Bad For My Heart (Good For Business)

by vera_ba

Summary:

BREAKING: Nation’s sweetheart idol Park Jimin and his boyfriend, rapper Jeon Jungkook—better known as JK—are expecting their first pup together.

The only problem? Their relationship is entirely contractual and they can't stand each other. 

or;

With a fake relationship and a very real baby on board, omega Jimin and alpha Jungkook set out to convince the world they're in love. Somewhere along the way, they stop pretending.

Notes:

As usual, huge thank you to Bai, Helli, and Shadi for brain storming with me and then beta reading, and Helli for the amazing lyrics she wrote for this fic. She was a rapper in her previous life, in case you didn’t know.<3

Chapter 1: Bratz Doll

 

BREAKING: Korea’s Power Couple Park Jimin and JK Are Expecting Their First Pup

Looks like things are moving faster than anyone expected for Korea’s most talked-about couple! Sources claim the nation’s sweetheart Park Jimin (28) and his boyfriend Jeon Jungkook (26)—better known as JK—are expecting their first child together.

The pair were first spotted together in August, shortly after Park’s departure from his former group aurorae. Fans were skeptical about the relationship’s longevity at the time, especially given JK’s reputation as a notorious “omeganizer.” However, five months later, the couple is still going strong, having been seen on multiple romantic outings. They made things official in October, arriving hand-in-hand at the red carpet of Park’s first solo album listening party.

Fans have also noticed a shift in Jungkook’s public persona. Once known for frequent scandals and headline-making feuds, the rapper—who rose to fame as the youngest winner of the highly popular rap competition Show Me The Money—has kept a noticeably lower profile since entering the relationship. While some believe Jimin has had a calming, positive influence on the rapper, others admit they miss the more unpredictable side of him.

Now, speculation has reached a new level. Just yesterday, Jimin was reportedly seen at a private hospital, dressed casually and holding what appeared to be an ultrasound photo. Witnesses described him as both nervous and glowing, fueling rumors that the couple may be preparing for a major new chapter.

Although nothing has been officially confirmed, the internet is buzzing with excitement. Some fans have also raised questions about how the news might impact Park’s upcoming first solo tour—but for now, most are simply wishing the couple a healthy and happy journey ahead.

 

🍼

 

@cloverpls: so another rapper knocked up their omega. how… unoriginal

 

@sopeosophy: I hate to say this but it was bound to happen 

 

@alittleether: are we sure we want jungkook to procreate, I mean, he is enough danger to society on his own already

 

@kookmin_records: (gasps) he baby trapped THEE PARK JIMIN???? sly motherfucker

 

@ChaparralSpirit: so it’s official now, jk really bagged park jimin… I knew he was going to places 

 

@jungjireal: streets say park jimin is officially a rapper baby mama now? 

 

@koosbrat: all the other rapper baby mamas are shaking in their designer boots bc jimin is about to come for their crowns

🍼

This can’t be real. 

It has to be some bad, alcohol-fueled dream. Jungkook must’ve drunk too much whiskey again—why can’t he learn his lesson? It always gives him nightmares, dammit.

But no matter how hard he pinches himself—and he does, until his arm bruises—he doesn’t wake up.

Still, it can't possibly be real. 

Surely, Jimin would’ve told him, right? He wouldn’t let Jungkook find out like this—from some trashy tabloid… right? They aren’t on the best terms, but this is too serious to keep from him over a petty fight. Or several petty fights. 

Either way, it’s never anything serious. They just— don’t mesh well. That’s all. 

Jungkook closes the article and pulls up his saved contacts again. He taps the most recent call and lifts the phone to his ear.

Straight to voicemail. For the fifth time—that can’t be a coincidence. Jimin’s phone is either turned off or… 

Or that little shit still has him blocked.

Jungkook drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. He can feel that familiar dull pressure in the back of his head that the omega is prone to cause—Jungkook calls it a Jimin Migraine. That omega spikes his blood pressure so much sometimes he’s probably popping blood vessels in his brain. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. 

Take a deep breath. 

Count to ten. 

It’s fine. 

You know what? This might be a good sign, actually.

If Jimin is treating him the same way as usual—aka ignoring him—it means that nothing out of the ordinary happened. It’s all just a misunderstanding. Another rumor spun out of control.

And yet. 

No matter how much Jungkook tries to listen to the voice of reason, there’s a faint echo of doubt present that he can’t seem to tune out. 

He opens the tabloid again, scrolling back down to the photos. Jimin is covered head to toe, not even a single blonde strand peaking out—but he can’t possibly hide that ass. 

Jungkook zooms in, assessing the picture thoughtfully. Oh, he would recognize it anywhere. 

Apparently, so would the rest of Korea.

But that’s not the point. 

That ass is what got him into this situation in the first place. It’s the bane of his existence. 

He zooms out and focuses instead on what Jimin is holding. The image is grainy—too grainy to make out anything clearly. It could be anything, really. Family photos. Twice photocards. Some wellness magazine Jungkook has never heard about… 

An alleged ultrasound. 

Anything.

Still, innocent until proven guilty, right? That demonic omega is anything but innocent, but Jungkook is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once. 

The car rolls to a stop beneath the towering building of Jimin’s label.

“We’re here, Jungkook-ssi,” his driver states flatly.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he looks up at the glass monolith. He’s always hated this place—its polished walls, its endless army of suits, its way of squeezing people out like a ripe fruit. He much prefers their friendly headquarter, that doesn’t tower over the other houses like some highschool bully. 

Of course the paparazzi have already swarmed the place like flies. The camera flashes reflect on the smooth surface of the building, the crowd pushing closer to the vehicle shamelessly. 

“Would you like me to notify security?” 

A foreboding feeling settles in Jungkook’s stomach, making it sink. It can’t be a good sign that they summoned him here, despite the media already making camp, can it? They didn’t even bother when they were negotiating the terms of the contract. 

Whatever it is, it clearly couldn’t have been in an email. 

Jungkook sighs. 

Time to see the truth for himself.

“No,” he says. “I can handle them.” 

They know better than to touch him. The last time one did, Jungkook broke his nose. 

He pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, hardening his expression into something cold and undecipherable before he slips out of the car. Cameras point at him, the crowd's volume increasing several pitches. Jungkook ignores them all, striding toward the entrance with confident steps. 

A manager waits for him. Not an intern. Not even a secretary. A manager, armed in a powersuit. 

Again, not a good sign. 

He’s instantly led to the designated office, the short beta guiding him blushing and avoiding his eyes all the way up in the elevator. Jungkook bites back a grin, pretending not to notice. Looks like he has fans even in enemy territory. 

The smugness melts off his face the moment he enters the office. The room is suffocatingly still, like a funeral. The air weighed down, every face stern, every gaze trained on him like loaded guns—except one. 

Jimin stands out like the moon in the sky, shining through the clouds. His long blonde locks are pulled into a messy bun at his nape, the shorter strands falling freely around his face. He’s wearing an oversized black puffer jacket, even in the heated room, like some kind of shield, hands in his lap. 

At first glance, he looks nothing out of ordinary. Elegant. Effortlessly beautiful. Untouchable in a way no money or success can make you. But if you look, really look, you can spot the redness around his nose peaking through the concealer. Jungkook can’t see his eyes from here, but he doesn’t have to—this is telling enough. 

He was crying.

Jimin never cries. He’s too prideful for that. And even if he had, in the short time Jungkook had known him, he’d always hidden it perfectly. He’d rather die than seem weak. 

“Finally,” Seokjin’s voice cuts through beside him, making Jungkook flinch. “If you leave me here with these soul-sucking corporate demons again, I might actually hurl myself out the nearest window.”

“Sorry. Traffic,” Jungkook mumbles, prying his gaze off the omega reluctantly. “Besides, isn’t it your job to tame the soul-sucking corporate demons?” 

“I know my godly looks might suggest otherwise,” Seokjin huffs as they walk back to the massive mahogany table, “but I’m only a man, Jungkook-ah.”

Jimin and his manager, Kim Namjoon, sit on the opposite side, surrounded by a troupe of nameless suits in various shades of gray and beige. Jungkook’s eyes glide over them with mild curiosity, their faces blending into one, uniform lifeless-looking forty-something man in his head. If he had met any of them before, he doesn’t remember. 

He glances at his left side next—empty—then on his right—empty again, except the chair occupied by Seokjin. 

“Hyung,” he whispers. 

“Yeah?” Seokjin leans closer. 

“I feel like we’re outnumbered here,” Jungkook says. “Shouldn’t we call backup?” 

“I already called Yoongi. He said it’s none of his business and hung up.” 

Fantastic. 

Jungkook needs new friends. And a new label. 

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” one of them—the Main Suit, probably—says. 

“As if we had any choice,” Seokjin mutters under his nose, eliciting a snort from Jungkook that he tries to hide with a half-assed cough. 

“As you may know, we had a… rather surprising development,” he says, cold eyes flicking to Jimin, who makes himself even smaller if that’s possible. “We’ve been monitoring the public response, and while unexpected, it’s manageable. A minor setback. Nothing we can’t adjust for.” 

Jungkook’s brows crease, equally annoyed and puzzled. He came here for answers, but all he’s getting are more questions popping up in his head. His gaze drifts back to Jimin again, trying to get his attention, but the omega keeps his eyes fixed on the table stubbornly, rigid and unmoving like a statue. 

Well, it doesn’t look like he’s going to cooperate. How predictable. 

“—We’ll rearrange future schedules to accomodate,” the Main Suit continues in a flat tone that never fails to grate on Jungkook’s ears. He lets out an exasperated sigh, fingers drumming on the table—deliberately loud and distracting—a  silent protest. 

But Main Suit refuses to read the room. 

“This includes both parties, if you agree, Seokjin-ssi. It would be prudent—both strategically and logistically—for you to minimize any chance of confrontation with the media for the time being—” 

For moon’s sake, who cares about the schedule?! 

“Hang on,” Jungkook interrupts, his patience wearing thin. It clearly annoys the Suit if the twitch at the corner of his mouth is anything to go by. “Can we just stop avoiding the topic? What the hell is happening?” He turns his gaze fully to Jimin. He wants to hear it from the omega, not some stuck-up business tycoon in an overpriced suit. “Jimin, you aren’t really pregnant, are you? It’s just a stupid rumor… right?” 

Jimin doesn’t respond immediately. His hands curl in his lap, puffer jacket swallowing his small frame. His eyes flick up—just a fraction—but he doesn’t meet Jungkook’s gaze fully.

“Jimin-ssi went to the doctor yesterday—as we all know,” another Suit answers, shooting a sharp look toward the omega. “The blood test confirmed the pregnancy.” 

Jungkook stares at Jimin, the air getting stuck in his lungs as the information settles. 

Pregnant. 

Jimin is really pregnant. Which means— No. That can’t be right. 

“...Is it mine?” he hears himself ask, voice hoarse, like he’s just been punched in the throat.

Frankly, that’s exactly how it feels. He’s just as unprepared for the answer as he is for fatherhood. Which is not at all.

At least it coaxes Jimin to finally look at him. Jungkook almost wishes he didn’t. The expression on his face—disbelief laced with something ugly and fragile—sits all wrong in Jungkook’s chest. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” one of the executives cuts in coolly.

Jungkook’s head snaps toward him. 

“You don’t—?” He lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “We’re talking about whether I’m going to be a father or not. Of course it’s relevant!”

The room stills.

“Well,” Main Suit says evenly, adjusting his cuff, “for all intents and purposes, the public already believes it’s yours.”

Jungkook just stares at him. 

They can’t be serious. 

“Any additional details can be discussed privately,” he continues. “This is not the appropriate setting.”

The words land flat. Almost clinical. Like they aren’t talking about a child but the next quarterly revenues.

Jungkook scoffs, looking at Jimin for help, but the omega has already turned away from him, leaving him completely alone to stand against the suits. 

He slumps in his seat, feeling utterly helpless. 

“As I was saying,” Main Suit resumes, clicking his pen with growing impatience, “we strongly advise you to minimize public exposure for the time being. Our team is developing an emergency PR strategy to tackle the situation—”

Jungkook doesn’t hear the rest. He remains passive as a protest—even when Seokjin elbows him in the ribs—his attention solely focused on Jimin. 

