Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

It’s still early but despite the hour—just past 11 pm—club is already packed. Unfortunately for Yoongi, it’s a bad mix. It’s mostly eager and awkward college students, too young to be throwing back the number of shots they are; tourists and expats looking to experience the thrill of clubbing in a foreign country, especially a club like UniQ; and the single sad excuse for a person called “Min Yoongi,” who’s sitting at a booth all by himself.

It’s been years since Yoongi’s gone clubbing, not since the early days of dating Sanghoon. He’d somehow thought it’d easy to fall back into the energy, the feeling of it, the way the music used to burrow under his skin and leave him buzzing with a high all its own. Instead, he’s sitting in a booth in the darkest corner of the club, sipping his drink. It’s awkward—he feels awkward, especially when most of the crowd is young enough that he doesn’t understand half the references they’ve made in the snippets of conversation he’s overheard. He isn’t even dressed right, he mourns, glancing down at his t-shirt and jeans combo.

So, no, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing here. But he can’t leave. Because leaving would be admitting failure. All he has waiting for him is his dirty apartment, dishes piled up in the kitchen sink because he hasn’t bothered to wash them, laundry strewn over his bedroom floor that he hasn’t folded, and unwashed bedsheets from where he’d holed up for the last three days crying after Sanghoon had sat him down and told him, with pitying twist to his lips and a distant gaze, that they were over and no, there wasn’t any particular reason, he’d just grown tired of being with Yoongi and he’s sorry but he’s got plans so can they make this quick?

He can’t leave, because leaving before midnight, or fuck, before he’d at least gotten hit on, would mean admitting that the five years with Sanghoon had meant more to Yoongi than it ever had to Sanghoon; that Yoongi had been the only one in love and thinking of taking the next step, of moving in and maybe, one day, having house together and taking that vacation to Mexico City like they’d planned.

Leaving would mean admitting that he feels fucking horrible, like a piece of unwanted shit, like he’s on the verge of crying all the time, chest choked up and twisted. Even thinking about it now has pain shooting through his chest, his fist clenching involuntarily in reflex. No, he can’t leave, not until he doesn’t feel like he did last night, and the night before that, and the night before that. Undesirable.

Except. Is sitting at the club, alone and not even tipsy, surrounded by people having a great time, any better than sitting at home, alone and drunk, surrounded by ice cream? At least at home, if his mascara runs, there’d be no one to judge him for it. At least at home, he could call Namjoon and confess that he’d tried going out (even though Namjoon had gone quiet when he’d originally floated the idea before saying softly, with so much compassion it’d burned Yoongi’s chest, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Yoongi. Please don’t go by yourself.”) and had regretted it because he still feels so fucking pathetic.

Grimacing, he picks up his drink and throws it back, the liquor barely burning given how thick his throat feels.

This is ridiculous. He should just go home. He’ll call Namjoon and Jin and force them to move their romcom movie night to his and they’ll all watch something absolutely brain numbing. And then he’s going to open his fucking laptop and adopt the first cat he finds and name it something ridiculous like Marshmallow and stop wallowing over Sanghoon.

He shimmies out of the booth, mind made up.

The bartender must sense his determination—probably because a pale and short omega stomping angrily toward you is something to see—and comes over almost as soon as Yoongi reaches the bar. “Closing out?”

Yoongi shoves his fringe out of his face. “Yeah.” He wavers. “Actually, I’ll have a shot of whatever is cheapest.” One more drink for good luck or something—then he’s leaving.

The bartender scans him quickly, pouring the shot. The look is less a you’re hot look, let’s fuck and more a you’re a total mess, huh? “Rough night?”

“Yeah.” Try like several.

The bartender nods, slides the card reader and shot over to Yoongi. “Hope it gets better, man.”

The laugh that blurts out of Yoongi is bitter. Yeah. That’s what he’d hoped too. He spins around, intent on getting his things from the booth and calling an Uber.

He pauses. There’s two people sitting at his booth—not his booth to be fair, but he’d been sitting there for the last two hours and he’s begun to think of it as his own private space of solace—huddled close to each other and looking out at the dance floor, drinks in their hands.

