Archive of Our Own

“Why are you still abed?”

Jimin blinks from his stupor, his eyes focusing slowly on the source of the sound.

The door….the door that is always closed is open. And there is an alpha standing in it.

He is dressed like any soldier, in a simple leather dujeonggap pulled over a sturdy linen hanbok, his long hair held back with a red band at his temples, thick boots still caked in mud as though he has just returned from campaign. Yet even half-asleep, Jimin knows instinctively that he is something more.

The tower room where Jimin has been kept is large and empty, yet the alpha seems to fill it, his scent simmering like something that could lash out at any second, making every fibre of Jimin's body thrum with attention. He needs to be very, very careful.

This is more than the natural dominance of an alpha over an omega. Jimin has been around enough important wolves since being mated to Pack Alpha Seowon to recognize an alpha accustomed to leading other alphas, and this one seems to wear authority like it's his birthright.

His mate has complained about this wolf too much for Jimin not to recognize him. It can only be Kim Namjoon, leader of the rogues to the south of their territory, bane of Seowon's existence, and Jimin's dubious ‘host’.

Namjoon's eyes, which had been looking around the room like it personally offends him, suddenly snap back to Jimin, narrowing. Shit. Jimin had been asked something, hadn't he?

He struggles into a seated position, trying to whip his sluggish mind into motion. Though Jimin has been around the aristocracy for a couple of years now, the formalities still don't come naturally, and he's not entirely sure of Kim Namjoon's title. He knows that the Emperor recognized the rogue territory as a state recently, so maybe…

“I…beg your pardon, Minister-nim?” he asks. It comes out in a croak, his voice rough from disuse.

The alpha's eyes rove over him for a moment before he abruptly turns his back. Jimin looks down at himself and realizes belatedly that he is only in his light sleeping hanbok, one sleeve of which has fallen open to reveal some of the soft skin of his shoulder and chest. He hurriedly rights it and pulls a sheet up to his chin for good measure.

“Why is he not dressed yet, Yoongi?” Namjoon snaps.

A second man enters behind the first, craning around him to cast an impassive glance over Jimin. He is a beta, but a high-ranking one clearly, judging from the fine embroidery on his hanbok and the ease with which he addresses his leader.

“He has been housed away from the other prisoners as you ordered, Pack Alpha,” he says, emphasizing the title, “After a few weeks in solitary, it is not uncommon for ties to society to begin to fray. Such prisoners often come to keep their own hours.”

Weeks. Has it been so long?

Jimin blinks at the man. He has never seen his face before, but he knows the voice. It has uttered some of the few words he has heard spoken in his vicinity since he was brought to this place, turning up every few days to question the taciturn jailer outside the door on Jimin's health and appetite.

At first, Jimin had tried speaking to him. Seeking explanations for his detention, camaraderie, anything at all, but was always ignored. In time, his attempts at conversation had given way to begging, bargaining, and then anger as the days of isolation and monotony stretched on. The only time he had managed to elicit a response was when he had started refusing the paltry trays of food slid through the little hatch in the base of the door. After a day or two, Yoongi had addressed him.

“You'll eat what you're given one way or the other, Omega. Whether you do so willingly or are forced through a funnel makes little difference to me, but courtesy demands that I provide fair warning.”

Jimin had complied, though every bite was like ash in his mouth. After that, he gave up trying to engage with his captors, fading away into the sullen silence he has found himself in for…well…weeks, apparently.

Namjoon looks back at Jimin again, frowning.

“This won't do,” he says, “I need him presentable, Yoongi. Healthy-looking, at least from a distance.”

The beta nods.

“I'll call for water for a bath.”

“Fine. See that he is dressed and in the high reception hall within the hour. I have in mind something I’d like him to wear.”

Both wolves sweep out of the room.

Jimin struggles to his feet, reaching the heavy wooden door just in time for it to slam shut in his face. He drums his fists on it.

“Please, Pack Alpha Kim, why am I being detained like this?” he cries after them, “What have I done?”

There’s no answer but for the click of retreating footsteps, and then a return of the silence. Jimin sighs and makes his way over to the window. It's an archer’s slit really, barely handspan across, one of four that cut through the thick stone walls to let in the cold wind and rain that keep Jimin in his nest most of the time. The room is in an old watch tower, which must have fallen into disuse as the Kim compound expanded around it.

He rises to his toes and peers down into the courtyard below. It's bright outside, and the young alphas are already going about their lessons, wooden swords clacking together, and voices raised in excitement. Jimin knows their schedule, just as he knows the comings and goings of everyone in the courtyard; watching them has been his whole world these past weeks. It must be mid-afternoon.

The door creaks open again, and two alpha servants enter carrying a silver bathtub, followed by a half dozen beta and omega servants with buckets of water and scented oils.

Jimin shrinks back against the wall. Even though they don't speak, their scents and sounds are loud, overwhelming after his weeks of solitude. They pay him no mind though, aside from a few lingering stares, simply pouring their charges into the tub before trudging out once more.

Only Yoongi stays behind, looking at Jimin expectantly. When Jimin doesn't move from the wall quickly enough, he sighs and grabs him by the elbow, hauling him to the tub. Jimin lets himself be dragged, still too disoriented to resist, but when the beta unceremoniously starts to pull down his dirty hanbok, Jimin slaps his hands away.

“I’ll do it.”

His voice is still rough, but it comes out strong, like someone used to being waited upon. An echo of what Jimin is outside this place, back at Seowon’s keep.

Yoongi frowns, and Jimin falters. He needs to try another approach here. He makes himself small.

“I…I mean, I'd like to do it myself, Administrator-nim,” he says softly, looking up through his eyelashes, “Please?”

It's always a gamble trying to sweet-talk a beta, but it at least seems to give Yoongi pause. He blinks at him before finally rolling his eyes and turning his back, giving Jimin a modicum of privacy.

“I knew I was right not to let anyone open your door,” he huffs, “You're not as innocent as you seem. Do it yourself if you want to, Omega, but make it fast. Namjoon doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

Jimin smiles weakly. He might be at a disadvantage here, but at least he hasn't completely lost his touch. He hurries to undress and slips into the warm water. He doesn't know what is to come next, but he is very keen for a bath. He has gone far too long with nothing more than cold, damp towels with which to clean himself.

The water is heavenly. He scrubs himself pink again and again with the lavender soap Yoongi hands him, only slightly wrinkling his nose at the strong smell. Much too soon, he is being hurried out again. He dries himself with a towel as Yoongi sets out the clothes he is to wear on his bed.

Underthings, red chima, green jeogori. Simple in style but very high quality. Jimin pulls them on obediently before checking his appearance in a glass brought in by another servant. The clothes don't befit the station he has achieved as the favored omega of the Park clan Pack Alpha, but they are much finer than anything else he has been given so far.

He rubs his neck, still feeling naked without the collar of silver and emeralds he always wore; Seowon's clan colors. It had been missing when he had awoken in this place, no doubt stolen and sold by his captors. Though long-since healed, it's jarring to see the ugly marks of his alpha's teeth in his scent gland. Jimin had never been allowed to remove the collar for long enough to get a good look before.

Yoongi calls out the door, and an omega servant bustles in, tsking over the state of Jimin’s hair as she attacks it with a comb before braiding it into a neat plait and painting some rouge onto his lips and cheeks. Soon, Yoongi is there again, hurrying him towards the door of his cell.

“Put this on and be quick, you're late already.”

He thrusts a gold-coloured coat into Jimin's hands. His tone is casual, but something about it has Jimin narrowing his eyes.

Red chima, green jeogori, gold po. The rogue clan colours. Seowon would have a conniption. He thrusts it back at Yoongi.

“Thank you, but I won't be wearing that.”

Yoongi draws himself up to his full height.

“Pack Alpha Kim demands it.”

He's taller than Jimin, and clearly enjoys a high position within the Kim pack, but Jimin isn't one of the Kims. Though he has become used to softer settings in recent years, his father was a merchant, and he grew up around the posturing of sailors hawking their wares. It will take more than some aristocratic beta to bully him into a disadvantaged position.

He straightens too, crossing his arms.

“And I decline,” he says primly, “I might be Kim Namjoon's prisoner, but I won't go about in his livery.”

Yoongi's face darkens.

“You misjudge your position here, Omega,” he growls, “We can force you to obey.”

Jimin opens his eyes, wide and innocent.

“Oh, you probably could,” he says sweetly, “You're a healthy beta, Administrator-nim, I surely couldn't match you for strength.”

He smiles.

“But make no mistake, I would resist. And it seemed quite important to Kim Namjoon that I at least appear well cared for, no? If you brought me before him black and blue from a scuffle, I fear it might mar the desired impression somewhat.”

Yoongi glares at him, but Jimin doesn't blink, only raising a delicate eyebrow. At last, Yoongi blows out a long breath.

“Suit yourself then,” he says, “But I take no responsibility for the consequences.”