A father. There’s a possibility that he’s going to be a father.

He turns the word over in his head, but it refuses to settle into something real. It feels distant, unreal—like it belongs to someone else’s life.

He digs through his memories of the last couple of times they slept together, trying to piece together the details. They were usually careful, but… 

Yeah, they might’ve skipped protection a few times. 

But they weren’t reckless. Never had sex when they were close to their cycles. They knew better than that and avoided the obvious risks. 

So, the chances for a pregnancy were low but… not zero. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jungkook’s foot bounces restlessly beneath the table, his gaze fixed on the omega with growing urgency. Jimin has retreated into himself again—shoulders drawn in, eyes cast down, as if he’s trying to fold out of existence.

What’s going on? This isn’t like him at all.

There had been something in his expression earlier, too—when Jungkook asked. For a split second, he’d looked… hurt.

But Jimin doesn’t do hurt. He snaps, he bites back, and if that’s not enough, he plans his revenge. This resigned withdrawal, though—it feels wrong.

If anything, Jungkook would have expected the opposite: Jimin storming in the moment he found out, already halfway through ripping into him.

Not this. Not the silence. It unsettles him far more than any outburst ever could.

The suits are packing their documents and engraved ballpoint pens before he knows it, preparing to leave. 

“—Thank you for your time, Seokjin-ssi, Jungkook-ssi,” one of them says, though he sounds anything but thankful. “Namjoon-ssi,” he gives Jimin’s manager a stiff nod. He doesn’t acknowledge Jimin at all—not like the omega would welcome it. He hasn’t looked at anyone throughout the rest of the meeting, picking at his cuticles instead, nose twitching from time to time. 

They vacate the premises like a flock of ugly gray birds, leaving the four of them sitting across one another at the massive mahogany table. Jungkook perks up, all the questions tangled together in the back of his throat ready to come out. 

But Jimin is on his feet before he can even open his mouth. 

“I need some air,” he mutters, voice tight and wet. Without another word, he storms toward the door, the slam echoing sharply through the office.

Jungkook freezes, disbelief and outrage clashing inside him. He didn’t just—

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, shoving off the chair.

“Jungkook-ssi, it might be wise to give him a moment—” Namjoon begins, but Jungkook doesn’t hear the rest, already halfway through the doorway.

“Jimin! Wait—dammit, just stop!” he calls, barreling down the corridor.

Up ahead, Jimin’s small figure moves with determined speed, his jacket flaring with every purposeful stride toward the exit. He wipes at his face vehemently, ignoring Jungkook’s existence as he steps into the elevator, the door snapping shut right in front of the alpha’s face. Jungkook lets out a frustrated noise, pushing the button continuously, but to no avail. The display glares back at him, counting down tauntingly. 

For a heartbeat, Jungkook considers giving up. Fuck him. He’s Jeon Jungkook—he doesn’t chase after omegas, pregnant or not. 

But then he remembers the crowd outside. The crowd Jimin is very possibly charging into headfirst—a bull with no regard for anyone in its path, like he usually does. 

That thought alone makes an unfamiliar panic seize his chest, the stubborn pride disintegrating into thin air. If those vultures see him in this state—disheveled, visibly upset—they are going to tear him apart. First here, then on the front page of every tabloid imaginable. 

Jungkook goes for the stairway, taking the stairs by two. He runs through the corridor, almost knocking several people down, and yet, he’s too late—Jimin is already pushing through the double-paned glass door, right into the awaiting chaos. 

The camera flashes explode, blinding even through the tinted glass, the reporters shouting over one another. Jimin goes rigid, finally registering his surroundings. 

Someone immediately grabs his wrist, yanking at him with such force it makes him stumble. 

Jungkook sees red.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” he bursts through the exit with a growl, moving on instinct. His fist connects with bone, a sharp crack echoing. The person stumbles back, hand to his nose, face twisted in pain. It’s probably broken but Jungkook can’t find it in himself to care. 

He wraps his arms around Jimin, pulling him behind his back and steering them both safely back inside. 

The door clicks shut behind them, but Jungkook’s heart is still hammering like a drum. What the hell just happened? Why did he even do that? He promised himself he’d keep a low profile—stay out of trouble—but… that asshole deserved it. What the hell were they thinking, touching someone like that without consent?

At least Jimin is safe now, he thinks, exhaling a relieved breath he wasn’t aware of holding. His eyes flick down to the omega, still held tightly against his chest. He expects a thank you, or at least a grateful smile, but all he gets is—

“Ugh, get off me!” Jimin huffs, shoving him away with more force than Jungkook expects. “What the hell is your problem?”

Jungkook stumbles back, nearly losing his balance. “My problem?!” he gapes. “I just saved your ass out there!”

“And what?” Jimin shoots back, pushing at his chest again. “You think I need saving now just because you knocked me up?”

Jungkook blinks, thrown off. Do pregnancy hormones make omegas violent?

“What do you want, huh?” Jimin hisses. “A paternity test? Is that it?!”

“What? No—Jimin, stop—”

Jungkook jerks his head to the side as a small fist swings toward his face. 

“Hey—stop it!”

He catches Jimin’s wrists mid-swing, gripping them just tight enough to keep him from landing another hit.

Jimin struggles against him for a moment, breathing hard, then goes still with a petulant huff. From up close, Jungkook can notice the clear signs of a sleepless night spent in tears: swollen, bloodshot eyes, patchy skin. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says carefully, lowering Jimin’s hands. “Now that we’ve calmed down, can we please talk about this like adults?” 

For a moment, it looks like Jimin might actually consider it.  The fury in his eyes dims slightly, replaced by something more uncertain.

Encouraged, Jungkook adds, softer, “It affects both of us, you know. We should at least try to figure it out together.”

It backfires terribly. 

Jimin’s expression hardens again, anger returning like a switch flipped on. 

“No,” he spits, wrenching his hands out of Jungkook’s hold. “Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

Jimin doesn’t wait for a response. He turns on his heel and storms off down the corridor, steps quick and purposeful. How can someone so tiny be so quick? Damn those long, sculpted legs. 

“That’s what got us here in the first place!” Jungkook yells after him. 

Jimin halts for half a second—just enough to throw his hand up without turning around, flipping him off over his shoulder before continuing on his way.

Jungkook stares after him, jaw slack.

Un-fucking-believable. 

 

🍼

Jungkook paces in the room, tugging at his roots. The floorboard creaks beneath his hasty steps, almost matching the pace of Yoongi’s quick fingers on the keyboard going click clack click clack. 

“Can you stop?” Yoongi murmurs. “I just got the floors polished.” 

Jungkook halts. “Can you at least pretend to care? I’m going through a crisis here,” he huffs with a glare. 

Yoongi gives him a blank look. “What do you want me to say?” He shrugs, then goes back to typing. “It was bound to happen. I’m surprised you didn’t knock someone up before, honestly.” 

Jungkook gapes at him. “Excuse me?” 

“How do those lyrics go?” Yoongi leans back. “I’m fucking you raw while I’m on these bars.” 

Jungkook groans, slumping down on the nearest chair. 

Yoongi continues, unbothered. “And I’m not scared of commitment, I swear, but damn, keep asking me for pups and I might just give you one.”

Throwing the lyrics he wrote at the tender age of twenty-two right into his face… Vile. Yoongi always has to go all out with his reality checks. 

“And the hook,” Yoongi pauses, “Remind me again, Jungkook-ah, how does it go?” 

He probably deserves it though. 

Jungkook sighs, resigned. “Pull me in, baby, don’t be afraid, I know when to pull out,” he mutters. 

“Well…” Yoongi pauses, pursing his lips, “I’d change that one. You know, since you care so much about authenticity.” 

Jungkook shouldn’t have asked. Yoongi knows him too well to have compassion for the problems he’d brought upon himself. 

He had met Yoongi, freshly faced and barely eighteen, when he sent in his audition for Show Me The Money, the country’s most popular rap competition TV show as a bet. 

Frankly, he didn’t expect to get in. He had some success performing in some underground clubs, sure, but he wasn’t anywhere near breaking into the rap business. 

It was a hobby at best. 

But once he’d gotten a taste of success, he couldn’t look back. 

Jungkook’s audition tape went viral instantly. He was a fan favorite from the start, but the competition was strong, so he knew it wouldn’t be an easy win. 

He was quite intimidated when he had learned that Yoongi would be one of the judges. Yoongi won the competition three years prior, and became rap royalty ever since. He was only nineteen, the youngest contender to win ever. Jungkook watched his season religiously. 

Secretly, he had hoped Yoongi would end up as his mentor, once he’d made it to the live show, but unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side. 

Still, Jungkook had always known how to turn a disadvantage into something useful. By the time he reached the finals, he understood one thing clearly: if he wanted to win, he had to make himself unforgettable.

So he did exactly that. 

He delivered a line bold enough to make the room rattle. 

 

AGUST D hold onto that D tight 

Cause JK’s coming for your record, that’s right

I’m counting dollars tonight

I’m making that Money 

I’m gonna show you what JK is like

 

His mentor was against it. He said Jungkook’s idea was too risqué, that it could backfire terribly. 

Challenging rap royalty before even winning the competition was reckless, even by rap standards. If it failed, it could’ve ended Jungkook’s career before it had the chance to begin.

He did it anyway.

And it paid off.

Jungkook not only won first place, he also impressed Yoongi enough for the rapper to offer him a contract at his label. 

And the rest—it’s history. 

“Okay, so no sympathy,” he mutters, cheek squished against his palm, “can you at least give me advice?” 

“Advice? For you?” Yoongi arches his brow. 

“I’m desperate,” Jungkook admits. “And you’re my only friend who has a pup.” 

“I’m your only friend,” Yoongi points out. “The entire rap scene hates your guts.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

As if he cares. Half of them built their relevance off talking about him in the first place. They can stay mad.

He’s never been one to back down from a conflict. Unlike those loudmouths, he’s not all talk. If someone runs their mouth, he’ll wipe the stage with them—and the smile off their face right after.

So what about it?

“Pretty sure you just angered a bunch of idols too,” Yoongi adds casually. 

That makes Jungkook halt.

“What do those glamorized ballerinas have to do with me?” 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Yoongi says, “but your ‘boyfriend’ is ridiculously popular. I know at least five idols who publicly admitted to having a crush on him.” 

That doesn’t sit right with Jungkook. At all. 

Of course he knows Jimin is famous famous. He’s one of, if not the most popular omega idol of their generation. Jungkook does well in his own circles, but he’s never become mainstream. 

Not like Jimin. 

He never minded it—at least not until they started referring to him as ‘Park Jimin’s boyfriend’. He has a name, for fuck’s sake—a pretty cool one, too. They’re just refusing to learn it. 

It feels like a cruel joke. Jungkook didn’t hustle so much just to be remembered as someone’s boyfriend. Especially Jimin’s boyfriend. Picture perfect, goody-two-shoes Park fucking Jimin. 

Ugh. 

Whatever. 

The point is that he isn’t surprised other idols are into Jimin. But publicly admitting to a crush? Who even does that? Pathetic. 

His wolf bristles, erupting a surge of hot, sharp possessiveness in him. 

It’s silly. Jungkook knows it is. After all, it’s none of his concern who Jimin sleeps with. 

Although, he would really appreciate it if he didn’t. He doesn’t want another alpha’s cum anywhere near his child, thank you very much. 

Anyway, Jungkook knows he won’t. Those pompous assholes could never satisfy someone like Jimin. That omega is all teeth and vitriol—too damn vicious for those sissies. He’d eat them for breakfast.

They’d be better off not even thinking about his omega or— 

Wait—What? 

His omega? Ew. 

Where is this coming from? 

Jungkook flings the thought away like an annoying bug. 

“Can we just— stay on topic?” he says, looking through the window blankly. His leg bounces on the floor, wolf pacing. 

“Fine,” Yoongi says, leaning back in his chair. “Advice.” He taps his fingers against the armrest, thinking. “Step one: stop being an idiot.”

“Very helpful,” Jungkook deadpans.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi shoots back. “You pissed him off, questioned him, then made it about yourself. Impressive, even for you.”

Jungkook grimaces. “…I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He was just asking questions. Since when is that a crime? 

