Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jimin moved through the house silently, as always. Only the soft whisper of the straw broom against the wood floor giving him away. He had years of practice when it came to being silent.

Although his family was well off, and he was the only son he was never afforded the luxuries that came with his station. His father wanted one of each designation; one alpha male, one beta female, and one omega female. Instead, he received two female betas and one male omega.

Jimin’s father was just like every other alpha. He expected his wife to bring up the children and maintain the house while he left and did whatever.

With every movement of the broom Jimin could feel his arms ache, the result of hours of scrubbing the floors. He could feel the ache in his knees from kneeling for so long. But nonetheless, he welcomed the burn because it gave him something to focus on. Something other than dull throb of longing lodged into his chest.

As Jimin moved closer to the end of the hallway he made sure his steps were lighter. His chest ached as he was hardly breathing. His father’s study door was left slightly open and Jimin didn’t want to alert him of his presence.

The sound of his mother’s voice made him pause and angle his head closer to the door. His mother was the perfect wife to his father. She never talked back, questioned him, or raised her voice at him. It was unusual that she would be in his study. 

Whilst Jimin’s mother never hit him like his father she was her own brand of cruelty. Omegas thrive off of affection and love. His mother was a beta and never understood his need for closeness, nor did she want to.

Her cruel words and distance often hurt more than his father’s physical cruelty.

His father’s voice drifted out, heavy and overbearing. Subconsciously Jimin’s shoulders hunched inwards, trying to protect himself from a perceived threat.

“The Min boy will be coming for Jimin. He’s an alpha and in high standing. You remember the farm out in the country that belonged to my childhood friend?”

Jimin’s heart skipped a beat as his whole body froze, waiting for his mother’s answer.

“Yes, I had heard it really grew these last couple of decades.”

His mother’s response did nothing to reassure him. She had obviously known about this for a while.

“When Jimin was born I was very disappointed. Our last child, our only son, and yet he was an omega. But when my old friend reached out to me, I knew there was hope. His son was eight at the time and an alpha. He wanted to arrange a marriage contract between them. Nothing will take away the shame of having him for a son, but this was the best that could happen.”

His mother only hummed in response.

The cold and callous way his father spoke sent a shock through Jimin’s system. He was nothing but a baby, still in the cradle and his father was busy selling away his future.

However, the quite acceptance from his mother caused tears to rise to his eyes. He would not fool himself into thinking his mother loved him, but he had hoped that she cared for him a little bit. To think that she had known for years and not told him hurt deeply.

He had thought that his mother would understand a little bit. She had been arranged to marry his father and their marriage was not a loving one.

He had no expectations that his mother would have defended him as a baby but he thought she might have tried to prepare him for marriage.

His father spoke again,

“We could have been rid of him three years ago when the Min boy first reached out, but he wanted to wait for Jimin to be twenty before they married.”

Jimin felt a small bit of relief at the knowledge that the alpha did not want him as a child bride, but he was still overcome with anxiety at the prospect of marrying a stranger.

His mother spoke again,

“It is indeed a shame that he waited so long. He could have two possible heirs by now. Maybe even a third on the way.”

Jimin nearly lost hold of the broom at his mother’s words. They truly only care about his childbearing abilities. Not about what this stranger could do to him.

It was all too much; he had to get away. As he rushed through the house, he realized he had nowhere safe to go.

If he left the house and went outside or heaven forbid off the property his father would surely beat him. He couldn’t go into the kitchen because that would be the first place they would look. Nor could he go to the library, his sisters were surely there doing needlepoint or some other craft.

Instead, he fled to his room. Whilst it had no lock at least he would feel semi safe, even if it was a lie.

……………

With a soft click he closed the door behind him. Jimin leaned forwards and placed his forehead against the wood door, taking a moment to just breathe.

He inhaled, noting the strong smell of the wood door.

He exhaled, shivering slightly from the draft in the room.

With every breath in and out his heartrate slowed until he was no longer on the verge of crying. With a soft sigh Jimin slid down the door until he was sitting against it with his knees brought up to his chest.

His room was nothing much. Just a narrow bed, a cracked and distorted mirror, and a heavy wooden chest against one wall. The room was more the size of a small pantry than a proper bedroom, but it had done Jimin good throughout the years.

The walls were barren, devoid of any decorations. All of his clothes were tucked away into his wooden chest with his meager belongings. With the bed perfectly made there was no evidence that anybody actually used the room regularly.

At least it would be easy to pack, Jimin thought bitterly.

At the idea of having to move somewhere strange, with somebody he has never met, Jimin’s anxiety flared up again.

Panic thudded in his ears as he staggered up onto his bed.

He had always known he would be sold off eventually. Both of his siters had been betrothed to other high standing alphas but that had only happened in the last six months. Their marriages were not going to happen for another year.

Jimin thought that he had another year or two before talks started. He also expected to be trained somewhat in managing a house before being married off. He had no idea how to manage a household and it sounded like his fiancé had lots of land.

As Jimin grew more panicked he thought about what his marriage would be like. Unwanted ideas began to populate his mind. Memories he had fought tooth and nail to keep buried.

Jimin was only five years old, but he was starting to understand what life was going to be like for him.

He watched as his mother tucked his sisters into bed each night but not him; even though his sisters were already seven and nine years old.

He had started to feel cold and numb no matter how many blankets he slept under.

Jimin didn’t understand why his father’s voice always sounded so slurred at night, but he knew it meant it was time to hide.

His father only grew angrier at having to see Jimin and his father’s scent would sour. The small would burn Jimin’s nose causing him to cry which would only cause his father to hurt him more.

Jimin remembered being ridiculed for doing anything that an omega would do.

Jimin was thirteen this time. His cheek red and swollen from where his father had hit him. He was crouched on the floor trying to hold back the sound of his crying.

His father was rampaging through his small room. Tearing apart all of his embroidery he’d tacked to the wall.

As his father left, he slammed the door so hard Jimin’s mirror fell off the wall causing the bottom half to crack and shatter.

Jimin remembered the isolation of his first heat.

Jimin was sixteen this time. Almost seventeen, when his first heat started.

It was excruciating. Jimin had no idea what was happening until after it had ended.

He just remembers being locked in the cellar for the two days it took. It took him half a day before giving into the temptations.

The conversation afterwards was almost worse. His mother had sat him down and explained the basics.

“Your body is now ready for pups. Your heat will come once a year. Until you are married it is the only time you will allow yourself to fall to temptations. I know you are too bad of an omega to stop yourself during your heat. Once you are married your husband can do what he wants. You will not stop him.”

Not waiting for his response, she got up and left.

It left Jimin feeling a wave of shame. He felt disgusting for what he had done and what he would do again in a year.

Mostly he was just scared. Scared of what his hypothetical husband would do or expect from him.

Jimin buried his face into his pillow and tried to calm his breathing. There was nothing he could do about it, so he tried to focus on the positives.

He would be away from his mother and father. He would miss his sisters, but they were never the closest.

Jimin would also get the chance to see more of the world. Sure, it would only be about a day’s ride away of the world but that was still more than what he’s seen to date.

It would probably be much quieter as well since it was in the country. Jimin’s current house was only a ten-minute walk from town which meant there were always carriages going up and down the road.

Learning to live on a farm would be difficult but if Jimin was lucky his husband would be understanding. Plus, Jimin already knew how to cook and clean.

It would probably also be nicer to raise a family in the country than this close to town. Plenty of space for the kids to run around in.

Jimin curled up tighter on his bed, trying to push away the hope that dared to rise beneath the fear.

Jimin had always wanted to raise a family. He had just pushed that desire deep inside him, never willing to give himself hope.

But he thought about it now; a home with his own space, a husband who came home to him each night, maybe even some children.

Jimin wanted it more than he could say.

But not like this.

Jimin tried to ground himself in reality. It would do him no good to create these fantasies only to get his heart broken.

In all likelihood the alpha he was promised too just wants a warm body in his bed, someone to give him heirs, someone to be seen and not heard.

Jimin thought ahead to what his wedding night would be like. From the scraps his mother gave to him after his first heat it would probably be scary. Possibly even hurt.

It scared Jimin horribly, but he knew the likelihood of his husband waiting until he was ready was slim.

……………

Jimin knew he was testing the rules, but he didn’t go down for dinner. It didn’t matter anyways as no one came to get him.

Later, his mother came and knocked on his door, which was unusual, but she entered without waiting for a response. It’s not as if he could tell her to go away.

She came and sat on his bed and for the first time in Jimin’s life she treated him with kindness.

She laid a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, startling him. He couldn’t remember the last time she touched him.

Her face, however, was still pulled into a scowl.

“Tomorrow your future husband will arrive. His name is Min Yoongi. I will not answer questions just know this has been planned since your birth. You being an omega was not what we wanted but we must make do with it. By entering into this marriage is how you will apologize to your father for your status.”

The air between them grew stale. Her hand on Jimin’s shoulder started to grip him tighter.

“Do you have nothing to say.”

Jimin thought about it. He was leaving tomorrow no matter what so he might as well speak his mind.

“Why did you not prepare me for it? I have no idea what is to be expected of me. How do I run a household?”

Jimin paused, taking a deep breath,

“What am I to expect on my wedding night? What about after it?”

His mother sighed and looked away.

“I do not care about how you will run a household. You will no longer be our responsibility.”

Her harsh words brought new tears to Jimin’s eyes, but he was determined to not let them fall.

His mother left a small stack of clothing on his bed and stood up. When she reached the door, she spoke again.

“One wife to a future wife, on your wedding night stay still. Do what he asks and do not expect more. He will likely want to do it every night. If he does not touch you regularly begin to suspect that he is looking outside the home. If you can, take a warm bath the morning after. It will ease the pain.”

With that she left.

It only left him with more questions and complicated feelings. He doesn’t hate his mother, and he’ll likely never accept how she treated him, but he understood a little bit.

This was just how it is.

He decided to go through the clothes she left. It was a plain grey dress. Slightly out of fashion. The buttons went up the front and the sleeves went to the elbow. He would have to tack up the hem because whoever this was made for was taller than him.

The fabric was slightly stiff, and the cuffs were fraying but Jimin loved it all the same. He wasn’t allowed to wear stereotypical omega clothing, but he guessed his family wanted him to look normal tomorrow.

There was also a pair of stockings with no holes.

But the most confusing thing was the underwear. Jimin was used to his plain cotton underwear.

This underwear was silky and soft and had definitely been bleached to be this white. There was also some delicate lace sewn onto it and it definitely didn’t cover as much as his normal stuff would.

Jimin realized he was meant to wear this because his husband would like it. The thought made his cheeks flush and something deep within him stir.

He quickly shoved the underwear back into the pile of clothes.

He turned toward the foot of his bed and knelt before his chest. The wood creaked softly as he lifted the lid, the scent of cedar and old fabric wafting up.

He took a minute to look at the small daisies he had painted on the inside when he was younger.

He would miss them.

Inside were the only things he owned, each tucked away with care that spoke to how rarely he opened it.

He lifted out a square of fabric—a frayed handkerchief embroidered with delicate bluebells, the stitches uneven but full of effort.

He had made it when he was just learning to sew, before his father had punished him for taking to needle and thread like a girl. He smoothed it with his thumb, the fabric soft and worn from being handled in secret.

Next was a rusted sewing needle wrapped in cloth. Bent slightly from use. It had been hidden for years, tucked into the lining of his coat or beneath loose floorboards. He wasn’t sure why he had kept it—maybe because letting it go would have meant giving up another part of himself.

Beneath that was a tiny wooden horse, whittled during a quiet autumn afternoon when he’d hidden behind the barn, carving with a dull knife until the shape resembled something he could be proud of. The paint had long since chipped away, but he remembered how bright the red had once been.

And finally, a small jar filled with dried mint leaves. He had collected them from the garden out back two springs ago, back when things had been quiet for a while, when he had imagined making tea for himself on cold nights.

He touched each item gently before packing them carefully into his satchel, wrapping the handkerchief around the wooden horse to protect it. The mint jar went at the bottom, the needle tucked safely in the side seam. He laid the folded dress and strange underwear on top, smoothing them down with a trembling hand.

Jimin pulled out a small chest and packed away his clothes.

Pausing after a moment he realized he didn’t have to pack the pants. He could choose to only bring his skirts.

It wasn’t much. Just five plain skirts he made in secret from old curtains and blankets.

Along with his five plain shirts he would have plenty of outfits.

Unfortunately, he only had one coat in blue but all of his clothes were neutral so that shouldn’t be a problem.

It was not much. But it was his. Every piece of it was a part of him.

And tomorrow, he’d take it all with him—into a life he didn’t choose, with a man he didn’t know.

He sat there for a long time, staring into the open chest, feeling both the weight of everything he’d endured and the strange lightness of finally leaving it behind. When he finally closed the lid, it was with a soft, decisive thud.

It sounded a little like goodbye.

……………

The evening settled heavily around him. He lay still, hours passing as the house darkened. The fire in the hearth crackled low, and the wind picked up outside, tapping ghostlike fingers against the windowpane. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks above his bed, their patterns etched into his memory like the lines on his palm. He could follow each one with his eyes closed.

It had always been easier not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope made his heart lift, only to shatter when disappointment came—swift, sharp, and inevitable.

But now...

Now, there was a name. A destination. A future hovering on the horizon, uncertain and trembling like heat rising off the summer road.

He did not know what kind of man Min Yoongi was. Did not know if he'd be kind or cruel, if his promises were gentle or barbed.

But still, Jimin couldn’t stop the ember of hope from stirring in his chest. It frightened him more than anything.

He rolled onto his side, hand tucked beneath his cheek, and closed his eyes. He didn’t expect to sleep.

He remembered a dream he’d once had, years ago, when he was still small enough to climb into the hayloft and pretend it was his castle.

In the dream, he lived in a cottage nestled against the edge of an orchard. There was warm firelight dancing along the walls, soft blankets tucked around his legs, and a baby gurgling in a cradle beside the bed. A strong hand, gentle on his back. A kiss on his shoulder as he drifted to sleep.

The dream had always ended in tears.

Tears because it felt too real, too close to something he wanted more than anything else. Tears because he’d always wake to cold sheets, to silence, to the harsh voice of his father or the cutting disappointment in his mother’s eyes.

But even now, years later, he remembered every detail of that dream. The way the baby’s fist had curled around his finger. The way the cradle had rocked, steady and soothing, like the rhythm of a lullaby. The soft feeling of lips against his neck as a voice murmured, “You’ve done well, sweetheart.”