He grabs Jimin's elbow and steers him down the narrow steps of the tower and along a hallway, dark but for the light shining dimly through the paper window screens on one side. Jimin catches glimpses down other hallways as they hurry by; first barracks, and then servants' quarters, before giving way into more sumptuous family rooms beyond.

Yoongi turns abruptly and slides open a screen leading out into the courtyard. He slips into some wooden over-shoes and gestures impatiently for Jimin to do the same.

Jimin does so slowly, pretending to adjust the strap of the sandal to buy time to steady himself. There are eyes on him from all sides of the courtyard, curious servants whispering at the well, the gaggle of young alphas pausing their sparring to gawp at him. It's all too much, too soon, too fast after his weeks of solitude. Jimin’s breath is coming short from the brief walk, and the myriad of new scents is affronting his nose, making him lightheaded.

Yoongi’s scent starts to simmer with irritation. Jimin swallows hard and nods at him. They set off across the courtyard, Jimin doing his best to feign an indifference he doesn't feel. Later, when he's alone again, he can be weak, but he cannot afford it now.

Yoongi leads them into another building, newer and heavily fortified, that seems to separate the inner keep of the Kim compound from what sounds like a city. Jimin can hear it as a distant rumble of voices and wheels beyond the walls, growing ominously louder as they climb a stone staircase and stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Yoongi knocks twice before pushing it open and ushering Jimin in.

It's a sumptuous reception room, with a low seating area on one side and a large desk on the other. Through a translucent screen at the opposite end of the room, Jimin can just make out an expansive balcony looking down over a city square. The decor is opulent verging on gaudy, with showy artwork and gold accents, even what seems to be a golden ceiling that reflects the sunlight outside to give Jimin an immediate headache.

“I bring Park Jimin as ordered, Pack Alpha.”

Namjoon turns from where he's sitting at the desk to look Jimin over. A slight frown creases his brow.

“He refuses to wear this,” continues Yoongi, brandishing the coat, “Says he won't be seen in your livery.”

Jimin winces at hearing his own bold words parroted back. He no longer feels so brave before Namjoon’s simmering scent and darkening features, but he does his best not to show it. He can’t be a frightened omega, not now. He needs to at least seem like an aristocrat, someone who deserves respect.

“Is that so?” says Namjoon in a low voice.

He rises and crosses slowly towards him, plucking the coat from Yoongi’s hands as he passes, his eyes never leaving Jimin's. The proper thing would be for Jimin to look down meekly from an alpha’s gaze, but Jimin finds himself frozen, unable to look away, his heart hammering in his ears. By the time Namjoon stops just a few inches from his chest, Jimin finds himself craning his head to meet his eyes, barely holding himself back from trembling.

“Tell me, Jimin-ssi,” Namjoon says silkily, “Do you like your chambers?”

“My…my chambers?” asks Jimin, proud to keep his voice steady, “Are you referring to my prison cell, Pack Alpha Kim?”

A slow smile spreads over Namjoon’s face, far from reassuring.

“Your prison cell then,” he says indulgently, “Are you quite content with it?”

There's something in his scent like danger, but Jimin is rooted to the spot, unable to escape. The words seem to burble out unbidden.

“I… of course not, Pack Alpha-nim,” he says, surprised at his own honesty, “I don't like it at all.”

Namjoon hums, his brow creasing in faux concern.

“No? Tell me what you don't like about it, Sweetheart,” he commands softly.

Jimin shivers, feeling very small. He clings to the shards of his confident façade and tries to string together his ideas, his tongue feeling slow and out of practice. He can't muster anything but the truth.

“It's cold, Pack Alpha-nim,” he says, cringing at how small and vulnerable he sounds, "And I'm…” he swallows hard, “All alone there without a thing to do all day. Without the smallest explanation for my captivity. It's…it's unjust.”

Namjoon nods thoughtfully.

“I suppose it is unjust,” he says, "Most of my prisoners aren't kept like you, you know Jimin-ssi. You are housed in the tower because you're an omega and out of recognition for your station. But if you prefer, I can start treating you like the others. That might be more just.”

Namjoon smiles wider, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You might even prefer it from what you say,” he says dangerously, “There are no windows at all in the dungeons, so you won't be bothered by those chilly drafts. And you’ll never have to worry about being lonely with the muttering and screams of your fellow prisoners for company. That and the rats will surely keep you from boredom. I’ve heard it's a full day's work just to keep them at bay. They're always keen to test who has lost enough strength to become their next meal.”

Jimin trembles, his every instinct telling him to make himself inconspicuous, to hide, but he can't, still pinned by the other's dark eyes.

“Is that what you'd like, Little Omega?" Namjoon asks, leaning closer still, “Would you like to see the inside of a real prison cell? Or would you like to behave for me?”

Jimin clamps his teeth shut, feeling that if he opens his mouth, he might be sick. When Namjoon holds out the golden coat to him once more, he hurries to put it on, fumbling to tie it tight with shaking fingers.

“Good boy,” Namjoon says mockingly.

A spark of annoyance ignites in Jimin's belly.

“May I at least have an explanation, Pack Alpha Kim?” he asks bravely, “Why have you brought me here?”

Namjoon's mouth twists with disgust.

“You're Park Seowon’s favorite little bitch are you not?”

Jimin blinks. So this is about Seowon. He'd figured as much.

“I am…one of his omegas, yes,” he says with dignity.

Namjoon bares his teeth.

“Then how do you have the audacity to ask that question?” he hisses, “When your precious alpha has been fighting tooth and nail against my pack being formally recognized by the Emperor? When your soldiers have been making weekly incursions into my territory, harassing my people and stealing their resources? Just last month, you hung one of my chiefs for refusing to pay your illegal tithes! You've been sitting in silks, filling your belly with stolen food while my people suffer indignity after indignity, and you dare to ask me why?”

Each question is like a slap. Jimin flounders.

“I…I know nothing of such things, Pack Alpha Kim! My mate doesn't see fit to include me in discussions of politics.”

Namjoon scoffs.

“Politics. How awfully convenient for you. But the fact that you have no use but to wet that old bastard’s knot doesn't absolve you of your complicity.”

Jimin is feeling nauseous. It's nothing he hasn't heard before; he knows why Seowon chose him, but to have it thrown in his face when he's already down is cracking his tenuous composure.

He crosses his arms, surreptitiously digging his fingernails into the skin to ground himself. He won't give Namjoon the satisfaction of seeing him break.

“That still doesn't explain your goal in bringing me here, Pack Alpha Kim,” he says. His voice barely trembles.

Namjoon looks him over with raised eyebrows before huffing out a bitter laugh.

“The emperor has ordered Seowon and I to negotiate to settle our differences. He doesn't want open warfare among the states, not when the Goguryeo kingdom is running drills at the border. My council is screaming for blood, but I'm trying to play by the Emperor's so-called civilized rules for now. I've sent my cousin to represent our interests since I probably wouldn't be able to keep myself from throttling the old bastard if I got near him.”

He bares his teeth.

“But ambassadors to your pack have a strange habit of turning up face down in ditches with arrows in their backs. I thought it prudent to hold onto something Seowon values until the negotiations are completed. To help remind him of what honor is.”

Jimin swallows down bile. Indeed, Seowon may not be the most scrupulous of wolves in his dealings, but he is possessive of what's his. Jimin is the youngest and newest of his omegas, and the alpha has certainly seemed to…enjoy him more than the others since acquiring him two years ago. Jimin has hardly been allowed out of his sight, Seowon preferring to show him off on his knees while he does his business, a firm hand locked in his hair as though Jimin might be stolen away at any moment. He has to give it to Namjoon, it’s…not a bad plan.

“So I'm collateral,” he says.

“If you like,” Namjoon replies carelessly, “Now come. I've got other things to do today.”

Before Jimin can respond with more questions, Namjoon seizes him by the elbow and pulls him none too gently towards the balcony. Yoongi springs forward ahead of them to open the doors, letting in a swell of sensation from the square below.

It's the hubbub of a thousand conversations, hawkers shouting their wares, the creak of carriage wheels, the whicker of horses. And the scents. A myriad of wolves, old and young, alpha, beta, omega, unwashed bodies, the char of roasting meat, the sweet tang of livestock. Seowon had talked about the Kim rogues like a collection of wild savages, a travesty for the Emperor to recognize as a state. Jimin had had no idea they might actually have a real, functioning city like this.

It's a cacophony compared to the solitude and predictability of the inner courtyard Jimin had been restricted to for weeks, enough to overwhelm his already strained senses and make his head spin. He stops walking, nausea and an irrational terror tightening in his guts, but Namjoon simply slips an arm around his waist to continue to drag him effortlessly forward.

“Smile,” he growls in Jimin's ear, “Word needs to reach Seowon that you are here, and in good health. For now.”

As they reach the balcony railing, there is a blast of trumpet from a herald hidden somewhere in the crowd below.

“Pack Alpha Kim and his guest, Omega Jimin of the Park pack.”