“Doesn’t matter how you meant it.” Yoongi shrugs. “It matters how it landed. You need to learn how to read the room, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook goes quiet for a moment, staring at the floor.

“…So what, I just apologize?” he mumbles. “Even if I don’t mean it?” Hell—he barely says sorry when he does. 

“Look,” Yoongi says, turning to him with his whole body—oh, this is serious now. Jungkook straightens his back instinctively. “If it’s yours—and let’s be honest, it probably is—you need to swallow your pride and apologize, even if you don’t think you’re wrong. He’s vulnerable, hormonal and probably scared out of his mind. Your job right now is to be there for him.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“…He won’t even talk to me.”

“Then start there. Try harder.”

Jungkook groans, dropping his head onto the desk with a dull thud.

“This is a nightmare.”

“Well,” Yoongi says, already turning back to his screen, “that’s parenthood for you. Congratulations.”

 

🍼

 

Jungkook has no idea what he’s doing. 

He’s never tried to appease an omega—especially after he got into their pants. And he’s been in Jimin’s pants plenty. Too much, apparently. 

It’s usually the omegas running after him. 

And yet, here he is now, begging one to let him through the door, with flowers and chocolates as an offering. 

Who even is he? 

Parenthood really changes you. 

“Jimin, please,” his knuckles rap against the door again. “Let me in. I just want to talk.” 

“Fuck off!” Jimin’s muffled voice comes from inside. 

Jungkook sighs exasperatedly, forehead resting against the wood with a dull thud.

This is humiliating—and he’s doing it to himself for what exactly? 

Your unborn child, his conscience says, in Yoongi’s voice, strangely. 

Correction: prospective unborn child. He still doesn’t know what Jimin is planning to do about it. 

And he wants to know. That’s why he’s here. If only Jimin weren’t so stubborn—

Like you? Yoongi says in his head. 

Jungkook closes his eyes, blowing the air out through his nose sharply. 

You need to swallow your pride and apologize, even if you don’t think you’re wrong, the real Yoongi’s words ring in his ear, the two versions of him teaming up to torment him. 

Fine. 

Whatever. 

He’ll be the bigger person. For his potential offspring.

“Jimin,” he starts, stalling for a while before he wrings the cursed words out of his mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

Silence. 

For a moment, Jungkook starts to wonder if he even heard it, or is long gone to the opposite side of the condo. 

But then— 

“Sorry for what?” 

Jungkook goes still. Shit. He didn’t think that far. 

What is he supposed to be sorry for again? 

Or more importantly, what does Jimin want to hear from him? 

Because only one of those is relevant here. 

Ugh. What is he supposed to say? Sorry for nutting in you, I meant it, but I’m still sorry, or what? Why are omegas so complicated? He isn’t a mind-reader, dammit. 

“You have no idea, do you?” 

“... No?” Jungkook makes a face. “Sorry.” 

Damn, another one, and this time, he didn’t even stutter. He’s nailing this apology thing. 

A drawn-out sigh follows—this time, coming from the inside. 

“I guess that’s the most I can expect,” Jimin mutters eventually, then—to Jungkook’s relief—the door unlocks, revealing the omega. 

He’s dressed in silk pajamas, the fabric soft-looking and glowing with a faint sheen, his initials embroidered over the chest pocket. His blonde hair is all fluffy from the shower, falling into his dark brown eyes. The omega has been growing it out, and now it’s reaching his collarbones. 

Pretty is the first word that comes to Jungkook’s mind. He’d never admit it out loud, but Jimin is possibly the prettiest omega he’s ever seen. It's a shame he’s so infuriating. 

“Are those for me?” Jimin juts his chin out towards the gifts in Jungkook’s hands, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. 

“Oh—Right,” Jungkook extends his hands, presenting his offerings. “Please take this as my formal apology for… whatever I’ve done.” 

Jimin arches a brow, assessing him curiously. 

“I don’t like sweets.” 

Jungkook blinks. 

“My bad.” He pulls the chocolate back.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitches, that familiar playful glint finally resurfacing. Jungkook feels a flicker of relief seeing it replace the dull exhaustion from earlier—even if it’s at his expense.

Jimin takes the flowers, turning the bouquet in his hands with a critical frown. Jungkook holds his breath, bracing for judgment.

“Fine,” Jimin says at last with a shrug, stepping aside. “But for future reference, I prefer peonies. Roses are cliché.”

Jungkook grimaces as he follows him inside. Does that mean he’s going to have to do this often? 

The scent of orange blossom envelopes him immediately as he enters, soothing his frayed nerves to such an extent, it surprises even him. 

He’s always liked Jimin’s scent—secretly—but he wouldn’t say it ever gave him solace. Maybe because most of the times he’d smelled it, Jimin was either angry or turned on. Or both. 

It’s difficult to tell those two apart—both emotions bring out a hint of cardamom from Jimin’s scent, usually hidden under the layers of floral sweetness. It goes together really well with his honey and tobacco when they—

Keep it together. No horny thoughts. You’re here to have a serious conversation about your pup-to-be.

Jungkook locks those daydreams in a vault, trying his very best not to look at Jimin’s backside as he leads him to the living room. 

Would it get bigger if Jimin kept the pup? Pregnancy causes weight gain, right? Jungkook bets Jimin would look hot even like that, if not hotter— 

“Have a seat.” 

Jungkook blinks, his mind taking a moment to shift gears—away from the haze of arousal and back into something resembling clarity. He lowers himself onto the sofa, perching on the edge.

For a moment, he lets his gaze wander.

He’s never been at Jimin’s place before—and neither has the omega in his. In fact, he isn’t even sure they have ever made it to a bed to begin with. Jungkook is pretty sure that pup was made backstage or worse, in a storage room. 

Butter-yellow walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows draped with beige curtains. Plush carpets that match, soft underfoot. Every surface is dotted with personal knick-knacks or layered in something warm and inviting. Shelves line the walls, filled to the brim with books—far more than he would have expected. One even lies open on the coffee table, a bookmark tucked neatly between its pages.

Interesting.

Jungkook hadn’t taken the omega for a reader.

Jimin settles onto the far end of the sofa, putting as much distance between himself and the alpha as physically possible. He crosses his legs, then his arms, posture closing in on itself, his expression anything but welcoming.

Well… at least he let Jungkook in physically. 

That has to count for something, right?

“I’m listening,” Jimin says expectantly. 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but no word comes out. Frankly, he didn’t think he’d get this far. 

“Uh—Well,” he starts, fidgeting with the box of chocolates in his hand uselessly, “so—pregnant, huh?” 

Jimin stares at him, unimpressed. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice clipped enough to make Jungkook wince. “Are you going to ask if it’s yours again?” 

“I—” 

“Do you want a paternity test?” Jimin cuts him off sharply. “Is that it?” 

“What?— No. Can you stop with this paternity test nonsense?” Jungkook frowns. Then, before the omega riles himself up even more, he adds, “Look, if you say it’s mine, I believe you.” 

Jimin’s expression softens, the angry lines melting off his face. He nods stiffly, casting his gaze down. 

Silence descends on the room. Awkward. Jungkook hates awkward. He glances at the exit’s direction longingly—how easy it would be to just… dip. Spare himself the discomfort and go back to his merry life. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

He can’t. 

No matter how insufferable he finds Jimin, he can’t let him deal with this mess on his own. How does the saying go? With a great knot comes great responsibility… or something like that. 

Jungkook draws in a big inhale. 

Here goes nothing. 

“I don’t know what you plan to do with it—or if you have a plan at all,” he says, choosing his words carefully—for once, “but I want you to know that whatever you decide, you, uh… don’t have to do it alone. I mean— I will support you… or whatever.” 

He physically cringes at how clumsily the syllables fall out of his mouth, a heat traveling up his neck—what a rapper he is. 

Still, no matter how embarrassing it is, it does the job. 

Jimin lifts his head, eyes wide with surprise. They stare at each other for a long moment, Jungkook watching the conflicting emotions wrestling in Jimin’s gaze with a bated breath. 

“Even if I decide to keep it?” 

Jungkook swallows thickly. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice fainter than intended. 

Jimin looks down at his lap. “I don’t think I have a choice,” he murmurs. “It’s already out there—people are treating it like it’s fact. Doesn’t matter that no one confirmed anything or that those pictures barely show anything. If I got rid of it… it would always be tied to me. And you and I both know how conservative people are in this country. I could lose my career.”

“Oh,” Jungkook mumbles, a tangle of guilt and discomfort weighing on his chest, “I—I didn’t consider that.” 

Jimin only reacts with a weak shrug, pulling a decorative pillow into his lap. He hugs it against his chest, chin resting on top of it—the action makes him look awfully small and vulnerable, tugging on Jungkook’s heartstrings in a way he has never felt before. 

“That’s why I got upset when you said that it affects us both,” Jimin continues, a bitterness lacing into his voice, but it has lost its edge. “I checked online, and—” he sighs tiredly, “it’s just as I expected: they’re congratulating you, hyping you up, while I’m called names and my own fans question whether it’s worth buying tickets for my upcoming concerts given my ‘condition’.” 

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his chest growing heavier. He didn’t even think about checking the fans’ reactions. Why would he? It doesn’t matter what they think about him as a person. He’s always been a controversial personality, even by rapper standards. 

But it’s different for idols—especially Jimin. The whole fake dating idea came up because the omega’s reputation is squeaky clean. He’s never gotten into any scandal, not even a dating rumor—he was the perfect tool to pull Jungkook out of the mess he’d gotten into. 

Which, mind you, wasn’t even his fault to begin with—a case so rare, Seokjin almost didn’t believe him. 

All Jungkook did was have a drink with a random guy at some boring afterparty. Yes, they did get close, and yes, Jungkook initiated it, but in his defense he was slightly tipsy and alcohol makes him very horny friendly. 

Nothing happened. It was just some innocent flirting. 

But of course the media ran with it. 

Jungkook woke up the next day with a mild headache and a dozen headlines speculating about his ‘new boo’. Turns out, the ‘random guy’ was actually a super popular actor/singer, Choi Jongsu. At first, he didn’t give it any thought—dating rumors were a monthly occurrence. The public was immersed in his personal life while Jungkook was immersed—knot deep usually—in a new omega every week. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. A peaceful symbiosis. 

Then his rumored boyfriend had to get cancelled. 

And not just for anything—oh no. That fucker was caught for tax fraud. Tax fraud. Couldn’t he just do drugs like a normal person?! 

He would’ve saved Jungkook from a surprise pregnancy—actually, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s all Jongsu’s fault. If he just did some weed and paid his taxes, Jungkook wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. 

Anyway. 

Jungkook somehow got involved in a discourse about the case so deranged, they started to make up theories about how he must be a tax evader too. 

Now, Jungkook might have dabbled into anti-capitalism in his lyrics before, like any decent rapper, but he’s also self-aware enough to understand that fiscal evasion isn’t justified in his case, given his tax bracket. Accusing him of being so greedy is, frankly, insulting. Jungkook is a respectable citizen, thank you very much. 

It goes without saying that he needed that man wiped out of his dating history. 

That’s where Jimin came in. All they needed to do was go out on ‘secret’ dates a couple times, let the PR team sprinkle some hints through the internet that they’ve been circling each other for months, and voilá—Jungkook had an alibi. 

Jungkook protested at first—it didn’t sit right with him that his ‘boyfriend’ was an idol who was the visual of their group and was mainly celebrated for their pretty face and not talent, given how he had trashed ‘singers’ like that since his debut. He didn’t mind being associated with omegas like that on the surface level—a dating rumor here and there wouldn’t hurt—but being in a confirmed long-term relationship with one? Yeah. No.  

But Jungkook didn’t really have a choice. He needed a cover story. 

He couldn’t possibly date and commit tax fraud with Choi Jongsu when he was busy running after the nation’s sweetheart Park Jimin, right? Now, naturally, some people brought up that he could’ve easily cheated—but thankfully, his fans came to his defense. 

Jungkook is a lot of things—alphawhore being one of them—but he isn’t a cheater. 

Also not a quitter. 

Whoever’s fault it was (Jongsu’s), he won’t leave Jimin to deal with this pregnancy alone. 

“For me it’s a lose-lose situation,” Jimin says, his voice tight, “if I get an abortion, I’ll be disgraced from the industry; but if I keep it, I’ll lose more than a year from my career. The solo career I just started—it’s basically a death sentence.” 

