, I got home alright without some stupid alpha trying to jump me in the street since I was pouring heat pheromones everywhere.”
He sees the way Yoongi winces, thinks good. Thinks it, doesn’t feel it. His body is still trying to make him move forward, just curl right into Yoongi’s body where it thinks he belongs, but he doesn’t—not anymore.
“You told me not to follow you,” says Yoongi.
“I’d rather not get into it,” replies Jeongguk. “I’m fine, as you can see. I’m trying to do some work, actually, so if you wouldn’t mind…” He nods toward the door, not bothering to be nice. He’s not here to be nice, not when Yoongi has invaded his personal space. Not when he’s trying his fucking hardest to resist the urge to just hug him, and he doesn’t know how long he can hold that off.
“Jeongguk,” begins Yoongi.
“No,” says Jeongguk. “Don’t try to pull your ‘baby’ nonsense on me. We’re not—we’re not a thing anymore, Yoongi. Or has me not talking to you for three weeks somehow given you the wrong signal? You chose your reputation over me and now you have to stick with it.”
In truth, he doesn’t know if Yoongi is here to apologize. Doesn’t know if he’s trying to get something out of Jeongguk instead, but the way the alpha’s face contorts into one of irritation tells him that he was expecting Jeongguk to just—fall at his feet, beg for things to go back to the way they were. Like Jeongguk wouldn’t still be angry about the way they left things.
“That’s still not what happened,” says Yoongi coolly.
“Doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” asks Jeongguk, taking a step back, intending on turning back to his work. Maybe if he just ignores Yoongi, he’ll go away. “You were so worried about saving your reputation, and now it’s been ruined anyway. Suspended frat, lost your presidency, can’t play your precious basketball for—what, five games? And you turned out to be a massive dick. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.”
Yoongi just—lets out this little sigh. “I don’t know what I expected,” he says. “Do you ever listen to anything but the sound of your own voice?”
“Did you come here to argue with me, Yoongi?”
“I came here because I’m trying to be a good friend.”
“A friend?” Jeongguk barks out a laugh. “We were never friends, hyung. We fucked each other for a year and then you broke my heart.”
“Am I not allowed to be concerned about you?”
“I think you should be more concerned about yourself at this point. Namjoon told me that you’re living on his couch. How’s that going?”
Yoongi’s expression darkens, just a little. Jeongguk only now realizes that they’re standing so close to each other, subconsciously drifting together like their bodies know better than their minds; he can see the anger in Yoongi’s eyes, see the way he’s straining to keep himself calm. Jeongguk gets it. And although part of him is trying to tell him it’s a bad idea, he can’t help playing right into the argument—maybe this will be more cathartic than art.
“I don’t know why I try to talk to you,” mutters Yoongi.
“Then why are you here?” asks Jeongguk, and then—he picks up on something in Yoongi’s scent. Something like arousal. The omega tilts his head, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. You’re shameless, aren’t you? You came here because you’re horny.”
Yoongi’s expression changes, finally—confusion flickers across it, surprise. Disbelief.
“You’re really something else, Min,” says Jeongguk. “You try to tell me that you see me as more than a hole for you to fill and then come here to fuck me anyway, like I’ll just drop to my knees for you? Is that what you want?”
For a moment, he sees a sort of struggle in Yoongi’s eyes—like he’s trying to convince himself that Jeongguk is wrong. But Jeongguk feels it, too, feels the pull on the deepest part of him—the omega part, the part that has been without Yoongi for too long. The part that remembers the alpha, the part that wants to submit even though he’s never been good at it.
In the end, it’s always about hormones. Always about biology and bullshit, and Jeongguk doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Yoongi to just be another alpha, doesn’t want to think that he was actually right a month ago. He spent the three weeks of radio silence trying to convince himself that he misread it all, that he jumped to conclusions. But Yoongi looks at him—Yoongi takes a step closer, until their chests brush together, until their faces are mere inches apart.
There’s a growl on the alpha’s lips.
Jeongguk—misses him. Misses his voice and his smile and the way he talks about the things he loves. Misses his being, his heart. But more than that—at least for the moment—Jeongguk’s body misses him. Misses his hands and his mouth and his goddamned cock.
The omega closes his eyes and takes a breath and all he can smell is Yoongi and it’s been so long and it’s not—it’s not right, but. If Yoongi only sees him as a hole to fill, then what’s the point in trying to be anything else?
Jeongguk doesn’t give himself time to think. He just opens his eyes and surges forward, closing the distance between them and crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Yoongi’s hands are in his hair instantly, tugging and pulling and it’s too aggressive, too desperate, but it’s all they have. Jeongguk drops the paintbrush in favour of fisting both of his hands in Yoongi’s shirt to pull him closer, closer, already-swollen lips moving over Yoongi’s.
It’s like his entire body heaves a sigh of—finally. Like this, he can almost pretend it’s something normal, something like what it was before. Yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat and Jeongguk presses harder, opening his mouth and licking at the alpha’s bottom lip like he needs to ask permission, and Yoongi’s hands are on his waist, pushing him back and back even though Jeongguk doesn’t want to go.
It feels like they’re arguing. Feels like they’re pouring every bit of anger and frustration into the kiss; Jeongguk bites at Yoongi’s lip and Yoongi hisses, fingers digging into his sides. Yoongi tastes different. Tastes like loneliness, tastes like distance, but Jeongguk doesn’t care; his head is hazy with it already, lips spit-slick and red as Yoongi presses kisses into them, into the sides of his mouth.
“I’m so,” begins Jeongguk, panting, “I’m so fucking mad at you.”
“Shut up,” Yoongi growls back, trying to swallow down the words as he kisses Jeongguk again, but—Jeongguk won’t let him have the upper hand. Even if he’s blaming all of this on hormones, he won’t let the omega part of him give in, won’t let himself submit like he always wants to when it comes to Yoongi. He’s trying to prove a point.
Yoongi backs him into a nearby table, hands tight on his waist, and Jeongguk hates that he likes it. Hates that his body is reacting too easily to this even if it just makes his heart hurt, and he almost huffs as he kisses Yoongi’s bottom lip, his chin, down to his jaw. Yoongi’s hand is in his hair again as he keeps going lower, making a noise when Yoongi slots a knee between his legs and. Yoongi likes it. Jeongguk can always tell when Yoongi likes something, when he likes something that Jeongguk does, which is just a sign that it’s just about this physical side of their relationship.
Always has been, always will be.
Jeongguk drags his lips back up to Yoongi’s, ignoring the pull on his hair as he mutters, “Gonna suck you off,” and doesn’t give Yoongi a chance to argue before he drops to his knees.
He’s still angry, he realizes, when he starts working at the alpha’s jeans, because this isn’t—this isn’t about him, isn’t about his pleasure. If Yoongi is here to use him, then he’ll let Yoongi use him. He has to get used to the idea that Yoongi only sees him as a warm body, anyway.
“Guk,” begins Yoongi, but Jeongguk manages to get his button undone and he pulls the alpha’s jeans halfway down his thighs in response. Yoongi’s already half-hard, betraying anything he might have said, anyway, and Jeongguk takes a moment to look up—look at Yoongi staring down at him, eyes already a little hazy.
“It’s fine,” says Jeongguk, ignoring the way his voice shakes. “You’re just here for this, right?”