A thousand faces turn towards them at once. Jimin's eyes rove over them, but he can't put the scene together; there are too many sensations to process. There's a roaring in his ears that it takes him a moment to realize are shouts from the crowd. Cheers and jeers and so much noise.

“Wave,” growls Namjoon, and Jimin does, or at least he tries to. His arms are feeling heavy and almost disconnected from his body.

Namjoon is saying something in his booming voice, speaking slowly to give time for the heralds immersed in the crowd to repeat his words for those standing farther back.

Jimin does his best to focus, but he can't string together the words. The scents of the crowd are an assault on his nose, their eyes are flaying him alive. His scent gland burns, exposed for all to see.

The roaring in his ears gets louder, but a glance at the crowd shows no one cheering this time; all eyes are focused on Namjoon with rapt attention.

He follows their gaze and sees that Namjoon is indeed still speaking, but Jimin can't hear him over the thundering in his ears. His field of vision seems to narrow to the alpha's face, so confident, completely in control. Perhaps it doesn't matter that Jimin can't hear, or see, or move. An alpha like Namjoon surely has the situation in hand.

The last thing he remembers is Namjoon glancing down at him, still speaking. His suave smile drops from his face as he meets Jimin's eyes. Abruptly, the roaring in his ears stops, leaving a downy silence. The arm at the small of his back tightens, which is good because Jimin's knees buckle at that very moment. Namjoon's lips form a word in slow motion. It comes to Jimin's ears after a delay, and is the last thing he hears for a time.

“Shit.”

~~

When Jimin blinks his eyes open, he wishes he hadn't. He has a splitting headache, and the sunlight reflecting off the golden ceiling only makes it worse.

“Who the hell has a gold ceiling?” he grumbles.

Nearby, someone huffs.

“Someone chosen by the gods to lead, I imagine.”

Jimin turns his head with difficulty, surprised to find Namjoon sitting at his elbow with his arms crossed, having dragged his desk chair over to where Jimin is sprawled on the sofa

Jimin frowns at him, not entirely sure if he's awake or dreaming, his mind slow as molasses. Namjoon raises an eyebrow in return.

“This is my public appearance chamber. From here, I can see out over my people, and in turn, they can see in. The ceiling is the most visible part from down in the square.”

Jimin thinks about that.

“So you’re…lording your riches over them?”

It's the type of question that would have given him the back of Seowon's hand, but Jimin's mind is running too slow for self-preservation.

Namjoon shrugs, seemingly unbothered by his cheek.

“I could sit in a mud hut and still be the greatest leader in the empire. But the general public appreciates symbols of power. I don't mind giving them what they expect.”

It's fortunate that Jimin's head hurts too much for him to roll his eyes, otherwise he'd surely have done something that would have gotten him into even more trouble.

“How magnanimous,” he murmurs.

He struggles into a seated position, but the effort makes his head erupt into pain again. He drops it forward onto his knees with a whimper, the room spinning around him.

“Not again,” growls Namjoon.

There's a shuffle, and then the cold rim of a cup is pressed to his lips.

“Drink,” Namjoon commands, “Yoongi will be back in a moment with the smelling salts.”

The cup is full of makgeolli, very high quality if Jimin had to guess, though he's certainly not in the mood for any now. Still, it doesn't cross his mind to disobey; he takes a small sip and feels warmth spread through his chest.

“There, that's better,” murmurs Namjoon, "A bit more.”

Jimin takes another sip obediently, eyes still shut against the light. He’s feeling a bit more solid.

“Thank you.”

“Hm.”

They fall into silence, broken only by Namjoon occasionally cajoling Jimin to take sips of the rice wine. Slowly, the room swirls to a stop around him, and the pounding in his head recedes. Namjoon's scent is rich in the air, strong and something else…satisfied maybe. It's calming, like an assurance that Jimin is doing well.

“Where are you from?” Namjoon asks after a while, “Your accent is different from before.”

Jimin grimaces, leaning his head forward against his knees once more to hide his face. He has forgotten himself.

“What do you mean, Pack Alpha-nim?” he asks, slipping back into the courtly tone the ajummas drilled into him back at Seowon's keep.

Namjoon tsks.

“None of that. You're a good mimic, but now that I've heard it, I can still pick up the lilt in your voice.”

Jimin sighs. He supposes it doesn't matter much; Namjoon could hardly think less of him at this point anyway.

“It’s just the satoori of the place where I grew up,” he murmurs, “A fishing village down on the eastern coast. It slips out sometimes when I'm tired.”

Namjoon hums.

“A fishing village. Then you're not born of the True Bone?” Jimin shakes his head. “How did you come to be mated to that old bastard then?”

“That old…I mean, Pack Alpha Seowon visited my village the summer after I presented,” Jimin says, hiding a smile, “He was making a tour of his territory, and we were one of the stops. I was part of a choir that welcomed him, and I suppose I must have…caught his eye. He paid my dowry and had me loaded into the carriage with his other purchases when he left town the following morning.”

Namjoon huffs.

“So not a love match then?”

Jimin barely represses a snort. He was pretty and poor, and Seowon rich with pups his dam's age. Jimin is sure that love was quite beside the point for both of them, not that it's any of Kim Namjoon's business.

“Anyone in my situation would have been grateful to be chosen,” he says delicately, “And I come from a family of merchants. I can't begrudge my father for turning a profit.”

Namjoon gives an amused huff. Jimin feels him lean a bit closer.

“Still. I’m True Bone made rather than bred, and that's been your alpha’s pretence for not respecting my territory. I united all the rogue clans and built up our infrastructure enough that the Emperor himself recognized me as one of his own, but that wasn't enough for Seowon. To him, I'm still a rogue, even though we're now of a rank and my army is twice the size of his. I'm surprised that a wolf so obsessed with blood purity would align himself with a peasant, however sweetly I'm sure you express your gratitude.”

Jimin feels a flash of irritation. It sets his tongue moving before his sluggish brain catches up.

“People with functioning eyes are generally completely unsurprised by his choice.”

The chair creaks as Namjoon throws back his head to let out a surprised laugh. It's a pretty sound. Jimin can't help but let out a little laugh too.

“Besides,” he continues into his knees, “I have often observed that great alphas tend to hold…different standards for the behaviour of others than they might apply in their own dealings?”

Namjoon huffs.

“Fair enough. I suppose Seowon isn't the first old dog to make a fool of himself over a pretty face.”

Jimin smiles despite himself. He can't help it, he likes to be called pretty. He straightens and opens his eyes gingerly, relieved to find that the light no longer seems to stab at them. He meets Namjoon's gaze, already fixed on him. The alpha is still sitting close by, holding the cup of makgeolli at the ready.

Jimin smiles wider. He's feeling bold, perhaps a little drunk. He plucks the cup from the alpha's fingers and takes another slow sip, not breaking eye contact. When he finishes, he hands it back, licking the moisture from his lips. Namjoon follows the motion with dark eyes.

“Probably not the last either,” Jimin says lightly.

Namjoon coughs, breaking eye contact at last. He rises quickly to set the empty cup down on the table. Jimin settles himself back comfortably against the cushions of the couch, feeling very pleased with himself.

The door swings open, and Yoongi hurries back into the room. He crosses to Jimin and thrusts a small container into his face. There's a strong scent inside, so sharp it makes Jimin jump back with a squeak. Namjoon is there in a heartbeat, knocking Yoongi's arm away from him.

“He obviously doesn't need the smelling salts anymore,” he snaps, "What the hell took you so long?”

Yoongi frowns, closing the container and shoving it into his pocket.

“My apologies,” he says shortly, “There weren't any on hand, so I had to send a runner into the village. It has been a long time since you've kept an omega around the keep long enough to swoon.”

Namjoon huffs, crossing back to the desk. He begins stacking up important-looking papers.

“Well, see to it that we are properly provisioned in the future,” he says, “You can return the prisoner to his cell now if he's steady enough to walk. But be sure he gets some good meals and actually eats them before tomorrow. We'll need to show his face again to try to salvage his disastrous appearance today. There will be rumours he is being mistreated, and that won't help negotiations.”

Jimin feels the little color that had reentered his cheeks drain out.

“You're not seriously sending me back there!” he exclaims.

Namjoon ignores him studiously. Yoongi helps Jimin to his feet with a firm hand and starts to half-escort, half-drag him to the door.

Jimin plants his feet. Logically, it is utterly insane to challenge an alpha, Namjoon especially, but his instincts tell him it's worth the gamble.

“You called me your guest before the crowd, Pack Alpha Kim,” he calls out to him, “I take you at your word and expect to be treated as such.”

Namjoon straightens slowly, turning his dark eyes onto Jimin once more.

“Don't have any illusions about your circumstances, Jimin-ssi,” he says dangerously, “Rogues aren't accustomed to responding to provocation with pretty words like they do in the Empire. The fact that we are agreeing to negotiate with your alpha at all instead of razing your keep to the ground is already a huge concession."