It had not even mattered what the alpha looked like in the dream. Sometimes he had no face at all. Sometimes Jimin could not remember his name.

It was not about that. It was about safety. Warmth. Being wanted.

Being loved.

Jimin opened his eyes. Shadows danced along the ceiling. He reached toward them, fingers spread, as if he could catch the remnants of that dream and hold them close.

His chest ached.

He had never known love like that—not once, not even a taste. The only touches he remembered were rough. The only words he’d heard were warnings and accusations. It made the dream feel like a lie.

But deep down, a stubborn, aching part of him clung to it. He wanted that future. A home where he could hum as he worked, where his hands could sew clothes for a child. Where someone would reach for him at night and smile when he leaned close.

He wiped at his eyes. They were damp. He didn’t even remember crying.

The fire had burned down to embers now, casting long, flickering shadows along the floor. Outside, the wind had picked up, moaning through the cracks like a mournful lullaby.

Jimin turned his face into the pillow, pulling the thin blanket up to his shoulders. His body curled into itself, small and still. Tomorrow will come quickly. Morning always did.

And with it, a man he didn’t know. A promise signed in ink long ago. A future he hadn’t chosen—but maybe, just maybe, one he could grow to want.

He closed his eyes again.

He tried to dream.

……………

Jimin huffed and turned over. After his dream earlier he hadn’t been able to sleep again. It would do him no good to greet his fiancé tomorrow with eyebags.

The old house groaned around him, the wind howling against the windows. He lay on his side, watching shadows shift across the ceiling.

He tried to imagine what Min Yoongi looked like.

He worked on a farm, so he had to be strong. He was probably rough.

He’d heard whispers about the Min family occasionally. The owner of the farm supposedly had a quiet temper, didn’t entertain suitors, lived alone with a few farmhands and his animals.

Jimin hadn’t even made the connection between Min Yoongi his future husband and the Min farm owner who people loved to gossip about until a few hours ago.

Why want him?

He closed his eyes, and the same dream from earlier returned: a fire-lit room, a gentle hand brushing his hair back, a baby’s laughter, soft and sweet. He’d woken up crying from that dream more than once.

Now it might never come true. Or worse—it might come true in all the wrong ways.

……………

Jimin woke up feeling unrested. He’d dreamt that old dream twice last night and it left him feeling empty.

With nothing to do but wait he decided to get up.

He dressed before the sky lightened. The silence of the house was broken only by the groan of wood as he moved.

He hesitated to put on the underwear because it seemed immodest, but it was what his mother gave him to wear. Plus, he thinks they look pretty and if was to be married off to a random man today he might as well get to wear something he likes.

Though the idea that anybody will see him in the underclothes makes him a little embarrassed.

The stockings were nice and must have been new because there was no holes and no signs of mending.

Undoubtedly his favorite was the dress. The idea that he could wear it out and in front of people gave him some happiness today.

He brushed his hair in the mirror with fingers instead of a comb, then repacked what little he owned into his satchel. His old handkerchief with the embroidered bluebells, the wooden horse, the mint leaves, his sewing needle. Nothing more.

Then he sat by the window.

The world outside was still half asleep. The fields stretched long and silver with dew, the trees blushing gold as dawn slowly crept in. His hands trembled where they held the satchel on his lap.

Jimin could hear the sounds of his family moving and decided to join them for breakfast.

It would be his last after all.

His mother looked the same except she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

Jimin’s father’s scent turned sour as he looked up and saw his dress. But Jimin must be lucky today because his father chose to look away.

His sisters looked sad though. They were not the closest but he would miss them.

Maybe they could become closer once they have all moved out and married. He vowed to write them in a few weeks.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Jimin was just reaching the end of his bowl when his father spoke up.

“When you leave you will be on your own. Conduct yourself properly. If you fail, we will not take you back. Do you understand?”

Jimin could barely breathe.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Go wait by the window. Tell us when he gets here.”

Jimin did not hesitate to get up and leave.

Jimin did not have to wait for long.

He heard the wagon before he saw it. The creak of wheels, the crunch of gravel beneath hooves. A plume of dust rose as it approached. Then the wagon came into view, and with it—a man.

He looked to be only a little taller than Jimin, which was unusual for an alpha. but he was very broad and looked strong. Which would make sense for someone who worked on a farm every day.

He looked like he had shoulder length dark hair which was tied back beneath a worn straw hat. Sunburnt skin. Calm in his movements, like nothing ever rushed him.

He stepped down and climbed the porch steps with the quiet certainty of someone who belonged anywhere he chose to stand.

Jimin rushed to get his parents.

He knocked once.

Jimin stood frozen, heart in his throat.

Jimin’s father opened the door.

Their eyes met.

Min Yoongi looked at him—not with disdain, not with lust, not even with confusion. Just… with a steady kind of awareness.

As if he’d known exactly who he was looking for and had found him.

Jimin’s breath caught.

Maybe this would not be the end of his story.

Chapter Text

The parlor smelled like dust and old wood, the late morning light filtering through lace curtains that hadn’t been washed in months.

Jimin stood stiffly by the edge of the threadbare rug, arms at his sides, while his father rifled through a locked drawer of the secretary desk.

His scent had been steadily getting heavier the longer it took him to find a copy of the marriage certificate.

Jimin tried to stand straight backed, wanting to make a good impression for his fiancé, but the longer this went on the more he could feel his shoulders hunch forward.

Jimin’s mother’s lips were pursed, her eyes sharper than usual, like she meant to carve a warning into his bones with just one glance.

Jimin understood that there was still time for Mr. Min to back out of the marriage and Jimin had to look desirable.

So, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and attempted to keep a serene smile on his face no matter how fake it felt.  

Across the room, Min Yoongi stood with his hat tucked under his arm. He hadn’t moved much since entering.

There was a stillness about him—not tense, just... anchored. Like a tree grown deep into the earth. His gaze was fixed on Jimin, calm but unreadable.

Finally, his father produced the folded document and slapped it down on the desk with more force than necessary.

“There,” he said, looking between them like he was preparing to toss out the trash.

“It’s all still legal. Signed by your father and me. Witnessed and sealed.”

Jimin’s father turned the paper toward Yoongi and tapped the spot near the bottom. “Sign there.”

Yoongi stepped forward, pulled a fountain pen from his coat, and scrawled his name in firm strokes.

His handwriting matched the man himself: bold, deliberate.

“And the boy,” he added, eyeing Jimin with a sharp twist of his mouth. “Let’s not pretend he has a say in it now.”

Jimin could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he stepped forward. He wasn’t even hurt that his father only referred to him as boy. He was used to it.

But the reminder that he had no choice in this brought back his anxiety. He was probably trading one prison for another.

Jimin’s hands trembled slightly as he stepped up to the desk. The paper looked older than he thought it would, the ink faded in spots, but the details were clear. His name. Yoongi’s name. A date that had passed years ago.

He took the pen with cold fingers.

“Take your time,” Yoongi said gently, almost like no one else was in the room.

Jimin looked up at him, surprised. No pressure. No impatience.

Just... understanding. His breath caught in his throat, but he nodded.

He signed.

His name looked small beside Yoongi’s.

“There,” his father said, already turning away. “Done. Out of my hands now.”

He left the room without so much as a farewell.

Jimin stood in silence, the pen still gripped in his fingers.

The room seemed too quiet in his absence. He felt a strange flutter in his chest—not relief, not exactly. Something else. Something unsteady.

Jimin’s sisters  came up and hugged him tightly. It made his skin tingle. They didn’t say anything, but their affection gave him some hope.

His vow to write them became stronger.

His mother approached him but stopped an arm’s length away.

“Ride safely.”

And then she left, leaving him alone with his husband.

Yoongi reached across the desk and took the paper, folded it with care, then tucked it into an inside pocket of his coat. He didn’t gloat or smile or say anything boastful. He just looked at Jimin.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Jimin blinked. “I... I think so.”

“You don’t have to be. Not yet.”

The words settled over him like a blanket, heavy but warm. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded.

Yoongi gestured toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Home.

Jimin swallowed hard, his eyes burning just a little.

He followed Yoongi out of the house without looking back.

……………

Jimin hesitated at the edge of the porch, clutching his satchel like it might anchor him. The wind tugged at the too-long hem of his dress.

He didn’t know what came next. Yoongi didn’t reach for him, didn’t offer to take the bag. He only waited.

That, more than anything, helped Jimin breathe.

“Wagon’s this way,” Yoongi said, turning toward it.

Jimin followed, footsteps soft in the dirt.

The world outside his house felt wide—open sky, green fields, distant trees blurred in morning fog. The kind of expanse that could swallow a person whole if they weren’t careful.

Yoongi steadied the horses with a hand on the reins and gestured for Jimin to climb up first.

 “You’ll ride up front with me. It’s a long road.”

Jimin nodded, hoisting his satchel onto the wooden bench before climbing up beside it. The seat was high and hard, but not uncomfortable. It smelled faintly of pine sap and horse leather.

Yoongi climbed up next, his presence filling the space. He adjusted the reins, flicked them once, and the wagon rolled forward with a creak.

For a while, they didn’t speak.

The road wound away from the house, through fields still damp with spring rain, and into gentle hills where wildflowers dotted the edges.

Jimin glanced back only once. The house where he’d spent nearly every day of his life shrank in the distance, its gray boards dulled by weather and silence.

He didn’t miss it.

“Never been this far outside town?” Yoongi asked after a while, voice low.

Jimin startled.

He shook his head. “No, sir.”

Yoongi flicked the reins. “Don’t call me sir.”

Jimin hesitated. “Then... what should I call you?”

“Yoongi works.”

It felt strange to say his name aloud. Jimin turned the syllables over in his mind before whispering, “Yoongi.”

The man didn’t smile, but something eased in his expression, like a muscle unclenching.

“You like animals?” Yoongi asked after a stretch of quiet.

“I don’t know,” Jimin said honestly. “Never taken care of them before.”

“You will learn in time. I’ve got these two horses, some chickens, and cows. I do dairy mostly with the cows, but I also do some breeding and meat as well. You’ll see once we get there.”

Jimin didn’t know what to say to that. But something about the way Yoongi talked—steady and quiet—made it easier to breathe.

They passed a cluster of cows along a fence. Birds called overhead. Somewhere far off, a hawk screamed.

They rode in silence again, broken only by the rhythmic plod of hooves and the occasional birdcall.

Jimin traced the grain of the wood with his fingers. It was smooth from regular use and weathered.

He’d expected the wagon ride to be worse.

He’d imagined silence so tense it would make him sick.

Or worse—talking that pressed too hard, too fast.

But Yoongi didn’t ask anything more than what needed asking. He didn’t pry. He didn’t watch Jimin like he was trying to figure out what to do with him.

He just drove.

Like Jimin wasn’t a problem to solve.

……………

 He tucked his hands between his knees, unsure what to do with the stretch of road still ahead of them.

They rode for nearly an hour before Yoongi finally broke the quiet.

“You’ve got questions.”

Jimin looked up, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been quiet too,” Yoongi said. “But you’ve been looking. Listening. You’ve got questions.”

Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, slowly, he said, “I don’t know what you expect of me.”

Jimin held his breath. He expected to be berated for the question. Afterall, he was supposed to know what duties a wife does.

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment.

The trees parted, revealing open pastureland ahead. Far off in the distance, a weathered red barn stood against a wide sky, and beyond it, a modest farmhouse nestled in a small stretch of trees.

“I expect you to rest when you’re tired,” Yoongi said at last. “To eat when you’re hungry. To tell me if something hurts. And to never—ever—feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Jimin turned to look at him, mouth slightly parted. “That’s it?”

“For now,” Yoongi said. “Anything else, we figure out together.”

The wagon bumped down into a shallow dip in the road, and Jimin swayed with it. His fingers curled tighter around his satchel. That ember of hope he thought he’d buried deep sparked again, hesitant but alive.

Together.

He wasn’t sure he knew how to do that. But the way Yoongi said it—plain and steady, like it was the most natural thing in the world—made him want to try.

The road narrowed as the sun began to dip westward. Shadows lengthened. A thin stream ran beside the road for a time, and the scent of blossoms thickened in the air.

“We’re close,” Yoongi said. “That line of trees ahead? That’s mine.”

Jimin straightened, leaning forward.

The green pastures stretched out over hills. He could see the cows milling around. Close to the house Jimin thought he could make out a chicken coop. To the east of the house there were fields full of wheat and other plants.

Maybe it was his excitement to be anywhere but his old house, but everything seemed brighter out there. The air smelled cleaner, the sunlight felt warmer, and the sky looked clearer.

“It’s beautiful,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, but his hands loosened on the reins.

The road curved toward a low ridge, and then Jimin saw the farmhouse in detail.

As the house came closer into view, Jimin’s nerves began to crawl again.

It was real now.

He was going to live here.

With this man.

In this place.

It wasn’t large or fancy, but it looked... loved.

Clean whitewashed walls, a porch lined with stacked wood, soft blue curtains in the windows. Smoke curled gently from the chimney. There was a small, fenced garden beside it, and what looked to be stray chicken on the porch.

Home.

Something twisted in Jimin’s chest.

Yoongi slowed the wagon near the barn and turned it smoothly down a side path that led to the house.

There were two chairs set out on the porch and Jimin imaged him sitting out there in the evening with his husband. His own shoes laid out next to his husband’s boots.

 The garden beside the house was untamed but blooming—bright flashes of lavender, marigold, and mint stretching beneath a crooked trellis.

Jimin stared.

Yoongi noticed. “You like flowers?”

He nodded mutely.

“They’re yours now. Grow what you want.”

Jimin glanced at him, startled. “Really?”

Yoongi met his eyes. “You live here now. That means it’s yours, too.”

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. Like he meant it. Like Jimin hadn’t just been handed off as property. He felt his throat tighten.

Yoongi pulled the wagon to a slow stop out front. He jumped down easily and held a hand out to Jimin, not demanding, just offering.

Jimin hesitated, then took it.

His hand was swallowed in Yoongi’s, warm and rough from work, but gentle in how it helped him down.

“Come on in,” Yoongi said, voice soft. “Let me show you around.”

……………

The kitchen was bright with late afternoon light, a large wooden table in the center bearing a scattering of flour and a few baskets of vegetables that looked freshly picked.

The stove housed a few black cast iron pans, still faintly warm, and the scent of sage and ash hung pleasantly in the air.

Jimin stood awkwardly just inside the doorway, his satchel finally slipped from his shoulder and set at his feet. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure where to place themselves.