Jungkook gives it a thought, trying to put himself in Jimin’s shoes—it makes his stomach twist. He’s been hustling and grinding since he was fifteen and Jimin must’ve been the same—idol trainees are usually scouted in their early teenage years and put through grueling training before they can even step on a stage. And even then, you have to share the spotlight, whether you like it or not. 

And now, after years of grinding, Jimin had finally earned his shot at going solo… only for an unplanned pregnancy to threaten to take it all away.

Yeah. Jungkook gets it.

He’d fight tooth and nail to hold onto something like that, too.

Other people might call it crazy—making such a sacrifice for your career—but Jungkook understands him completely.

He might not think all that highly of idols and their polished, choreographed, lip-synced performances, but he knows one thing for sure: it takes dedication.

And he respects that. 

“I can help.”

Jimin blinks at him, tilting his head confusedly—it makes him look like a delicate little bird. 

Jungkook hopes the kid will look like him. 

“I mean—with the pup,” he adds sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “We’ll co-parent, so you don’t miss too much.” 

Jimin’s lips part slightly, but no word comes out, as if he’s struggling to process what the alpha just said. 

“I’m pretty good with pups, actually,” Jungkook blurts, feeling strangely unnerved by the silence. “My hyung has one, and he loves me. Always says I’m his favorite uncle. And the coolest.” 

A small chuckle bubbles out of Jimin—soft and airy, almost sweet.

Jungkook stills.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been the reason Jimin laughed—really laughed—for some reason, it hits him square in the chest. 

“Okay, I guess that’s… a start,” Jimin says, a faint smile still lingering on his lips. “Thanks.”

“It’s the bare minimum,” Jungkook replies with a shrug. “I might make a terrible fake boyfriend, but I don’t plan on being an absent father.” 

Jimin eyes him curiously. “I didn’t peg you for the responsible parent type.” 

Jungkook didn’t either. But he knows from first-hand experience what it’s like to grow up without a father figure, the void it can create in a person’s life. He could never wish that upon anyone, never mind his own child. 

But that’s a bit too personal to share. 

“I always wanted a family,” Jungkook says instead, flashing a lopsided grin. “Didn’t plan to start this early, but what can I say? I’ve always been an overachiever.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, though there’s no real bite to it. He nudges Jungkook’s leg with his foot—light, almost playful—only for Jungkook to catch it, fingers wrapping around his ankle before tugging it down onto his lap.

Another pause follows. This time, it doesn’t press so hard on Jungkook’s chest. 

“Hey,” he starts quietly, playing with the hem of the omega’s pajamas—it’s just as soft as he imagined. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” Jimin nods, “sure.” 

“But you have to promise not to get mad.” 

Jimin considers it, lips pursed.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “You either take the risk or keep it to yourself.” 

Jungkook grimaces, but all he gets in return is a smug little shrug.

What a little shit.

“Fine,” he sighs, bracing himself—whether he gets thrown out the door or straight out the window is up to fate. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean— I’m sure you did a test before going to the doctor. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

A flicker of shame passes through Jimin’s face. He looks away, as if trying to hide it, his hands twisting in his lap—Jungkook has the sudden, inexplicable urge to hold them between his palms. 

“I panicked,” Jimin says quietly. “I didn’t know what to do—what I wanted to do about it, and…” He pauses, throat bobbing. “I had no idea how you would react. I couldn’t handle an overbearing alpha on top of everything in case you— weren’t on board.” 

For a split second, Jungkook almost gets offended. But then—thankfully before he opens his mouth—he thinks. Really thinks about it. 

Can he really blame Jimin for assuming the worst of him? Jungkook hasn’t exactly shown his best side to the omega—and vice versa, but that’s irrelevant in this case. 

“But I didn’t mean for you to find it out like… this,” Jimin adds, his gaze apologetic. Earnest. “I’m sorry about that. And about how I acted at the meeting. I wasn’t really mad at you, you weren’t any more annoying than usual, I was just— frustrated with those assholes.” 

A pang of guilt echoes in between Jungkook’s ribs. 

He had noticed the side-eyes, sure—but he hadn’t really seen them. Hadn’t listened. He’d been too caught up in his own shock, in what this meant for him, to think about how it would affect Jimin. 

Yoongi was right.

He needs to try harder. Much, much harder.

“Fuck them,” Jungkook says firmly. “You can do whatever you want. And if they don’t agree, then I’ll—”

“Punch them?” Jimin cuts in, lips curving with quiet amusement.

Jungkook pulls a face, just as Jimin lets out a soft giggle—light, warm, almost cute. It does something strange to his heart, makes him want to hear it again.

“I mean… if you want me to,” he says, only half-joking, giving Jimin’s ankle a gentle squeeze.

“I’d take it as a compliment, but I have a feeling you’d punch people for less.” 

Jungkook snorts. “Touché.” 

“Look at us having a normal conversation,” Jimin says. 

“Who would’ve thought?” 

“Not me.” 

They exchange a look, then burst out laughing at the same time—and Jimin does it with his full body too, so engrossed in it, Jungkook has to hold him by the leg so he doesn’t plummet down to the floor. 

“I guess,” Jimin says mid-laughter, wiping the corner of his eye, “you aren’t that bad.” 

“You think?” Jungkook grins. 

“You have your moments,” Jimin pulls his legs away with a yawn, standing up slowly, “Alright—if you don’t mind, I’m kind of tired. Can we continue this another day?” 

“Sure,” Jungkook nods, rising to his feet. 

Then, on a second thought, he blurts, “I want to be there for the next doctor’s appointment!”

Jimin goes still, brows disappearing under his fringe. 

“Really?” 

“Y-yeah,” Jungkook says with a hint of hesitation, afraid he’s pushing it. 

“Okay,” Jimin says easily. He hesitates for a split second, like he’s weighing something, then adds, “Wait—I have something for you.”

He disappears into the other room, leaving Jungkook alone.

Jungkook shifts on his feet, glancing around absentmindedly—until a pair of green eyes catches his attention, peeking out from beneath a blanket on the loveseat. He blinks, crouching down for a better look.

A pink nose. Whiskers.

A cat.

Of course Jimin is a cat person. It makes perfect sense.

Jungkook isn’t exactly a fan—he’s always preferred dogs—but… he supposes he can make an effort.

“Hey, kitty,” he murmurs, reaching a hand out—only to yank it back when a clawed paw swipes at him.

“What the hell—!” he startles, stumbling back.

The cat hisses, green eyes narrowing into slits.

“Ah, I see you met Mang,” Jimin says, reappearing from the other room with something in his hand. “He’s a little shy around strangers.”

“He attacked me!” Jungkook protests, clutching his almost-torn-apart hand to his chest.

“Please.” Jimin rolls his eyes as he walks closer. “He’s ten pounds of fluff. Don’t be such a baby.”

Jungkook huffs, folding his arms with a sulky frown.

“On that note,” Jimin continues, holding out a small, blurry photo, “here’s our baby.”

Jungkook blinks.

First at the ultrasound. Then at Jimin.

Jimin offers a small, encouraging smile, waiting.

Carefully, Jungkook takes the picture. He studies it, turning it slightly—at first, it’s nothing but gray shapes and shadows. He squints, trying to make sense of it.

“Here,” Jimin says softly, pointing to a tiny speck. “That’s the pup.”

“Oh,” Jungkook murmurs, lifting it closer to his face. “It’s tiny.”

“Yeah,” Jimin chuckles. “I’m only six weeks in. Right now it’s about the size of a raisin. But next time, the doctor said it should have limbs and—stuff.”

“Woah,” Jungkook breathes, something like awe settling in his chest. “Did you hear the heartbeat?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” he says quietly, still staring at the image.

A small part of him aches—he wishes he’d been there to hear it. But next time. He’ll be there next time. Schedule be damned.

“Thank you,” he says, offering the photo back—but Jimin doesn’t take it.

“You can keep it,” Jimin says instead, eyes dropping away. “If you want.”

“Oh—okay.” Jungkook nods, slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

They move toward the entrance. Jungkook pulls on his shoes, shrugs into his jacket, then glances back at Jimin with a lopsided smile, suddenly unsure of himself.

“So… I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook exhales, once. Twice.

And then—in what might be a moment of pure insanity—he leans in for a hug, at the exact same time Jimin extends his hand for a handshake. They both freeze. Jungkook half-leaned in, Jimin with his hand extended. 

“Oh—” Jungkook straightens. 

“Uhm…” Jimin pulls his hand back. 

They both speak at the same time. 

“I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t mean to—”

Another pause. 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing his nape. “I was going for a hug.” 

“Yeah, I—got that,” Jimin mutters, ears tinting faintly pink. “I’m just… not a hugger.”

Well. 

Jungkook isn’t one either. 

He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into him. 

Jimin snorts softly despite himself, then offers his hand again. This time, Jungkook takes it—his grip warm, a little unsure.

They shake. Once. Maybe a second too long. Then let go at the exact same time.

Silence stretches.

Why is it so awkward? They’ve known each other for almost half a year, had sex more times than Jungkook can count, made a freaking pup—but they never had an actual conversation. 

It’s weird. Jungkook doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

In the past, if they were in each other’s proximity for this long, he would either be knot deep inside the omega or cursing him out. 

And now—now he’s been reduced to a mumbling idiot. If anyone heard this, his career would be over.

Jungkook rocks back on his heels. “Okay, well… I’ll, uh—call you. Or text. Probably text. I hate calls.”

“Mhm. Yeah. Text is good.”

“Okay… Can you unblock me though?” 

“Oh,” Jimin stills—he doesn’t even remember doing it, does he? “Right. I will.” 

“Cool.”

Another pause.

Neither of them moves.

From the loveseat, Mang lets out an unimpressed little chirp, like he’s judging him.

Jungkook huffs out a breath. “Alright then… I’m leaving now.” 

“Good plan,” Jimin nods.

Jungkook reaches for the door handle—then stops, glancing back over his shoulder. “Take care of yourself. And, uh… the raisin.”

Jimin’s lips twitch. “I will.”

Jungkook lingers for half a second longer, then slips out the door, walking through the hallway with a stupid grin on his face. 

He’s totally nailing this Responsible Father thing already. 

 

🍼

“Hi, Vogue, this is JK—your friendly neighborhood rapper,” Jungkook says, flashing a wink at the camera. “And this is What’s In My Bag.”

Behind the camera, the director gives him a thumbs-up, motioning for him to keep going.

“So, here’s the thing,” Jungkook continues, straightening up—his upper body probably half out of frame now. “I don’t actually have a bag, but—” he pats his pockets, then reaches into them with a grin, “I can still show you my essentials.”

He pours the contents of his pockets onto the table, then hops back onto the couch. 

“Okay, where to start,” he examines the options, plucking out the closest. “My favorite sunglasses.” He puts them on, pushing it up the bridge of his nose with a cheeky smile. “Calvin Klein—goes well with my underwear. That’s a free bar for you all.” 

He sees Seokjin rolling his eyes where he’s leaning against the wall. He’s only half-listening, immersed in his phone—probably answering an email; or whatever he usually does. 

“My car keys. The key for my bike.” Jungkook lifts one after the other, the metal clinking faintly. “Gum. I always carry gum because—” he pauses with a suggestive grin, “well, you never know.” 

He hears someone snort in the background. 

“Then, there’s my wallet,” he reaches for the small leather pouch, “which essentially serves as my bag I guess, so let’s check it out.” 

He zips it open, emptying its contents on top of his other things. 

“Let’s see—“ 

He sorts through it leisurely. 

“Change.” 

He picks up a stack of 50,000 won bills, neatly held together with a golden money clip. 

“And—Oh.” His face splits into a smile as he plucks out the ultrasound, looking at it fondly. “This is the first photo of my pup, but I can’t show it to you because I didn't ask Jimin about it.” 

Then, after a pause, he adds, “and before any of you fuckers—Wait, can I curse?” He glances at the staff behind the camera, who exchange a gleeful look like they hit the jackpot, then nod vehemently. “Yeah? Ok, so if any of you fuckers start talking shit about how I was put on a leash by an omega and now need his permission to breathe—this is what co-parenting looks like. Grow up.” 