Yoongi feels himself deflate, his bravado fleeing. Clearly, he’s just been taking up space with the way people are so eager to grab his (not his) booth. He downs the shot in one go (god, that’s fucking awful). The burn of the shot warming his throat, Yoongi walks back to the booth.

The two strangers aren’t even looking at him as he walks up, but the one sitting closest to where he’s approaching glances at him, eyes tracking down then up before turning to say something to the second one. Even from a distance, Yoongi can tell they’re gorgeous. One’s got big doe eyes and lush lips that are covered with some sort of shiny lip gloss; the other’s hair is tousled like someone’s recently run their hands through it and the kind of bone structure that models dream of.

He can’t even feel envious: they’re the kind of beauties that are so far out of Yoongi’s league, he can’t even compare himself to them.

By the time Yoongi makes it back to the table, he’s got two sets of eyes watching him, each accompanied by a slight head tilt of curiosity. Under the strobe lights of the club they’re really fucking gorgeous, almost ethereal.

“Sorry,” he yells when he gets close enough. He gestures to the jacket being crushed behind the first of the two. “D’you mind?”

The first one—how the hell can they both look the way they do, they don’t even look real—glances down at the black puffer jacket and jolts in surprise.

“Oh shit,” Plush Lips says, laughing. “I didn’t even realize.” He doesn’t make any moves to grab the jacket. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. You can have the table,” Yoongi says, waiting for them to pass him his jacket.

They just continue staring at him, a slight smile lifting the corner of their lips.

“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to the jacket.

The one on the right—again, his bone structure is insane—leans forward. “Are you an omega?”

That’s—it’s not exactly taboo to ask, but it’s not exactly something you just ask someone you just met. Usually, Yoongi does what everyone else does: vaguely sniff the air and go off pheromones. To be fair, though, the club is so saturated with scents it would be hard to tell. Maybe Insane-Bone-Structure can’t tell? Still…

“Yeah,” he answers cautiously.

Plush Lips brightens at that, smile widening. “Oh, so are we! I’m Jimin. This is Taehyung.”

Bone-Structure—Taehyung—gives a little wave of his fingers.

“Yoongi,” Yoongi introduces.

“We saw you from the dance floor,” Jimin continues, “and thought you looked a little lonely. So, we thought we’d come keep you company while we cooled down. What has you so sad, Yoongi?”

“Oh.” God, is he that obvious? “I, uh, I broke up with my partner a few days ago.”

Jimin hums in sympathy. “Aw, that’s sucks. Came to forget about them?”

Yoongi laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, but I don’t think the dance scene is for me. I’m just gonna head home. Can you pass—?”

Taehyung interrupts with a pout. “Aww, nooo. You should hang out with us.”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, UniQ is really dead now.”

Yoongi glances around at the packed dance floor in disbelief.

Jimin makes a face. “The alphas here kind of suck.” His voice drops. Yoongi has to lean forward to a little to catch his next words. “You should totally come with us to Gone. It’s the perfect place to celebrate a breakup.”

Even Yoongi knows about Gone. He’d considered going there instead of UniQ but had ultimate had the decision made for him: Gone isn’t the kind of club you can just walk into. It’s filled with celebrities and high-powered people and has a carefully curated guest list. There’s no way Yoongi would make it past the front door.

He laughs a little awkwardly. “I don’t think I’m really dressed for that. Plus, I’m really tir—”

Taehyung claps his hands excitedly, turning to Jimin. “Oh! Oh! Jimin, we can do a makeover!”

Jimin smiles, gaze travelling down Yoongi’s body. “Yoongi would be so pretty all dressed up. He’s already so pretty.” He’s still watching Yoongi but he’s clearly talking to Taehyung.

He stands up, sliding out the booth. He’s tiny—tinier than even Yoongi. Jimin tilts his head to the side, eyes drifting over Yoongi’s figure. “We’re about the same size, aren’t we?” His gaze is considering.

“Uh,” Yoongi says intelligently.

Jimin steps up to Yoongi, their chests almost brushing. He grabs Yoongi’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “Can I call you hyung?”