Every ounce of good sense he possesses tells Jimin to lower his eyes, to make himself small and meek, but he pushes it aside, raising his chin defiantly.

“I want better bedding,” he says, crossing his arms, “A sitting area. And suitable employment to pass the time.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes, calculating, his scent inscrutable. Jimin digs his nails into his palms to keep from shaking, refusing to blink.

At last, Namjoon seems to make a decision.

“Fine,” he says with a wave, “Yoongi will see to it that you get what you need. You can request items for your comfort, but you'll be staying in your tower. I won't be giving you free rein of the keep.”

Jimin nods. It's far from perfect, but still a marked improvement.

“Thank you, Pack Alph-”

"But,” Namjoon continues louder, raising a finger, “This is contingent on your cooperation. I expect you to attend public appearances without complaint and give the desired impression. Pull another stunt like you did today, and you'll lose your privileges. Now go.”

Jimin gapes at him, but Namjoon turns back to his papers, a clear dismissal. Yoongi starts to haul him off again, and this time Jimin follows pliantly.

“I can't exactly help fainting,” he grumbles.

“What was that?” asks Namjoon in a warning tone.

Jimin hurries to bow to him.

“I was saying that Pack Alpha Kim is kindness personified.”

Namjoon hums suspiciously.

As they are passing Namjoon, Jimin spots a book on the corner of his desk. Without stopping to think, he puts his hand down on it.

“Can I have this, Pack Alpha-nim?” he asks sweetly, blinking wide eyes up at him, “Just to pass the time?”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows.

“Can you read?”

Jimin bristles.

“I said I came from a family of merchants, not half-wits.”

The corner of Namjoon's mouth twitches up.

“Perhaps I'm not familiar with your pack’s customs,” he says, "But it seems…unusual for an omega in your station, does it not? I can't imagine a traditional old bastard like Seowon wanting his omega to read.”

Jimin crosses his arms.

“My father taught me so I could help with his ledgers,” he says shortly, “And Seowon-nim is a…busy alpha. I don't trouble him with details of all my interests."

Namjoon seems to consider before waving him off.

“Fine,” he says, “I'm finished with it anyway.”

~~

When Jimin returns to his tower, he finds a pile of fresh blankets and pillows already waiting for him, in all sizes and fabrics. He passes a pleasant afternoon finally building a proper nest and sending Yoongi hopping to and fro with requests.

Two armchairs, yes two, though he's only one omega. One to put at the east and the other at the west arrow slit, so Jimin can bask in the light of sunrise and sunset. A small dining table and chair. A calligraphy set and plenty of paper. A wardrobe with appropriate attire for one of his station to sleep, relax, or receive guests. All silk, if you please, his delicate skin can't abide the sackcloth they call ramie in this state.

Yoongi complies with them all, though with an increasingly irritated expression. After he dumps an embroidery hoop in Jimin's lap, he turns around and leaves before Jimin even has a chance to thank him and ask for a footstool. Ah well, no matter, it was fun while it lasted.

Dinner, when it comes, is a marked step up from the porridge and wilted vegetables he'd been getting before. Fluffy rice, proper kimchi, mackerel and radish stew. Jimin does pause a moment to wonder if the choice of seafood is some kind of dig at his coastal upbringing, but in the end, he shrugs and eats until the bowl is scraped clean. He is happy to let Kim Namjoon mock him with stereotypes if it means he gets to eat this well.

After dinner, Jimin changes into his new nightclothes, relishing the feeling of silk against his skin. He is about to throw his dirty clothes into the wash bag when he pauses. Without knowing quite why, he presses his nose into the back of the jeogori he'd been wearing and breathes deeply.

There. Namjoon's scent clings unmistakably, heady and compelling in a way that seems to sit in his mouth. Jimin breathes deeper. It's the scent of a dominant alpha, someone you'd be a fool to cross, but that almost seems like a warning directed towards someone else. For Jimin, it smells like…protection. Safety. Like no one could touch him if he keeps it close.

He glances towards his nest. Something like this would fit perfectly. He might finally get a good night's sleep.

His mating bite prickles, and he stuffs the garment into the bag with a rueful laugh.

~~

He rises once the sun is already high in the sky, feeling disoriented to have slept so long, before tackling the breakfast that had been slipped through the slot in his door. It has gone a bit cold, but it is sumptuous nonetheless: rice, pickles, a rolled omelette, and soup. It gives him the energy to practice his stretches for the first time in weeks before passing a pleasant morning curled up in his eastern armchair, flipping through the book borrowed from Namjoon.

Unfortunately, it's a rather dull philosophical treatise on minimalism. Jimin doesn't buy the whole concept; only the rich could afford to extol the virtues of having less, the rest of the population is too busy just trying to survive. Still, though it's far from his first choice of reading material, it's a definite improvement over the nothing he’d had to occupy his days with before. He snorts when he reaches a chapter titled, "Minimalism as an Expression of Humility" and tosses it aside. If this is truly a book that Kim Golden-Ceiling-Chosen-By-The-Gods-To-Lead Namjoon has read, it is surely not one the alpha has internalized.

With lunch comes Yoongi again, followed by an army of servants carrying the bathtub and buckets of warm water. Jimin eats languidly as he watches it be filled, but stops the beta before he can add lavender to the water.

“You disappeared before I could tell you about my beauty needs last night, Administrator-nim,” he says around a mouthful of dumpling, “I only use subtle fragrances in my routine. Rose petals, ideally, or maybe jasmine in a pinch. Lavender overpowers me.”

Yoongi gives him a level look.

“How fortunate that we only need you to be seen and not smelled.”

Jimin gives an exaggerated pout.

“I can't look my best when I don't feel my best, Administrator-nim. After the unfortunate incident yesterday, I'm sure you'd like to take every precaution to ensure a better outcome today, wouldn't you? The negotiations might suffer if Pack Alpha Seowon believes I am being abused.”

“Abused. By lavender.”

Jimin smiles sweetly.

“I'm so glad you understand.”

Yoongi gives a heavy sigh and sends out a runner to the flower market.

By the time they are making their way back across the courtyard of the keep later that afternoon, Jimin is feeling quite like himself. His hair is soft and clean, the scent of rose petals delicately complementing his own, and though he's still dressed in Kim burgundy and green, there has been no suggestion of gold this time, so his outfit doesn't give the impression of livery.

Namjoon stands from his desk when he arrives, looking him over before giving a curt nod.

“Well done, Yoongi,” he says, “Much better than yesterday.”

Jimin’s lips twist in annoyance, both at the lack of acknowledgement and at Yoongi being the one congratulated for his appearance, but he hides it in a graceful bow of greeting.

Namjoon smirks and turns to unlock a small chest on his desk.

“Still,” he muses, “It’s missing something.”

He pulls an object from the box and comes towards Jimin.

“Turn around."

Jimin hesitates, but turns obediently, feeling his hackles rise at having the alpha at his back. There’s a maddening pause where Jimin just feels the alpha’s breath hot at his nape (inhaling?) before Namjoon’s hands are brushing over his shoulders to slide a necklace into place. The alpha fiddles with the clasp at his nape for what seems like an excessive amount of time, his fingers sending shivers down Jimin’s spine each time they graze the sensitive skin.

At last, he finishes, taking Jimin’s elbow to turn him back to face him. His dark eyes trace over Jimin before he nods once, his scent thick and satisfied.

“Beautiful,” he rumbles, gesturing towards a looking glass on the wall, “My colours suit you much better than Seowon's, don’t you agree?”

Jimin turns and finds his reflection looking back at him, flushed and much less composed than he’d been feeling before. The necklace is thick and short, resting just at the level of his clavicles. It gives the unmistakable impression of a collar.

Jimin’s cheeks burn. Seowon will be livid. He’d loved showing Jimin off, sparkling on his arm in his collar of Park clan silver and emeralds as another sign of ownership. He can’t think of how furious his alpha will be to know he is wearing a collar from Namjoon. Not to mention how the bright metal completes his ensemble; burgundy, green and now gold. He's in Kim livery, once again.

Namjoon takes him by the arm, drawing him towards the balcony.

“Come. Before that pretty pink leaves your cheeks. Perhaps I should embarrass you more often.”

Jimin tries to pull back, but Namjoon doesn't pause.

“I'm not sure that provoking my husband is the wisest negotiating tactic, Pack Alpha Kim,” he says.

Namjoon laughs carelessly.

“Wisest? Perhaps not. But it's certainly the most satisfying.”

Yoongi flings open the door before them, and then all further discussion is impossible. The sights and sounds of the city below are no less overwhelming than yesterday, but this time, Jimin can at least keep his head. There’s a blare of a trumpet, and a thousand eyes turn to face them. Jimin cringes inwards on himself instinctively, and feels Namjoon give a squeeze at his elbow, grounding him as he begins to speak.