That seems to catch Seokjin’s attention too—emails instantly forgotten as he abandons his spot and appears beside the director, face flushed red, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

Jungkook knows that look.

He’s intimately familiar with it.

It’s Seokjin’s Jungkook Just Did Something That’s Going to Tank the Shares face.

Jungkook’s record is 37 percent. Usually, Yoongi gets mad around 20. He threatened that if Jungkook ever hits 40, he’s going to rapper jail (hiatus).

Frankly, Jungkook thinks Seokjin is overreacting a little—it probably won’t be more than 10—but he’s willing to cut the man some slack. He’s been a bit on edge since he learned about Jungkook punching that paparazzo yesterday. 

Jungkook decides to speed things up. For Seokjin’s sake. 

“Let’s see—what else.” His eyes scan the table with a thoughtful hum. “Ah—right.” He picks up a stray condom, showing it off to the camera like an influencer—he had learned it from Taehyung. “Clearly, I had forgotten about this one,” he says, inspecting it with a grimace, “but let bygones be bygones, am I right? I prefer Trojans better anyway—this isn’t sponsored—because my di—”

“Cut!” Seokjin yells—or more like shrieks—”Cut! Enough!” 

Jungkook halts, blinking at the manager with a puzzled expression. 

“Jungkook, for heaven’s sake,” Seokjin stalks up to him. From up close, Jungkook can see the vein protruding on his temple—not a good sign. If Jungkook had noticed it before, he’d have made up an excuse and cut the interview short. “What part of keep a low profile did you not understand?” 

“What did I do now?” Jungkook asks, lifting his hands defensively. “I even asked for permission to curse!” 

“You just confirmed the pregnancy rumors, you fool!” Seokjin hisses. 

“So what?” Jungkook frowns. “Everyone knows already.”

Seokjin stares at him in disbelief. 

“Jungkook, we had an agreement with Jimin’s label to release a joint statement. Why do you think you only do promo where they can’t directly ask you shit?” he whisper-yells. “You didn’t listen at the meeting at all, did you?”  

Jungkook sucks his teeth. 

Busted. 

“Sorry?” he tries—it worked on Jimin after all. 

Unfortunately, it has no effect on Seokjin. If anything, it only seems to make him angrier.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I need a raise. Seriously.”

“I mean… that’s something you should talk to Yoongi about,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “I don’t even know how much you make.”

“Not enough,” Seokjin grumbles, exhaling a long, tired sigh.

“Alright, alright,” he continues after a beat, straightening his blazer and slipping into his professional mask. “I’ll handle it. Try to convince the director to cut that part.”

Yeah, that’s going to happen. Jungkook has seen that look on the director’s face. The guy’s already fantasizing about the bonus he’s about to rake in for this story.

Still, Jungkook doesn’t want to crush Seokjin’s hope.

“Fine,” he says instead.

“And you—” Seokjin jabs a finger at him, eyes sharp. “Behave yourself. No more risky moves, understood?”

“Got it,” Jungkook salutes playfully. Seokjin does not find it funny at all. He gives Jungkook another side eye, asserting dominance, then returns to his previous position behind the scenes, immediately cornering the director like a shark. 

Now, that’s a bit much. 

It’s not that big of a deal, is it? 

They were going to announce it either way. Does the platform really matter? 

Anyway. 

He’s sure Jimin won’t mind. 

The recording starts again, Jungkook smiling into the camera. 

“Okay so—Where did we leave off,” he says, clasping his hands as he surveys the table. “Ah,” he grabs a vape, showing it to the camera, “this is my go to, Juicy Peach, but I’ve really been into Orange Blossom lately, I don’t know why—” 

“CUT!” 

 

🍼

 

@l4ukoomi: JK waving an ultrasound on camera like a flag was not on my bingo card #WhatsInMyBag

@gukkie_verse: he said he’s been really into orange blossom vapes lately. jimin’s scent is orange blossom. coincidence? I think not #WhatsInMyBag

@koominslxt: did the guy jimin dates just confirm the pregnancy rumors in a vogue what’s in my bag video… what the hell, sure 

@BabyMochissi_: JK: Hi Vogue, here’s a condom. I don’t use it often. 

@glossygirl97: real men smoke vapes that taste like their omega’s slick 

@ispinksnow: why is no one talking about how he was showing off the condoms like an influencer 😭 WHO TAUGHT HIM THAT 😭

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Jimin has never met an alpha quite as irritating as Jeon Jungkook.

And he’s met plenty—comes with the territory in this industry. Still, none of them comes even close to this moron. Jimin is sure if they did an x-ray on him, they would find a second knot in place of his brain, too. 

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook did something spectacularly, irredeemably stupid, landing them in another meeting with management. 

Jimin shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt. 

Actually, he’s starting to wonder how he—or his child—benefits from being tied to this man at all. 

Jimin sits across from him, watching as he lounges back in his chair, utterly unbothered, and briefly entertains the idea of strangling him. Jungkook’s neck is thick—especially compared to Jimin’s small hands—but Jimin has never lacked determination. Maybe that ridiculously chunky gold chain around his neck would help. Yeah. That might just do it—

His phone buzzes.

Jimin checks it discreetly under the table. 

 

Baby Daddy (derogatory):

keep staring like that and I might start thinking you like me, princess ;)

 

Jimin’s eye twitches. He slowly lifts his head—only to find Jungkook already looking at him, a grin tugging at his lips.

Would it really be so terrible for his child to grow up with only one parent?

He takes a deep breath, then looks down at his phone again, tapping on the screen. 

A-and blocked. 

Much better. 

Jimin shouldn't have unblocked him to begin with. 

When he glances up again, Jungkook isn’t smiling anymore. 

Good. 

Jimin doesn’t bother hiding the smugness curling across his face, letting it settle there like it belongs. He’ll savor this small victory—judging by how today’s going, it might be the only one he gets.

“—It was quite unexpected to see Jungkook-ssi’s… misstep have such a positive effect on the shares,” Choi, the head of PR, says in his usual grating tone.

Jimin’s fingers tighten around the armrests before he even realizes it, his body going rigid. Experience has taught him that nothing good ever follows when the conversation turns to stock prices. He can practically see the won signs flicker in Choi’s eyes like in some cartoon. 

“I believe there’s real potential here,” Choi continues, voice stretching lazily as he adjusts his glasses and glances down at his notes—he must’ve been really excited if he rushed this meeting so much he didn’t even make a PowerPoint. That dickhead loves his PowerPoints. “I’m talking joint interviews, cover shoots, brand deals—we’re already fielding multiple offers. Dior is even considering launching a maternity line inspired by Jimin-ssi. I say we capitalize on this momentum while we can.”

Of course. 

Jimin should’ve known better than to expect a quiet, uneventful pregnancy. It was naive, really. Wishful thinking. 

Originally, he’d intended to frontload everything—film as much content as his body would allow before it started to show, then slip out of the public eye without making a scene. Fade away, neatly and quietly. After all, who would want to see him like that? All soft and swollen and ruined.

Better to disappear before it got to that point. Better to stay hidden, to avoid every camera, every lens that might catch him at the wrong angle and shatter the carefully crafted image people adored. Thin. Flawless.

The logic doesn’t sit right with Jimin—never has—but he would’ve swallowed his pride for it. For a smooth, uneventful transition into the final stretch of his pregnancy, he would’ve endured it.

But now, they want the polar opposite. 

They want him to flaunt the pregnancy. Capitalize it. 

Every part of him rebels against it. The urge to snap, to raise his voice, to finally push back claws its way up his throat. He wants to stand up for himself—just once, properly.

But he knows better. He knows he doesn’t get a say in this—not really. Not until his contract runs out.

Once, back when he was still a rookie, he might’ve spoken up without thinking twice. Now, he understands the rules of the game too well. His choices are simple: either go along with it quietly, or get dragged through it kicking and screaming.

The outcome doesn’t change.

The only difference is whether he gets through it relatively unscathed. 

All Jimin can do is grit his teeth and hold on until it’s over.

Ironically, agreeing to fake date Jeon Jungkook had been entirely his own choice.

He’d never admit it out loud, but maybe—just maybe—he’d had a tiny crush on the alpha back in the day.

Waaaay back. 

Jungkook was… deceivingly attractive. His handsome privilege made Jimin believe that he might also be nice to be around, not only nice to look at. 

It all started at the MAMA’s last November. 

Jimin hadn’t known back then, just how different his life was about to become in a couple months. He was already having doubts about his future in the group, but the idea of going solo hadn’t materialized in his head yet. 

Everything was messy and confusing. He remembers standing on the stage, receiving the award for Artist of The Year, and feeling… nothing. It didn’t feel earned—not by him, at least. What did he contribute to the group other than a pretty face? He was the visual. He barely had any lines, never mind center position in choreographies. 

It all felt so… pointless. Soulless. He trained so hard for this? To be the thumbnail of their music videos? 

It didn’t help that somehow he was also the most popular member. Jimin simply couldn’t understand why. He felt undeserving. Like the other members did all the hard work and he got praise for it. 

Still, at that point, going solo hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

He’d been at a loss, no way out in sight. It’s no wonder he’d resorted to distracting himself with a pretty boy.

Jimin first saw Jungkook on his way out of the venue, hurrying to his designated car. He was exhausted and couldn’t wait to drop into bed, now that the performance adrenaline wore down. 

And there he was, leaning against the wall, covered in all black with a cigarette in his hand. He was—unfortunately—exactly Jimin’s type: strong and tall, covered in tattoos and piercings. 

He looked like trouble. 

Jimin couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

And to make matters worse, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome noticed him too. 

Their eyes locked. It was so sudden and intense Jimin almost stumbled on his own feet. 

The stranger blew the smoke out, head tipped back slightly, but not taking his eyes off Jimin. 

Jimin remembers how his mouth went dry. Since when did he find smoking attractive? It’s gross. He hates the smell, the taste, everything. 

That was a warning sign Jimin should’ve taken more seriously. 

It wasn’t like him at all. He’d never dated—never even entertained the idea of it—even though he’d been pursued plenty. Idols, actors, chaebols—take your pick. But Jimin had felt guilty enough for taking the spotlight as it was. He didn’t want to add a dating scandal into the mix. 

And yet, for some reason, Jimin entertained it. Just this once. 

At least in his head. 

Because no matter how desperate Jimin was, he wasn’t, by any means, irresponsible. Jungkook was nothing more than a daydream to distract himself. He’d have never, in his right mind, pursued that alpha. 

Jimin believes that tiny slip-up was the root of everything that went wrong in his life ever since. 

After that one time, he started seeing Jungkook everywhere—literally. The alpha was plastered on a billboard right outside his bedroom window. Wearing nothing but a pair of tight black briefs. 

This way, Jimin could clearly see the arm tattoos running up to his shoulder and neck in an intricate pattern—a carefully curated mesh of color and art. It was beautiful. Even the stupid ‘MEMENTO MORI’ tattoo across his chest suited him somehow. 

The lion head between his pecks though—it took some time for Jimin to make his peace with, but if you’re horny enough, everything is possible. 

His ribs were decorated with Roman numerals—what a cliché—and more words Jimin couldn’t make out. 

Unfortunately, he was just as ripped as Jimin feared. And even more tattooed. It was a trademark black and white Calvin Klein ad, with him sitting on the floor, freaking manspreading with the biggest, cockiest smirk on his face. 

It felt like a sick joke. 

Now, in Jimin’s defense, he only masturbated to that billboard once—which is practically nothing. He had jerked off to his favorite j-hope music video way more. 

After that, he more or less forgot about the alpha. All of his conflicting feelings were swept away by his solo debut. 

Jimin couldn’t believe it was happening. It took lots of negotiations, and even more tears shared with his group members, but he did it. 

Jimin was going fucking solo. He fought tooth and nail, but he got out as the winner. 

Finally, after all these years, he’d got what most idols can only dream of: artistic freedom. 

For once, he had a say in his own artistry. It was surreal. He never thought he’d ever get here. That he’d ever find a label that would grant him that—turns out, he had underestimated just how valuable he was.

At least, valuable enough to give him whatever he wants, as long as he abides by their rules. 

Jimin was hopeful. Way more hopeful than he should’ve been. But all big labels ran the same exploitative regime and his new one was no different. He was back in the same machine just with different, shinier cogs. 