He almost dares Yoongi to argue with him as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of the alpha’s boxers and pulls them down, too. It gives him an excuse not to look at Yoongi, anyway, as he turns his attention to the cock in front of him. He’s sucked Yoongi’s cock plenty of times. Yoongi has fucked his face plenty of times, too.
It’s the first time he feels tears pricking the backs of his eyes before he even gets it in his mouth, though, and Jeongguk doesn’t know why, just ignores the feeling as he spits into his hand, fists Yoongi’s cock, and begins stroking it. Thinks about how—normally, he’d take his time with it. Normally, he’d tease Yoongi, would have nosed at his bulge before he even thought about undressing Yoongi anyway, but this isn’t normal. This isn’t normal. This is Jeongguk being the good little omega that he thinks Yoongi wants him to be, which doesn’t mean being familiar or having any fun of his own. It means putting Yoongi’s dick in his mouth and nothing more.
It doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to stroke Yoongi to full hardness, the alpha’s murmurs of, “Yeah, just like that, Guk-ah,” only fuelling his irritation, and then he ignores the way Yoongi is breathing above him—the way he keeps saying Jeongguk’s name like he used to—and takes Yoongi into his mouth. Somehow, it’s all mechanical, like a routine. Like clockwork.
He sinks down on Yoongi’s cock, licking a stripe on the underside as he comes back up, sucks just the head into his mouth for a second as he works at the base with his hand and. Yoongi lets out a hiss, hand coming to rest on Jeongguk’s head. “Do you like that?” asks Jeongguk, keeping his eyes away, away, away from Yoongi’s face. Doesn’t want to see it. “Like when I suck your cock, hyung? When I put my mouth to good use?”
It feels—wrong to say, to say himself. Yoongi has degraded him before, but it’s only been when Jeongguk has asked. Still, he just sucks at the head of Yoongi’s cock again, swirling his tongue around the tip as the alpha moans above him, and it’s not a sign that he’s wrong.
Jeongguk pulls off again, just for a second, just to say, “S’all I’m good for, right? Sucking your cock and letting you f-fill me. Just a stupid omega.” And he’s—crying? He can’t tell, doesn’t want to know, but he dives back in anyway, taking Yoongi’s cock into his mouth properly now as he sinks down. Bobs his head as he works at it, relaxing his throat like he knows he should. He’s done this so many times before.
Yoongi finally seems to realize that something is wrong. “Jeongguk, what are you doing?” he asks, although it’s said through another groan and with a strained voice, like he’s trying to focus on not giving into the pleasure. In the end, his alpha instincts are always going to take over, anyway. Jeongguk can’t blame him.
When his jaw begins to get sore, he pulls back again, using his hand to twist over Yoongi’s cock as he sniffs because he is crying but he doesn’t pay attention to it, doesn’t pay attention to anything but what he thinks Yoongi wants. What he knows he wants.
“Am I doing good, hyung?” he asks without looking up. “Am I making you feel good? Just being the dumb s-slut that I am, just another hole for you to use.” He can hear Yoongi protesting—it’s weak, cut off with moans as Jeongguk thumbs at the head of his cock, and it’s fine because he doesn’t need Yoongi to pretend otherwise. Still, his vision starts blurring with tears and it’s not helpful.
“Stop it,” says Yoongi. “Stop saying that—”
“I’m just a—” he begins, voice catching. “Just an omega bitch.” Jeongguk wipes at his nose, pathetically. Suddenly doesn’t want to be sitting there on his knees, doing this to himself, even if it’s what Yoongi wants—has to be what Yoongi wants. The hand in his hair is tight, like it’s trying to pull him away but he won’t have it, determined to give Yoongi what he wants. So Jeongguk takes Yoongi’s cock into his mouth again, sinking down entirely before he hollows his cheeks on the upstroke, working and working and thinking it’s all he’s good for, has to be, maybe if he just does this, Yoongi will realize what he’s done—
Yoongi comes, mostly still in his mouth, and Jeongguk sputters as he pulls back, still crying. “There,” he says when Yoongi is still coming, already wiping the tears off of his face as he tries to get to his feet. “There, you got what you wanted. Good for nothing omega with a pretty, warm mouth.”
“Jeongguk,” says Yoongi finally, like he’s been saying this whole fucking time—“What are you—wait, let me—” The alpha reaches for him as Jeongguk stumbles back, looking down to see his own hard cock in his jeans.
Jeongguk shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, and he’s crying again, fuck—“Fuck toys like me don’t get to come, do we?”
And suddenly—when he sees the way Yoongi is looking at him, Jeongguk realizes. This wasn’t the right thing to do at all. Because there’s all sorts of hurt on Yoongi’s face, and confusion, and even if it was just hormones, Yoongi’s come is still in his mouth and the shame is already crawling up and up.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Now that the initial wave of desperation and determination has faded away, Jeongguk realizes what a mistake this was. There’s nothing satisfying in it for him, maybe not even for Yoongi, and now—now he can’t stop thinking about how it’s never just been about the sex for him. And it can’t be, because the only thing he wants now is for Yoongi to hold him and kiss his forehead and tell him to stop being so stupid. Tell him that he doesn’t believe anything that Jeongguk said, that he’s wrong, that—they can fix it.
But he looks at Yoongi and Yoongi just… looks back.
Jeongguk’s eyes blur with fresh tears and he sniffs, wiping at them as he says, “Sorry, can you just—” He doesn’t want Yoongi here. Doesn’t want Yoongi anywhere near him, not if he’s just going to do nothing but confirm what Jeongguk was so desperate to prove wrong. “Can you go, please? It’s fine if you just want me for sex, hyung, but I don’t—I can’t—” He shakes his head, closing his eyes against the tears that come. He doesn’t want to see Yoongi’s guilty face, anyway.
“Guk-ah,” the alpha begins.
“I said leave,” snaps Jeongguk, keeping his eyes closed, arms wrapped around himself. He stays like that, shaking, until he hears Yoongi leave. It’s quiet, like maybe Yoongi is trying to convince himself to stay. But he still goes. And Jeongguk is just the same stupid fucking omega because of it.
i,,, am so sorry
also!!!!!! i just want to say a massive thank you for all of the support i've gotten since i've started writing this. it means so much to see people getting excited about updates, asking me questions, freaking out at me in the comments and on twitter and in my cc. it makes me very glad that the yoonkook community is so supportive, even when i'm being really mean to our babies ;-; so thank you, i love all of you, please don't kill me after this.
Chapter 8: v for valour
Jeongguk just wants Yoongi to leave him the fuck alone.
hello everyone! i hope your week was well, hope you're ready to have ur heart broken again rip. i think this chapter is worse than chapter 7 just as a warning, but you might think it's not as bad ksdjfsdf either way yoonkook are: dumbasses
thank you again for all of the support and excitement over updates, please enjoy the chapter! uwu
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
What Jeongguk learns is that it’s a lot easier to ignore rumours about himself when he doesn’t believe them. There are the objectively true rumours—that he and Yoongi were secretly together, that Jeongguk went into heat, that they got caught. After a month, no one cares about those ones. They’re old hat, old news. And Taehyung was right—college students have short attention spans. They need new rumours, new fuel to keep them preoccupied. Jeongguk just didn’t anticipate that the new rumours would still be about him.