Jimin’s pupils are massive, gaze almost hypnotic.

“Sure,” Yoongi says weakly. He startles when Taehyung pops up on his other side, Yoongi’s jacket in hand.

“Hyung, you don’t have to worry. Jimin will get you ready. His makeovers are the best,” he says seriously, as if the fate of the world depends on Yoongi getting a makeover.

The thing is…The thing is, Jimin and Taehyung aren’t exactly being pushy, but they’re clearly not taking no for an answer. Yoongi can’t tell if it’s just Drunk Omega Etiquette at play, where any and every other omega becomes your closest friend when you’re drunk enough, or whether Jimin and Taehyung have just never felt the embarrassment of being told “No.” Either way, a large part of Yoongi is telling him he should just politely decline, take his jacket, and go home.

But. But a small, very vocal part of him is flattered. He’s never had someone—let alone two someone’s—think he’s pretty. It’s even nicer that it’s coming from two other omegas. It feels real, like it’s not just a line, but real admiration. And it’s been so long since he felt pretty. Even before they’d broken up, it’d been a long time since Yoongi has had anyone compliment him like this.

Jimin and Taehyung don’t seem like serial killers. And he wants to forget Sanghoon. What better way than dancing at the swankiest club in the city?

Hesitantly, Yoongi nods. “O-okay. Let’s go.” He tries for a smile, but he’s kind of astounded he actually said yes.

Jimin and Taehyung grin.

The first thing they do is head to the bathrooms.

Yoongi’s not quite sure why, to be honest. Neither Taehyung nor Jimin are carrying a bag with them, and their outfits (a tight-fitting black dress with billowing sheer sleeves for Jimin; tight leather skirt and a cropped knit top for Taehyung) lack any discernable pockets to carry the make-up he assumes they’ll need for the makeover. But he follows them obediently, his hand still clasped in Jimin’s.

Except, instead of walking up to the mirrors like Yoongi expects, Jimin drags him into the accessible stall. Taehyung follows right after, shutting the door and locking it.

Yoongi spins around, alarmed. “Wait, I don’t—”

Taehyung places his hands on either side of Yoongi’s hips, gently turning him around. Jimin is in the middle of stripping off his dress, revealing the silhouette of smooth pale skin through the sheer black shirt he’s been wearing underneath the dress. Taehyung hooks his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “So pretty, isn’t he? Like you, hyung.”

Yoongi swallows, not sure what to say. This close, he can smell Taehyung’s pheromones. They’re misty, fresh, and airy, the smell of the air after rain. There’s a hot edge to it.

It takes Yoongi a moment to place the heat. Arousal. But it’s a deep, ripe heat, the kind that happens when an omega has just finished a heat—or on the cusp of starting one. It’s appealing, the heat in Taehyung’s scent.

Taehyung nudges his chin into Yoongi’s neck. “Take it off.”

Yoongi thinks he’s still talking to Jimin before he realizes—“What? Me?”

Taehyung nods, his chin ghosting the edge of Yoongi’s scent glands. “You should take off your clothes so you can wear Jimin’s dress, hyung.”

Biting his lip, Yoongi hesitates. Jimin finishes taking off the dress, slipping it down long legs and past a frankly daunting pair of heels, before holding out for Yoongi. “Come on, hyung.” The look in Jimin’s eyes is daring. Taehyung moves away—as much as he could in a stall with three grown men standing around—to lean against the locked door.

Releasing a breath, Yoongi pulls off his shirt, feeling a blush dust his cheeks at the thought of being watched by the other omegas. Yoongi unbuttons his jeans, stepping out of them. God, what the hell is he getting into? Wearing someone else’s clothes?

He grabs the proffered dress and pulls it on, feet first. It’s tiny, but surprisingly goes on smoothly. There’re no straps, but it hugs him tightly enough that he has no doubt it’ll stay up.

It's also warm from Jimin’s body heat and smells like jasmine in the summer.

“Did you, uh, go through a heat recently?” he blurts out, recognizing the same heat note in Jimin’s scent.

“Yeah,” Jimin says distractedly, studying Yoongi’s face and hair. “Tae and I cycle at the same time. Bite your lips for me.”