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder from where he stood near the counter, pulling a jar from the open shelving above.

“Come in. You’re not in the way. I stopped in for some flour and sugar before I went to get you so I’ll just have to put that away”

Jimin moved in slowly, each footstep careful on the creaking wooden floorboards.

“I should show you the rest of the place before you see where the flour goes,” Yoongi said with a faint smile.

Jimin felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest at that—light, like a breeze lifting the edge of a curtain. He followed Yoongi back into the hallway, past the kitchen and into the rest of the house.

The tour was quiet but thorough. Yoongi didn’t rush. He pointed things out like it was second nature—nothing rehearsed, nothing showy.

Just: “There’s the washroom. Pump’s out back, but there’s a basin in here for most everything.”

And “Guest room here. Mostly storage now, but I can clear it out if you’d rather stay separate for a while.”

Jimin felt a little bit of hope flair in his chest at the idea of being given his own space.

Jimin peeked into each room, taking in the neat stacks of folded blankets, the clean wood floors, the scent of lavender tucked into jars along the shelves.

The walls bore simple, personal touches: pressed flowers in frames, hand-drawn sketches pinned above the coat hooks, and an old, well-loved fiddle leaning in the corner of the front room.

“You play?” Jimin asked, eyes on the instrument.

“When the mood strikes,” Yoongi said. “Not well.”

Jimin smiled. “Still, that’s more than most.”

Yoongi watched him for a moment longer than necessary. “You’ve got an ear for music?”

“I used to hum while I worked,” Jimin admitted. “When I was little, before I learned to keep quiet.”

Yoongi didn’t press, didn’t ask who made him stop. Just nodded, like he understood more than he said.

When they reached the last door at the end of the hallway, Yoongi opened it with a motion, almost reverent. “This is your room, or I guess our room.”

Jimin stepped inside.

It was small but warm, the bed neatly made, the quilt a patchwork of soft, worn colors. A small dresser stood in the corner with a mirror that wasn’t cracked, and a narrow window looked out over the fields beyond the barn. The floor was swept clean. A vase with a single marigold stood on the sill.

He didn’t know what he’d expected—but not this. Not care.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d need,” Yoongi said, lingering at the doorway. “We can get more. Whatever’s missing.”

Jimin turned toward him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.”

That quiet, steady tone again. Like everything Yoongi said, it came without strings.

Jimin’s fingers curled into the hem of his sleeve. “Thank you.”

Yoongi nodded and stepped back. “I’ll let you unpack. The top drawer of the wardrobe has been cleared out for your stuff. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Left alone, Jimin stood in the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, letting himself breathe in the safety of it. The floor didn’t tilt. The ceiling didn’t press down. No one was shouting at him to get out.

It was just a room. His room. And his husbands.

Just one room. With one bed. That they have to share.

Heat and uncertainty flared up inside of Jimin in equal measure.

Uncertainty at the idea of being this close to his husband who could do whatever he wants. Jimin’s husband seemed nice enough but what’s to say that won’t change when he gets his urges.

But Jimin wasn’t blind. His husband was strong and handsome. It made something in him stir.

Shaking his head Jimin made himself focus again. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in thought.

After a few minutes, he returned to the kitchen.

Yoongi was chopping carrots with a sure, easy rhythm. A pot was already simmering on the stove, and something fragrant—onion, thyme—filled the space.

“Can I help?” Jimin asked.

Yoongi looked up. “You sure you want to?”

Jimin nodded. Afterall, now that he was here his husband had no need to cook.

“All right,” Yoongi said, handing him a clean towel. “Wash up. I’ll get the greens.”

Jimin moved to the basin and washed his hands in the cool water, drying them on the cloth and rolling up his sleeves. He stepped over to the counter where Yoongi had already laid out bundles of mustard greens, collards, and wild onions.

“You like stew?” Yoongi asked.

“I haven’t had much of it,” Jimin admitted. “We mostly ate bread, porridge, sometimes salted meat.”

“Well, we’re going to fix that,” Yoongi said. “My ma’s recipe. Nothing fancy, but it’ll fill you up.”

They worked quietly for a few minutes, side by side. Yoongi handed him a knife without a word, and Jimin began slicing with practiced care. The routine grounded him—wash, chop, stir. He’d spent years in his mother’s kitchen, never praised for his work, but never taught to do it with joy, either. Now, for the first time, it didn’t feel like punishment. It felt like sharing.

Yoongi kept sneaking glances at him—just small ones, nothing invasive—and Jimin caught one of them and smiled.

“What?” he asked.

Yoongi ducked his head slightly. “You’re good at this.”

Jimin flushed and focused on slicing a beet. “Thank you.”

They worked through the rest of the vegetables, tossing them into the pot. Yoongi showed him where he kept the herbs and the salt, how the stove worked, where the root cellar was for later.

The space slowly became familiar in the same way a path becomes known after walking it a few times—not quite memory yet, but on the edge of becoming something close to home.

By the time the stew was bubbling in earnest, Jimin had moved on to setting the table. He found plates and spoons in a side cupboard and even unearthed a small jar of pickled radishes that he placed in the center for brightness.

He lit a single candle, just because it felt right.

Yoongi watched him do all of it without interference, his expression unreadable but not distant.

When they finally sat down together, Yoongi took a bite, chewed, and gave a quiet, approving nod. “That’s good.”

Jimin tasted his and agreed. “It is.”

They ate slowly. No rush, no raised voices, no tension simmering beneath the surface. Just quiet clinks of spoon against bowl, the occasional murmur of appreciation.

The candle flickered low between them, casting soft gold across the worn wood of the table.

Halfway through his second helping, Yoongi leaned back and looked at Jimin fully. “You ever make bread?”

“Sometimes.”

“We’ll do that next time. Maybe tomorrow. You’ll like it better fresh.”

Jimin smiled. “You cook a lot.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Ma taught me. I like things done a certain way.”

“I can learn that way,” Jimin said, surprising himself with the offer.

Yoongi looked at him with something warm in his eyes. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Jimin.”

Jimin’s breath caught. His name, spoken so gently, made his chest ache.

“I want to be useful,” he said softly.

“You already are.”

It wasn’t the kind of thing people said to him. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone ever said to him.

His hand curled around his spoon. He nodded, and for the first time since waking that morning, he believed it might be true.

After dinner, Jimin washed the dishes while Yoongi dried. The rhythm of it felt companionable, like a song with no words. The lantern flickered above them, casting their shadows against the kitchen walls.

When everything was clean and put away, Yoongi said, “I’ll bring in more firewood. You should rest.”

“I’m not tired yet.”

“Then come sit on the porch.”

Jimin hesitated, then nodded.

The night air was cool but not cold. They sat in the porch chairs, side by side, listening to the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the trees. The stars blinked through the deepening dusk.

Yoongi didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch. Just offered his presence, solid and steady, and that was more than Jimin had ever expected to have.

“You really built all this yourself?” Jimin asked after a while.

Yoongi nodded. “Piece by piece. Took years.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Yoongi looked over at him. “I hoped one day it’d be a good place for a family.”

Jimin felt his heartbeat stutter.

He turned his gaze back to the fields, voice barely above a whisper. “I want that too.”

And Yoongi, quiet beside him, simply said, “Then we’ll make it.”

……………

The stars had risen high by the time they went back inside. The porch had cooled beneath their feet, the scent of pine and dew drifting on the wind.

Jimin followed Yoongi through the front door, the creak of the hinges strangely comforting in the quiet.

Inside, the house was warm with the remnants of dinner and firelight. Yoongi set the lantern on the kitchen table and turned the wick down, leaving only the soft glow of the hearth in the front room.

“Would you like more tea before bed?” Yoongi asked as he untied his boots.

Jimin shook his head. His voice felt small, caught behind the tightness in his chest. “No… thank you.”

“All right.” Yoongi didn’t press. He never did.

They moved through the hallway with quiet steps. The floorboards creaked under Yoongi’s weight, steady and slow. When they reached their room, he lingered in the doorway, unsure.

Yoongi looked at him carefully. “Would you rather sleep in the spare room?”

Jimin swallowed. The spare room was lovely. It was safe.

But something in him — that soft, lonely part that had always ached for warmth — reached for more. For closeness. He bit his lip, then asked, “Would it be… strange to sleep with you?”

Yoongi blinked, not in surprise, but as if choosing his words with care. “Only if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Jimin shook his head. “No. I… I just don’t want you to think…”

He couldn’t quite say it. Couldn’t shape the fear into words.

But Yoongi stepped closer, and his voice was low and even, as steady as his hands.

“Jimin. Nothing has to happen. Not tonight. Not ever unless you want it. You’re not here for that.”

Jimin looked up, eyes wide. “But I’m your—”

“My wife,” Yoongi finished. “Not my property.”

The words hit deep, curling around something raw inside Jimin’s heart. He nodded slowly; his throat was too tight to speak. Then, after a breath, he followed Yoongi into the master bedroom.

It was simple, like the rest of the house — wood and wool and linen, with shelves along the walls and a small window cracked to let in the cool breeze. The bed was wide and freshly made, a thick quilt folded neatly at the foot.

It looked the same as it did earlier in the night and that was comforting.

Yoongi lit a small bedside lantern and moved around the room with quiet ease, removing his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt before setting it on the back of a chair. He left on his undershirt and trousers, then gestured gently toward the dresser.

“The drawer is still empty; did you need help unpacking something.”

Jimin felt slightly embarred. He had forgotten to unload his clothes earlier.

He shook his head, “No, I was just overwhelmed earlier. I’ll unpack in the morning. If that’s okay?”

Yoongi nodded, “Of course.”

Jimin clutched the folded nightgown he’d brought from his small chest. “Can I change here?”

Yoongi looked over his shoulder, already halfway through turning down the bed. “Of course. I’ll give you a minute.”

And just like that, he stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

Jimin changed quickly. Making sure not to tug the buttons of his dress. When he went to put his day clothes in the drawer, he realized he needed to hide the underwear his mother gave him.

He would be mortified if his husband found them, so he stuffed them to the bottom of his small chest.

Jimin tugged the soft cotton of his nightgown and smoothed it down past his knees. His skin prickled with nerves. He’d never shared a bed with anyone. Not like this. Not voluntarily. Not without fear.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser, taking in the image — his hair slightly mussed, his eyes shadowed but bright. He didn’t look as scared as he felt. That counted for something.

When he opened the door, Yoongi was leaning against the hallway wall, arms folded. He straightened immediately, not staring, just meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“You all right?” he asked.

Jimin nodded. “Yes.”

Yoongi stepped aside so Jimin could pass into the bedroom. He followed but paused near the foot of the bed.

“You want the window side or the door side?” he asked.

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Some folks like to face the window. Others sleep easier knowing they’re closer to the exit.”

Jimin considered. “Window side, please.”

Yoongi nodded and moved around to the other side. He pulled back the covers and climbed in, then waited as Jimin walked slowly to the bed and climbed in beside him. The mattress dipped under his weight, soft but solid.

They lay there in silence for a moment, side by side. The blanket smelled faintly of cedar and lavender. The night air slipped through the window in a cool hush.

Jimin lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His heartbeat pounding in his chest. His hands trembled slightly under the covers.

Yoongi’s voice broke the silence, soft and low. “Jimin?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Jimin closed his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.

Yoongi didn’t reply right away. Then, after a moment: “But still afraid.”

Jimin nodded, a tiny movement against the pillow. “It’s just… all I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi turned onto his side. “Can I touch you?”

The question startled him. Not the request — the asking. The permission.

“Yes,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi reached out, slowly, and let his hand rest lightly on Jimin’s forearm, above the blanket. His touch was warm. Grounding.

“You’re safe here,” he said again, his voice steady as ever.

Jimin blinked quickly, breath catching. “Thank you.”

Yoongi gave him another minute before asking, “Would you like to lie close?”

Jimin hesitated.

And then, quietly, “Yes.”

He shifted, unsure, but Yoongi made it easy. He opened his arms and let Jimin scoot closer, careful not to crowd him. When Jimin settled with his back to Yoongi’s chest, Yoongi gently drew the blanket up over them both and curled an arm around Jimin’s middle, his hand resting lightly over the fabric of Jimin’s nightgown.

They lay like that, quiet and still, the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind and their breathing.

Jimin’s body was tense at first, every nerve alert, but Yoongi didn’t move. Didn’t press. He simply held him, the warmth of his chest, a steady presence at Jimin’s back.

After a while, Jimin’s muscles began to relax. His breathing evened out. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest behind him, the rhythm of it lulling him slowly toward calm.

“Are you comfortable?” Yoongi asked softly.

Jimin nodded. “It’s nice.”

The words felt too small for what he meant.

It was more than nice.

It was safe.

“Good,” Yoongi said, and his voice was like the hearth — warm, steady, quietly burning.

Jimin tucked his hand beneath his cheek and closed his eyes.

“Yoongi?” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“Thank you. For not… expecting anything.”

“I’m not here to take,” Yoongi said gently. “I’m here to build.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. A tear slipped down his cheek and soaked into the pillow.

Yoongi said nothing, just held him a little closer.

And slowly, slowly, Jimin drifted into sleep, cocooned in the quiet strength of the man beside him, breathing in the scent of pine and earth and safety.

……………

Sunlight filtered in through the small bedroom window, pale gold and gentle as it kissed the wooden floor and the edge of the quilt.

Birds sang just outside, the low hum of farm life already stirring. Jimin blinked awake, slow and warm beneath the covers.

For a moment, he forgot where he was. The bed wasn’t narrow. The sheets were soft. And there was heat — a presence — behind him.

His heart stuttered.

Yoongi.

He remembered now — the wagon ride, the house, the dinner. The quiet conversation in the dark, and then this: the way they had curled together like they'd done it a hundred times before. It had been the best sleep Jimin had had in years.

But then he shifted, and—

Oh.

There was something solid pressed against his lower back.

Warm. Firm. Undeniably a part of Yoongi.

Jimin froze.

He didn’t breathe.

The realization burned its way through his skin and straight to his cheeks.

Behind him, Yoongi stirred, and Jimin felt the moment he woke — the sharp inhale, the sudden tension in the body pressed to his.

“Shit,” Yoongi whispered hoarsely.

He immediately pulled away, the warmth vanishing like a dropped blanket. Jimin rolled onto his back, unsure what to say, his face flaming.

“I didn’t—” Yoongi sat up and scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. That just happens. It’s… morning. I swear it’s not you. I mean, it is you, but not—God.”