“I’m pleased to share that Park Seowon’s mate, Jimin, is quite recovered after his sudden illness yesterday. As you know, he was kidnapped by bandits in Park territory last month, and my men and I managed to rescue him two days ago. The shock of the ordeal has no doubt taken its toll on his delicate constitution. Rest assured though: Omega Jimin will remain our pack’s honoured guest until he is strong enough to travel home. However long that may take.”

Jimin looks up at him in amazement. Kidnapped by bandits? And rescued by Namjoon himself? It’s a flimsy story. The crowd seems to believe it nonetheless, giving a rousing cheer, all eyes staring up adoringly at their leader.

Namjoon turns to raise his eyebrows back at him, giving a meaningful nod towards the wolves below. Jimin remembers himself and waves, trying his best to look properly grateful.

Seemingly satisfied, Namjoon takes him by the elbow and leads him back inside. As soon as Yoongi has drawn the screens closed behind him, Jimin tries once more to extract himself from the alpha’s grip, but Namjoon holds firm, only releasing him when they have arrived before the sitting area.

“You should sit down for a moment and rest,” Namjoon is saying, “I won’t have you fainting again.”

Jimin crosses his arms. They have bigger fish to fry.

“Seowon won’t believe that story for a second, you know,” he snaps.

Namjoon ignores him.

“Sit down, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin raises his chin defiantly.

“Thank you, but I feel quite well.”

Namjoon purses his lips.

“You’ll have a drink anyway, just to be sure. Now sit.”

Jimin does, seething but unable to disobey a direct command.

Namjoon sits too, and accepts two glasses of rice wine from Yoongi, handing one to Jimin.

“Drink.”

Jimin takes the smallest possible sip, but then immediately takes another. Damn him, but this is good makgeolli.

“My mate will know it was you behind my kidnapping, Pack Alpha Kim,” he says again, trying to keep his voice respectful, “You may have your…differences with him, but you should know that Seowon isn’t stupid.”

Namjoon shrugs dismissively.

“I know. The story isn’t for him, Jimin-ssi. It’s so we have plausible deniability to keep the Emperor from getting involved.”

He leans forward, eyes intent.

“I hope Seowon does know that I was the one who plucked his little flower right from under his nose,” he growls, “And I hope that knowledge is eating him alive.”

Jimin takes another sip to hide a shiver, thinking back.

Generally, Seowon had kept him hoarded away in his keep like a dragon with a treasure. The one exception was a regular afternoon walk that Jimin had finally managed, after months of wheedling, to convince the alpha was essential for his health. Only in the confines of Seowon’s personal hunting ground, and only in the company of at least two guards, but it had been a delicious breath of freedom nonetheless.

Jimin can recall just pieces from the day he had been taken. He remembers walking along the sun-dappled paths when he'd been grabbed suddenly from behind, struggling wildly as a strong-smelling cloth was held over his nose. After that are only fragments; a few minutes of creaking carriage wheels or murmured conversation before the cloth was held over his nose once more. When he awoke fully an indeterminable time later, it was in his tower, with a splitting headache and a strong suspicion about why there had been no sound of alarm from his guards.

“You weren’t there when I was captured, though, were you, Pack Alpha-nim?” he asks. He is sure he would have remarked on Namjoon’s scent even with all the confusion; it's too compelling to miss.

Namjoon clears his throat. His face doesn’t show it, but if Jimin didn't know better, he'd say there was something…rueful in his scent.

“No. I have a few of my men embedded in Seowon’s employ. Two ensured they were on guard duty when you were out walking and took you on my orders. I was leading a patrol for the Emperor along the northern border these last three months. Had I been here to oversee the operation myself, I would have handled matters of your captivity…a bit differently.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, softening despite himself. It's the closest thing to an apology for his weeks of solitary confinement that he's likely to get.

“Thank you, Pack Alpha Kim.”

Namjoon huffs.

“You can call me Namjoon," he says gruffly, "I wasn't born into the True Bone; useless formality grates on me.”

Jimin grins.

“I can't relate. I've been through too much to get my place in the aristocracy. I like to revel in every bit of useless formality.”

Namjoon laughs. It's a real laugh, higher than his usual voice. The sound makes Jimin feel light. He smiles wider, continuing,

“-But I suppose I can make an exception. Just while I'm your guest.”

Namjoon raises his glass, his eyes never leaving Jimin's.

“To exceptions, then,” he says.

Jimin feels a little giddy. He giggles despite himself and clinks their glasses together.

“Incidentally,” he says after taking another sip, “How long do you envision my time as your guest lasting, Namjoon-ssi?”

Namjoon leans back in his chair.

“Not long, I'd imagine. I got a pigeon from my cousin Sanha an hour ago. He arrived at the designated meeting spot on the border last night. The Emperor's mediator and your alpha were already there, so negotiations are set to begin tomorrow.”

He grins wickedly.

“He said Seowon seemed furious. I expect that means he received word of your current whereabouts. With that advantage on our side, Sanha should have no trouble grinding him down. I wager that by this time next week, you'll be back home, and I'll be off to claim the new territory Seowon will have ceded to me.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, but takes a drink instead of commenting. That…doesn't sound like the Seowon he knows; wily and avaricious and vengeful. But even if Jimin's captivity lasts longer than Namjoon expects, he congratulates himself that he has at least managed to soften the alpha enough to make his circumstances comfortable.

“Enough about your mate, though,” Namjoon says gruffly, “Tell me what you thought of the book you borrowed.”

Jimin sizes him up, trying to decide how frank he can be.

“Honestly?”

Namjoon's eyes seem to sparkle with some hidden mirth. Jimin finds he wants to bring it out.

“Of course.”

Emboldened, Jimin leans forward.

“I thought it was nonsense,” he says with a conspiratorial smile, “Which I could have overlooked if it wasn't also so very dull. I went back to my embroidery after Chapter 3.”

Namjoon throws back his head and laughs, his scent pleased and surprised. Jimin laughs too, happy to have chosen right.

“I agree completely,” Namjoon says, “That book was given to me by one of the Emperor's priests. I think he was trying to convert me to minimalism to dissuade me from any further dreams of conquest.”

Jimin grins.

“You should have shown him your gold ceiling so he’d have known it was a lost cause,” he says teasingly, “Next time, I hope you'll lend me something you actually like, Kim Namjoon.”

Yoongi approaches with the bottle to top up their glasses, but Namjoon takes it from him and waves him back. He fills first Jimin’s glass and then his own before setting it on the floor between them, his eyes never leaving Jimin's face.

“You might like the one I'm reading now,” he says, leaning closer, “It's a log from a monk who tried to bring religion to the northern tribes on the continent. They almost ate him. Something tells me you're just roguish enough to enjoy it.”

Jimin laughs brightly.

“I think you might be right.”

~~

As Jimin expected, the negotiations don't end quickly. Nonetheless, Namjoon remains confident in the days that follow. He summons Jimin to the sitting room in his private wing of the keep each evening to share updates.

“Seowon is chewing nails. Sanha is hammering him, and he’s on the back foot now; it won’t be long.”

“The old bastard is stubborn, I'll give him that. But it will only make it sweeter when he finally caves.”

“We have all the leverage, I don't know why your mate can't get that through his thick skull. Sanha thinks we should compromise, but I told him not to give an inch. We'll wear him down.”

Jimin just nods along with it all. If he's completely honest, he's not in a rush to go home.

His privileges in the keep have extended to include escorted walks, in the company of a scowling Yoongi or often Namjoon himself, who, despite his busy schedule, happens to turn up in the courtyard most times Jimin is there. Between these, his free time to pursue his hobbies, and their wide-ranging evening conversations, he is finding that his days pass quite pleasantly.

Jimin knows that this is extremely ungrateful of him. The omegas back in his village would have killed for the life of luxury and status he leads with Seowon, however lonely it may sometimes be. Seowon is old-fashioned in his attitudes, preferring his omegas seen and not heard, and his possessiveness can be stifling, but Jimin doesn't wish him ill. He hates to think of how anxious the alpha must be for his return.

“Enough about Seowon, I'm sick of that bastard's name. I have a new makgeolli for us to try tonight, Jimin-ah. It's sweet. You like that kind best, don't you? And I have to tell you about the meeting I had with the leader of one of my rural clans today, you'll never believe what he asked me…”

The rice wine is another consistent feature of these evenings, as is the half hour they spend in banter about Namjoon’s latest book, the day-to-day concerns of his pack, or even, once over a second bottle, their childhoods.

Namjoon had grown up modestly, in a small clan of rogues near the mountains, before seizing leadership at sixteen. After that, by the sounds of it, he had gone on the warpath, assimilating clan after clan to his control until the Emperor had finally been forced to recognize them as a state just to stop the expansion from spilling over into his lands. Though Namjoon says it all flippantly, Jimin can tell he's proud to now be of the True Bone, what must have seemed an impossible dream for a rogue. In a way, he and Jimin have both clawed their way from nothing into the aristocracy, albeit by very different means. He tells Namjoon so, feeling almost giddy when the alpha throws back his head and laughs.