Yoongi bites them.

“Release.”

Yoongi lets his lips slip from between his teeth. They sting.

Jimin steps closer, reaches behind Yoongi to undo the hair tie holding back Yoongi’s hair. It’s long, he knows, and he’s been thinking of cutting it recently, but Taehyung makes a happy little sound when his hair falls forward to frame his face.

“Oh, you’re so pretty, hyung!” he exclaims in his deep voice.

Yoongi’s blush intensifies. “What do I do with this?” He holds up his clothes.

Jimin grabs the jeans. He pauses, reaching into the front pocket, pulling out Yoongi’s phone. He hands it over with a “Don’t forget your phone, hyung!” before bending over to slip on the jeans, somehow making the baggy pants look stylish. He grins at Yoongi. “We’ll trade. Do you like your shirt?”

“Not really.” Yoongi slips his phoen band over his wrist, tightening the strap.

“Great.” Jimin grabs it, bundles it up, and throws it in the trash can on the side of the stall. “Let’s go.”

Yoongi feels like he should protest someone throwing away his clothes, but Jimin is hustling them out the stall (another omega stares as they all come out the stall, eyes wide, no doubt assuming things).

Taehyung throws an arm around Yoongi’s hips, “Look, hyung.”

He’s pointing at the massive mirrors lining one side of the room—

Holy shit.

Yoongi stares at himself. He actually. He actually looks hot. The dress doesn’t just fit; its magic, making curves appear where there’ve never been. He’s also been pale, but underneath the lights of the bathroom, his paleness makes him glow with the way it contrasts his hair and deep red lips.

He doesn’t just look hot. He feels hot.

Jimin and Taehyung are watching him in the mirror as he stares at himself in disbelief.

“Yup,” Jimin says, popping the “p”. He grabs Yoongi’s right hand while Taehyung twines his grip around the left. “I think hyung’s ready.”

Clearly Yoongi’s newfound hotness isn’t just reserved to omegas. When they step out of the bathroom and start making their way to the exit, Yoongi can feel everyone staring. Jimin and Taehyung are clearly accustomed to being stared at because they weave through the mess of bodies as if people were parting for them. Yoongi clings to Jimin and Taehyung’s hands as he’s pulled through, trying to shrug off the double looks he’s receiving.

The night is slightly chilly when they step out. Goosebumps raise on Yoongi’s arms but he barely has a chance to feel it before a car is pulling up in front (how the hell was Jimin able to hail a cab this fast?) and he’s being made to slip into the backseat between Jimin and Taehyung.

The door shuts and almost immediately reality sets in.

What the fuck am I doing?

Why did he agree to this? Yeah, Jimin and Taehyung might not be serial killers but that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own reasons for befriending a lonely, sad omega at a club. Yoongi was too old to be swept in things like this—

Taehyung reaches into his top and pulls out (from where, Yoongi has no idea) two small blue pills with smiley faces on them. He passes one to Jimin before swallowing his dry.

Taehyung notices Yoongi watching. “It’s allergy meds,” he says was a slow smile. “Want some?”

The goosebumps from before return, something akin to hysteria rising in Yoongi. There’s no way that’s allergy meds. He laughs shakily. “No, thanks.”

Taehyung shrugs. Studies Yoongi. “Feeling nervous?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “A little.”

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says from his other side. “We’ll take care of you, hyung.”

Yoongi lets out another shaky laugh. They’re still holding both of his hands. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “I’ve gotta text my friend, he’s probably wondering where I am.”

Taehyung coos, releasing Yoongi’s hand and leaning closer. “Oh, send him a picture of us!”

Jimin wiggles excitedly and leans as well, head resting against Yoongi’s shoulder. His jasmine scent floats up, warm and content. “Make sure to get my good side.”

“Every side is your good side, Jimin.”

“I know.” Jimin sounds very smug.

Yoongi pulls up the camera on his phone, angling it to capture all three of them. It’s objectively a good photo. They look like good friends, out for a night of partying. Absolutely nothing untoward at all.