What Jeongguk learns is that it’s a lot easier to ignore rumours about himself when he doesn’t believe them. For almost four weeks, he held onto some hope that he had been wrong about Yoongi in the first place, that given the chance, the alpha would do everything in his power to prove Jeongguk wrong. Jeongguk was emotional and not thinking straight and he could have jumped to conclusions, and he’d begun to view his own thoughts and actions through the sort of lens that put him at fault.
But now, when he hears a rumour about him being nothing but a stupid omega, just desperate for something to fill him, he thinks—sounds about right. When he hears a rumour about Yoongi using him, about how he let himself be used, he thinks—probably. When he hears a rumour about what a laugh it is, how great Yoongi was for managing to bag a bratty omega like Jeongguk, he thinks he doesn’t know what to think. But he can’t argue with it, because he has no reason to anymore.
Jeongguk’s determination to walk through the fire with his head held high wanes and wilts. So he hides. So he hardly even bothers going to class, so he stays in bed and makes someone else take over his frat president duties because—because he’s tired. He’s sad. He’s so goddamn scared of running into Yoongi again, of having to face the fact that even though Yoongi only cares about his body, Jeongguk can’t stop loving him.
It takes a week for Jimin and Taehyung to decide to do something about it—about Jeongguk wallowing, about Jeongguk not even bothering to try pulling himself together. It shouldn’t matter, but it does, it does, it always does.
He’s hiding in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin and an anime playing on his phone, when he hears voices outside of his bedroom. He pauses his video, looking over to the closed door and trying to decipher them—he knows it’s Jimin and Taehyung, because Jimin and Taehyung are the only people who have tried talking to him for almost two weeks. He wants to ignore them, but then the door bursts open and he can only see two bodies flying at him before both of his friends land on top of him and he lets out a painful oof.
“We’re going out, Gukkie!” Jimin calls, scrambling to sit on Jeongguk’s thighs. Taehyung snatches the phone out of his hand.
“You’ve been hiding in your bed for too long,” says the other omega. “And we understand that you’re sad and everything, but we can’t let you stay sad. So we’re gonna get drunk as shit and have a good time.”
“And you can’t say no,” adds Jimin. “You can come home and go back to your animes and wallowing, but just one night, okay?”
“We’ll even pay for everything.”
“And we’ll pick out your outfit, too, so you just have to sit there and let us doll you up.”
“And if you complain, we’ll just have to—wait.” The pair stop, looking down at Jeongguk, who has been passively staring at them this whole time, keeping silent. Normally he would be protesting by now, but—
“He’s not complaining, Jiminie,” says Taehyung.
“I had really good arguments as to why you should come out with us,” says Jimin, frowning. He pokes Jeongguk’s stomach. “Why aren’t you complaining?”
Jeongguk shrugs. “Never gonna say no to free alcohol,” he replies, which is only half of the truth. The whole truth is that hiding has gotten boring. There’s only so many ways he can try to keep his mind off of Yoongi, and watching animes isn’t cutting it anymore. But alcohol—alcohol will always help.
Jimin squeals on top of him, clapping his hands together before both he and Taehyung clamber off the bed, one of them grabbing Jeongguk’s arm to pull him out, too. “Alright, I have just the outfit in mind!” crows Jimin, and from there, it’s just a flurry of activity. Jeongguk hasn’t showered in four days, he realizes. Hasn’t eaten properly in three. Jimin and Taehyung pay no attention to all of the take out containers that have accumulated in his room, or the fact that the clothes he’s wearing have begun to smell. They care about him like this, he thinks—by not drawing attention to the obvious things, by just getting rid of them. Making something new, letting Jeongguk know that his life might suck at the moment, but they’re going to step right into the mess with him.
Taehyung shoves a drink into his hand after he’s showered and they’re busy trying to do something with his hair, and Jeongguk is content with sipping at it as he listens to his friends talk and bicker and joke. For a time, it feels like everything is sort of normal, because they make him feel normal. They style his hair and shove him into new clothes and keep handing him drinks, and it’s. It’s what they always do on Friday nights, and no one mentions the elephant in the room.
Not until Jeongguk is three drinks in, anyway—Taehyung’s been giving him vodka mixed with grape soda, which is disgusting but was apparently all they could bring over on such short notice. Jeongguk’s never been the best at handling his alcohol and then he’s sitting on his bed watching Jimin and Taehyung fuss over each other’s hair when he thinks about the last time they all went out together. The end of semester party at the Beta house, when they pranked the alphas with glitter and Yoongi—Yoongi was there, Yoongi kept trying to kiss him in front of everyone because he didn’t care, not when he was drunk, and then Jeongguk can feel it again. That anger.
“Didn’t care about him anyway,” he mumbles, voice already a little slurred, and Jimin and Taehyung don’t hear him—Jimin is trying to smack Taehyung’s hands away from his face, trying to fix his bangs, and Taehyung is talking about just wearing a snapback anyway and.
“Didn’t fucking care about him anyway,” repeats Jeongguk, louder this time. He’s staring at the empty cup in his hand and the room goes silent. Yoongi fell asleep while Jeongguk was riding him at the party, couldn’t even stay awake long enough to finish anything because he’s just so good at bailing when it counts the most.
“What was that, Gukkie?” Taehyung asks, and there are hands on his knees, suddenly. Jeongguk looks up enough to see both of his friends crowding in; Jimin on the floor, holding onto him, Taehyung crouching on his other side.
Jeongguk sniffs. “Everyone’s saying that—that I’m just a dumb omega bitch who would use anyone,” he says. “Didn’t matter if it was—if it was Yoongi or not.” He looks back down to his cup, not wanting to see the way Jimin and Taehyung are looking at him, with that pity again.
“They’re right,” he forces out. Yoongi didn’t care then, just wanted to fuck him—“I didn’t care about him. Fuck him. He only saw me as—as somewhere to put his dick and he still thinks that and… and…” Jeongguk trails off, suddenly forgetting what he wanted to say. If he says it enough times, maybe he’ll believe himself.
“Guk, you don’t have to talk about this,” says Jimin, squeezing his knee. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“No,” says Jeongguk, shaking his head. “No, you gotta—gotta know I didn’t care. Still don’t. Never cared about his dumb face or his dumb hands. Just didn’t wanna be lonely all the time.”
That’s it, he realizes. He’s lonely. He’s lonely even though he’s always surrounded by other people, by his friends, by his classmates. Right now, with both Jimin’s and Taehyung’s hands on him, rubbing comforting circles into his skin, Jeongguk is lonely. But he’s not allowed to make it better anymore, because being with Yoongi somehow made it worse—knowing that maybe Yoongi would still use him for sex, but that’s no longer what Jeongguk wants him for.
Taehyung takes the empty cup from his hands, sets it down. Holds Jeongguk’s hands instead. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he begins, and Jeongguk—panics.
“No!” he exclaims, finally looking at them. At both of them, at how sad and concerned they look. “No, I wanna go out. I just wanna—forget.”
“You can’t get black out drunk, Jeongguk,” says Taehyung. “That’s not healthy.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I promise. Please, please, let me—”
“Okay,” says Jimin, casting a worried glance at Taehyung. “We’ll go out but we’re going out to have fun, not to get so wasted that you don’t wake up tomorrow. We’re keeping an eye on you. And… maybe let’s just not talk about Yoongi-hyung?”
Jeongguk has never heard anything better in his life. He’s had his moment of anger—had his moment of reflection, and now. This is something new. This is something better, something without Yoongi. It’s been almost two weeks since he returned to campus and it’s just been a false start, he decides. This will be the real start. This will be better, because it has to be.