Jimin bit his lip.

Then, almost shyly, he said, “It’s all right.”

Yoongi’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “It is?”

Jimin nodded, trying not to laugh at the way Yoongi looked like he wanted to crawl into the floorboards.

“It’s normal, isn’t it. For men like you?” he offered.

Yoongi gave him a helpless look. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Jimin said gently, and it surprised him how much he meant it.

Maybe it was the honesty of it. The awkwardness. The way Yoongi had immediately backed off. There was no shame in it, not really — just a little embarrassment and the faintest flutter of flattery that someone like Yoongi might react to him that way.

He glanced toward the window. “Is it very early?”

Yoongi relaxed with a long breath and glanced out. “Early enough. Chores start soon, but there’s time to eat.”

Jimin sat up, smoothing the quilt around his waist. “Do you mind if I change first?”

“Of course not. I’ll wait in the kitchen,” Yoongi said, already moving toward the door. He paused halfway, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll make coffee.”

When he was gone, Jimin slid out of bed and padded over to his satchel. He pulled out a folded linen skirt — soft gray and full, with a matching blouse he’d sewn himself last fall.

He’d only worn it twice before. His father hated when he wore them, said he was already hard enough to marry off without “dressing like a milkmaid.”

But this was his home now.

He slipped it on, fastened the buttons, and turned once in place. The hem swept gently against his ankles, and he smiled at the whisper of fabric. He felt like himself again. The dress he wore yesterday was nice, but this was an outfit he picked for himself.

A few minutes later, he made his way to the kitchen, where Yoongi was setting two bowls of oatmeal on the table. The room smelled like cinnamon and something toasty. Jimin’s stomach rumbled.

Yoongi looked up — and blinked.

Jimin paused in the doorway, suddenly self-conscious. “Is this… okay?”

Yoongi’s gaze softened. He looked him over, slowly but without heat — with appreciation.

“It suits you,” he said. “You look happy.”

Jimin’s cheeks warmed. “I am.”

They sat together at the table, steam curling from their bowls. Yoongi pushed a small dish toward him. “I have honey and dried fruit. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Jimin said, adding both. The first bite melted on his tongue, sweet and warm.

“This is really good.”

“I like starting the day with something filling,” Yoongi said. “Work’s easier on a full stomach.”

Jimin nodded. He watched the way Yoongi moved — precise but never hurried. Even breakfast felt deliberate. Safe.

After they finished, Yoongi cleared the bowls and Jimin helped rinse them in the basin, the two of them bumping elbows as they moved around the narrow kitchen. Then Yoongi wiped his hands on a towel and gave him a small, hopeful smile.

“You ready to meet the animals?”

Jimin’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please.”

Outside, the farm had come fully awake. The sun was higher now, spilling across the fields in thick beams. A few farmhands moved through the rows of wheat in the distance, but Yoongi led him in the opposite direction — toward the barn.

The structure was old but well-kept, with wide doors and a weathered red roof. As they stepped inside, the rich scent of hay and warm animals filled the air.

“This way,” Yoongi said, guiding him down the central aisle.

The cows came first — three of them, all sleek and soft-eyed. One lifted her head and gave a low, expectant moo.

“This is Marigold,” Yoongi said, patting her flank. “And the smaller one is Clover. The one in the corner’s June. She’s shy.”

Jimin approached carefully, holding out his hand. Marigold sniffed him and then nudged his palm.

“She likes you,” Yoongi said with a quiet smile.

Jimin beamed. “She’s beautiful.”

“Want to try brushing her?”

He nodded, and Yoongi handed him a plain comb. Jimin mimicked his movements, slowly brushing along Marigold’s side. The motion was soothing, and the cow seemed to approve, shifting slightly so he could reach more of her.

“I always wanted to do this,” Jimin murmured.

Yoongi leaned against the stall post. “You’re good at it.”

They spent a few more minutes with the cows before moving on to the chickens.

The coop was just outside the barn, surrounded by a little fenced yard. Inside, hens clucked softly, rustling feathers and pecking at feed. One strutted up to Jimin immediately.

“This one’s Poppy,” Yoongi said. “Bold little thing.”

“She’s not afraid at all,” Jimin laughed, crouching down.

“None of them will be, once they get used to you.”

Jimin looked up at him. “I want to help with them. All of them.”

“You can,” Yoongi said simply. “This is your home too.”

The words made something settle in Jimin’s chest. He stood slowly, brushing off his skirt. “I like hearing that.”

Yoongi’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I like saying it.”

They stood there for a moment, surrounded by chickens and sunshine and the sounds of morning. It wasn’t anything grand — no declarations or sweeping gestures.

Just simple truth.

And somehow, that made it all the more precious.

Chapter Text

The morning sun had climbed high by the time Yoongi and Jimin finished with the chickens. Jimin had fed them with a cautious hand, laughing shyly when one darted between his ankles.

Yoongi had watched with quiet fondness, arms crossed, leaning lazily against the fence rail.

As they made their way back toward the house, Yoongi paused near the path that led to the barn. Voices drifted on the wind—low and teasing, punctuated by laughter.

“Come on,” he said. “Time you met the others.”

Jimin froze in place for a moment. “The farmhands?”

Yoongi nodded, catching the subtle tension in his posture. “They’re good men. Loud, but harmless.”

Jimin smoothed his palms down his apron and nodded once, not trusting himself to speak.

They walked toward the barn where three men were hard at work. One stacked hay bales, another was oiling a rusted latch on the barn doors, and the third—shirtless and sun-tanned—sat on an overturned bucket, peeling an apple with a dull knife.

The first to spot them was the tallest and broad-shouldered. He squinted, wiping sweat from his brow. “Boss. And this must be your new miss.”

Yoongi lifted a hand. “Jimin, meet Kim Namjoon, our foreman.”

Namjoon stepped forward and offered a calloused hand. “Pleasure, Jimin. Been with Yoongi since he first took over caring for this land. Welcome.”

Jimin took his hand timidly. The man’s grip was firm but respectful.

Next came the younger man at the barn door—medium build, brown curls falling over his forehead. He pushed them back and grinned. “Jung Hoseok. Resident smart mouth and general mischief.”

“You’re also the one who put a frog in my boot last week,” the shirtless one called from his bucket.

“That was nature’s doing,” Hoseok said. “I merely relocated it.”

Jimin cracked a smile. Hoseok winked at him.

The last man stood and approached with a lazy gait. He had golden-brown skin, long arms, and a soft drawl that made every word sound like a story. “Name’s Jeon Jungkook. I run deliveries and pretend I don’t hear the nonsense these two get up to.”

“You hear just fine,” Namjoon said, crossing his arms.

Jimin offered a shy, “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Jungkook tilted his head, looking him over without judgment. “You’re smaller than I thought you’d be.”

Yoongi straightened slightly, but Jimin beat him to it.

“I may be small,” he said, “but I know how to cook, sew, and I’m a fair hand with a shovel when I need to be.”

Namjoon let out a laugh. “Well said.”

Yoongi looked down at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You’ll do just fine here,” Jungkook said. “And we’re glad the boss finally brought someone in. This place was turning into a monastery.”

They led Jimin to a patch of grass near the wagon, where someone had set up a couple of crates and a battered blanket. Hoseok brought out a tin of molasses cookies—too sweet, slightly burnt—and Namjoon passed around a jug of cold well water.

Jimin sat carefully on the blanket, smoothing his skirt beneath him. He was unused to sitting so casually with men, let alone three strangers, but they made space without fuss and didn’t stare too long.

“What’s it like, being married to the boss?” Hoseok asked, popping a cookie in his mouth.

Jimin blinked. “It’s been… less than a day.”

“Still,” Jungkook said, reclining against the wheel of the wagon. “You’ve already lasted longer than any of us thought a marriage would.”

“Ignore them,” Namjoon muttered. “They were all certain Yoongi would die alone.”

“I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream,” Hoseok added.

Yoongi snorted softly from his place leaning against a fence post.

Jimin lowered his eyes, not sure what to say. “He’s been kind,” he said finally. “More than I expected.”

That seemed to quiet them.

“Then you’re already ahead,” Namjoon said.

“Where’d you come from?” Jungkook asked, less nosy than curious.

“West of here. A small place. I lived with my parents and sisters.”

He didn’t add the rest. Not yet. These men seemed kind, but he still felt like a moth among hawks, even if none of them had spread their wings.

“Well,” Hoseok said, “we’re having dinner here, whether the boss likes it or not. Right, Namjoon?”

Namjoon grunted. “I suppose we could.”

Jungkook sat up, grinning. “Jimin, you said you cook right?”

“I did,” he said, startled. “Why?”

“Then we’ll bring dessert. Or wine. Maybe both.”

“I’ll help with dinner,” Jimin offered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t have to impress us,” Hoseok said. “But we won’t say no.”

Jimin smiled again, this time more genuinely. The sun was warm, and the chatter light. He glanced at Yoongi, who was watching him with something unreadable in his eyes.

It still didn’t feel real. But maybe this place could be more than safe.

Maybe it could be home.

……………

The house was quiet once Yoongi left for the fields, the back door swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud.

Jimin stood at the kitchen table, a dishcloth in one hand and a list in his head too long to hold all at once. He hadn’t written it down, there was no time for that now. Too many things needed doing before the farmhands and their partners returned for supper.

He turned in a slow circle, eyes darting from the scuffed floorboards to the cluttered shelves above the hearth. A thin layer of dust coated everything, fine and grey, catching the morning light like cobwebs in the air.

First the parlor. Then the bedroom. Then the kitchen again. Then the laundry and dishes. Then supper.

Easy enough, he told himself.

He started with the parlor, pushing open the door and wincing at the creak of the hinges. The room was spacious but underused, the fireplace cold and dark, the furniture old but sturdy. He picked up a discarded sock from the floor and folded the quilt thrown across the back of the couch. The windows were smudged and streaked with handprints and rain spots, so he wiped them down with a damp cloth, working in small circles until the glass shone.

Next, he tackled the floors. There was a broom in the corner and a pan for collecting dust. He swept in quick, practiced strokes, then moved to the hallway, then to the kitchen. Each task led to another—if he swept the kitchen, he’d need to mop too, and once he started mopping, he saw how stained the baseboards were, and once he crouched to scrub those, he noticed the chipped paint on the cupboard doors.

The list grew.

He worked quickly, sleeves rolled to his elbows, skirts hitched and tucked at his knees. The house filled with the scent of soap and mint, and his cheeks grew pink from effort.

By the time he remembered the laundry, the sun had shifted, casting warm beams through the front window. He gathered the linens from the bedroom and lugged them to the basin outside. His arms ached from wringing the fabric by hand, his fingers red and raw by the end.

He’d just begun hanging the last sheet when a breeze kicked up and sent the others flapping like sails. The pins weren’t holding. One sheet flew off entirely, landing in the dirt.

Jimin ran to grab it, heart racing. He knelt, brushing off what he could, but it was damp and muddy and smelled faintly of chicken.

Tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them.

He blinked them away quickly, standing up and clutching the fabric to his chest. "It’s fine," he whispered. "Just one sheet. It’s fine."

But it didn’t feel fine. It felt like everything he’d done today had unraveled with that single gust of wind.

Inside again, he checked the time by the position of the sun through the kitchen window. Late afternoon. Too late to start over. The floor still needed mopping. The hearth still needed clearing. And he hadn’t even begun supper.

Panic clawed up his throat.

He moved toward the counter and stared at the supplies laid out: flour, dried beans, the last few potatoes, a bit of ham wrapped in cloth. He could make stew. Yes. That would be enough. He’d seen Yoongi had canned vegetables in the cellar—he could use carrots and onions, maybe even some tomatoes.

He hurried down the steps to the cellar, breath quick and shallow. It was dim and cool underground, and he had to feel his way along the shelves, fingers brushing over dusty jars.

Carrots. Onions. Tomatoes.

He clutched them to his chest like treasures and returned to the kitchen, heart thudding.

He chopped too fast, the knife slipping once and nicking his finger. Blood welled, bright and alarming. He sucked it clean, wrapping it quickly in a scrap of cloth before returning to the pot. The scent of sizzling ham filled the room, comforting and familiar, but his hands still shook.

He wanted this dinner to be perfect. Not just edible—perfect.

The stew boiled too hard, and he had to lift the pot and set it aside to cool. In the shuffle, he spilled broth across the stovetop, and it hissed and smoked, stinging his eyes. He coughed and waved the steam away, blinking back fresh tears.

“Stupid,” he muttered, “why can’t you just do one thing right—?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and covered his face with his hands.

The scent of the stew filled the house, warm and heavy. The floor sparkled in places where he’d managed to clean it. A fresh tablecloth had been laid out—crooked, yes, but clean. There were flowers in a chipped mug near the window, picked hastily from the edge of the path.

He’d done so much. And yet all he could see were the things he hadn’t finished.

What if Yoongi walked in and saw the mess in the sink? What if the stew tasted bland? What if the farmhands laughed at him, or worse, pitied him? What would their wives think of him if he couldn’t even get hosting right?

His stomach twisted.

He had wanted so badly to do well. To be good. To be worthy of this home, this chance at something different.

But he felt frayed. Worn out. Not enough.

The screen door creaked open behind him, the familiar weight of boots on the porch.

Jimin jumped to his feet, wiping his hands on his apron and standing stiffly, as if bracing for judgment.

He didn’t know what Yoongi would say—but he expected the worst.

……………

The sun hung low behind the trees, casting long shadows across the dirt path as Yoongi wiped sweat from his brow.

The air was thick with the scent of earth and green leaves, bees humming lazily nearby. He rolled his sleeves up higher and leaned back against the fencepost, watching as the last of the day’s crates were loaded onto the wagon.

“You’re awfully quiet today, boss,” said Hoseok, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt. “Figured you’d be gloating a bit more, finally getting hitched after all these years.”

Yoongi grunted. “Not much to gloat about.”

Namjoon, the oldest of the three farmhands, laughed from where he leaned against the gate, and his hat tilted back on his head. “You? Married? I thought the day would come when pigs danced before you settled down.”

“Didn’t think you were the type,” Jungkook added, the youngest of the bunch—barely twenty and full of questions. “You always said you didn’t want the trouble of someone underfoot.”

Yoongi scratched at his jaw; the edge of his palm rough with calluses. “Didn’t reckon on someone like him.”

The three exchanged looks, curiosity sparking between them. Hoseok crossed his arms. “You going to tell us more about who he is, then? Or are we just supposed to pretend we didn’t see that delicate little thing working up a storm today?”