Still. Yoongi feels a little disturbed as he opens his messenger app, pulling up his text thread with Namjoon. Both Jimin and Taehyung are openly reading his message.

Headed to Gone. This is Jimin—

“Park Jimin,” Jimin interrupts.

This is Park Jimin and—

“Kim Taehyung.”

I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.

He hits send.

Almost immediately his phone lights up.

“Are you safe? Blink three times in succession if not.”

Yoongi laughs at Namjoon’s ridiculousness. A rush of fondness fills him. “I don’t think you’ll be see me if I did. I’m fine though.”

“Why are you going to Gone? Who’s this Jaemin and Taeyang??” Namjoon demands.

“It’s Jimin and Taehyung. I met them at UniQ,” Yoongi replies. Said Taehyung snuggles closer, twirling a lock of Yoongi’s hair between his fingers. Jimin just watches, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Ask for their ID cards!” That’s Jin’s voice in the background, clearly trying to get Namjoon to focus on the important things.

Yoongi hesitates. “Err—”

It’s clear that both Jimin and Taehyung can hear the conversation without a problem because, without being asked, Taehyung pulls out two drivers licenses (again, where is he stashing these things?) for Yoongi to take a picture of.

“I’m sending pictures over now,” Yoongi tells Namjoon.

There’s a moment of quiet while the pictures send.

“Let me talk to him,” Jimin says suddenly. He doesn’t wait for Yoongi to even agree, gently taking the phone from Yoongi.

“Park Jimin speaking,” he says.

Yoongi wants to listen to the conversation, but he’s distracted by Taehyung wrapping his arm around his waist, hugging him sideways and squeezing. It forces Yoongi to have to breathe deeper against to pressure. His lungs fill with the mixed scents of jasmine and petrichor. Once again, Yoongi is struck by how nice their scents are. It’s soothing, the scent and pressure. He breathes deep again.

“Still feeling nervous?” Taehyung asks.

He goes to say yes but actually—“Not anymore?” Yoongi admits.

“That’s really good, hyung,” Taehyung sighs. Yoongi echoes to move unconsciously. “I promise you’ll have a good time. Jimin and I won’t let anything bad happen.”

For some reason, the sentiment touches Yoongi. He’s been so freaked (by what? He really can’t think of why he was in the first place) that he hasn’t stopped to think about how, for Taehyung and Jimin, they probably think they are just helping another omega. They haven’t really done anything untoward the entire night; the worst thing they’ve done is not let Yoongi’s hesitance stop them.

Yoongi breathes deep. It will be okay. He’ll dance, have a good time, and then head home once he’s tired. Maybe Jimin and Taehyung would be interested in meeting up as friends after this.

Whatever conversation Jimin has with Namjoon must be over because Yoongi gets his phone back and all Namjoon says is, “Make sure you call as soon as you leave—again when you get home! You hear me, Yoongi?”

Yoongi laughs, giddy. “Sure thing, Joonie. We’ll talk soon, okay?” He hangs up.

“You’ll like Gone, hyung,” Jimin says with excitement. He pets Yoongi’s hair, crown to the base of his neck. “You'll like it alot.”

Chapter Text

When they arrive at Gone, Yoongi expects to have to line up but Jimin and Taehyung just saunter—he’s never seen anyone saunter before—right past security and inside, Yoongi nestled between them. No one stops them. All security does is nod and wave them through.

“Do you guys come here often or something?” Yoongi asks, yelling to be heard over the absolute wall of sound they walk into. It’s some sort of house, with heavy bass.

“What?” Jimin yells back.

“The security,” Yoongi points where they came from. “They just let us through!”

Jimin just smiles at him. Says, “We’ve got a private booth, let’s go!”

They step onto the dance floor, the humid heat of the crowd immediately pressing against Yoongi’s skin. Bodies press against his, but Jimin leads them through the crowds of people dancing easily. They walk up a short flight of stairs, past yet another set of security guards, and down a long hallway. Yoongi doesn’t want to gawk but he’s pretty sure they walk past several A-listers.

The sound of the music is quieter here. They finally approach a booth at the back of the floor, but instead of the empty booth Yoongi expects, there’s already two men sitting there, drinks in hand. Yoongi can tell immediately, even without smelling them: alphas.