Jimin and Taehyung told him not to get wasted. Jeongguk is very, very good at not listening to them.
Although he’s already halfway to drunk, the omega immediately orders shots, because he doesn’t want to have to think about anything for the night. The music in the club is loud, pounding through his ears and his head and his heart, and Jimin and Taehyung drag him onto the dance floor, screaming lyrics above the crowd as they lose themselves in it. It’s all a little hazy, but he doesn’t mind—likes it, really, as he downs drink after drink and doesn’t even bother to wonder where they come from. Sometimes it’s one of his friends who puts the glass in his hands, sometimes the bartender just sets it before him and there’s probably some alpha making eyes at him from across the bar, but Jeongguk isn’t there for that.
It’s a whirlwind of alcohol and dancing and sweat, too, and it works. Jeongguk feels good despite the haze in his head and the way his feet stumble and the fact that he can’t really focus his eyes on anything that isn’t a foot in front of him. That’s nice, he thinks; the lights are low enough that he can’t really see anything anyway, and he’s laughing and having a good time. He’s always having a good time.
It takes an hour or two, and a hell of a lot of shots, for Jeongguk to realize that there’s always the same scent hanging around him. It’s not Jimin or Taehyung’s—they’ve left him alone for a while, probably drunk off of their own asses—and it certainly isn’t his own. It’s an alpha, he knows, and as the bartender hands him yet another shot, Jeongguk is about to turn and down it when he instead bumps into someone’s chest.
The alcohol sloshes over the side of the shot glass and he slurs an apology before he looks up and—oh. That’s a very nice looking man.
“H’llo,” slurs Jeongguk, not bothering to move away from the alpha. His scent is so strong, sort of like the sea, which is—which is so different from Yoongi, who always smells like the woods, like pine needles and birds chattering somewhere and—shit, he’s not supposed to think about Yoongi. Doesn’t want to think about Yoongi.
“Hey there,” says the alpha, and he’s taller than Jeongguk, crowding him against the bar a little. “Have you been enjoying my drinks?”
“Oh, these are—” Jeongguk holds up the shot. “These are yours?”
The alpha nods, winks. Jeongguk hasn’t been flirted with by a stranger in a long, long time, and he’s never bothered to wonder why but—he downs the shot anyway, using that as his answer. He has to grab onto the alpha’s arm to keep upright afterwards, tipping too far back, and there’s a giggle on his lips when he feels how big the other’s bicep is.
Also not like Yoongi.
“What’s a pretty little omega like you doing here all alone?” asks the alpha, leaning in close so he can be heard over the music, and Jeongguk giggles again. He always forgets how to be a brat when he’s drunk, just wants someone to take care of him and—yeah. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind this alpha taking care of him.
“M’not alone,” he says, a little pout on his lips as he turns and tries to find Jimin and Taehyung in the crowd. The club is crawling with people and it’s loud and dark and he can’t see very well anyway, not when he’s this drunk. When he turns back, he can sense the alpha’s hesitation, so he quickly adds, “Not like—like that. Just friends.”
The alpha’s smirk is—predatory, probably, but Jeongguk isn’t paying attention to that. He’s too busy staring at the other man’s eyes, the slope of his nose. For a moment, in his drunk mind, all he can focus on is the distinct lack of moles on the man’s face. Which—has never been a problem, it’s not like he cares if the people he flirts with have moles, but. Yoongi has moles. Yoongi has a mole on his cheek, one that Jeongguk always liked to kiss because it made Yoongi get all flustered and he’d swat at Jeongguk and tell him to stop being a brat and—and—
“Sorry?” he asks when he realizes the alpha is trying to speak to him.
Suddenly, there are lips very near to his ear, a voice saying, “Do you want to dance?” and there’s a hand on his arm, a little tight, one on his waist, already pressing him against the alpha and he can’t imagine it’s slow dancing. But that’s fine, isn’t it, that’s what he came for—to get drunk, which he is. To forget Yoongi, which. He hasn’t done yet, but maybe this alpha can help him.
“Yeah,” breathes Jeongguk. “Yeah, just—give me a sec.” He wiggles out of the alpha’s grasp, stumbling away from the bar as he heads for the bathroom. His head is spinning, vision still blurred, and he should—he should text Jimin and Taehyung just in case something happens, just in case he leaves and they wonder where he is. Maybe he should text them anyway, tell them how good he’s feeling, how they were right all along. They’re always right all along.
Jeongguk manages to get into the bathroom without falling over, grabbing at the sink as he stares into the mirror at himself. His face is red from the alcohol, from sweat—his hair is sticking to his forehead awkwardly, his outfit is wrinkled. He looks far from someone who is enticing, but—but. He can smell himself. He can smell the sort of desperation in his scent, the need to be loved and taken care or—or maybe that’s just because he knows it? Maybe that’s just because the alcohol is masking everything else.
This isn’t a pep talk, he thinks. But there’s an alpha waiting at the bar for him, one with a nice smile—not a gummy smile, though. He’s got nice eyes, but there’s nothing distinctly cat-like about them. He’s got a nice nose, but it’s kind of big, maybe, and he’s so tall and Jeongguk isn’t used to looking up and he smells like the sea. Jeongguk doesn’t like the sea. Or maybe he does, maybe he’s just so used to longing for the forest, for trees and sunlight filtering in, but.
In his head, Jeongguk is glad for all of this. In his head, Jeongguk can only think that it’s good, it’s helpful to find something new, to distract him. In his heart, Jeongguk feels nothing but emptiness and longing and loneliness, and that’s not fair.
The omega sniffs, wiping at his face. He tries to fix his hair, and then remembers that he’d wanted to text—someone.
When he leaves the bathroom ten minutes later, Jeongguk isn’t any less drunk. Isn’t any more confident in what he’s doing, but he spots the alpha still at the bar and it’s with a nod that he makes his way back over. Smiles bright and bright and drunk.
“I was beginning to think you’d ditched me,” says the alpha when Jeongguk gets back, and he doesn’t even know the man’s name, but. That’s fine. Better, probably, if this is to end how he thinks it might.
“No, just,” begins Jeongguk, “I had to g—hey, is that for me?” He grabs at the full glass of alcohol on the bar and begins downing it all in one go, and the alpha chuckles. That’s not an answer, but Jeongguk is cute enough to be excused for it, surely, and he just needs one more. One more to take the edge off, make everything a little hazier so it’s easier to deal with. Downing the drink feels like downing his thoughts of Yoongi, feels like letting go and when he swallows for the last time, he finally, finally knows he’s ready.
He grabs the alpha’s wrist, turning and tugging him toward the dance floor as a new song starts—one he should recognize but can’t quite put his finger on with so much alcohol in his system, but it doesn’t matter because it has a good beat, a good bass line and that’s what he wants. Wants to get lost in the crowd, wants to feel like someone wants him, even if it’s only for his body, but at least they’re on even ground because Jeongguk doesn’t care about the rest of it tonight anyway.
It goes like this: Jeongguk can’t tell which way is up but he dances anyway, closing his eyes and letting the music fill, fill, fill him until he can think of anything else. He’s always loved music, always found it to be an escape, and this is it: this is everything. He spins and turns and twirls and he’s drunk, but he’s drunker off of the music.