“He’s not ‘a thing,” Yoongi said firmly. His voice didn’t rise, but there was weight behind it. “His name is Jimin. And he’s, my wife.”

“Well, yeah,” Namjoon said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “We figured that part out on our own. What we don’t get is why. You never seemed interested in marriage, let alone someone like—well—him.”

“An omega, you mean,” Yoongi said, turning to face them. His expression was unreadable, his mouth drawn into a line. “Young. Skittish. Pretty.”

Jungkook flushed. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

Yoongi nodded slowly. “I know. But you’re not wrong. He’s all those things.”

“Then why?” Hoseok asked again. “You’ve turned down every offer from every family in a hundred miles. And now you marry a boy none of us even knew existed until last week.”

Yoongi hesitated, gaze shifting to the trees as the leaves whispered in the wind. “His father and mine made an agreement when he was born. I knew it would come due someday.”

“But you’re not a man who does something just cause it’s written in ink,” Namjoon pointed out. “You could’ve walked away from it.”

“I could’ve,” Yoongi admitted. “But I didn’t want to.”

That surprised them. Jungkook tilted his head. “Why?”

Yoongi crossed his arms, voice low and measured. “Because when I read his father’s last letter, I realized that boy hadn’t had anyone looking out for him. Not in a long time. I thought maybe I could be that person.”

There was a beat of silence.

“He’s... nervous,” Yoongi went on, softer now. “Jumpy. Kind. Wants so badly to be good at everything, he’s wearing himself thin. I’ve known people like that. Hell, I’ve been people like that.”

“He’s trying,” Namjoon muttered. “I’ll give him that. Looked like he’d been cleaning all morning.”

The farmhands grew quiet. The sun dipped lower still, bathing the fields in gold. The rhythmic cluck of hens echoed faintly from the barn.

“I didn’t marry him to take a pretty thing home,” Yoongi said finally. “I married him because I saw something in his eyes I recognized. And because he deserves more than what life’s given him so far.”

“You love him?” Jungkook asked, quiet.

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. He picked up a small stone, tossed it from hand to hand, then let it drop back into the dust.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I could. If he’ll let me.”

Jungkook smiled faintly. “That’s enough, I think.”

Namjoon pushed off the gate with a grunt. “You treat him right, Yoongi. Boy like that? If you hurt him, he’ll fold up and vanish before you can blink.”

Yoongi nodded once. “I know. That’s why I won’t.”

Namjoon clapped him on the shoulder as they started walking back towards where their horses were tied. “Well, guess we’d better not scare him off, then. If he’s cooking supper for all of us, the least we can do is pretend we’re civilized.”

“I am civilized,” Jungkook said indignantly.

“You ate a beetle for a dare last week.”

“That was science,” Jungkook said.

Yoongi chuckled under his breath as the others bickered and bantered on the way back home, to pick up their wives. But his mind was still on Jimin.

He knew how easily things could go wrong. How fragile trust could be when someone had never known it before.

But he also knew that if Jimin gave him even an inch of room to care—

He’d give him the whole damn world in return.

……………

Jimin stood at the counter, knuckles white around a wooden spoon as he stirred the pot. The stew was nearly done—had been done—but he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

The kitchen smelled of thyme and onions, of roasted carrots and browned meat, but his stomach churned too fiercely to feel proud of it.

He had scrubbed every surface twice over, swept and mopped the floor, wiped the windows even though the grime barely budged, and still his heart raced like a frightened rabbit.

They would be here soon. The farmhands. Their wives. Yoongi.

Yoongi would be here in seconds.

Jimin had set the table hours ago, but now he rearranged the cutlery for the fourth time, adjusting each fork to match the angle of the next.

He’d placed wildflowers—modest little purple asters from behind the shed—in a chipped ceramic jar as a centerpiece. It looked quaint, he thought.

Or maybe pitiful.

His chest tightened.

He turned back to the stew and gave it another pointless stir. He tried to breathe deeply, like he used to when the cellar door shut behind him and there was nothing but cold and dark for company.

He’d taught himself how to sit still then. How to make his body small and silent, how to disappear into the walls.

But this house was full of windows and noise. And people who watched.

He wasn’t invisible here. And that was worse somehow.

The door opened.

Boot steps crossed the threshold.

Jimin froze.

He heard the scrape of boots on the rug. The shift of weight. And then Yoongi stood in the doorway of the kitchen, broad and sun-kissed, with wind-mussed hair and a look that said he’d been waiting to see him all day.

Jimin kept his back to him.

“Smells good,” Yoongi said after a beat. His tone was quiet. Gentle.

“Thank you,” Jimin murmured, not trusting his voice to say more.

He heard Yoongi step closer.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

It was a lie.

He felt Yoongi pause behind him, like the alpha could sense the tremble just beneath his skin. And maybe he could. Alphas had that way about them—of noticing. Of looming. Jimin's shoulders tensed.

“Our guests will be here soon,” Yoongi said, moving to stand just beside him now, leaning casually on the counter. “They’re excited. Don’t get a meal cooked for them from anyone but their wives too often.”

“I hope it’s... good enough.”

“It will be.”

“I scrubbed the stove,” Jimin said quickly. “And the counter. And the floor. I even got behind the wood box and under the sink. There was a smell—I wasn’t sure if it was old turnips or just dust, but I cleaned it anyway. I didn’t want them to think I was lazy. Or dirty. Or—”

“Jimin.”

He stopped.

Yoongi wasn’t smiling. His brow furrowed with a crease of worry. “You don’t have to do all that to impress them. You don’t even have to impress me.”

“I do,” Jimin whispered, fingers tightening around the spoon. “You married me.”

“I did,” Yoongi said, voice still soft. “But not so you’d work yourself raw. Not so you’d make yourself sick trying to be perfect.”

Jimin blinked hard, swallowing down the heat rising behind his eyes. He couldn’t let it show. If he started crying now, he’d never stop.

“I wanted to be good,” he said.

“You are,” Yoongi said without hesitation.

Jimin looked at him then. Just a flick of his gaze, cautious and quick—but it was enough. He saw no mockery there. No anger. Just calm concern and quiet strength.

“I don’t know how to be a wife,” Jimin admitted.

Yoongi stepped closer, slowly, like he was giving Jimin the chance to move away if he wanted. “Nor do I know how to be a husband.”

“You don’t?”

“I’ve never been married before,” Yoongi said, offering a crooked smile. “You think I know what I’m doing?”

Jimin gave a shaky laugh. “You seem like you do.”

“I just know how to listen. And how to not be a bastard.”

“That already makes you better than most,” Jimin said before he could stop himself. His voice cracked on the last word.

And then the tears came.

Not loud or wild, but quiet and insistent—streaming down his cheeks as he turned away, pressing his hands flat to the counter to stay upright. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Come here,” Yoongi said.

Jimin didn’t move.

“I said come here.”

The voice wasn’t commanding—it was coaxing. Warm as firelight and just as irresistible.

Jimin turned slowly, tears still slipping past his lashes. He hesitated, and then, haltingly, stepped toward Yoongi.

Yoongi opened his arms.

Jimin stepped into them.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace that crushed or clung. It was solid. Quiet. The kind you could fall asleep inside. Yoongi’s hand came to rest between Jimin’s shoulder blades, the other curling gently around his waist. Jimin’s forehead pressed against his chest, and for the first time in days, he let himself lean into the safety of another person.

He could hear the steady beat of Yoongi’s heart. Feel the rise and fall of his breath. It was grounding.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you,” Yoongi murmured into his hair. “You don’t have to earn your place here. You already have it.”

Jimin nodded, not trusting his voice.

They stood that way for a long time. Long enough for the stew to bubble faintly behind them. Long enough for the shadows to grow longer outside.

Eventually, Yoongi shifted, just a bit, and guided them gently toward the kitchen window. The last light of the day spilled through the glass, painting their reflections in gold. Jimin leaned his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, and they watched the wheat fields sway together in the evening breeze.

“You don’t have to do everything at once,” Yoongi said. “This is your home now. You can breathe.”

Jimin looked up at him, eyes still glassy. “I don’t know how. Not yet.”

Yoongi smiled, small and warm. “That’s alright. I’ll wait.”

And there, with the scent of thyme in the air and the shadows stretching toward night, Jimin let himself believe—for the first time—that maybe he’d finally found a place he could belong.

Even if he still had to learn how.

……………

The evening sun cast golden streaks through the windows as Jimin finished straightening the kitchen table for the third time.

Everything looked perfect—or as perfect as he could make it. The plates didn’t match, but he’d scrubbed them until they gleamed. He’d swept every corner, polished the lantern glass, and even found an old lace runner in a trunk upstairs to dress the table.

He wiped his hands down the front of his apron. It was silly to be this nervous. They were just farmhands. But they were Yoongi’s people—men who had worked beside him for years, who knew the land like the backs of their calloused hands. Jimin wanted to make a good impression, even if his chest was tight with doubt.

Would they laugh at the way he talked? At his skirts? Would they whisper about how soft he looked? How different he was from Yoongi?

The knock came sharp and sure on the front door.

Yoongi—still damp-haired from washing up—passed by Jimin with a wink. “I’ll get it.”

Jimin followed, fingers nervously twisting in the linen of his apron.

When the door opened, the first thing Jimin saw was a wide grin and a burst of laughter.

“Evening, boss,” said a tall man with bright eyes. Namjoon if Jimin remembered correctly. “You smell like soap.”

“I do what I can,” Yoongi said, deadpan.

Behind him stood two others— both with sun-reddened skin and easy, curious expressions. Hoseok and Jungkook. And with them, two more men, whom Jimin didn’t recognize.

“Come on in,” Yoongi said, stepping back. “You all know me. And you met Jimin this morning.”

Six sets of eyes turned to him at once.

“Evening,” said Namjoon, stepping forward. “This here’s my wife, Kim Seokjin.”

Seokjin was tall, serious-eyed, and nodding politely. He gave Jimin a small smile.

“I’m Jungkook, in case you forgot,” said the tall, muscled one. “And this is my Taehyung. Hoseok is single and shy don’t be expecting a wife from him.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes and muttered, “Not that shy just don’t want one yet.”

Jimin blinked. “It’s… nice to meet your partners. Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hoseok said, looking around the house with an approving nod. “Smells like heaven.”

Jimin flushed with pride. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always,” Namjoon said.

They kicked off boots, hung up hats, and tramped into the kitchen with the kind of comfortable camaraderie that told Jimin they were used to each other’s noise. The house filled quickly—laughter, footsteps, the clink of silverware and chairs scraping against the floor.

Jimin kept his head down as he moved to serve the ham. Yoongi helped, lifting the pot off the stove with practiced hands and placing it at the center of the table like it was treasure.

Greens, cornbread, and stew joined the spread, and everyone dug in with the eager, appreciative hunger of men who’d worked hard and waited all day for something good.

“Holy hell,” Namjoon said, after one bite of roast. “You married a cook.”

“Don’t let your mouth run off,” Seokjin warned, though he grinned at Jimin. “It’s really good.”

“I haven’t had bread this soft in a year,” Hoseok added, wiping his fingers. “You churn the butter yourself?”

“I did,” Jimin said quietly.

“You milk the cow too?” Jungkook asked, smirking.

“I will tomorrow,” Jimin answered without hesitation.

That earned a laugh around the table.

“Hell,” Namjoon muttered, “if you ever get tired of this one, boss, let us know.”

Yoongi raised a brow. “You trying to get yourself fired?”

“No sir,” Namjoon said, biting into a biscuit. “Just saying—he cleans, cooks, sews, probably sings lullabies too. You lucked out.”

Jimin blushed to his ears.

Taehyung, Jungkook’s wife, leaned in kindly. “You do all this yourself?”

Jimin nodded. “I wanted it to feel… warm. Like a home.”

“Mission accomplished,” Taehyung said. “My husband barely remembers to wash behind his ears.”

“Hey,” Jungkook protested. “I got a system.”

“It’s called ignoring me until I complain,” Taehyung replied.

More laughter.

Yoongi reached beneath the table and gently squeezed Jimin’s hand.

“You’ve made this place feel more alive in two days than I have in ten years,” he said quietly.

Jimin blinked fast. “Thank you.”

The teasing continued over cobbler—slightly burned on the edges, but sweet and tart inside.

“So,” Hoseok said, licking his spoon clean. “Be honest, Jimin. What’d you think when you found out you were marrying the grumpiest man in three counties?”

Jimin choked on a laugh. “I was terrified.”

“You should’ve seen him the day he got your father’s letter,” Jungkook said. “Stared at it like it was a riddle written in cow dung.”

“Why’d you say yes?” Namjoon asked, not unkindly.

Jimin glanced at Yoongi, then back at his plate. “I think… part of me wanted a life that was quiet. Safe. I wanted to be wanted.”

“That’s fair,” Taehyung said softly.

“And you, Yoongi?” Seokjin asked. “You decide to get married out of nowhere?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Didn’t feel like nowhere. I’d been thinking about it for a while.”

“Thinking about Jimin?” Jungkook asked, eyebrows up.

“I remembered him,” Yoongi said. “His father brought him by once, years ago. Tiny thing. Curious. I never forgot him.”

Jimin blinked. “You never said that.”

“Didn’t seem right,” Yoongi murmured. “Didn’t want you to think I expected anything just because I remembered.”

Jimin looked down, heart fluttering like a wild bird behind his ribs.

“Well,” Namjoon said, pushing back from the table, “you’re a damn good match. And if you ever want to get away from him for a day,” he added to Jimin, “you come to ours. Seokjin will feed you ‘til you can’t stand.”

“Seokjin will talk your ear off the whole time,” Hoseok added. “But he’ll feed you.”

“I like chatter,” Jimin said. “it’s fun.”

……………

The clatter of dishes and hum of conversation had faded. The night was quiet again, save for the gentle chirp of crickets through the open kitchen window. Jimin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, warm soapy water up to his wrists. The plates were stacked neatly beside him, crumbs wiped from the counters. Still, his shoulders were tense.

“Let us help with that,” Seokjin said, stepping into the kitchen without waiting for an invitation. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that crinkled easily when he smiled.

Behind him came Taehyung, with his sleeves pushed up and a checkered cloth slung over his shoulder. “You cooked for all of us. Least we can do is scrub a plate or two.”

“I couldn’t—” Jimin started, but Seokjin was already pulling a dish towel from the drawer and tossing another to Taehyung.