He balks, but Jimin and Taehyung pull him along by their clasped hands.

“Hobi hyungggg!” Taehyung yells, large smile erupting on his face.

One of the alphas—Hobi, Yoongi can only assume—smiles with genuine delight seeing Taehyung. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Everyone, meet Yoongi hyung!” Taehyung announces, lifting their clasped hands and waving it at Hobi and the unnamed alpha. “Yoongi, meet Hoseok who everyone calls Hobi—” Hobi smiles, waves back, “—and Jungkook.”

Said Jungkook watches Yoongi with dark eyes. Yoongi swallows, feeling a blush steal across his cheeks. He’s—he’s very handsome, dark hair parted and swept to the side.

“You should sit here,” Jimin says suddenly, pushing Yoongi to sit next to Jungkook, before squeezing in next to him.

The minute he sits next to Jungkook, Yoongi is hit with alpha pheromones. They’re….intense. Cedar wood, the spray of the ocean on his face, bonfire smoke, something deep and dark and predatory underneath. There’s only been a few times in his life Yoongi has felt the urge to stretch his neck long and bare it for an alpha to smell but Jungkook smells…fuck, it’s good, makes his toes curl, makes him want to spread his legs, all pliant and happy and stupid.

“Hey,” Yoongi says lamely, clamping his legs together as tightly as possible at the pulse of arousal that goes through him.

Jungkook smiles down at him, dark eyes crinkling at little as if he finds something funny. “Hey,” he echoes.

“We met Yoongi at UniQ,” Jimin says on Yoongi’s other side to Jungkook. “We promised we’d bring him dancing at Gone cause his ex is an ass.” Yoongi turns big, betrayed eyes on Jimin. What ever happened to the omega code!

Jungkook laughs, a deep rumbling in his chest that radiates into Yoongi even though he’s doing his best not to touch the alpha. “Exes do tend to be asses.”

Yoongi turns back to Jungkook, grasping for something else to say to take the attention off himself. “Uh, how do you all know each other?”

Taehyung pipes up from the other side of the booth, where he’s practically in Hobi’s lap with the way he’s leaning on the alpha. “Jimin and I are childhood friends, but we all went to high school together. Now we’re all at the same university.”

“Hey!” Hobi leans forward, slamming a hand on the table. “Don’t lump me in with them! I’m getting my Masters!” He points a finger at Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung. “They’re the ones who’re college seniors.”

 “You’re still in college?!” Yoongi blurts out. He’d figured they were younger than him with the way Jimin and Taehyung were eager to call him hyung, but to still be in college…

“How old are you?” Jungkook asks, curious.

“Twenty-seven!” No need for them to know his twenty-eighth birthday is approaching.

Taehyung bounces with excitement. “That means you’re everyone’s hyung!”

“We're not just friends. Hobi, Taehyung and I are partners,” Jimin adds, with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

Yoongi nods, remembering Jimin saying he and Taehyung cycled together. He wasn’t so out of the loop to not know that “cycling together” was being used a euphemism by college students these days, usually referring to omegas who were sexually intimate with each other.

Smelling another omega’s heat pheromones couldn’t trigger another omega to cycle at the same time, not unless the omega had an extended exposure to another omega’s heat pheromones, mostly through touch and scent. Even then, the worst thing that would happen would be a false heat: increased sensitivity to pheromones, higher libido and pain tolerance, susceptibility to omega float. To actually cycle together, omegas had to be regularly fucking each other.

It made so much sense that Jimin and Taehyung are together by that logic. Hobi is a very lucky alpha.

Jimin leans close to Yoongi and whispers in his ear, “Jungkook is single though.”

He leans back with a wink.

“Oh,” Yoongi says, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I see you have some new friends joining you!” There’s a woman—definitely an omega from the strength of her scent, undoubtedly intensified by a scent amplifier—standing at the end of the booth. She smiles prettily. “Can I get anything for you gentlemen?”

Hobi orders a sushi platter and two orders of some sort of complicated drink order that sounds like it’ll be pink and fizzy and glittery, and a glass of wine. Undoubtedly two of the drinks are for Jimin and Taehyung, who sit back, content to let the alpha order for them.