Still, he couldn’t admit defeat. He’d sacrificed too much—life-altering, painful sacrifices. 

Parting ways with his old label was… ugly, to put it lightly. 

Naturally, when his contract expired, they expected Jimin to suck it up and renew it because that’s what idols are supposed to do. That’s what Jimin used to do. The bond between group members always outweighs the mistreatment and the company knew it. Even more so, they were banking on it. 

They tried everything. Money. False promises. Emotional manipulation. But Jimin had made up his mind this time. He wouldn’t be guilt-tripped into signing that damn contract again. 

All hell broke loose once they realized he wouldn't budge. Jimin was immediately kicked out of the dorm, escorted by security, like some criminal. 

It was humiliating. But that was the point, wasn’t it? They wanted to hurt him. To make him regret his decision. 

And they knew the best way to do that was to cut him off from his group members. 

So that’s what they did. Once the news was out, the others were forbidden from meeting him or even talking to him at all. Jimin couldn’t blame them for going along with it. 

He held no malice for them in his heart. 

But it’s been lonely. So lonely without the members. 

Jimin doesn’t have many friends. He used to, back in school, but once he became a trainee, all of those friendships fizzled out. The distance and the lack of time corroded them all and Jimin—he simply didn’t have the energy to patch them up. Training was so grueling, he could barely find time to talk to his family, never mind friends. 

All he had were the other trainees—then, later the group members he debuted with. 

Opportunities to build any relationships were scarce once he got famous—more often than not, people only tried to get close to him because they wanted something from him—but Jimin didn’t even feel the need to try. All he needed were the members—a handful of people who knew him in and out. 

They went through so many hardships together, Jimin thought their bond was unbreakable. 

And it was. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Jimin has been missing them even more since he found out about the pregnancy. They used to be the people he went to for advice, a shoulder to cry, a laugh—everything. 

Now he had nothing. No one. 

He’s never felt more isolated, more alone than he has been lately. 

All because his new label thought Jimin needed a rebrand. 

The worst part is—they had a point. He needed a way to reach a new audience with his solo music. Relying on his old fans wouldn’t cut it, not when he’s taking such a big leap from the genre of aurorae. 

The fake dating was Namjoon’s idea. Jimin thought he was joking at first, but he was dead serious. It was either that or they’d have to go with the PR team’s plan. Meaning, Jimin would have to lose his clothes. A lot of clothes. 

Namjoon was trying to save him from that precisely. 

Jimin wasn’t shy by any means, in fact, he loved showing off his body. Hell, he was excited to finally be able to do it to some extent. Back in his old group, he had to be covered from head to toe because showing skin didn’t fit the concept. But he wanted to do it on his own terms, not as a PR tactic. 

Why did he have to take off his clothes to be taken seriously? 

So he agreed. Because what else was he supposed to do? Jimin had already lost out on the bargain—a little fake dating didn’t sound that big of a sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. 

They just needed to find the perfect fit. 

Jungkook’s scandal was a perfect opportunity presented on a silver plate. 

When Namjoon first suggested him, Jimin felt himself blush. Thankfully, Namjoon is nothing if not a gentleman—if he noticed, he didn’t mention. Jimin wonders if he regrets it now. Though, looking at the fervid expression on his face right now, Jimin doubts it. He’s probably already brainstorming ideas as to how to milk this pregnancy. 

Namjoon might be a gentleman, but he’s also a businessman, which kind of cancels the former out. 

Jimin can’t believe he’s saying this, but he was excited to meet Jungkook. He dolled himself up for their first meeting, heart leaping ardently under his ribcage as he drove to the label. 

Except, it wasn’t reciprocated. Jungkook wasn’t so keen on getting to know him as Jimin was. 

“This is bullshit! I’m not doing it!” the alpha complains, loud enough that Jimin hears him even through the closed door. 

Jimin halts, his hand frozen on the doorknob. 

“Jungkook, for fuck’s sake—” An unfamiliar voice responds. 

Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff. “No. First you want me to date some brainless barbie who doesn’t even write his own songs. And now you want me to censor myself?!”

Jimin is used to insults. He usually brushes them off with a practiced ease. Growing a thick skin is a matter of survival in the entertainment industry. But hearing it from the guy he’s allowed himself to be even mildly interested in? It hits Jimin like a gut punch. 

This—this is why he never entertains his omega. If he allows someone to invade his thoughts, they get access to the vulnerable parts of him he doesn’t show otherwise. 

If Jimin permits himself to like someone, they will have leverage over him, whether they know it or not. 

A chair scrapes against the floor loudly inside. 

“Fuck no. I’m out,” Jungkook says, then stomps toward the door, his steps growing louder. 

Jimin gasps, stumbling back in panic—but he’s too late. The door is yanked open, revealing Jeon Jungkook—at least, this time, he has his clothes on. 

“Oh,” the alpha stops in the doorway, the anger melting into puzzlement, then… a grin. Jimin knows that grin. Cocky. Arrogant. He found it attractive plastered over a billboard, but when directed at him? Nope. 

“Well—you’re way prettier in person, I must give you that.” 

Jimin’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. 

“Excuse me?” 

Jungkook’s lips only stretch wider. 

“You heard me.” 

“I—” Jimin splutters, taken aback by the audacity, but he recovers quickly. “I did. But that was your chance to take it back.” 

“Why?” Jungkook leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he gives Jimin a shameless once over. “It was a compliment.” 

‘Disillusioned’ doesn’t quite do Jimin’s feelings justice. The idiot doesn’t even recognize him.

Jimin stares at him and thinks, distantly, that he’d wasted a perfectly good orgasm on this. He really should’ve stuck to j-hope—the only alpha who has never disappointed him. 

Whatever.

Silver lining: he can be a complete bitch, guilt-free.

Jeon Jungkook is going to regret this.

Jimin sidesteps him without a word, shoulder bumping into the alpha’s as he pushes into the room. 

A tall, stressed-looking beta  stands inside, forcing a smile on his face when their eyes lock. 

“Jimin-ssi,” he extends his hand, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Kim Seokjin. Jungkook’s manager.” 

Jimin doesn’t smile back, but he shakes the man’s hand as an act of grace. 

“Please forgive my client’s rude behavior,” Seokjin says, shaking Jimin’s hand way too long. “I’m yet to teach him civility.” 

“Hey!” Jungkook’s offended tone comes from the back. 

“I suggest you put a muzzle on him next time,” Jimin mutters, taking a seat beside Namjoon.

Jungkook scoffs, but doesn't engage. He simply drops into the chair across the table, arms folding loosely over his chest. His eyes drift up toward the corner of the ceiling in open defiance—like a bratty teenager dragged somewhere against his will.

Seokjin’s gaze flickers between them, his temple already glistening with sweat. Jungkook, on the other hand, looks entirely unaffected. If anything, he looks bored.

Jimin seriously doubted he will ever be able to pretend to be into this man. This is far beyond his skill set—he’s an idol, not a damn actor.

The rest of the meeting carries on, mostly between the managers, while the two of them sit there like unwilling set pieces:

Jimin—burning holes into Jungkook’s skull with his glare.

Jungkook—pointedly pretending not to notice.

He lounges in his seat, legs spread, idly inspecting his nails with detached indifference. Only then does Jimin notice the tattoos inked across his knuckles.

‘TRTH HRTS.’

Truth hurts.

Jimin wants to punch him.

He wants to beat him up so bad, he can barely focus on what Namjoon is saying. He tunes everything out, nodding absentmindedly, until something finally cuts through the thick wall of fury. 

“Alright,” Seokjin clasps his hands together. “Then it’s settled.” 

Jimin blinks at him, then at Namjoon, before his eyes flick to Jungkook. 

Naturally, he is grinning again. 

Which means nothing good for Jimin. 

“See you at the concert on Friday.” 

Jimin pales. 

“You want me to go to a rap concert?!” he says, appalled—and frankly, disgusted. 

“Scared to hear some real music, princess?” Jungkook regards him with a condescending look. 

“Scared of what?” Jimin bites back. “Off-beat yelling and alphas on ego trips? I’m trembling.”  

Jungkook arches his pierced brow, smugness splitting his face into two again. 

“Oh, I’m sure I could make you tremble—”

“Jimin-ah,” Namjoon’s voice yanks him out of his memories. “Are you listening?”

Jimin startles, blinking as he stares at him for a beat too long, his mind scrambling to catch up.

Obviously, the answer is no.

“Yes,” he says anyway.

Namjoon eyes him skeptically, clearly unconvinced, but spares him the embarrassment of calling him out.

Alright, Jimin. Time to lock in.

“Alright,” the alpha mumbles, attention shifting back to his laptop screen. “Moving on from the prenatal vitamins ambassadorship—”

Oh for fuck’s sake. 

Jimin presses two fingers to his temple, rubbing slow circles as a sigh slips out of him. He can already feel the migraine creeping in—the familiar, unwelcome throb settling behind his eyes. Lately, it’s been relentless, sometimes dragging on for days.

Apparently, it’s just one of the many, many perks of pregnancy. Jimin would say he can’t wait for the second trimester, when they’re supposed to ease up—but knowing his luck, they’ll just be replaced by morning sickness.

He registers Jungkook’s gaze on him—and this time, he isn’t grinning. It’s the opposite. He looks… worried.

No. That can’t be right. Jungkook doesn’t give two shits about how he feels. Jimin knows that. But there’s something in his expression—something unguarded, almost earnest. It throws Jimin off just enough to make him hesitate.

Maybe the news is getting to him too. Maybe—

“So… about the Trojan offer,” Namjoon says. “I can see you’re very on board with it, Jungkook-ssi—but no.”

Jungkook’s attention drops from Jimin instantly, like it had never been there to begin with. He turns to Namjoon, a frown pulling at his brows. “Why not?”

Jimin exhales.

Never mind.

“From a branding standpoint, it appears counterintuitive, considering the current focus is on pregnancy, not prevention,” Namjoon explains, trying to keep a straight face. 

“Okay, but—hear me out,” Jungkook interrupts, gesturing dramatically. “Ancient Greece. I’m at the battle of Troy, preparing to penetrate the city with my Trojan Horse—”

“Absolutely not,” Namjoon cuts him off immediately.

Jungkook doesn’t even look remotely embarrassed. If anything, he looks encouraged.

“It’s metaphorical,” he insists. 

“It’s inappropriate,” Namjoon counters flatly. “We don’t want Jimin’s brand to be associated with… condoms.” 

“No, but it makes sense—people can actually see what happens if you don’t—”

The rest dies unspoken under the weight of Jimin’s stare.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in startled confusion, his lips parted mid-word, frozen, like he’s worried that any move might trigger a chain reaction. 

Too late.

Jimin’s fuse is already dangerously short. 

“Finish that sentence,” he says, voice quiet.  Quiet enough to make Seokjin tense and Namjoon close his eyes, like he’s bracing for impact. 

Jungkook glances around, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says carefully, which somehow, only makes it worse.

“Sure,” Jimin says flatly. He pushes back his chair with a scrape, the sound cutting through the room. 

“This meeting is over.”

“Wait—”

“I said it’s over,” Jimin snaps, voice low and sharp, the kind that leaves no room for argument. 

Before Jungkook can reply, Jimin spins on his heel and storms toward the door, every step radiating frustration and barely contained fury. He throws it open and barges out, the slam rattling the frame behind him.

Stupid alpha. Stupid fucking knot.

He can’t believe he’s about to have a pup with this man. The kid will inherit the IQ of stale bread and an EQ that doesn’t exist.

Jimin punches the elevator button, jaw tight, waiting for the doors to slide open. His temple pulsates with a pain so sharp it makes his stomach twist. He presses the pads of his fingers into the corner of his eyes, inhaling deep.

He can’t even take a proper painkiller right now, for fuck’s sake. Goddess, he could seriously cry, but that would only make the migraine worse.

“Jimin! Wait!” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind him. 

Good grief. 

Jimin spins, pain flaring with every movement. “What do you want?”

“I thought we should talk,” Jungkook says, jogging up to him. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I was just… thinking out loud.”

Jimin presses his fingers harder to his temples, biting back a growl. “Thinking out loud,” he repeats with a baffled laugh. “Yeah. Thanks. That makes it so much better.” 