"I knew we were of a kind," he says warmly, his eyes sparkling with mirth, "There is something of a rogue in you, Jimin-ah."

Jimin grins. He can't disagree.

Jimin isn't stupid. He knows that he is pretty, his body lithe, his scent alluring; these are simple facts that have shaped his life. He has seen the type of look in Namjoon's eyes too many times, and from too many alphas, not to recognize it for admiration. Encouraging said admiration with looks and smiles of his own is a logical matter of self-preservation. Jimin is in enemy territory afterall.

And if Jimin's looks and smiles happen to feel as natural as breathing? If he happens to enjoy the attention, and perhaps looks forward to their meetings more than is strictly logical? Well, no one could fault him. Namjoon is young, handsome, and intelligent, and he has spoken more words to Jimin in two weeks than Seowon has in two years. His admiration would be enough to turn anyone's head, and Jimin is only mortal.

So he ignores the prickling of his mating bite each time Namjoon’s gaze lingers on him over his makgeolli in the days that follow, just as he ignores the significance of the butterflies that seem to have taken up residence in his own stomach.

He'll allow himself to enjoy this liminal time, knowing that it cannot last forever.

~~

After a week, Namjoon drags Jimin out on the balcony for another public viewing, dressed this time in clinging silks in Kim colours that open enough to show his collar bones, a golden crown on his head to match his golden collar. He keeps a hand gripped on Jimin’s nape as he addresses the crowd, a possessive display for all to see.

“See how Seowon likes that,” he chortles as they return from the balcony, “I'd chew my arm off seeing my enemy staking a claim on you like that.”

Jimin hums in answer, finding words difficult to come by. Namjoon hasn't removed his hand from his nape even though they are no longer before the crowd, and is instead absently rubbing the gland of his wrist over the sensitive skin there, his scent thick in the air.

It sends confusing pin pricks down to Jimin's toes, overpowering the burning sensation in his mating bite. He is feeling soft and malleable as warm honey. Like it is perfectly right for Namjoon to hold him like that, to press his scent into his skin, to claim him for all to see. His omega's only complaint is that he needs more of it. Jimin blinks up at the alpha sweet and slow, letting out a little sound.

Namjoon looks down at him enquiringly, and his eyes go wide. A new note enters his scent, spicy and intoxicating. His hand at Jimin's nape tightens, pressing possessive indents into the skin, drawing him closer. Jimin goes, opening his lips, feeling short of breath.

“Well, that went well,” says Yoongi loudly.

They spring apart. Yoongi walks between them and starts to escort Jimin from the room.

“Hopefully, this will unstick things in the negotiations for Sanha. Then Jimin-ssi can return home to his mate as planned: healthy and unmolested, so there won't be any pretext for renewed tensions between our packs. Right, Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon turns towards his desk, his posture stiff.

“Of course, Hyung. That's the plan.”

~~

Only Namjoon's stunt doesn't unstick things. There's one more message from Sanha; an impasse, and then…nothing. Namjoon summons Jimin two more evenings, but spends more time brooding and drinking than sharing updates and conversation.

The third evening arrives with no summons, no message, not even a dinner tray. Jimin doesn't miss it; his stomach in too many knots to eat. He's certain, deep in his belly, that something has gone wrong, but he doesn't know what. He paces restlessly late into the night, ears pricked for any sound of commotion from the courtyard below, but all is still as the calm before a storm.

Sleep, when it finally comes, is fitful and lasts only a brief time before he is awakened by the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Jimin blinks, trying to clear the sleepy stupor from his mind. Impossibly, Namjoon is there, standing over him in the darkness. Jimin can't make out the expression on the alpha's face, silhouetted as he is against the moonlight streaming in through the arrow slit, but there's something new in his scent, mixed with the strong odor of alcohol. Something simmering, ready to boil over.

Jimin struggles into a sitting position.

“What time is it?” he asks, “What are you doing here, Namjoon-ssi?”

Namjoon doesn't answer for a long moment, just watching him from the shadows.

“A messenger arrived this evening,” he says at last, voice devoid of emotion, “From your alpha.”

Ice trickles down Jimin's spine, some ancient part of himself alarming.

“Oh,” he says, “I see. Um…what did it say?”

Namjoon seems in no hurry to answer. He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a moment to look over Jimin's body, making no effort to hide it. Jimin's blankets are gone, probably kicked off sometime during his restless sleep, leaving him only in a light sleeping hanbok that has ridden up to reveal several inches of his creamy thighs. He feels exposed, his skin prickling with the heat of the alpha’s gaze as it wanders over him, but he doesn't dare cover himself. Something deep inside tells him it is very important not to make any sudden movement.

Namjoon leans forward, and a band of moonlight falls over his face, allowing Jimin to see his eyes at last. There’s a raw set to them that he hasn't witnessed before. Fury. Pain. Want. Jimin feels a tightening in his guts. Something is very wrong.

Namjoon's fingers reach out to find the collar of Jimin's hanbok and slide it slowly to the side, revealing his pale neck to the moonlight. His scent thickens around them, and for a moment, Jimin is frozen by it, his mating bite exposed and burning.

Namjoon moves again, and the hanbok slips lower, and lower still, revealing a collarbone, the slope of his chest, the top of a dusky nipple. It's finally enough to shock Jimin out of his paralysis. He scoots back from Namjoon's touch, his back pressed up against the cold stone of the tower wall.

Namjoon huffs a sound of bitter amusement and moves to follow.

“Namjoon-ssi?” Jimin asks, trying to make his voice firm, but it still comes out trembling, “I am sure propriety would have kept you from my chamber at such a late hour unless it was a matter of importance. What was the message?”

Namjoon pauses, baring his teeth in something that could be called a smile.

“A head.”

Jimin's heart skips a beat.

“A…pardon?”

Namjoon leans closer.

“The head of my cousin, Sanha,” he says in a low voice, deathly calm, “The one I sent to negotiate with your beloved. It seems that even the promise of your continued safety wasn't enough to secure your mate’s honor.”

The bottom drops out of Jimin's stomach. He’d known that his and Seowon’s mating hadn't been a love match, but the alpha had always kept him close at hand, and had been happy enough to take his pleasure from Jimin's body. Jimin had been certain that Seowon felt some affection for him, or at least that he was possessive enough to desire his return. He has miscalculated heavily, and now, his mate has as good as signed his death warrant.

He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say.

“I…Namjoon-ssi, I…”

Namjoon raises a finger, and it is enough to silence him. He traces it along Jimin's other shoulder to push down this side of his hanbok. Jimin doesn't stop him this time, just shivering as the alpha traces back along his collarbone to rest his hand over the hollow of his throat.

“So that brings me to why I am here,” continues Namjoon, “I need to send him a reply.”

Jimin swallows hard. Namjoon shifts his weight closer, and something in his other hand catches the moonlight. It's a knife, which Jimin can't help but notice with building panic, has a blade that is much too short to do the job cleanly.

“Namjoon-ssi...Hyung,” he says, talking fast, “A…a reply in kind won't hold any weight, you must see that. If Seowon truly did as you say, then he's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't care whether I live or die.”

Namjoon’s face twists with something like pain, and he looks down, as though unable to meet Jimin's eyes. He raises the knife in his other hand, and Jimin can only stare, frozen in fear. But instead of plunging the blade into his frantically beating heart, he starts to trace a pattern with the cool metal up Jimin's thigh, touch too light to leave a mark but sharp like a promise.

“I have to agree,” he murmurs, eyes following the point of the blade, “And I managed to convince the council of that too, though they’ve been screaming for your head. I pointed out that you have something your mate values much more than your life.”

The point of the knife reaches the hem of Jimin's hanbok.

“Take your clothes off.”

Jimin's eyes go wide.

“W…what?”

The tip of the knife travels higher, pushing the fabric up along with it. Jimin slaps it away, but Namjoon grabs his wrist in his other hand lightning-quick, grip firm enough to grind the bones together.

“Your beauty,” he growls, “If you die, it's a simple thing for your alpha. He wears black for a week before he beds another omega and moves on. But if I return you to him…marred, he will have to admire my handiwork into his old age. And I'd like to start by carving a message on the part of you I'm sure he values most, so he won't be able to bear putting his hands on you ever again. So. Take your clothes off.”

Jimin gapes at him.

“You’re not serious.”

“I'm deadly serious,” Namjoon snaps, bloodshot eyes meeting Jimin's again at last, “I'm in a tenuous position in this pack, Jimin-ah, do you have any idea? A few years ago, we were just a collection of rogue tribes killing each other over the scraps left by the empire. I managed to bring us together to build something bigger, got us recognition from the Emperor himself, but all that collapses if I show even a shred of weakness. Sanha was a respected member of our pack. I can't leave his death unanswered.”

The hand at Jimin's neck comes up to cradle his face.