Yoongi looks around for a menu but doesn’t see any anywhere. Was it one of those QR code menus? He opens his mouth to ask for a menu, but Jungkook speaks before he can.

“I’ll have another glass of Suntory,” he doesn’t even pause or look at Yoongi when he continues, “and he’ll have the same.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows. That’s…He can speak for himself—

Jimin pets Yoongi’s hair, fiddling with the strands near the base of his neck, nails gently scratching the area. The movement allows his jasmine-heat scent to gently wrap around Yoongi for a moment. Tension on the cusp of building melts out of Yoongi, hot butter through his limbs.

“Okay, five drinks coming up.” The omega pauses. “Is there anything else you’d like to order?”

Yoongi’s distracted by the way Jimin is petting his hair, but he still senses the dark tension that rises around the table. The question sounds innocuous but there’s a subtext there that Yoongi can’t read.

“No,” Jungkook replies.

The server walks away. Almost immediately Taehyung draws Hobi and Jimin into a conversation. Jungkook turns contrite eyes on Yoongi.

“Sorry for ordering for you.” His voice is apologetic. “The servers here can be a bit relentless.”

Confusion must be written all over Yoongi’s face, because Jungkook clarifies, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Gone.”

Ah. Yoongi, and just about everyone in the city, knows the rumors about Gone. There’s a reason it’s attached to a very expensive hotel: the people who traffic its floors often end up needing a more private location before the night’s end. Clearly the staff are included in that.

Distantly, he wonders if all the staff are expected to engage in sex work, or if this particular server decided on her own to shoot her shot with a hot alpha.

“They’ll only leave alphas alone if they have someone with them,” Jungkook continues. “You don’t mind, do you? That I ordered for you?”

Wow, those are some powerful puppy eyes.

 “It’s fine,” he says hesitantly.

Jungkook lights up with relief. “Thanks. I didn’t want you think I was sexist or anything. I know you can order for yourself.” He pauses. Winces. “Would it be okay if I, like, put my arm around you when she comes back? I don’t think she exactly bought it last time.”

Jimin distractedly scratches a particularly sensitive spot along his neck, and almost against his will, Yoongi feels his mouth drop open, a shiver going up his spine. “Yeah,” he gasps out.

Jungkook’s eyes darken. Jimin removes hand. “That’s really nice of you,” he murmurs, taking a sip of the almost empty drink in front of him.

Yoongi swallows.

“So what happened?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi blinks, confused.

“With you and your ex,” Jungkook clarifies. “Jimin said you broke up.”

“Right,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. “He broke up with me a few days ago.”

Jungkook makes a sympathetic noise. “That sucks. Why’d you date him?”

Why had they started dating? “We were in the same major in undergrad. We didn’t really hang out much while we were students. He was kind of,” Yoongi winces, remembering the first time he’d met Sanghoon. “He was kind of insecure about being a beta, actually. Tended to be an ass to the omegas in the major because of it.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’d date an asshole?” Jungkook’s gaze is steady.

A laugh blurts out of Yoongi. “He seemed different when we met again after undergrad. That, and he was good at sex.” Yoongi stares down at the table in front of him. “Five years until he, uh, found someone else.”

Jungkook hums. Then, out of nowhere—“So, you’ve never dated an alpha?”

Yoongi swallows. “No. Never.”

Jungkook goes to say something but his gaze flicks past Yoongi. His arm comes up and around Yoongi’s shoulders, tugging Yoongi into the heat of his side. Cedar and smoke surrounds Yoongi, filling his lungs. It’s like the best kind of contact high, the way his stomach swoops, heat pooling in his veins. “Sorry about this,” Jungkook whispers in his ear.

The server is back, carrying the ordered drinks and a massive sushi platter. She passes out the very pink drinks to Taehyung, goes to do to same to Jimin, only to have him smile sweetly and say, “The wine’s for me.” Hobi lets out a delighted laugh, taking the second pink drink for himself.

The two glasses of Suntory get placed in front of Jungkook, who picks one up. He hands it to Yoongi with an offhand, “Here, baby.”