It goes like this: Jeongguk can’t tell which way is up but he doesn’t fall over because the alpha holds onto him. Less making sure he’s fine, more dancing with him, into him, with big hands all over Jeongguk’s body—his sides, his waist, his hands once or twice. He’s something solid against Jeongguk, and Jeongguk doesn’t really pay attention to what he’s doing, not even when the alpha starts grinding on him.
It goes like this: Jeongguk doesn’t realize he doesn’t want to go home with anyone until the alpha is touching him—hands on his waist, digging harder and harder into his skin, and it pulls Jeongguk out of his reverie. Can’t feel the music in the same way when it’s like this, even though it’s been songs and songs and he’s sweating, feeling discomfort like a peach pit, heavy in his stomach.
The alpha spins him around so they’re chest to chest, hands moving from his waist to his ass, and Jeongguk makes a noise in the back of his throat but it feels like—he can’t quite find the words, tongue-tied with vodka and rum and something else. The alpha is saying something to him, whispering in his ear, but Jeongguk can’t hear it either. Too busy focusing on the feel, rough hands and it’s not—it’s not what he wants.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been on the dance floor—fifteen minutes, twenty? The alpha is getting impatient. Mouthing along Jeongguk’s jaw, trying to get what he wants, what Jeongguk doesn’t want, and his movements are sluggish. Thoughts sluggish, mouth sluggish, but when lips ghost over his, he suddenly snaps back to reality—crystal clear.
Jeongguk gets his hands between them and shoves, trying to break the alpha away from him. “No,” he says, slurs, stumbling back when the alpha relents and lets go of him. “No, I don’t—don’t touch me.”
“Hey,” says the alpha, already taking a step forward, and there are so many people, they’re all pressed together anyway—“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to dance.”
He did. He does. “I do,” he says, trying to step away from the alpha again. It’s strange, he thinks, because Jeongguk isn’t small. He’s always been the bigger one in his relationships, even his friendships, and he works out, he’s strong, but he’s only now realizing just how big this alpha’s arms are. How imposing he is, and maybe it has less to do with his build and more to do with the alpha pheromones that are overtaking him, the sort of command Yoongi never tried to push against him—
“Then let’s dance,” says the alpha, reaching for him again. “We’re just dancing.”
Jeongguk frowns, swatting the alpha’s hand away. “I don’t wanna—wanna kiss you,” he says, because even if he’s drunk, he knows, knows where the alpha is going with all of this. “Don’t wanna go home with you.”
“I didn’t say anything about going home with me,” and he grabs Jeongguk’s wrist anyway, tugging him close as Jeongguk struggles against it.
“Let go of me,” he says.
“Calm down,” says the alpha, grip tightening, other hand reaching for Jeongguk’s waist again.
“Let go of me,” Jeongguk yells, and he’s never felt more helpless in his entire life, never felt so weak as he tries to wrench himself out of the alphas grasp; people have stumbled out of their by now, the commotion drawing attention even as the music pulses on around them, and Jeongguk whines high in his throat, tears at the backs of his eyes because the alpha won’t let go—
“Stop struggling,” says the alpha, and—
“Fuck off!” snaps Jeongguk, struggling and struggling and.
The alpha lets go.
The alpha lets go because he has to, because he stumbles backwards and almost falls, because—someone punches him in the face.
There’s a scream from Jeongguk’s right and he stumbles himself from drunkenness, trying to focus through the darkness and noise and the music stops as the alpha shouts, “What the fuck?” and Jeongguk picks up on the scent of—of the woods before he hears a familiar voice growl, “He said let go.”
Yoongi is wearing one of Jeongguk’s hoodies. Somehow, it’s the first thought Jeongguk has when he manages to focus. Yoongi is wearing one of Jeongguk’s hoodies, the Thrasher one that he’s been looking for, and he’s just standing there, in the little circle that has formed as the other people in the club stop dancing and turn to watch.
There must be shouting, he thinks. Must be some sort of noise but he can’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at the side of Yoongi’s face, because he’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi look so angry, never seen that sort of hard look in his eyes or the way his jaw is clenched, so hard Jeongguk is afraid he’ll crack it somehow. Maybe he’s too drunk to understand the blur of motion, then, when the alpha—the first alpha, the one who wouldn’t stop touching him—tries to retaliate, and he’s so much bigger than Yoongi but Jeongguk thinks, briefly, as someone grabs him—security?—that Yoongi grew up fighting for every little thing, learned how to fend for himself and make himself big in other ways. He’s got quick feet. Good basketball player.
Still—still, by the time all three of them have been kicked out of the club, there’s blood all over Yoongi’s face and knuckles. Blood all over the alpha’s, too, and Jeongguk realizes he still doesn’t know his name. Not that it matters now, maybe, when he’s spitting blood onto the curb, other side of the street from Yoongi.
Yoongi and Jeongguk.
Jeongguk can’t stop staring at him, at the furrow in Yoongi’s brows. He wipes at his mouth, wincing. And Jeongguk can’t remember half of the night, is still trying to process the past five minutes alone, but—but there’s one thing he’s certain of.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks, and Yoongi looks up to him. It’s dark but Jeongguk can already see a bruise forming on his cheek.
“He was assaulting you,” says Yoongi, nodding toward the other alpha. “You told him to let go of you and he wouldn’t.”
“So you think I needed you to rescue me?” asks Jeongguk. He’s feeling more and more sober, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“I—” begins Yoongi, and then stops. Like he didn’t think about it.
“I’m not a damsel in distress, Yoongi,” says Jeongguk. “I’m an adult and I can take care of myself. Yeah, he was an asshole, but—but I’m not some helpless little omega who needs your help.”
“It certainly looked like you needed help.”
“I had it under control.”
“He looked like he was about to eat you.”
“I’m stronger than you!” Jeongguk yells—comes out like a shriek, but he’s fed up and sick of Yoongi always seeing him as just. Just another omega, first to use and then to rescue, like he needs someone to watch out for him all of the time. “I didn’t fucking need you to help me! I know you’re an alpha and it’s in your fucking biology to try to protect me or whatever, but it’s bullshit.”
“So you’d rather I just let him sexually harass you?” snaps Yoongi, spitting over the side of the curb again. He’s bleeding from his mouth, his nose, and Jeongguk wants to make it worse.
“I’d rather you let me deal with my own problems than swoop in like some fucking knight in shining armour every time you think I need you! You’re not my fucking boyfriend. You’re not my alpha, you’re not my anything.”
He’s met with silence—breathing hard into the night, hands clenched at his sides as he stares and Yoongi stares back. There’s something there, something heavy and ugly between them. For the first time, Jeongguk realizes he’s not just angry at Yoongi—he wants to hurt him. Wants to make him feel just a sliver of whatever has been festering in Jeongguk’s body for over a month.
The door to the club opens, and Jeongguk’s eyes flicker over to see Jimin and Taehyung piling out, worry and panic written across their faces.
“Jeongguk,” says Jimin, heading for him instantly, and Jeongguk lets the both of them fawn over him, asking questions, demanding to what happened before they notice Yoongi. They fall silent, like the inside of Jeongguk’s head.
“I was just trying to help,” Yoongi says after a moment, like he’s explaining to Jimin and Taehyung, too.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” says Jeongguk evenly. “You trying to help is what started this whole thing, and look where that got us. Just—leave me alone, Yoongi. I’m leaving.” He shakes himself out of Taehyung’s grasp, turning to the street and looking both ways before he steps out.