The elevator doors slide open, and Jimin steps inside, slamming the button for the lobby like it’s a detonator. But the damn doors crawl, agonizingly slow—just about enough for Jungkook to overcome his hesitation and slip in behind him at the last second. 

The doors close, sealing them in together. 

Jimin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying not to scream. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much, and having Jungkook so close isn’t helping.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jungkook says. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop being an ass.”

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m trying,” he says, frustration creeping in. “Can’t you at least acknowledge that?”

“You want a medal for doing the bare minimum?” Jimin scoffs.

The audacity. 

This—the advertisements, the brand deals, all these people exploiting this poor pup before it’s even born—is all Jungkook’s fault. And he has the nerve to act all high and mighty now? 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but nothing comes out—left completely at a loss. Jimin just rolls his eyes and turns away, facing the doors.

“Leave me alone, Jungkook.”

Just a few more floors and he’s free.

His omega whines softly, restless, desperate for the comfort of his nest. He’ll go home, take a bubble bath, and dress in his softest, comfiest pajamas. Maybe watch a movie with a glass of wine—no, wait, he can’t even have that.

Fucking hell.

Whatever. He’ll settle for cheese balls. Lots of cheese balls. He’ll demolish an entire pack, screw his diet.

The elevator halts to a stop, so abruptly it nearly throws him off balance. Jimin steadies himself with a hand braced against the wall. 

He looks up and finds Jungkook with his finger pressed firmly against the emergency button. 

Jimin stares at him for a beat, his brain lagging behind the reality of it—and then it catches up.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Jungkook winces slightly at the outburst but doesn’t move his hand. “I just—wait, listen—”

“Are you insane?” Jimin snaps, pushing himself off the wall, eyes wide with disbelief. “You stopped the elevator?”

“It’s just for a second,” Jungkook says quickly. “I need you to hear me out.”

Jimin lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pacing a step before turning back on him. “Oh, great idea. Trap me in a metal box with you—that’ll definitely make me more receptive.”

Jungkook exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to keep his own irritation in check. 

“You weren’t listening,” he says, more firmly now. “And I’m not letting you walk away before we talk this out.” 

Jimin stares at him in absolutely disbelief. 

“You actually thought that was a good idea,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to process it out loud.

Jungkook swallows, stubbornness flickering back into place. “You’re going to hear me out,” he says, quieter now, but no less firm.

Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating.

Jimin’s expression goes cold.

“Press the button,” he says. 

“No.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrow. “Jungkook.” 

“No,” Jungkook stands his ground. “We can’t keep doing this, Jimin—”

A sharp crackle cuts through the elevator speakers.

“Hello? Is everything alright there?” a voice asks, tinny and distant.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate. He turns toward the panel, already reaching for the intercom—but Jungkook catches his wrist. 

“Wait.”

Jimin freezes, then slowly looks down at where Jungkook is holding him. His expression darkens instantly. “Let go.”

“Just—listen to me first,” Jungkook insists, grip tightening just enough to be noticed. “Please.”

Jimin yanks his hand back. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t trap me in here, Jungkook!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just listen!”

“I’ve listened enough for a lifetime! Let me go, Jungkook. I want to go home!” 

The intercom crackles again. “Hello? We’re detecting an emergency stop—should we—”

Jimin turns back toward it, finally reaching the intercom. “Yes, there’s a problem, he—”

Jungkook grabs him again, more desperate this time. “Jimin—”

“Leave me alone!”

Jimin shoves him back, frustration spilling over, chest rising and falling too fast. But Jungkook steps forward again, relentless. 

“Jimin. We’re going to be parents soon. We can’t keep up these petty fights—

“Just shut up!” Jimin hisses, the migraine pounding behind his eyes like hammers against his skull. 

But Jungkook is about to speak again—probably to make it even worse somehow—and Jimin… he stops him in the only way he knows. 

He grabs a fistful of Jungkook’s shirt and yanks him forward into a kiss.

Jungkook goes completely still, caught off guard—but only for a second. Instinct takes over just as quickly. He kisses back, one hand coming up to Jimin’s waist as their lips move against each other, messy and uncoordinated at first. He steps in, closing the distance, guiding Jimin back until his shoulders hit the wall.

Soon the space between them disappears entirely. Jungkook presses him against the wall, their hips parallel. His palm slides down Jimin’s side, exploring his curves before his fingers curl behind his thigh, hiking the omega’s leg up on his hip. The position gives the alpha access to push even closer, his crotch flush against Jimin’s. 

He’s hard already—Jimin can feel it, even through the thick fabric of his jeans. 

A shiver runs through him as he imagines how it feels inside, thick and warm and rock solid. It pains him to acknowledge—would never do it out loud—but Jungkook isn’t all talk when it comes to his size. 

And he knows how to use it too. 

It’s probably Jungkook’s only good quality—and the sole reason they haven’t killed each other yet. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” Jungkook mumbles against his lips, giving the omega’s ass a confident squeeze. Jimin only huffs and tugs him closer, crashing their lips together to keep the alpha quiet. 

This time, Jungkook takes the memo. 

He reaches for Jimin’s pants without a word, unbuckling the belt with practiced ease. His hand slides inside, rubbing the omega’s half-hard cock through his underwear—Jimin can feel the heat of his palm as he does so. 

His hips jerk instinctively, a soft moan ripping out of his throat that Jungkook drinks straight from his mouth, parched. 

Another hand slides under the waistband of his pants from the back, cupping the curve of his ass. A finger dips between his cheeks, grazing the slick-soiled material. It erupts a deep-rooted growl out of the alpha. Jungkook pulls back then, just enough to create space, and grabs the collar of his shirt. He yanks it off in one swift motion.

He glances up, and Jimin’s gaze follows, tracing the line of his sight until it lands on the small camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling.

Jimin flushes, at least having the decency to look a little embarrassed.

Meanwhile, Jungkook reaches up and drapes his shirt over it, blocking the view completely, before he turns his attention back to the omega, lips tugging into a smug grin. 

It irks Jimin in a way only Jungkook can. 

Now he takes precautions? Asshole. 

Jungkook enters his space again, their lips colliding. He tugs Jimin’s pants off, followed by his underwear, the clothes lying around his ankles, bunched up. 

Jimin makes quick work of kicking them off, then goes for the alpha’s jeans, pulling the fly down eagerly. He peels the clothes off in one go, Jungkook’s cock springing free. It’s hard, with a slight curve Jimin is more familiar with than he’d like to admit, the tip glistening with precum. 

Jimin needs it in him. Stat. 

He grabs the railing fixed to the wall and pulls himself up onto it, settling there with a soft huff.

“Are you gonna fuck me or just stand there?” he says, giving the alpha a challenging look. 

Jungkook snorts, but—unlike usual—he doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looks… amused. Or fond. Maybe? No. That’s ridiculous. They hate each other. 

“Name one time I’ve disappointed you in that department.” Jungkook steps between Jimin’s legs, bracing his hands on either side of the omega against the railing, caging him in.

Jimin presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek, annoyance flaring. He hates that the son of a bitch is right. 

And he hates it even more that Jungkook knows it, so he can’t even lie to humble him. 

“Well, you better don’t start now,” he says diplomatically, legs wrapping around Jungkook’s waist to tug him closer.

Jungkook gives him a grin—again, unbothered—and grabs him by the hips. He pulls him to the very edge of the railing, Jimin holding onto his shoulder for balance, as his other hand disappears between the omega’s legs. 

It doesn’t take Jimin by surprise when he feels a brush of fingers against his entrance—and yet, it still makes his breath hitch. 

Jungkook’s touch tends to do that to him, no matter how hard he tries to fight it. It’s maddening. 

Lips find his, connecting like magnets. Jungkook’s tongue dips into his mouth as his fingers enter him, like a well-practiced choreography. Jimin mewls into the kiss, arms wrapping around the alpha’s neck. He tastes faintly of an artificial sweetness Jimin can’t pinpoint—and mint because Jungkook is obsessed with smelling good and carries around a full bottle of mouthwash like a freak. 

Jimin hates that he knows that. 

It pisses him off so bad he just has to bite Jungkook’s lower lip. But all it earns him is a low moan and a tongue shoved down his throat. 

Right. 

Jungkook lowkey has a pain kink, too. 

Jimin almost forgot. 

One of these days he should ask if he’d consent to a slap here and there. Maybe a punch. It would definitely turn Jimin on. He’s leaking slick just from thinking about it. 

His train of thought is interrupted by Jungkook adding another finger, scissoring him open roughly, just the way Jimin likes—unfortunately, he does many things exactly the way the omega prefers. It’s aggravating how sexually compatible they are. 

He might just be the best fuck of Jimin’s life and simultaneously the worst person he’s ever had the displeasure to meet. 

It feels like a cruel joke that those two things coincide. 

“Ready, baby?” Jungkook rasps against his pulse point, his hot breath sending goosebumps down Jimin’s skin. Jimin doesn’t say anything, just grabs him by the wrist and pushes it away. Jungkook’s fingers slip out of him with a squelch, a string of slick still connecting them. Jungkook lifts his hand, the string snapping as he reaches his mouth, sucking his fingers clean. 

Jimin can only stare. And leak like a tap. 

The rebuttal he was planning—don’t call me baby—gets lost in his horny brain, replaced by alpha, alpha, alpha as Jungkook’s body leans against his. The heat radiates off him as their chests touch—scorching, even through the protective layer of Jimin’s shirt. 

Jungkook presses a misplaced kiss on the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, before his attention shifts down south, forehead resting against Jimin’s cheek as he guides his cock to the omega’s entrance. 

As the tip breaches the rim, Jimin is overcome with an unfamiliar sort of relief. He closes his eyes with a soft sigh as Jungkook’s cock fills him, fingertips pressing in between the alpha’s shoulderblades. 

Jungkook is panting into Jimin’s neck, gaze still fixed on where his cock disappears inside the omega—but not for long. In the next moment, his hands grip Jimin’s waist, thumbs pressing into the omega’s hipbones so hard they will no doubt leave a bruise—it turns Jimin on more for reasons he can’t fathom. It must be the pregnancy. His omega has been going crazy lately—loud and demanding in a way he hasn’t experienced before. 

Jungkook’s hips finally move, punching a whimper out of Jimin as the alpha rocks into him. The sound of skin hitting skin bounces off the metal walls, blending into their shared moans and grunts. 

Jungkook’s mouth finds its way back to his, the piercing cold and hard compared to the tenderness of the lips it’s attached to. 

Pleasure courses through Jimin’s body with every precise thrust. Jungkook is never sloppy—Jimin has to give him that. Quietly. In his own head. The alpha’s ego is inflated enough as it is; the last thing Jimin needs is to feed it further. At that point, it might rival the size of his dick and that wouldn’t be good for anyone now, would it. 

Instead, Jimin prefers to goad him a bit—not (only) out of spite, but to bring out his maximum potential. 

“Pick it up, sunshine,” he says, though his voice comes out a touch weaker than intended.

Whatever. He doesn’t need to be assertive to get under Jungkook’s skin.

“I don’t have all day.”

One of the few things Jimin likes about Jungkook is that he’s never treated him like he’s fragile.

People have a tendency to do that. Especially the alphas Jimin’s been with before. 

But Jungkook isn’t like that. He doesn’t hesitate. He handles Jimin like he can take it—like he expects him to.

And, annoyingly enough, Jimin kind of loves it.

Loves it so much, he feels slick dripping down his thighs when Jungkook manhandles him with a growl until Jimin is facing the wall. The omega’s hands find purchase on the railing, cheek hot against the cold steel. He pushes his ass out instinctively, choking out a whine when Jungkook rams into him with no reservation.

Things spiral from there. Fast. 

The pending orgasm buzzes under Jimin’s skin, its shape getting clearer with every thrust. All Jimin can do is slump against the wall and take it—he does so with pleasure. Loves how small he feels under Jungkook’s hands, how simple it is to just let his instincts take over. 

Jimin rarely allows that to himself. He can’t. You can only act like a stereotypical omega when it plays into people’s fantasy. But outside the stage? They won’t ever take you seriously. You have to act tough. Confident. Arrogant. Like an alpha. 