“We insist,” Taehyung said cheerfully, bumping Jimin gently with his hip. “You’ll learn quick we don’t stand on formality around here.”

Jimin blinked, surprised by how easily they moved through his kitchen, as if it were already home. It felt strange—but not unpleasant.

“Dinner was wonderful, by the way,” Seokjin added as he grabbed a drying rag and began stacking clean plates. “The shortbread? Perfect. You’ve got hands like my mam—meant in the best way.”

Jimin flushed. “Thank you. I was worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

“You kidding?” Taehyung laughed. “Yoongi looked ready to weep over those carrots. Didn’t peg him for a man who enjoys a stew that much.”

Seokjin leaned on the counter, drying a plate slowly. “Speaking of Yoongi,” he said, tone a little too casual, “how’s the first few days treating you? Settling in alright?”

Jimin hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I… think so.”

“Mm,” Taehyung said, leaning close with a sly grin. “Have you consummated it yet?”

Jimin nearly dropped the spoon he was washing. “I—! W-we… no.”

Seokjin laughed, deep and warm. “Don’t worry, sugar, we’re not judging.”

“Lord, no,” Taehyung added quickly, nudging his friend in the ribs. “I just have no filter. Don’t mind what I say too much.”

“It’s not— I mean—” Jimin ducked his head, ears burning. “We’re… taking things slow. He said we could.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “Well now, that’s something. Most alphas I’ve known would be clawing at the door before the ink was dry.”

“That man’s interesting,” Taehyung said, grinning. “Sturdy, quiet, and full of surprises.”

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jimin admitted in a small voice. “I want to be a good… wife. I want to do things right.”

“You already are,” Seokjin said firmly. “This kitchen’s cleaner than mine’s ever been. That meal was better than anything we’ve eaten all week. And look at you—trying so hard. That counts.”

“It’s not just the cooking,” Taehyung added, stacking another plate. “It’s the way you looked at Yoongi when you passed him that stew. Like you were giving him a piece of your heart.”

“I was not—!”

“You were,” Seokjin said with a chuckle. “And it was sweet.”

Jimin turned toward the sink, hiding his face.

Taehyung leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching Jimin carefully. “You scared of what comes next?”

Jimin nodded slowly. “A little. I… I’ve never had someone treat me kindly like this. It feels… unreal.”

Seokjin put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’ll get easier. The first time I crawled into bed with my mate”—he smiled reassuringly—“I was shaking like a newborn colt.”

“Don’t let him scare you like that. His husband just kissed him on the nose,” Taehyung said softly.

“I thought he was going to bite me.”

“But he didn’t,” Taehyung said, leaning into bump Seokjin’s shoulder with his. “My husband held me the entire time, gently, and that was the start of everything.”

Jimin smiled faintly, his heart warming despite himself.

“You don’t have to rush anything,” Seokjin said. “Marriage isn’t a race. It’s a garden. You tend it slowly. Let it grow.”

“And if you ever have questions,” Taehyung added, “about… well, anything—talk to us. We’ve been through it. Still go through it.”

“We’d like to be your friends,” Seokjin said gently. “Not just folks passing through.”

Jimin swallowed hard. His eyes were damp again, but not from sadness. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“Good.” Taehyung handed him a towel. “Now dry your hands and sit down before you drop from exhaustion. We’ll finish this.”

“I can help—”

Seokjin guided him gently toward the table. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Jimin sat, watching them work, their movements easy and practiced, their laughter soft and genuine. He had never had this before—companionship without suspicion. Friendship offered freely.

As he watched them chat and clean, something inside him eased.

Maybe this place could be home.

Maybe these people could be family.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so alone after all.

……………

The last of the dishes were drying on the rack. The house had settled into a sleepy hush, with only the soft pop of the hearth and the occasional sigh of the wind outside.

Upstairs, the bedroom was lit by a single oil lamp, casting amber light across the wooden walls and the patchwork quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

Jimin moved quietly around the room, brushing out his hair in front of the little mirror hung beside the wardrobe. His nightgown, loose and white, flowed down to his knees, the hem catching the breeze from the cracked window.

Behind him, Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed, rolling up his sleeves as he stared down at his bare feet.

They were both quiet for a while. It wasn’t the awkward silence of strangers, nor the brittle tension of yesterday. It was something softer—like the silence between pages of a story not yet finished.

Jimin glanced back at him through the mirror. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Yoongi looked up, his gaze meeting Jimin’s in the reflection. “Just tired. Long day.”

“It was,” Jimin agreed, placing his brush down. “But it was a good one.”

Yoongi hummed, watching him for a moment. “You looked happy. At dinner.”

“I was.” Jimin turned, his expression warm but a little shy. “Seokjin and Taehyung were very kind to me.”

“They like you,” Yoongi said. “Didn’t expect them to offer to help clean.”

“I didn’t either,” Jimin said with a little laugh. He walked toward the bed, folding the blanket at the foot with neat, precise movements. “But it made me feel… like I wasn’t so alone. Like I might actually belong here.”

Yoongi leaned back on his hands, watching him. “You do belong here.”

Jimin looked over at him, eyes softening. “I want to. More than I ever thought I would.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over and dimmed the lamp a little, letting the room fall into a gentler glow. When he looked back at Jimin, his voice was quiet. “You’re doing more than anyone expected. I see how hard you’re trying.”

Jimin smiled faintly. “It doesn’t feel like trying. Not with you. Not with them.” He sat down on the bed beside Yoongi, folding his legs beneath him. “I was so scared at first. I didn’t know if you’d be cruel. I kept waiting for something to go wrong.”

“I know,” Yoongi said. “I could see it in your eyes.”

“You’ve been patient with me,” Jimin said, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the quilt. “And it’s… helping. I didn’t know being with someone could feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Safe.”

Yoongi’s expression softened. He reached over and gently touched Jimin’s hand. “I’m glad.”

They sat like that for a moment—two men in the soft glow of lamplight, finding their way in the quiet spaces between words.

Jimin tugged lightly at his nightgown, adjusting the fabric over his knees. “I think Seokjin and Taehyung want to be my friends. Real friends. They offered to answer any questions I have… about marriage.”

Yoongi’s brow lifted slightly. “Questions?”

Jimin laughed, a little breathless. “They asked if we’d consummated the marriage.”

Yoongi blinked. “They what?”

“I nearly dropped a plate,” Jimin said, covering his face with both hands. “But they were just curious. They didn’t mean it badly.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound low and amused. “They’re good men. A little nosy, maybe.”

“Very nosy.” Jimin peeked at him through his fingers. “But I didn’t mind. I think I’d like to have them over again.”

“You can,” Yoongi said. “It’s your home too.”

That made Jimin pause.

“My home,” he repeated quietly.

Yoongi nodded. “If you want it to be.”

Jimin’s eyes shimmered in the low light, and he nodded back. “I do.”

A comfortable stillness settled between them again. Jimin stood, moving to blow out the lamp, then crawled into bed. The sheets were cool against his legs, and he pulled the quilt up to his chest with a sigh.

Yoongi followed, moving slowly, as if mindful of how much space he took up. He settled on his side, a little stiff, trying not to brush against Jimin without permission.

“You can come closer,” Jimin said softly, after a moment.

Yoongi hesitated, then inched closer until their bodies touched lightly under the quilt. Jimin’s back curved instinctively toward him.

They lay in silence, breath steady, the faint creak of the house settling around them.

Just as Jimin was beginning to doze, he shifted slightly, and the nightgown rode up around his thighs. He felt the sudden warmth of Yoongi’s hand catch his leg—firm, instinctive—and both of them froze.

Jimin sucked in a breath. Yoongi pulled back immediately, hand retreating like he’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispered, his voice thin but steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Yoongi said, flustered. “You moved and I just—”

“I’m not upset,” Jimin said again, rolling over slowly to face him. Their faces were inches apart now, breath mingling in the quiet. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Yoongi studied him carefully, searching for any flicker of fear or discomfort. “Are you sure?”

Jimin nodded. “I trust you.”

Yoongi exhaled, the tension draining from his shoulders. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Jimin’s cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he said quietly.

Jimin’s throat worked around a knot of emotion. “I’m learning. How to trust. How to be loved.”

“You’re doing beautifully.”

They lay there, eyes locked in the quiet, until Jimin’s lashes fluttered with sleep.

“Will you hold me?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi didn’t answer with words. He pulled Jimin close, their bodies fitting together in the tender curve of an embrace. Jimin nestled into his chest, arms wrapped around Yoongi’s middle, legs tangling loosely beneath the quilt.

The warmth of the other man, the steady rhythm of his breath, the strength in his arms—it calmed something deep in Jimin that had been restless for years.

“Goodnight,” Jimin murmured.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Yoongi replied.

And there, wrapped in the stillness of their new life, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, their hearts just a little more open than they’d been the day before.

……………

Jimin woke with a gasp.

His breath caught in his throat, chest heaving as he blinked up at the ceiling, heart racing like he'd been chased. The morning light was barely beginning to seep through the lace curtains, casting long pale lines across the bed. The sheets twisted around his legs, damp and clinging.

A low sound caught in his throat as realization struck, a warm flush flooding his cheeks.

No.

No, no, no—

It had been a dream, one of those dreams. Vivid and slow and too real. Gentle hands tracing the dip of his back. A voice murmuring his name. The weight of a body behind him, not threatening, but right. His legs tangled, the pressure building—

He buried his face in the pillow, groaning softly in shame.

Behind him, the bed shifted. A rustle of covers. Jimin froze.

Yoongi was awake.

He felt it before he heard it—a deep inhale, quiet but unmistakable.

The scent.

He knew what Yoongi was. What he would pick up on, even if neither of them said a word.

“Jimin?” Yoongi’s voice was low and careful, still thick with sleep.

Jimin curled tighter into himself, wishing he could vanish. “I—I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I wasn’t thinking—”

“Hey,” Yoongi interrupted gently. “It’s okay. It’s completely normal.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t do it on purpose,” Jimin mumbled, his cheeks burning hotter than the sunrise outside.

Yoongi shifted again, sitting up slightly behind him. His voice stayed calm and steady. “I know. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Dreams aren’t something you can control.”

Jimin turned his face further into the pillow. “You can smell it.”

Yoongi let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh, but something close. “Yeah. I can.”

Jimin groaned.

“But that doesn’t mean anything has to happen,” Yoongi added, quiet but sure. “I’m not expecting anything from you. Not now. Not ever, unless you want it.”

There was a pause. Jimin’s breath slowed a little, though his heart still fluttered beneath his ribs like a trapped bird.

“You’re not upset?” he asked softly.

“No,” Yoongi said. “Of course not. If anything, I’m glad you’re comfortable enough here to… let go like that. Even in your sleep.”

Jimin peeked over his shoulder. Yoongi was watching him, propped up on one elbow, the morning sun touching his face with gold. His dark hair was a little messy, his eyes soft.

“I still feel stupid,” Jimin muttered.

“You’re not stupid,” Yoongi said. “You’re human.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the quiet thick with something fragile.

“I should get cleaned up,” Jimin said finally, pushing the covers off and sitting up carefully, careful not to meet Yoongi’s gaze again.

Yoongi didn’t stop him, just nodded. “I’ll head downstairs. Take your time.”

Jimin padded over to the dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of underthings and one of his favorite skirts—a simple linen one dyed the soft green of springtime. It flared gently at the hips and made him feel pretty. Whole.

He gathered his things and disappeared into the small washroom. As the door shut behind him, he pressed his forehead to the cool wood, letting out a breath.

It hadn’t been scary. Yoongi hadn’t made a crude comment, hadn’t stared, hadn’t even moved toward him. He’d just… been there. Calm. Solid. Safe.

That realization settled somewhere deep inside, curling up in a place that had long felt hollow.

After washing up and changing, Jimin returned to the bedroom. The bed had been left unmade, a small kindness, and the scent of cooked oats and firewood was already wafting up the stairs.

He combed through his hair quickly and tied it back with a soft ribbon, then smoothed his hands down the front of his skirt. His pulse had steadied. His face still felt warm, but it was fading.

Downstairs, the kitchen glowed with morning light. Yoongi was at the stove, stirring a pot with his back turned, still in his undershirt and trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“You look nice,” Yoongi said without turning, as soon as he heard Jimin’s footsteps.

Jimin paused in the doorway. “Thank you.”

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “That color suits you.”

Jimin smiled back, shy but genuine, and crossed the room to set the table. “It smells good in here.”

“I thought we could eat before I head out to the barn,” Yoongi said. “Chickens will need feeding soon.”

“I’ll come with you after,” Jimin offered quickly. “I want to try feeding them again.”

Yoongi nodded. “We’ll go together then.”

Breakfast was quiet, but not awkward. They sat across from each other, eating warm oats with a dollop of apple preserves and thick cream. Jimin caught Yoongi watching him more than once—not in a way that made him feel exposed but seen.

Halfway through the meal, Jimin finally found the courage to say, “Thank you. For this morning.”

Yoongi looked up. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” Jimin said, setting down his spoon. “I’ve never… no one’s ever made me feel safe like that. Not when I was vulnerable.”

Yoongi’s gaze softened again. “You’re not a burden, Jimin. Not your body, not your feelings. Not your dreams.”

Jimin’s eyes prickled. He looked down at his hands, nodding. “I’m trying to believe that.”

Yoongi reached across the table and touched his fingers briefly. “You don’t have to rush. We’ve got time.”

The sunlight poured through the window, painting their hands in gold.

And for the first time that morning, Jimin felt something bloom in his chest that wasn’t fear or shame.

He felt hope.

Chapter Text

The morning sun warmed the backs of their necks as they stepped into the chicken yard. The hens stirred with soft, feathery rustles, clucking and pecking curiously as Jimin followed Yoongi through the wooden gate.

“Start by tossing a little grain like this,” Yoongi said, scattering feed with a practiced flick of the wrist. The chickens immediately swarmed, squabbling over the golden kernels.

Jimin giggled at the flurry of feathers and fluff, stepping forward with his own tin pail of feed. “Do they always act like this? They were calmer yesterday”

“They’re dramatic,” Yoongi said, grinning. “Especially that one. She’ll peck your ankles if you’re late. Jungkook came and fed them early yesterday morning so when we came, they weren’t as hungry.”

Jimin cautiously scattered a handful, then yelped when the one Yoongi pointed at darted for his foot. He stumbled back into Yoongi, who caught him with one steady hand around his waist.

“I warned you,” Yoongi said, voice low and amused.