“Where are you going?” calls Jimin, and Jeongguk doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder as he heads across the street. As he stops beside the other alpha, who is still sitting on the curb and nursing the bleeding wounds on his face.
He looks up at Jeongguk quizzically. “What?” he asks, and Jeongguk makes sure his voice is loud and clear when he replies, “Are you going home?”
The thing is, Jeongguk still isn’t feeling particularly needy. Doesn’t really want to do anything other than go home and forget about all of this, because his night has already been ruined and it’s like—no matter what he does, Yoongi is always there. Yoongi is always in everything, whether or not he’s physically present.
When the alpha looks up at him, confusion evident in his face and says, “Yeah, I guess so,” Jeongguk can’t help but look over at the other side of the street. At Yoongi, standing there with blood running down his chin and something akin to disbelief in his eyes. And Jeongguk has never been a very vindictive person, but—but Yoongi broke his heart. Yoongi made him feel used and then actually used him. Yoongi keeps trying to go back on everything he’s said, thinks that maybe if he can just get Jeongguk to pay attention to him, he’ll change all of this.
Jeongguk just wants Yoongi to leave him the fuck alone.
He makes sure Yoongi is looking at him, keeps his eyes trained on Yoongi in return, when he tilts his head a little and says, “Take me with you.”
Jeongguk lets his anger drive him. It’s been driving him for a month, bleeding out during the moments when he’s not sad or hiding or cowering from the truth and from Yoongi himself. He’s always been quick to anger, quick to make irrational decisions in his anger, but this is one he’s determined to stick through. He’s determined to stick through it as they get to the alpha’s apartment—not far from the club, some complex with too many stairs and people smoking outside. He’s determined to stick through it as they stumble up and up and up the stairs, into the alpha’s apartment, where everything is dark. It smells like weed.
He doesn’t like anything about the situation, doesn’t even like the alpha—he’s too big, too burly. His voice is too rough when he speaks to Jeongguk, and it’s clear what he wants, but. Jeongguk just takes a deep breath and kisses the alpha first. He has to kiss the alpha first, because then it means he’s okay with it—trying to convince himself of that fact, maybe, but it’s enough, it’s enough.
He’s glad for the alcohol in his veins, the haze that surrounds his head, because it makes it easier. Easier to ignore the fact that the alpha is all sorts of too aggressive when he kisses Jeongguk—all teeth and tongue and rough hands on his waist, pushing him against the door like he’s trying to push him through the door. Jeongguk lets it happen, turns his brain off and does everything automatically. He knows how to kiss, knows how to move his lips and when to moan to let the alpha know that he’s enjoying it, even if he’s not.
Knows how to tilt his neck just right, inviting the alpha to mark it up. Knows how to submit, because that’s what the alpha wants—a good little omega who will play the part, who will let him do whatever he want, because that’s all that omegas are good for.
The alpha kisses Jeongguk hungrily, with wandering hands and a clear intent for something more—slots his leg between Jeongguk’s, hands already slipping under the omega’s shirt to touch his skin, and it’s weird, maybe, that after a minute or two, Jeongguk realizes he’s trying his fucking hardest to pretend it’s Yoongi who is kissing him, touching him—realizes it’s the only way he can make it through this without wanting to throw up.
It’s just—there’s nothing but discomfort in his body, and the horrible, terrible realization that he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this, and the alpha is still touching him, but this was a mistake, this was a mistake, and he doesn’t know how to get out of it. Doesn’t know how to go home when he came here in the first place, but he only came because he wanted to hurt Yoongi and now he’s only hurting himself.
His saving grace comes in the form of bile rising up his throat, a sign that Jeongguk does have to throw up. Miraculously.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, hands sliding up between them where the alpha is sort of grinding against him, tugging painfully on Jeongguk’s bottom lip with his teeth. He pushes, although it’s weak, because he doesn’t quite have full control of his limbs when he’s drunk.
The alpha doesn’t stop kissing him—devouring him.
Jeongguk makes another noise, shoving harder. “Stop,” he manages to get out as the alpha pulls back for just a moment. “Stop, I have to—” He can feel the bile rising higher in his throat so he panics, shoves the alpha has hard as he possibly can and takes off across the room when it works, sending the alpha stumbling back.
“What the fuck?” the alpha snaps.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Jeongguk calls back, and when the alpha actually tells him—down the hall, second to the left—he takes off for it.
Jeongguk makes it to the toilet just in time to vomit the contents of his stomach into it—alcohol and alcohol and more alcohol. The little pretzels he’d been munching on at the bar, other stuff he doesn’t really want to identify. He forgot to turn the light on, he realizes, as his stomach heaves and he throws up again, even more stomach acid.
He drank too much. He knows he drank too much, but now he’s clinging onto some stranger’s toilet seat as he throws up, and there are tears clinging to the corners of his eyes already as he slumps down, breathing hard. The toilet is cold, and he leans his head against it, trying to catch his breath and ignore the disgusting taste in his mouth just in case he has to throw up again.
It’s disgusting, but it’s fine, really. Until he has a thought—if he was throwing up in Yoongi’s toilet, Yoongi would be here. Yoongi would be rubbing a hand against his back, even if it did nothing to make his stomach feel better. Yoongi would be running his hand through Jeongguk’s hair, getting the sweaty strands off of his forehead. Yoongi would be getting him water, asking what he needs, letting him fall asleep right there in Yoongi’s arms if that’s what he wanted.
But—he’s not in Yoongi’s bathroom. The light stays off. He’s alone, the other alpha nowhere near him. There’s no comfort here, no warmth or reassurance.
Jeongguk sniffs, pressing his forehead harder into the porcelain of the toilet, and how—how pathetic. The tears come like he expected, fast and hot, spilling onto his cheeks without much pomp or flare. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s in some stranger’s apartment, some alpha he still doesn’t know the name of, and for what? All because he wanted to spite Yoongi—Yoongi, who was just trying to help him. Maybe it was a little misguided, maybe it was a little unneeded, but Yoongi didn’t deserve that.
Jeongguk doesn’t deserve it, either. Doesn’t deserve to put himself through this sort of thing just so he can hurt Yoongi somehow, like that’s going to change anything. And he’s still here, thinking about Yoongi, thinking about how no one else is him and that’s always going to ruin things. He’s never going to be able to look at anyone without wishing they were a little shorter, or had poutier lips, or knew more about the production of rap music. He’s never going to be able to stop comparing everyone else to the way Yoongi looked at him, took care of him, loved him.
So he cries, and he cries, and he cries, and he doesn’t—doesn’t know how to make it better. Doesn’t know how to stop all of this anger and confusion and sorrow from festering in his heart, like an open wound. He fell in love with the way Yoongi cared for him, the way Yoongi cared for him outside of the sex, and then he came to believe that maybe Yoongi didn’t care for him outside of the sex, and Yoongi hasn’t done anything since to change his mind, but then why does he miss that most? Why does he still think of Yoongi first when he needs a hug or someone to encourage him or someone to love him?
He waits, in vain, for a knock at the door. For any sign that he can still come out of this room and feel like he’s going to get what he came for, but he’s not so sure what he came for anymore. Instead, as he finally pulls his head against from the toilet and remembers to flush, he fumbles for his phone in his pocket. Jeongguk sniffs again, wiping at his tears even though they continue, albeit more quietly, with something much like resignation.