Holy shit. Yoongi takes it, gulping a mouthful straightaway. That’s—he hasn’t leaked in public since he was a teen, but Jungkook is testing his control. Baby?

The sushi platter is placed down, with plates and chopsticks for everyone.

“Anything else I can—”

“No,” Jungkook interrupts, tone flat.

“Well, if you think of anything else, my name is—”

“Thanks,” Jungkook interrupts again.

The server hesitates. She glances at Yoongi, searching his face, before turning around and walking away.

Everyone reaches forward for plates and chopsticks. Yoongi sits there awkwardly, hyper aware that he doesn’t really know these people and probably shouldn’t just eat their food. Even if the sight of sushi has him hungry.

Jungkook picks up a piece of aburi salmon and puts on a plate.

“Here.” He puts the plate in front of Yoongi. “Try this.”

Yoongi wants to protest, but it’s said so casually, he instead reaches for the pair of chopsticks, picking up the salmon and eating it in one bite.

Fuck, that’s good.

As if reading his mind, Jungkook grins, teeth sharp. “Good?”

Yoongi nods.

“You wouldn’t think it, but the sushi here is really good.” Jungkook reaches for another piece—Yoongi thinks it might be tuna—putting it on Yoongi’s plate again. He still hasn’t eaten any sushi, watching Yoongi intently. “Try this one.”

As if compelled, Yoongi eats the piece in front of him, staring up at Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark. His fingers start up a rhythmic rub along Yoongi’s collarbone. Right. Yoongi had forgotten his arm was still thrown over his shoulders. “Good.”

A small thrill goes through Yoongi. He doesn’t think Jungkook is talking about the sushi.

Yoongi doesn’t know how long this goes on—Jungkook passing Yoongi pieces of sushi, Yoongi eating it—but he’s vaguely aware that the conversation picks back up around him. There’s some inside joke about Tony Montana has everyone cackling, but Yoongi is content to sit there and let it pass him by, sipping his drink, eating sushi, nodding along and smiling where appropriate.

Sandwiched as he is between Jimin and Jungkook, he feels welcomed. He’d come out tonight intending to forget about Sanghoon, and instead he’s gotten a group of friends who act like he’s one of their own. It’s nice. Really nice.

Maybe it’s the way the booth is shaped or maybe the air circulation is terrible in this particular corner, but all he can smell is Jungkook. It’s distracting as hell every time Yoongi breathes in, but it’s soothing. It leaves him feeling a bit like he’s floating. He sighs.

Fingers tangle his hair, tugging until Yoongi rests his head against a firm chest. Yoongi breathes deep. Melts even further into the cedar, salt, smoke smell. Floats.

He doesn’t know how long he floats before Jungkook’s voice filters in. “—hyung.”

Yoongi picks his head up blearily. Jungkook is smiling down at him, bemused.

“You’ve been gone for a while. You okay?”

“Mmmm,” Yoongi hums.

Jungkook studies him, eyes searching his face. His hand moves from where it’s been tangled in Yoongi’s hair to the back of his neck, palm hot against Yoongi’s nape. His thumb presses against Yoongi’s pulse point “This okay?”

Yoongi nods. He doesn’t know what the hell Jungkook is asking, but it’s definitely okay.

Jungkook studies him a moment longer. Squeezes.

Yoongi’s reaction is immediate. His hips buck, toes curling, hole clenching tight then relaxing as a thick glob of slick seeps out of him. His mouth, wet with a sudden and new want, drops open.

His head lolls back, baring the long line of his throat to Jungkook.

“Holy shit,” someone says, awe in their voice.

Jungkook holds him there for moment—and Yoongi just takes it, dizzy, overheated, breathless— before gently easing his grip. Air rushes into Yoongi’s lungs as he gasps in a breath.

His are limbs staticky from the endorphin rush, underwear sticking everywhere from his slick, he can smell himself—vanilla custard and peaches—and all he can think about is that something hot, tight, and desperate is blooming inside him. He knows this feeling.

“Okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, hand still around Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi can only stare with wide eyes.

Heat.