Jimin’s breath caught. He wasn’t used to being touched like that—lightly, firmly, kindly. He straightened quickly; cheeks pink. “You did. I just didn’t think she’d be so bold.”

Yoongi chuckled, eyes flicking over him once to make sure he was truly alright before stepping away. “She’s got nothing on the horses.”

Jimin raised a brow. “Are we seeing them next?”

Yoongi nodded and gestured for him to follow. “You said you’ve never ridden before?”

“No,” Jimin said, clutching the empty pail to his chest as they walked toward the barn. “My father thought it was a waste of time. Said omegas had no business on horses.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed. “Then he was an idiot. Anyone can learn, if they want to.”

The barn smelled of hay, warm animals, and sunlight. Dust motes danced in the golden light pouring through the slats. A tall bay mare lifted her head from her stall and whinnied.

“This one’s a little older,” Yoongi said. “She’s calm and steady. Perfect for beginners.”

Jimin approached carefully, smiling as the horse nuzzled his hand. “She’s beautiful.”

“She likes you,” Yoongi said, already pulling a saddle from the rack. “Let’s see if we can get you up there.”

Jimin blinked. “Now?”

“No time like the present.” Yoongi smiled, leading the mare out into the open yard behind the barn. “I’ll help you up.”

Jimin hesitated, staring at the large, muscled animal and then at Yoongi. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull myself up.”

“You don’t need to be,” Yoongi said simply. He set the stirrup and turned to face Jimin. “Put your foot here. Trust me.”

Jimin did as he was told, and Yoongi’s hands were on him again—one at his waist, the other steadying his thigh. In one smooth motion, Yoongi lifted him, guiding him gently into the saddle.

Jimin’s breath caught again.

Yoongi’s hands were strong. Not rough or careless, but steady and sure. He made it look effortless, like lifting Jimin was no heavier than picking up a crate of apples. There was something deeply reassuring in that strength—and something flustering, too.

He shifted awkwardly in the saddle, trying to focus on the horse beneath him and not the way his skin tingled where Yoongi’s hands had touched. “This feels… strange.”

“Give it a minute,” Yoongi said, walking beside the horse to lead her in a slow circle. “Just focus on your seat. Keep your back straight, heels down.”

Jimin obeyed, biting his lip. His skirt had been tied up for riding, showing more of his legs than he was used to. He wondered if Yoongi noticed. He wondered if he wanted him to.

The thought made his face go hot.

“You’re doing fine,” Yoongi said, his voice smooth and unhurried. “She’s taken many beginners out on their first ride. She’ll take care of you.”

Jimin glanced down at him. Yoongi walked with one hand on the reins, the other occasionally reaching up to adjust Jimin’s posture. Every time he touched him—even just his knee or his boot—it sent a little shock through his system.

He tried not to squirm.

Yoongi’s arms were tanned and strong, the rolled sleeves of his shirt showing the way his muscles flexed with each movement. His hands were broad, his fingers long and callused from work. Jimin’s gaze dropped to them again and again without meaning to.

It didn’t help that Yoongi was quietly handsome—not the kind of handsome that tried to be seen, but the kind that snuck up on you and refused to let go. His focus, his stillness, the way he gave all of his attention to whatever he was doing—it was magnetic.

Jimin was very aware of the heat pooling in his belly.

He was also very aware of the fact that Yoongi could probably smell it.

“Are you alright up there?” Yoongi asked, glancing up at him. His tone was kind, as always. Unassuming. If he’d noticed anything, he gave no sign of it.

“Yes,” Jimin said too quickly. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Yoongi smiled slightly, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Thinking’s good. But don’t lean forward too much—you’ll throw off your balance.”

Jimin adjusted. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” Yoongi gave the mare a light pat on the neck. “Let’s go a little faster.”

He clicked his tongue, and the horse responded, stepping into a gentle trot. Jimin bounced slightly, gasping as he tried to hold on. The saddle shifted beneath him, and he panicked.

“Easy,” Yoongi said, stepping in close. He placed a hand on Jimin’s lower back to steady him. “You’ve got this.”

Jimin exhaled shakily. “I didn’t realize it would feel so… alive.”

Yoongi chuckled. “It’s a partnership. You and her have to trust each other.”

That word—trust—echoed in Jimin’s head. He glanced down at Yoongi again, saw the calm in his expression, the easy strength in his body. He wanted to trust him. He was trusting him, bit by bit, even if it scared him.

The lesson continued for another half hour, until the mare had made several slow circles and Jimin’s legs were aching. When Yoongi helped him down, it was with the same quiet ease, lifting him from the saddle like he weighed nothing.

As Jimin slid to the ground, he staggered slightly, and Yoongi caught him again, their faces inches apart.

“You alright?” Yoongi murmured.

Jimin nodded, breathless.

Yoongi’s hand lingered just a second too long before he stepped back.

“Next time, we’ll go out to the pasture,” Yoongi said, leading the horse back into the barn. “You did well.”

Jimin followed, heart fluttering.

He didn’t know what it meant, all these things he was feeling. The warmth. The nerves. The heat that curled low in his stomach when Yoongi touched him. He didn’t know if it was just attraction, or safety, or the first flickers of something more.

But he knew he didn’t want it to stop.

Not yet.

Not when it was finally starting to feel like he was wanted.

……………

The door creaked as Jimin stepped back into the house, his skirts rustling softly around his legs.

The morning sun lit the kitchen window in a warm haze, casting golden lines across the table and floor. He lingered in the entryway for a moment, letting the familiar quiet of the house settle around him like a blanket.

It was still new to him—this silence that didn’t feel threatening. A silence that meant safety, not tension.

He set down the empty grain pail on the hook by the door and reached for a clean towel to wipe his hands.

His palms were still dusty from the barn, and a few stray chicken feathers clung to his sleeves. He picked them off with a tiny smile. Even covered in straw and feed, he felt lighter than he had in days. Maybe even months.

He busied himself by tidying up—sweeping the corner where boots had tracked in dirt, refolding the tea towel that had slipped from its place by the basin. Every motion was habitual now, something he clung to.

Keeping the house tidy made him feel useful, and being useful quieted the nervous flutter in his chest.

Still, even as his hands moved on their own, his thoughts refused to stay focused.

They circled back again and again to the way Yoongi had held him that morning. The way his hands—so large, so sure—had lifted him into the saddle with ease. The way he’d caught him, steady and warm, when Jimin nearly slipped.

There was something about that quiet strength, that calm presence, that made Jimin's insides twist in ways he didn’t fully understand.

He bit his lip and busied himself with the drying rack, straightening the few cups that had been washed the night before.

Last night’s dream returned to him in flashes.

He had woken just before dawn, face hot, heart pounding, and an ache between his legs that he’d tried to ignore. The memory was fuzzy now, but he remembered the weight of Yoongi’s hand on his waist. The way his lips had felt against his neck—so soft and slow. In the dream, Yoongi had whispered things to him, praise and promises, things no one had ever said to Jimin before.

And when he’d woken up, sticky and breathless, it had taken everything in him not to cry from embarrassment.

What must Yoongi have thought, catching the scent of him? He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t looked at him any differently at breakfast, but Jimin knew. Alphas could always tell. He’d overheard enough whispers to know how their noses worked.

He scrubbed at the counter a little harder than necessary, cheeks burning.

What if Yoongi thought he was asking for something? That Jimin wanted to— to do things right away? Was he supposed to? Was that what alphas and omegas were meant to do, once married?

Jimin didn’t even know how it worked, not really.

No one had ever explained it to him. His mother certainly didn’t, even if you count that small conversation after his first heat. The other omegas he’d known were older, already married or sent off before he could ask anything. The one time he had gathered the courage to ask his mother, the woman had thrown a boot at his head and told him to shut his "perverted little mouth."

He rinsed out a cloth and started wiping down the windowsill, trying to focus.

He knew the idea of it, vaguely—alpha anatomy, omega anatomy, beta anatomy, the general purpose of the bond—but beyond that, it was a hazy, terrifying unknown.

All he knew was that it involved closeness. Vulnerability. Letting someone in, in the most physical and emotional sense. He couldn’t imagine baring himself like that—skin, scent, sounds—to anyone.

And yet…

And yet, when he thought of Yoongi, his heart didn’t lurch with fear.

It fluttered.

It warmed.

He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t even know if it was right. But when Yoongi had pulled him into the saddle, when his strong hands had steadied him, Jimin had wanted—just for a second—to lean back into him. To let his head fall against his shoulder and breathe him in. To feel held.

He rinsed the cloth again and moved on to wiping the table, needing to do something with his hands. He still couldn’t bring himself to say the word—sex—even in his own head without cringing. But the curiosity was there. The wanting. The quiet wondering of what it might feel like, if it was Yoongi. If it was gentle.

The memory of the dream came again, sharp this time. The way Yoongi’s fingers had tangled in his hair, the way his voice had said, You’re mine, Jimin. You’re so good for me.

He dropped the cloth, eyes wide.

“Mercy,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his face. His cheeks were burning now. “What is wrong with me?”

He paced to the basin and splashed cold water on his skin, trying to wash away the feeling. He was a married omega, yes, but that didn’t mean he had to be thinking about his husband’s hands, his mouth, his—

Jimin groaned into the towel, burying his face.

He was going to die of shame.

He should’ve asked Taehyung or Seokjin last night. They’d said he could. Said they’d answer any questions. But even with their kindness, how was he supposed to say those words out loud?

What does it feel like?

What if I want to?

What if I don’t, and he does?

That last one curled ice into his stomach.

Yoongi had promised—reassured him on their wedding night that nothing had to happen. That Jimin would never be forced or rushed. And he believed him. He did.

But he also knew that alphas had needs. Needs he didn’t fully understand. What if Yoongi started to resent him for holding back? What if kindness turned to frustration, or worse, indifference?

The thought made his stomach twist.

He paused, bracing himself against the sink, breathing slowly.

It didn’t help to spiral.

He needed to keep going—clean the parlor next, then maybe take a look at the mending pile. A few of Yoongi’s shirts had small tears near the elbows, and Jimin liked the thought of stitching them. Of giving back in small ways. Quiet ways.

He pressed a hand to his chest.

Whatever came next… he wanted to be ready. Whether that meant more talking, more questions, or just waiting until he understood what he was truly ready for.

For now, he dried his hands, smoothed his apron, and turned toward the parlor with the dream still burning at the back of his mind.

Yoongi was patient.

And Jimin was learning.

One step, one stitch, one thought at a time.

……………

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light through the farmhouse windows as Jimin moved through the upstairs hallway with a clean sheet folded over his arm.

He had finished the washing earlier that morning, but the spare room had been bothering him all day.

Dust gathered quickly in there, and though no one used it, the idea of letting any part of their home go untended made his skin itch.

He pushed the door open with his hip, taking in the quiet room. The bed was narrow but tidy, the mattress still firm. There was a little dresser against the wall and a small rocking chair by the window, dust collecting along the curved back.

He set about shaking out the sheet and tucking it over the mattress. His hands moved on their own as his mind wandered.

He imagined the bed replaced with a cradle. The rocker turned toward the light, a soft blanket over the armrest. He could see himself sitting there, cradling a baby, humming something gentle as tiny fingers gripped his shirt.

Would the baby have his nose? Yoongi’s eyes?

Jimin paused, fingers frozen around the pillowcase he’d just fluffed. He blushed at the thought. A child. His and Yoongi’s.

It had once felt like such a distant fantasy. An impossible one. Omegas like him weren’t made for soft things; he'd been told. They were burdens. Mouths to feed. He’d never even dared to imagine a future where he could be a parent—where someone might love him enough to raise a child together.

But now, things were different.

Yoongi had been so gentle with him. So, patient. Never pushing, never expecting.

Jimin remembered the way he’d looked when showing him the barn, the easy confidence in his voice when he spoke about the horses and the chickens. The way he’d helped him onto the saddle, strong hands gripping his waist.

And the way his arms had felt when wrapped around him.

Would he hold a baby like that, too?

Jimin smiled to himself, pressing the pillow into place. He dusted the windowsill and swept the floor, the scent of lavender soap lingering from the laundry.

When he glanced at the clock, his heart gave a little jump.

Dinner.

Yoongi would be back soon.

He rushed down the stairs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he moved through the kitchen. He set a pot of water on to boil and pulled bread from the cupboard, setting about slicing it. In a skillet, he began frying up bits of ham and chopped onion, the scent quickly filling the air.

Jimin liked cooking. He didn’t always know what to make, and he wasn’t yet sure of all Yoongi’s tastes, but it was nice to do something for someone. It was nicer still when that someone looked at him like Yoongi did—with quiet approval, as though he saw him.

He was stirring the pot when he heard the creak of the front door.

"Jimin?"

He wiped his hands quickly on his apron and stepped into the hall. "I’m here."

Yoongi stood in the doorway, dusty from the road, his dark hair windblown beneath his hat. His eyes softened the moment they landed on Jimin.

And in his hands—wildflowers.

They were mismatched, freshly picked. Some lavender, a few buttercups, a single pink coneflower. Jimin blinked.

"I saw these on the way back and thought maybe… you'd like them." Yoongi held them out awkwardly. "I know it's not much."

Jimin stared.

Then he covered his mouth with his hand as tears welled in his eyes.

"Hey—hey, I didn’t mean to upset you," Yoongi said quickly, stepping forward.

Jimin shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. "No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… No one’s ever gotten me flowers before."

Yoongi hesitated, then gently touched his shoulder. "You deserve flowers, Jimin. And more than that."

The words hit deeper than he expected. Jimin sniffled and nodded, still smiling even as he wiped his eyes. "They’re beautiful. Thank you."

Yoongi smiled a little, clearly relieved. He stepped into the kitchen, watching as Jimin filled a chipped ceramic jar with water and carefully arranged the bouquet inside. He set it on the windowsill, where the evening sun poured in.

"It’s perfect," Jimin whispered.

"You're welcome." Yoongi glanced at the pot on the stove, the table already half-set. "Smells like something good in here."

"Oh!" Jimin turned back to the food, flustered. "It’s not much, just some ham and potatoes and bread. I hope you like it."

"It smells like home," Yoongi said simply, and Jimin nearly melted.

They sat down together, and though the conversation was quiet, there was a warmth between them now. A softness that hadn’t been there the day before. Jimin didn’t flinch when Yoongi reached to pour him water. Yoongi didn’t pull away when their knees touched under the table.

And when they finished, Jimin stood to clear the plates, but Yoongi gently took them from his hands. "You cooked. Let me wash up."

Jimin bit his lip, heart fluttering.