He ignores the texts he’s gotten from Jimin and Taehyung—demanding for him to call them, to know if he’s alright. He didn’t give them much of a choice in the matter, either, going home with a stranger while drunk out of his mind. He lets out a choked sob at the thought of what he’s done to them, too, in the midst of trying to hurt Yoongi—unintended causalities. He’s a fucking terrible friend.
For the second time in two weeks, Jeongguk finds himself crying in a bathroom as he calls his best friend. Squeezes his eyes shut as he prays one of them picks up; he doesn’t even know what time it is, doesn’t even know where he is.
“Jeongguk!” comes the voice down the other end, and Jeongguk lets out a sob of relief.
“H-Hyung,” he cries.
“Oh my god, Jeongguk,” and it’s Taehyung, panic clear in his voice. “Where are you? Are you okay? You can’t just—run off with a stranger like that when you’re—”
“I know,” he croaks, not wanting to hear the lecture. He’s already feeling shitty enough as it is, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “M’sorry. I wanna go home.”
He senses Taehyung’s hesitation, like he’s not sure what to ask first—if Jeongguk is still drunk or if the alpha hurt him or where he is or what he needs. He can hear a voice in the background, probably Jimin’s. Feels a few more tears escape him as he thinks about them worrying, trying to understand why he keeps hurting himself like he can kill the part of Yoongi that he’s still holding onto.
After a few moments, Taehyung’s voice comes soft, concerned—“We’re coming to pick you up. Can you tell me the address?”
Jeongguk sniffs again. “I don’t know the address,” he admits. “I’ll, um—send you my location?” The idea of hanging up isn’t appealing, but he has to pull himself together. Has to awkwardly explain to the alpha that he’s leaving, that there won’t be anything happening between them tonight, and he has a feeling it’s not going to go over very well.
“Okay, Gukkie,” says Taehyung. “You’re not hurt, right? He didn’t do anything to you?”
“No, hyung,” whispers Jeongguk. “Just me. I hurt myself.”
Somehow, although it’s still a bit hazy and Jeongguk just wants to lie down and sleep, maybe die, he gets home. Home being Jimin’s apartment off-campus, where Jimin and Taehyung swaddle him in layers of blankets and tuck him gently into Jimin’s bed. Where Jimin and Taehyung don’t berate him or lecture him for running off like that, because they know it’s not what he needs.
Instead, Taehyung sits against the headboard with Jeongguk’s head in his lap, gently carding his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, and Jimin lays down beside him, head on his chest and arms wrapped protectively around his middle. For the first time that night, he feels safe and loved and a little bit whole, at least more so than he did at the club or in some stranger’s house.
No one says anything for a long time as Jeongguk cries, face pressed into the side of Taehyung’s thigh. It’s embarrassing, even if it’s not the first time they’ve seen him cry. It’s just—he doesn’t know where to begin. Doesn’t know how to tell them what he needs, because they’re trying their best and being patient and loving him anyway, even if they don’t understand. Even if they’ve just watched him bury himself alive over and over again without knowing how to help.
But they don’t stop cuddling him. Don’t stop trying, and for that, he’s more than grateful.
And once he’s managed to calm down enough, the silent tears drying on his cheeks when he’s exhausted himself, Jimin squeezes him a little. Says quietly, “That was a nice thing Yoongi-hyung did for you.”
Jeongguk is silent for a moment before he says, “I didn’t need his help.”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a nice thing to do,” says Jimin. “I think maybe—he’s done things that have hurt you, but he’s not the villain. He didn’t do that because he thought you were weak and couldn’t handle it yourself. I think he did it because that’s what you do for the people you care about.”
He bristles, just slightly—the question of Yoongi truly caring about him is a sensitive one, at least for him. And he’s been so hell-bent on viewing everything Yoongi has done through a broken window, shifting light so that somehow, all of the alpha’s actions have been done with the intent to hurt him. For the first time, Jeongguk considers that perhaps he’s been projecting. Perhaps there’s a little more to the story, but he’s been too angry to see the whole picture.
“He’s still an asshole,” murmurs Jeongguk.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” says Jimin.
“Jeongguk,” begins Taehyung, and now that they’re talking about it, he can imagine what sort of conversation is coming next. “Why… did you go home with that alpha?”
“I’m in love with him,” Jeongguk replies.
Taehyung sputters out a, “The alpha?”
“Yoongi-hyung,” the omega corrects. “I’m in love with Yoongi-hyung. And I wanted to hurt him.”
He feels more than hears the collective intake of breath, but neither Jimin nor Taehyung say anything. Jeongguk turns a little, pressing his face even more into Taehyung’s leg as he feels all of it bubbling up and up and it needs to get out. He just needs to get it out.
“I didn’t realize for a long time,” he admits. “That I loved him, I mean. Not until the last week of classes, maybe, or during finals. But I think I’ve been in love with him for a while and I just didn’t think about it, because it wasn’t—we weren’t supposed to be like that. It was just… it was just sex, you know? It was just supposed to be sex.” Taehyung’s hand gently pets his head and Jimin’s arms squeeze him again, encouraging. Jeongguk still doesn’t think he owes them an explanation, but he can tell that they’re desperate to help, and the only way he can let them help is by letting them in.
“It’s been… over a year,” he says. “Maybe a year and a half. I don’t really remember when it started, just that he was hot and had a—a dick, you know, and he liked me enough. And I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly, he was always bringing me food and texting me encouragement when he knew I had an exam and I wanted—I wanted to wake up with him. He made me feel a little less lonely.”
“Oh, Gukkie,” murmurs Jimin.
“We talked about it at first, just like—rules, I guess?” Jeongguk sniffs. It was so long ago that he can barely remember, because he never thought it would be of much importance. “It started when we were both just regular members of the frats, so it was a risk, but it didn’t really matter that much. We were fine with keeping it a secret because at first, we didn’t even see each other that often, anyway, just when we were both really desperate for it, you know? Stressed or wound up or lonely in the middle of the night. And n-no one said that it couldn’t be more, but that’s just… how these things work, right? You’re not supposed to catch feelings for the person you’re sleeping with.”
He pauses for a moment, just focuses on the attention he’s receiving from his friends. Jeongguk’s trying his hardest not to let this be his fault, even though he knows it’s Yoongi’s. But he’s not sure how much longer he can go on like this. “If I think about it,” he adds quietly, “I don’t think it had been about the sex for a really long time. We were just—friends. Sometimes all we did was hang out and watch Netflix or talk about music, or I’d—I’d go over there and the sex wouldn’t even be the point of it. It was nice, I mean. He took care of me, but if I think about it, it was—in the end, it was more about how he took care of me outside of the sex. That’s what I wanted. I didn’t figure it out until it was too late, though.”
“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly, and Jeongguk closes his eyes. There are tears in them at just the thought, but he knows he has to say it. Knows he can’t bear that burden alone anymore.
“I went into heat,” he says. “And I called Yoongi-hyung and he helped me. And h-he knotted me, because I asked him to, and I told him I loved him and then…” Jeongguk sniffs again, wiggling one of his arms out of the blanket cocoon so he can wipe at the tears that escape his eyes, hot on his cheeks. “I-I mean, you know. We got caught. And he said—um.” Jeongguk takes a breath. It’s too easy to conjure up the words, the ones that he can’t stop thinking about—“He said it was just hormones, that it didn’t have to mean anything. And then he told me that he was j-just trying not to cause a scandal, but it was just like…”
“That’s an asshole thing to say,” Taehyung mutters.