He reaches the peak suddenly, shot up so high it makes him dizzy. He fists his cock without thinking, milking it dry as the orgasm runs its course, making his knees tremble. 

Jungkook fucks him through it, his tempo mellowing down along with the ecstasy. The alpha is pressed tightly against his back as Jimin’s soul finally returns to his body, his breath heavy and ragged. 

Jimin lifts his cum-covered hand, blinking at it owlishly, as the post-nut clarity dawns on him. 

What the hell is he doing? 

Having sex in an elevator? In the middle of the day? He turns his head to take a peek at the camera, letting out a relieved sigh when he finds it still covered. 

Thank the Goddess. 

The last thing he needs is a sex tape scandal. 

Jimin is yanked out of his panicked thoughts when Jungkook shifts, his length pressing against his sensitive walls. The air catches in the omega’s throat, a soft noise escaping. Jungkook’s cock is still rock hard inside him, the slight swell of his knot stretching his rim. The warmth returns to his lower belly the more aware he becomes of it, the bliss-numbness evaporating from his mind. 

Then, to make matters worse, Jungkook grabs his hand by the wrist and pulls it to his mouth, licking it clean thoroughly. His tongue dips between his fingers, making Jimin shiver.

He needs to get out of here before he does something worse. Like riding this man until he won’t feel his legs. Would be extremely inconvenient when he’d have to walk out of here like nothing happened. 

“You good?” Jungkook rasps, his lips brushing against Jimin’s fingertips as they move. 

“Y-yeah,” Jimin says, voice cracking. He clears his throat, then continues, “Move. I’ll blow you.” 

“Fuck—Okay,” Jungkook groans, pulling out carefully. 

Jimin takes a moment to gather himself before he pushes off the wall and turns around. He finds Jungkook staring at him hungrily, fingers wrapped around his cock, giving himself a few slick-wet strokes. 

Jimin’s mouth waters. 

He drops down onto his knees and slaps Jungkook’s hand away, replacing it with his own. His fist curls around the base where he can already feel the knot, pulsing slightly in his palm. He gives it a small squeeze, eliciting a strangled sound. 

Jungkook braces himself with his palms flat against the metal, watching the omega ardently. 

Jimin’s eyes glide over the toned abdomen, damp with sweat, until they get caught on the tattoo right above the hip bone: ‘heaven downstairs’ with an arrow pointing toward his crotch. It’s small, only visible if you look closely—clearly, that was intentional. 

Jimin hates that tattoo the most. The sheer arrogance of it never fails to agitate him. 

He presses his nails into the alpha’s knot, relishing the pained hiss he elicits. 

“Watch the claws, baby,” Jungkook says, breathless, “I’m delicate.” Then, he adds, “Wait—that’s a bar. Remind me to write it down later.” 

No word could possibly capture how unimpressed Jimin is. He settles for just staring, disbelief written all over his face.

Whatever. 

The faster he gets Jungkook off, the faster he can get rid of him. 

Jimin wraps his lips around the tip and descends in one smooth motion, until he reaches the inflated base. The neatly trimmed hair brushes against the tip of his nose, reminding him of a fact he has been desperately trying to forget. 

Jungkook, for reasons known only to himself, keeps everything else meticulously groomed—except there. Because, as he so generously explained—I don’t need to remove the bush to look bigger like other alphas do.

Jimin hadn’t asked. Not then, not ever. Not his body hair, not his business. And yet, Jungkook had felt compelled to share. The very first time Jimin got close enough for it to even be relevant.

Unbelievable.

Jimin has been dreaming about plucking every single hair out with a tweezer ever since. 

Anyway. 

With a big inhale through his nose, Jimin bobs his head, letting the tip hit the back of his throat—it makes him gag ever so slightly and Jungkook is insanely into it. Probably has to do something with his size kink again. 

“Ah—Shit,” Jungkook grunts, hips rocking instinctively. “That’s it, baby. I love your mouth.”

Jimin glances up as he twirls his tongue around the cockhead, prompting another mewl. His hand works the base that’s left unattended, the glide smooth from the mix of slick and saliva. 

Jungkook’s eyes are scrunched, face twisting in pleasure. His arms tremble slightly, biceps bulging as he presses against the wall. 

He’s close already. It gives Jimin a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Jimin dips down with a newfound determination. His tongue presses against the underside of Jungkook’s cock, the tip tracing the thick vein running up the length of it. Jungkook rests his forehead against the metal with a soft thud, fingertips pressing so hard into it his knuckles turn white. 

And—

Jimin swiftly pulls off just at the last moment. Jungkook’s eyes snap open, a deep frown settling in between his brows. He opens his mouth to complain—but it never escapes because Jimin’s mouth opens too, his tongue sticking out invitingly. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken. 

“Fuck… How can you be so hot?” he mutters as he grabs Jimin’s jaw, tilting his head up, his other hand grabbing his cock, stroking himself to completion. 

Jimin could ask the same (he would never). It’s infuriatingly erotic to witness Jungkook come. He tips his head back, jaw clenching and abs constricting—not to mention, that he’s loud. Jimin hates how much he likes to watch. 

That’s probably how he ended up pregnant to begin with. 

Then, finally, Jimin feels the first drop of warm, salty cum on his tongue. Jungkook comes with a low, drawn-out moan, releasing right into the omega’s awaiting mouth. 

But then, the intercom crackles. “Sir? I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’ve alerted the fire department.”

“The fuck—” Jungkook startles, jerking back instinctively, a drizzle of cum landing on Jimin’s face. 

“Keep calm. Help is on the way.” 

“Jungkook!” Jimin gasps incredulously. He can’t even glare, unless he wants cum in his eyes—he can feel it dripping off his lashes. He blindly finds the hem of his shirt and tugs it up, wiping his face, opening his eyes to shoot the alpha a furious look instantly. “What the fuck?” 

Jungkook blinks, eyes hazy from the orgasm. 

“Sorry?” he offers as he watches Jimin clean himself as much as possible. “You look pretty hot covered in my cum though,” he adds—because of course he does—smirking as he tucks himself back into his pants. 

What an ass. 

“We should do it on purpose next time,” Jungkook suggests with a wink, offering his hand.

Jimin should’ve chewed his dick off. 

“Just—shut up,” he mutters, slapping the alpha’s hand away before he stands upright. He grabs his pants, quickly slipping into them—thankfully, they look mostly presentable. His shirt though… not so much. 

He glances up, finding Jungkook standing there awkwardly, scratching his chin like he isn’t sure what to do next. 

“Give me your shirt,” Jimin says flatly. 

Jungkook’s smile falls. 

“Huh?” 

“Your shirt,” Jimin repeats impatiently. “You ruined mine,” he tugs at the hem of his own tee. “I can’t go out like this.” 

“But—What?” Jungkook sputters, eyes wide like saucers. “What about me?” 

“Eh. They see you shirtless all the time,” Jimin waves him off. “Now give it to me before the firefighters arrive.” 

Jungkook stares at him for a long moment, then—reluctantly—reaches for the shirt covering the camera. 

“Thank you,” Jimin plucks it out of his hand, though he sounds anything but thankful. He shrugs out of his own ruined tee and pulls Jungkook’s on instead, wrinkling his nose when he notices it hangs down to mid-thigh. 

With a small huff, he gathers the excess fabric and ties it at his waist, adjusting it until it’s at least somewhat presentable.

He checks himself out in the dull reflection the steel walls provide, adjusting his hair with a soft sigh. 

This will have to do. 

“Alright. Push the button.” 

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Jimin turns, fixing him with a sharp, warning glare. “Jungkook.”

“But… we didn’t even talk.”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “Because I explicitly told you I don’t want to.”

Still, Jungkook doesn’t budge. He just stares woundedly, like a kicked puppy. 

Jimin exhales sharply through his nose, irritation flaring all over again. “Unbelievable.”

He steps past him, shoulder brushing hard enough to make a point, and jabs the emergency button himself.

“Can’t believe I have to do everything myself,” he mutters, not even sparing Jungkook a glance.

He checks his blurred reflection again, pulling a lip gloss from his back pocket and swiping on a fresh coat, precise even now.

“Jimin…”

“Nuh-uh.” Jimin lifts a hand, cutting him off without looking.

“But—”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do you have to be so damn difficult?”

Jimin doesn’t dignify that with a response.

The elevator lands on the ground floor with a soft chime, the doors sliding open.

Jimin steps out like nothing ever happened, posture perfect, a practiced smile already in place as he greets the small crowd of bewildered staff. He pauses briefly when he spots the firefighters.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” he says sweetly. “False alarm.”

The men in red blink at him, clearly caught off guard, exchanging uncertain looks. Then one of them steps forward, cheeks nearly matching his uniform.

“Uh… Jimin-ssi,” he begins, avoiding eye contact. “This is probably unprofessional, but—could we maybe get a picture?”

“Oh,” Jimin lets out a light, relieved laugh. “Of course.”

He takes the offered phone, glancing around for a second—just as Jungkook steps out of the elevator behind him.

“Ah,” Jimin beams, turning and holding the phone out to him and pretending like the man isn’t half-naked. “Jungkook-ah, take our picture, will you?”

Jungkook halts for half a second, clearly not thrilled about being demoted to cameraman—but he takes the phone anyway.

“Yeah. Sure,” he mutters.

Jimin shifts seamlessly into place beside the firefighter, smile bright and effortless, like the last twenty minutes never happened. He angles himself just right, showing a peace sign for the camera. 

Jungkook lifts the phone, jaw tight.

“Ready?” he asks flatly.

The firefighter nods eagerly.

Jungkook snaps the picture. Then another, just to be sure. “Got it.”

Jimin steps back immediately, the smile softening into something more polite than personal as he takes the phone back and hands it over.

“Thank you,” the firefighter says, still a little dazed.

“My pleasure,” Jimin replies smoothly.

And just like that, he’s done.

He turns on his heels without another look, already walking away, posture straight, expression composed—like none of it touched him. Like Jungkook didn’t touch him. 

At least his migraine is gone. 

🍼

Bratz Doll

(Verse 1)

Baby, press your face against it

Rub your rosy cheeks against the outline of this D

Wore the tight jeans so you feel my shit

I'm nice, I let you unwrap it this curved candy cane

Christmas came early

Careful when you pull 'em pants down

It might slap you like a Tsunami

Heaven Downstairs

I guide you to that paradise

Hand on your roots, you better not move

You got an attitude that I pray you never lose

Open that mouth, doll

Take a deep breath for me

This will test your lung capacity

I put my faith in you

Know how you hold the stage down

But can you say the same for this D?

 

(Hook)

You got lips like a Bratz Doll

Lips that make my eyes roll

I'm Nirvana when you're going down on me

Call you succubus

The way you take my force

 

(Verse 2)

You're my goat

Throat is 24k carat gold

Who would've known

That dolls like you can keep it down

Flawless even with my cock's outline visible

Pulling out is unthinkable

Saliva smeared all over your doll lips

Keep them attached to my dick

Call that gurgle sound you make a bell of fate

I'll take a drag from my vape

Baby, we gotta celebrate

But you don't like my demeanor

I'm cocky?

Baby, I got the first 4 letters in your mouth

C-o-c-k

We can compromise on the K

Cuz the only place I pop is when your hole is clenching down on my knot

But the y?

Let's agree it stands for You

Pinky promise, it's true

 

(Hook)

You got lips like a Bratz Doll

Lips that make my eyes roll

I'm Nirvana when you're going down on me

Call you succubus

The way you take my force

 

(Verse 3)

Watch the claws, baby

I'm delicate

Yeah, but I swear this cane wont break

Got me so hard I could rock your world

Need you on your best behavior

Need you to study me like I’m your major

Elevator ride

Yeah, fuck it, why we can’t get it right?

Like you when you threaten to bite

When you lie about wanting to fight

I'm Mr. Generous

Mr. this-D-is-nefarious

But they only know your name

Yet I'm the one shooting my kids down your throat

Giving you the free facial

Let me open a beauty studio

Where's my thank you, baby?

Where's my rendezvous?

 

(Outro)

You need that vitamin D

It doesn't come from the sun

It comes from me

It comes this D

This machine

This 7 bar king 

Lyrics & vocals: JK 

Production: AGUST D

Notes:

♡ twitter

♡ bluesky

♡fic tweet