“This is the only way I could convince them to let you live,” he says more softly, “It…I'll put you Under, Sweetheart, you won't have to feel it.”

Jimin stares at Namjoon, taking in his wild eyes, his rioting scent, the slight tremor in his hand, the alcohol on his breath. He knows this alpha now, and to his surprise, he is no longer afraid.

Jimin's instincts tell him exactly what to do, and he doesn't have time to inspect them too closely. He throws back his head and forces out a harsh laugh.

“I must say, I had heard you were a brilliant tactician, Hyung, but that must have just been a rumor. You should know better than to put something on the table when you have no intention of following through.”

It is Namjoon’s turn to gape at him.

“I intend to get revenge!” he sputters.

Jimin rises to his knees so he's at Namjoon's eye level, wobbling slightly on the uneven surface of the mattress. He forces himself to seem confident.

“So do I,” he says, “And I'm going to help you because you clearly need it.”

Namjoon blinks.

“You’re not completely wrong, Hyung. Seowon would hate to see me ugly. But only for so long as it would take him to arrange an accident for me as he did for your cousin."

Jimin traces a finger along his exposed collar bone, watching with satisfaction as Namjoon's dark eyes follow the motion.

"But if I stay beautiful? Vibrant, and desirable, and thoroughly claimed by his worst enemy? You and I could make him suffer to his dying day.”

Namjoon's scent spikes. Jimin smiles.

“Seowon may not love me, but he is possessive. Knowing that he can't have me anymore while you're enjoying me in ways he can only dream of? It will eat him alive.”

He bites his lip and looks up at Namjoon through his lashes, putting into practice every little trick he had learned from his years as an object of alpha attention. 

"So what do you say?" he whispers, "You want me for your own, don't you, Alpha?"

Slowly, he begins to untie the fasteners of his hanbok.

"You want to make him burn?"

Namjoon watches unblinkingly. He keeps his face schooled into an expressionless mask, but Jimin isn't fooled. He gives himself away in the widening of his eyes and quickening of his breath, to say nothing of the spicy burst of his scent in Jimin's nose. Despite his talk of only wanting revenge, Namjoon is eager, more than eager. This alpha wants him, has, perhaps, since the first day, but is holding himself back.

It makes a competitive thrill sweeten in his belly. Jimin shrugs out of his hanbok, letting it fall carelessly into a silky pile on the bed, revealing the soft curves of his body to the moonlight.

Namjoon’s eyes are wide pools of black, his mouth open as if to taste the swelling sweetness of Jimin in the air, but he doesn't move, not yet. Jimin has an inkling of just where to push for him to break.

He reaches out and takes the alpha's hand, bringing it to his lips to press a languid kiss into each white knuckle gripping the knife.

“What's the matter, Alpha?" he goads, "Don't you want to make Seowon's beloved little mate your whore? You'll need both hands it you want to do it right.”

There's a savage growl, and Namjoon pounces, the knife tumbling forgotten to the bed. Jimin has just enough presence of mind to sweep it onto the floor as he is tackled into the mattress.

Namjoon's hands grip him tight as though he might float away, his face buried in his neck to take a deep, shuddering breath at his scent gland. Jimin feels a kick of arousal in his belly, victorious.

"Jimin..." Namjoon is groaning into his neck, "Goddess, Jimin."

There's a vulnerable edge to the burning spice of arousal on his scent; guilt, grief, pain. Jimin wants it gone. He tugs at the alpha's long hair. 

Namjoon drags himself up to press their foreheads together, meeting his eyes.

“Jimin-ah," he whispers urgently, "Jagiya. I never…You know I couldn't really have ever-”

“I know, Yeobo, I know, shhh,” Jimin whispers, stroking down his face, “Kiss me.”

Namjoon does, like he has been starving for it. Jimin kisses him back, tasting wine, but underneath it all, Namjoon, as compelling and intoxicating as he smells.

Jimin feels a slow unraveling inside him, the warmth of allowing himself to want something he had thought beyond reach. He wraps his arms around Namjoon's neck and licks into his mouth, no more calculation, only a base need to know him more.

Namjoon licks back eagerly, growling low his chest as another pulse of arousal bleeds into his scent, no longer complicated. After a moment, ge tears his lips away to bury his face in Jimin's neck once more, pressing heated, open-mouthed kisses over his throbbing scent gland, his greedy hands everywhere at once.

Jimin squirms beneath him, holding onto Namjoon's hair as he tries to center himself. He was the one who started this, but he's already finding it hard to keep his head with the way Namjoon's every touch, every maddening breath at his scent gland seems to send trickles of liquid fire down to pool low in his belly. His body had never responded like this before with Seowon and the intensity is disorienting, almost frightening.

Namjoon sucks the gland into his mouth with a groan. Jimin shudders and melts beneath the hard planes of his body, spreading his legs to let him closer still. Namjoon slots himself between his thighs immediately, hips stuttering down as if of their own accord to send another delicious lick of pleasure up his spine.

Jimin keens, high and shameless.  There's a wild, burning impatience building inside him, and suddenly he knows, with absolute certainty, that if Namjoon doesn't do something in the next three seconds, he will die.

Namjoon growls back and starts rutting his hips desperately against the wetness between Jimin's legs like an animal, as if he feels the urgency too. 

“Jagiya,” he groans, “I need you. I need-

“Me too,” Jimin whines. He rocks his hips up to meet him, but is thwarted; there's something in the way, and Jimin is going to die, “Me too. Alpha, please. Your clothes.”

Namjoon makes an inhuman sound and pushes himself up to tear furiously at his hanbok. Jimin helps, or maybe hinders, too impatient to be methodical and giving Namjoon a nasty scratch in the process, but then the alpha is falling back heavily on top of him, and it's all forgotten in the bliss of burning skin against burning skin.

Jimin can't see Namjoon's hardness, but he can feel it, smell it, almost taste it between his legs, slipping in the obscene wetness he finds there. Jimin's body has never had a problem with being ready when his alpha called on him, but today is…excessive. He'd probably be embarrassed if he wasn't so busy burning to death.

Namjoon kisses him again, all teeth and tongue and need. His cock slides between Jimin's legs, catching once, and then again at that weak, yearning place before slipping away. Jimin is beside himself, about to cry or scream or burn to cinders with impatience, but unable to hold still. Namjoon's hand comes down between them, and it aligns at last, beginning to press inside.

Jimin’s mouth falls open at the sensation, and Namjoon takes the opportunity to lick deep inside, claiming his mouth like he's claiming his trembling body inch by inexorable inch. It's so much, a million feelings at once, stretch and pain and a wild, almost feral satisfaction. Jimin is no virgin, but Namjoon is big, too big to fit, maybe. He whines, overwhelmed.

Namjoon groans and tears his lips away.

“Holy shit, Jimin, you're so tight. Did Seowon really never fuck you?”

Jimin doesn't want to hear his mate's name ever again. He digs his nails into Namjoon's back and scratches down, no thoughts aside from the need to goad the alpha onwards. Namjoon grunts, and then Jimin's wrists are pinned above his head in one large hand. The alpha snaps his hips forward with a savage growl, burying himself to the hilt in Jimin's unprepared body.

Jimin cries out, but Namjoon doesn't give him a moment to adjust. He draws back and grinds into him deep again, and then again, remoulding the tender parts of Jimin's body to accommodate its new master, the drag sore against Jimin's raw little opening.

“How could he have helped it,” Namjoon growls into his mouth, “With you dripping and whining so pretty like this? Doesn't he know how to treat his whores?”

An unbidden shudder of arousal works through him. Jimin moans, spreading his legs wider as he feels another gush of slick leak out around where Namjoon is packing him so full.

"Never his whore," Jimin slurs out.

Namjoon chuckles breathlessly. His hips kick faster, glide so slippery smooth, the sounds where they join obscene. It has the heat inside Jimin building up higher, coalescing in his belly, ready to spill over.

"No, it's only me who gets to see you like this, huh?"

His other hand comes down to squeeze over Jimin's heaving chest before rolling a nipple between his fingers. Jimin arches up with a cry, seeing stars.

“Listen to you,” Namjoon laughs, “They're really going to think I followed through.”

Jimin pulls against the hand still pinning his wrists above his head, thinking to cover his mouth to hold in the desperate sounds, but Namjoon's grip only tightens, unyielding.

“I don't think so,” he growls, picking up the pace to pound into him, “I want to hear you, Jagiya. I want you to scream so loud that Seowon will know what a slut his little princess is for me.”

He hitches his other hand under Jimin's knee and hoists it up to hook over his shoulder. The position opens Jimin up wide beneath him, letting Namjoon's cock grind deeper still into his softest, sweetest parts inside, his abdomen rubbing against his own aching little cock above with the perfect amount of friction. Jimin lets out a wail, completely beside himself, thrashing beneath him but there's no escape.