“Yeah,” breathes Jeongguk, shaky. “Yeah, it was. I thought I meant more to him than that, after everything—everything we’d done and been through and I know I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him but I couldn’t help it.”
“That’s not your fault, Guk-ah,” says Jimin quickly, holding him tightly. “You can’t control your heart and you shouldn’t have to. This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m just—tired,” says Jeongguk. “I’m so tired because he keeps showing up everywhere and it’s like he’s trying to fix it, but he keeps saying the wrong thing anyway. Or he’ll try to fix it and stop in the middle, like he changed his mind because he doesn’t think it’s worth it? Or… I dunno. He keeps making me feel like I’m just a warm body for him, but I thought—I thought maybe he loved me too?”
“Maybe…” begins Jimin, hesitant, like he’s unsure if he should say it. “Maybe it can be both.”
“What do you mean?” asks Jeongguk.
“I mean—I’m not excusing his behaviour, because he said some shitty things and isn’t doing much to fix it, but maybe he does love you. And maybe he keeps making you feel like shit but it’s not on purpose, or he doesn’t know how to fix it properly and keeps saying the wrong things.” Jeongguk shifts slightly, looking down at Jimin. “Just… from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t make sense that he would hurt you on purpose, Jeongguk.”
“Well, he is hurting me,” says Jeongguk.
“Have you ever considered the fact that you might be hurting him too?”
And that’s—that’s. Something he hadn’t considered, not in the sort of sad, sorrowful light. He’s been wanting to hurt Yoongi on purpose, but there’s something different about the way Jimin asks it. Something about purpose, something about intent, and he thinks about what Yoongi looked like that first day after Jeongguk came back to school—those bags under his eyes, hoodie hanging off of his body. Thinks about what Yoongi looked like tonight, even in the low lights of the club—too skinny, like he hasn’t been eating. Bruised cheeks, split lip. For the first time, Jeongguk considers that maybe he’s not the only one who thinks this is all Yoongi’s fault and is trying to hurt him for it.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to feel like this all of the time, but trying to get over Yoongi isn’t working because he’s still there. I—I was kissing that other alpha and I couldn’t stop thinking about Yoongi, about how Yoongi was different and better, and I just don’t understand how he could break my heart like that but still be the only thing I ever want.”
Back when this all started, when he first broke down weeks ago, Jimin and Taehyung told him that it would hurt. But they told him that he would get over it, encouraged him to do so, and now—now he can practically hear their silent conversation going on over his head. He’s too tired to stop it, too exhausted with the whole situation to do anything but lie there and try not to cry more than he already has.
“Gukkie,” begins Taehyung, scratching at Jeongguk’s scalp lightly. “Maybe… you should talk to him? Just listen to what he has to say and say what you have to say in return. And if you can’t solve your differences or be friends, then that’s okay. But at least—clear the air?”
It’s not the first time someone has suggested it to him. He thinks of Namjoon, whom he had chewed out for saying it, and how that hadn’t really been fair, but. That was weeks ago. That was when he was just angry, when he thought that he could deal with it by just pushing everything away.
But Jeongguk has hit a wall. He’s run himself down and exhausted all of his options and he’s so tired of it all that he thinks—maybe there’s something of merit in it. “What if he just hurts me again?” he whispers.
“Then we’ll chop his dick off,” says Jimin. “We know he’s hurt you, Gukkie, whether intentionally or not, and we don’t like that. But I don’t think this is something you can solve by running away or getting angry or trying to spite him. You were never really honest with each other about your feelings, right? So—maybe now is the time to do that.”
Jeongguk sighs. He hates to admit that they probably have a point. And maybe one day soon he’ll be able to think about talking to Yoongi without wanting to cry, or without seeing that look on Yoongi’s face when Jeongguk walked out on him. But for now, everything is a little too fresh. For now, he’s still tipsy and hazy and hates, hates, hates his own heart.
Still, he mutters, “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“We love you so much,” says Taehyung, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of Jeongguk’s head. “And we only want what’s best for you.”
“And we’ll always be here to support you,” adds Jimin. “If you decide to talk to Yoongi-hyung, we’ll be here. If you decide to never talk to him again after that, we’ll still be here. And we’ll make sure that you’re happy, no matter what happens.”
Jeongguk finds tears welling in his eyes again, remembering how awful he felt in the stranger’s house when he realized he was hurting his friends, too. He probably doesn’t deserve them, but he’s not going to complain. “Thank you,” he whispers, turning his face so he can look at Taehyung first, then Jimin, making sure they understand that he’s pouring his heart into it.
“You’re our best friend,” says Taehyung. “We’ve got your back.”
There’s a moment, and then Jimin asks—“How did Yoongi-hyung know we were going to be at that club, anyway?”
Jeongguk realizes he never thought about that. Yoongi is always showing up, always finding a way to wheedle his way back into Jeongguk’s life without anyone telling him, unless—the omega groans, stuffing his face in Taehyung’s thigh again. “Can someone grab my phone?” he asks, already dreading what he’ll see when Jimin unravels himself and hops off the bed.
When he comes back, phone in hand, Jeongguk gingerly takes it. Unlocks it. He doesn’t remember everything that happened in the past few hours, all of it a little hazy and blurry, but he remembers the bathroom at the club. He’d intended to text Taehyung and Jimin, to tell them that he was having a good time, but—
“I texted him,” says Jeongguk quietly, clicking on his conversation with Yoongi. “God, I sent him a thot selfie. And told him I missed him and where we were, and he—fuck. He was so mad at that other alpha.” Now it makes sense. Maybe Yoongi came to the club because he thought he would have another shot at sleeping with Jeongguk, because he only sees him as something to fuck.
Maybe Yoongi came to the club because he could tell how fucking hammered Jeongguk was and he was all too aware of the kind of alphas that hang out in that club and he knew he needed to do something.
For the first time—Jeongguk begins to understand.
It’s Jimin who giggles first, just a little. “I know it’s not funny,” he says. “But it’s kind of funny.” And he doesn’t stop giggling, still clinging onto Jeongguk as he peeks up to look at the selfie Jeongguk sent—sort of blurry, clearly in a bathroom stall, but still with those ‘come hither’ eyes that Yoongi always told him he loved. And then Taehyung is giggling too, whole body shaking under Jeongguk’s head, and. It’s really not funny. But Jeongguk finds himself giggling too, unable to keep it all at bay, and he doesn’t want to.
It feels good to laugh, even if it’s at himself, even if it’s at this whole shitty situation that could have been avoided if his stupid, drunk ass wasn’t so desperate for his sober self to patch things up with Yoongi. He giggles and giggles and lets Jimin squish him into the bed as he pokes at him, trying to make him laugh more, and as Taehyung starts sprouting some nonsense about his own ‘thottiest’ selfies, and—yeah. He’s tired and angry and sad, but at least he has this.
And later, when he’s tucked into bed properly, pillow under his head and blankets wrapped tightly around him, drifting off to sleep, he can just make out what Jimin and Taehyung are saying across the room. Conspiring. He hears his name, hears Yoongi’s—hears Hoseok’s and Seokjin’s too, something about fixing things. Something about understanding.
Whatever it is, Jeongguk is too sleepy to focus on it. And maybe, for once, it would be best to leave all of this in the hands of someone else anyway.