His vision is cloudy, his whole body taught as a bowstring, bliss so close he can taste it. Namjoon finally releases his hands to grab onto his hair, yanking his head to the side. There's a moment of breathless anticipation where his mating bite burns like fire before it's replaced by another kind of pain, Namjoon's teeth sinking deep inside over top of Seowon's bite, possessive and wild and making Jimin his own.

It's too much. Jimin screams, his vision whiting out. His whole body goes tight, tight, around Namjoon's cock as he feels himself coming and coming sweet omegan release between them, joining with the mess of sweat and slick already coating their bodies.

Namjoon doesn't give him a moment to come down. As soon as Jimin's body loosens enough for him to move again, he pulls out and manhandles the omega effortlessly onto his belly, hoisting his hips up into a breeding position.

Before Jimin can even get his knees under himself, Namjoon is forcing his way back inside, sheathing himself in Jimin's heat in one powerful thrust.

Jimin cries out again. It somehow feels even bigger like this, seems to reach all the way into his guts. He can't catch his breath. Namjoon starts pounding into him right away, his grip at his hips bruising. Jimin can only take it, face down, ass up, moaning staccato into the mattress.

One of the hands at his hips releases, and then big, rough fingers are slipping in the mess between his legs, below where the cock is splitting him open to find where Jimin is still hard and painfully sensitive. Jimin tries to bat them away, but Namjoon catches his wrist once more, twisting his arm to pin it at the small of his back while his other hand comes down to rub slippery circles over him.

“N-no,” Jimin whines, "Too much.”

He tries to squirm away, but Namjoon follows him with his body, angling his hips to drill him into the mattress. He picks up the pace, hammering him relentlessly. Jimin is gushing slick; he can't help it. It feels too good, too much, too soon. The air is filled with the slap of skin on wet skin, Jimin's pathetic whines, and the growls of satisfaction reverberating off the stone walls.

“Look at you,” rumbles Namjoon, “Dripping like a bitch in heat. That old bastard really couldn't cut it for you, hm? Two years mated and you're still tight as a virgin. How hasn't he managed to knock you up when everything in your scent is screaming to be pupped? I've wanted to bend you over like this since the first time I saw you.”

Jimin's mouth has always been too smart for his own good.

“So why didn't you?”

Namjoon slaps his ass. Jimin squeaks in surprise, an extra lick of pleasure jolting through him.

“I have honour unlike your mate,” Namjoon grunts out, “I don't mistreat my guests. But little sluts belonging to my enemy?”

He spanks him again, and Jimin moans wantonly, dimly aware that his mouth is hanging open and that he is probably drooling into the mattress. Of course his body would respond to this too, he's really never going to be able to look Namjoon in the eye again.

“Little brats so desperate for it they’ll let me do whatever I want?”

Another slap.

“Maybe I should have,” Namjoon growls deliriously, “Maybe next time I'll take you on the balcony like this for all to see. Let Seowon know what a needy little whore his mate is for me.”

“He's not my mate anymore, Alpha,” Jimin manages to slur out, “I'm all yours now, only yours.”

Namjoon groans, his hips stuttering against Jimin's ass. When they pick up the pace again, the rhythm changes, grinding quick and purposeful, the base of his cock swelling to stretch Jimin's aching little opening ever wider.

“That's right,” he rumbles, “All mine. Gonna breed you full. Gonna give you everything you deserve, Jagiya. Everything that bastard wasn't alpha enough to give you.”

Jimin can't answer aside from a high whine of agreement. He needs it like he needs air. Seowon enjoyed his body often, but generally preferred to find his completion in Jimin's mouth or between his thighs, not wanting to sire half-blood pups. The sensation is overwhelming, making a confusing mix of fear and wild impatience rise up inside him, the pleasure shining so bright at the edge of his vision that it's blinding.

“Alpha!” he cries, “Alpha!”

Namjoon collapses over top of Jimin's back with a feral sound, caging him in with his arms, fucking him on all fours like an animal. The knot is getting larger, surely too big for his little body to take. Jimin is gone, whining and moaning and babbling hysterically. Namjoon is going to rip him in half and Jimin will thank him for it on his knees.

Namjoon yanks him up by the hair and sinks his teeth into Jimin's scent gland once more, messy and deep, obliterating the old mating scars like they were never there.

Pain and a liquid, molten pleasure washes over him again, a feeling of a complete shift in ownership. Jimin feels his body bloom at last, letting the alpha finally force his knot inside where it belongs. Jimin's body locks up tight around it and Namjoon cries out too as he starts to spill, tucked deep inside, right up where Jimin is so soft and fertile and ready to receive him.

Jimin floats. He's dimly aware of Namjoon easing his teeth out of his neck at last, and rolling them carefully onto their sides. There's the rough feeling of a tongue cleaning away the blood from his fresh mating bite, and whispered words of praise and belonging that Jimin is beyond understanding aside from the warmth they spread in his chest.

When the knot finally deflates, Namjoon flips him over onto his back and slides in again, unhurried and casual to take what is now his, the glide looser and messier but no less decadent.

Time passes in a blur of the mating haze. Jimin is knotted again on his back, his legs wrapped tight around the alpha’s waist, nails buried in his back to goad him on. Again with Jimin on top, the alpha bouncing him on his cock like a doll, grip on his ribs tight enough to bruise. Another time on his knees, folded tight in a breeding press, Namjoon fucking him so hard Jimin has to brace his arms against the stone wall of his cell to avoid being knocked senseless.

When Jimin finds himself capable of rational thought again, the sun is shining bright through the arrow slits. Namjoon is at his back, tracing languid patterns over Jimin's hip that leave goosebumps in their wake. Jimin turns his head to the side, seeking a kiss. The alpha is quick to press their lips together, chaste and tender. Jimin lets out a blissful sigh. Everything is perfect, like he has finally arrived where he has always belonged.

“You bled, Jagiya,” Namjoon murmurs after a while, his fingers tapping at Jimin's inner thighs, “That wasn't really your first time, was it?”

Jimin hums.

“Seo… I mean that old bastard didn't want to risk mixing his blood with a peasant’s,” he whispers back, “He never gave me his knot,” he grins mischievously, “On the rare occasions when he could manage one at all.”

Namjoon chuckles.

“Well then, he's a fool. I almost regret that I won't be able to let him live long enough to see how you'll look when you’re round with my pups.”

Jimin makes an enquiring sound.

"I decided that I'm done with trying things the Emerperor's way," Namjoon says, "With his negotiations and civilized niceties. If Seowon has abandoned honor, then so shall I. I sent word to Yoongi to ready the troops. We'll finish this like rogues."

The words make Jimin feel very warm inside. He pulls Namjoon into another kiss. Namjoon meets him readily, rolling him over to press him into the mattress, kiss no longer chaste.

The heat is just starting to build up again when the door swings open. Yoongi enters, his back to them.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” he says, a hand over his nose, “But the troops are awaiting orders.

Namjoon sighs, giving Jimin a last squeeze at his hip before he rises. Jimin watches with vague disappointment as Namjoon pulls on the fresh clothes Yoongi hands him, hiding his acres of tanned muscle from view once more.

Namjoon catches him staring and winks at him. It's…dashing. Jimin turns aside, blushing. He's not used to being on this side of admiration; it will take some getting used to.

He catches Yoongi peeking at him, his usually impassive face twisted with concern.

“I can sneak him out while you're gone, Joon-ah,” he says softly, “Tell everyone he died and set him up in the countryside somewhere safe where you can visit. The Council doesn't need to know you didn't mark him.”

Namjoon's eyes travel over Jimin's body once more, warm and dark. Jimin feels a prickle in the constellation that decorates him now; bites and bruises, even a few noticeable handprints. Namjoon is faring little better; Jimin can see scratches above the collar of his hanbok that he knows run all the way down his chest, an impressive hickey by his ear.

“Oh, I've marked him,” Namjoon says in a warm voice, “But you can tell the Council I've decided to get revenge another way. Tonight, we'll raze Seowon's keep to the ground."

He gestures towards the bed sheet barely covering Jimin, which, Jimin realizes with rising heat, is filthy with patches of dried slick, cum, and blood.

"And I've even got the perfect banner for us to ride under. One of the last things Seowon will see will be evidence of someone else pleasuring his omega in a way he never could.”

Jimin wrinkles his nose. It's disgusting, but though he hates to admit it, it's also a great idea. Seowon abhors losing face, and the jeers and mockery he's sure such a stunt will elicit among his men might actually kill him before Namjoon manages to.

He stands too, wrapping himself in the sheet.

“He should also see evidence in the flesh,” he says, “I can be ready to ride in a moment. I know my way around Seowon's inner palace, I might be of service.”

Namjoon turns towards Jimin in surprise.

“You'd put yourself at risk like that to help me?”

Jimin bristles.

“Of course,” he says primly, “I'm your mate, aren't I?”

Namjoon gives a laugh that makes Jimin's heart flutter. Oh, this is going to be hard to get used to.

“You are,” Namjoon says warmly, “Mine to keep.”

~~