"I’ll dry, then," he said, voice small.

They worked side by side at the sink, the sun sinking behind the hills outside. The flowers watched from the windowsill, a little splash of color in the fading light.

When the dishes were done and the counter wiped clean, Jimin turned to Yoongi, unsure what to do next.

"Would you like to sit for a while?" he asked. "Or—oh, I could read aloud? If you’re tired, I mean—"

Yoongi shook his head, smiling gently. "Just sitting with you sounds nice."

So, they moved to the couch in the parlor, the air still carrying the scent of dinner and lavender soap. Jimin curled one leg beneath himself, glancing at Yoongi out of the corner of his eye.

Yoongi rested his hand on the back of the couch, close—but not touching.

"Thank you," Jimin said quietly. "For the flowers. For being patient. For not… expecting anything from me."

Yoongi turned his head. "I only want what you want, Jimin. That’s all."

Jimin’s throat tightened. He nodded and looked away.

But the smile on his face lingered, long after the sun went down.

……………

The bedroom was quiet except for the soft rustle of cotton and the creak of floorboards as Jimin moved around.

The oil lamp on the dresser glowed warm and low, casting flickering shadows across the worn wooden walls. He stood in front of the mirror, combing through his hair with slow, thoughtful strokes, eyes flitting to his reflection, then away again.

Yoongi was behind him, already in bed, the covers drawn up over his lap as he leaned against the headboard with a book in his hands. The gentle murmur of turning pages filled the space between them.

Jimin took a breath and adjusted the neckline of his nightgown. This one was different from the last—shorter, softer, the hem brushing mid-thigh instead of past the knee.

His ears burned just thinking about it. He hadn't meant to wear this one. It was just the first clean thing he pulled from the chest, and now that he was standing in the lamp light, he realized just how sheer the fabric was in certain places.

He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror. They weren’t on the book anymore.

Jimin’s breath caught.

Yoongi blinked once, then quickly looked back down at the page.

“I, uh...” Jimin cleared his throat and smoothed down the nightgown, as if that would make it longer. “Is it alright if I open the window just a bit? It’s warm tonight.”

Yoongi hummed. “Of course.”

Jimin padded over to the window, unlatching it and letting in a breeze that fluttered the lamp’s flame and stirred the thin fabric around his thighs. He didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

From behind him, Yoongi’s voice was gentle. “Seokjin and Taehyung told me today that they’re looking forward to seeing you. They invited you over for tea tomorrow morning—if you’d like to go.”

Jimin smiled shyly, brushing hair from his face as he sat at the edge of the bed. “Really? They want to see me?”

“They do.” Yoongi closed the book, setting it aside. “They said you seemed sweet. And brave. And that they wanted to make sure you felt welcome.”

A flush rose to Jimin’s cheeks. “That’s kind of them. I... I’d like that, I think. It’s just tea?”

“Just tea,” Yoongi assured him. “You don’t have to stay long, only as long as you’re comfortable. I think they know how overwhelming this can all be.”

Jimin nodded slowly, heartwarming at the thought. “It’ll be nice to talk to someone who knows how it all works. They’re... happy with their alphas?”

Yoongi’s expression softened. “From what I can tell, very. Taehyung told me once that his husband still sings to him every night.”

Jimin's heart gave a small, hopeful ache. “That sounds lovely.”

They were quiet for a moment, the breeze drifting in and the sounds of the night filling the room—crickets, the occasional call of an owl, a far-off lowing cow.

Then Yoongi said, “We’ll also be heading into town in the afternoon, if you’re up for it. I need to pick up a few things, and I thought you might want to come along.”

Jimin perked up. “Really? I haven’t been into town in... a long time.”

“I figured you might like to see the shops. Maybe get something nice.”

Jimin turned slightly on the bed, pulling his legs up under him. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

Yoongi smiled. “I know. But I want to.”

The words settled between them, warm and unexpected.

Then Yoongi’s gaze dropped again, and lingered—on the way Jimin’s nightgown had slipped up as he shifted on the bed, revealing the soft curve of his thigh.

Jimin noticed the look, the slight narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes, the way his nostrils flared just subtly, like he was trying not to breathe too deeply.

The air changed.

Jimin’s breath caught again.

Yoongi blinked and turned away, suddenly standing from the bed. “I’m—I’ll be back in a moment.”

He didn’t look at Jimin as he left the room, closing the door behind him with a careful hand.

Jimin sat in stunned silence for a long moment.

And then, slowly, understanding crept in.

His dream. The one from last night.

Oh.

He turned pink to the tips of his ears.

By the time Yoongi came back, several minutes later, Jimin had buried himself under the covers, his back to the door, pretending to sleep. But his heart was thudding in his chest, and the air smelled faintly... different.

Yoongi moved quietly, slipping back into bed without a word. The mattress dipped beside Jimin, and they lay in the hush, not touching, but close.

Eventually, Yoongi whispered, “Jimin?”

Jimin turned just slightly, enough to look at him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry if... if anything made you uncomfortable tonight. I didn’t mean to stare.”

Jimin swallowed hard. “You didn’t.”

Yoongi searched his face in the dim light. “It’s alright if you were. I just want you to feel safe here. With me.”

“I do,” Jimin said softly. “I just... it’s all new. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Or what I should want.”

Yoongi nodded, his voice low and sincere. “You don’t have to know yet. There’s no rush.”

Jimin shifted, turning fully toward him. The blanket slipped down from his shoulder, and Yoongi instinctively reached to pull it up again—but paused when Jimin’s hand brushed his.

Their eyes met again.

“You smell nice,” Jimin said suddenly, then blushed furiously. “I mean, you always do, but—sorry, I shouldn’t say that.”

Yoongi smiled, a soft, private thing. “You can say whatever you want, sweetheart.”

The endearment wrapped around Jimin like warmth from a fire.

He hesitated, then scooted forward slightly, until they were close enough to touch. “Can we... can we lie like before?”

“Of course.”

Yoongi turned onto his side, opening his arms in invitation. Jimin tucked himself in, back to chest, and Yoongi wrapped an arm around his waist, his hand splaying gently against his stomach.

Jimin felt safe. Whole.

And even though his heart was still fluttering with embarrassment, he let himself relax into the warmth of his husband’s embrace. He could feel the steady beat of Yoongi’s heart against his back, the rise and fall of his chest. It was grounding.

As they lay there, Jimin whispered, “Thank you. For today.”

Yoongi pressed his forehead to Jimin’s nape. “Anytime.”

And they drifted off to sleep together, wrapped in warmth, in scent, in quiet understanding.

……………

Jimin dreamed again.

It started soft—Yoongi’s hands, large and warm, curling around his waist as they stood in the orchard, the trees heavy with fruit. His nightgown clung to his thighs, fluttering in the wind, and when he turned in the dream, Yoongi was watching him with an intensity that made Jimin’s whole body buzz. There was no fear, only want, and when Yoongi leaned in—rough jaw brushing against his cheek, breath hot against his neck—Jimin felt the spark of something deeper than longing.

Something desperate.

Something real.

Yoongi’s lips parted against his skin.

“You’re mine,” he murmured.

Jimin woke with a gasp.

The room was still dark, the sky outside the window a deep pre-dawn blue. His heart thundered in his chest. It took him a moment to register the wetness between his thighs, the way the fabric of his nightgown clung uncomfortably, damp with release. His cheeks burned.

“Oh no,” he whispered, his hand flying beneath the covers.

He hadn’t done this since he was a teenager. Not since he’d stopped letting himself hope.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His body was still humming, pulsing from the remnants of the dream, but shame bubbled up to meet it. He curled in on himself.

Then he froze.

Yoongi shifted behind him.

They’d fallen asleep spooning again, and now Yoongi's body was pressed flush to his own—warm and strong, one arm draped around his middle, his breath soft and even against the back of Jimin’s neck.

But that wasn’t all.

Jimin could feel it—hard, unmistakable, pressing against the curve of his backside through the thin barrier of both their clothes.

His breath caught.

He didn’t dare move.

Yoongi made a quiet noise in his sleep, a low groan that sent a jolt straight through Jimin’s stomach. Then he stirred again and blinked awake.

There was a pause—a stillness—as both of them realized the position they were in.

Yoongi quickly shifted back, giving Jimin space.

“I—” His voice was thick with sleep, but laced with concern. “Sorry. That wasn’t... I didn’t mean to wake up like that.”

Jimin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His cheeks were burning, and he could still feel the wetness, sticky and uncomfortable beneath the covers.

Yoongi sat up slowly, raking a hand through his hair. “Jimin?”

Jimin turned onto his side, facing away. “I’m okay,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

There was another pause, heavy with things neither of them were saying. Then Yoongi’s voice came again, softer.

“I can smell it,” he admitted gently. “I’m sorry. It’s... it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s normal. Especially for omegas your age. You’re just... adjusting.”

Jimin buried his face in the pillow. “Please don’t talk about it.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said, immediately. “We don’t have to.”

There was another beat, and then Yoongi stood from the bed, careful not to look at him too long. Jimin dared a glance. Yoongi’s back was to him, his shirt hanging low enough to hide the evidence of his own arousal—but Jimin could still feel it. Still smell it, faint and unmistakable in the early morning air.

“I’m going to go wash up,” Yoongi said quietly. “You take your time getting ready. I’ll start breakfast.”

Jimin nodded into the pillow.

The door shut softly behind Yoongi, and the room felt too big all at once.

He lay there for a moment, trying not to cry.

His heart was racing, his thighs still trembling with aftershocks, and all he could think about was the way Yoongi had held him. The way it had felt—natural, safe... and deeply confusing.

He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grimacing at the sticky sensation beneath his gown. He tugged the fabric away, flustered, and padded over to the washbasin to clean himself, fingers trembling slightly as he scrubbed at the fabric and then at his skin.

It wasn’t just the shame. It was the not knowing.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him, what his body wanted, why it kept reacting this way. Why thoughts of Yoongi filled his head more and more, even when he didn’t want them to.

Even the scent of Yoongi lingered on the sheets, warm and woodsy, tinged with the faint, sharp edge of arousal. It made Jimin’s cheeks flush again.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening so fast. He didn’t even know what he was allowed to want.

He dressed quickly, choosing a soft cotton blouse and one of his favorite skirts—simple and cream-colored with a little floral stitching at the hem. It helped ground him, helped him feel more like himself. But as he smoothed the fabric over his hips, he caught his reflection in the mirror and whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”

He didn’t know how to ask Yoongi—not yet.

But he could talk to someone.

Taehyung and Seokjin.

The thought steadied him. They’d promised he could ask them anything, no matter how embarrassing. They were omegas too. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?

He smoothed down his hair and gave himself one last look before leaving the room. He wouldn’t bring it up right away, but he would ask. He needed to understand. He couldn’t keep walking through this in the dark, scared of every heartbeat and scent.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the scent of fried eggs and warm bread greeted him. Yoongi was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, spatula in hand. He glanced over and gave Jimin a small, warm smile.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” Jimin said, soft and shy.

He took a seat at the table, hands folded in his lap.

They didn’t speak about what had happened.

But Jimin caught the way Yoongi glanced at him from time to time, checking in, watching to see if he was alright.

And for now—just for now—Jimin let the warmth of breakfast, and the quiet comfort of Yoongi’s presence ease the edge of his confusion.

Today he would visit Seokjin and Taehyung.

And he would finally ask the questions that had been building in his chest.

……………

The morning sun spilled across the floorboards in soft gold, warming the edges of the house and lighting up the little vase of wildflowers Yoongi had placed on the windowsill the night before.

Jimin stood in the kitchen, hands dusted with flour, cheeks warm and pink—not just from the heat of the oven, but from the pleasant flutter in his chest. He kept glancing at the small bundle of wildflowers, and every time he did, his heart gave a little skip.

No one had ever brought him flowers before.

He had cried last night, quietly, pressed against Yoongi’s chest while they hugged by the kitchen window.

Yoongi had said nothing, just held him with one arm around his waist, like he knew Jimin needed to be held for as long as it took.

So now, Jimin wanted to do something for him. A thank you, but also something more. Something that said: I see you, and I’m grateful. Something sweet and warm, like the way he felt when he looked at Yoongi.

He rolled the dough gently, humming under his breath, then used the side of a jar to cut it into small, neat rounds. Scones weren’t hard—he’d made them before, back when he was allowed to be in the kitchen unsupervised. But this time, he brushed the tops with honey instead of milk, so they’d have a soft, golden crust and a bit of extra sweetness.

As they baked, the house filled with the smell of butter and thyme. Jimin cleaned up quickly, then wrapped the warm scones in a cloth and tucked them into a little basket.

He smoothed down his cream-colored skirt and changed into a white blouse that tied at the throat. His hair was tidy, cheeks still flushed from the kitchen’s warmth, and his heartbeat fast as he stepped outside.

The sky was blue and high, a few soft clouds trailing by. The fields stretched wide ahead, and in the distance, Jimin could just make out movement—Yoongi and the farmhands, working near the fence line.

He held the basket close and walked down the path.

The moment he was spotted, he heard a sharp whistle—Hoseok’s, he was pretty sure—and then Jungkook’s unmistakable holler: “Well look who’s bringing sunshine with him!”

Jimin blushed deeply but smiled anyway.

By the time he reached the field, all three farmhands were watching with wide grins. Namjoon gave a short wave, and Hoseok nudged Yoongi with his elbow.

“You didn’t tell us your omega was a baker, boss. We would have married him ourselves if we knew.”

Yoongi turned, straightening up from where he’d been fixing a fence post. His hat was tilted back on his head, dark hair curling with sweat at the edges, shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He blinked in surprise at first, then smiled—slow and wide, like it reached somewhere deep.

“You brought scones?” he asked, voice warm.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Jimin said, holding out the basket. “For the flowers yesterday.”

Yoongi looked at him for a long moment, eyes soft. He reached out, took the basket, and then looked like he didn’t know what to say.

Behind him, Hoseok made a loud sniffing noise. “Hell, if I got scones for breakfast every time I fixed a fence, maybe I’d have a husband or wife too.”

“Maybe you need to be less of a pig first,” Jungkook muttered.

Namjoon just laughed. “I don’t know, I think it’s sweet. Look at you two—married and still blushing like school kids.”

“I am not blushing,” Yoongi muttered.

“You’re red as a beet,” Namjoon said. “Bet he smells good too.”

“Don’t sniff me,” Yoongi warned, pointing at him with mock sternness. “I’ll put you on latrine duty for a week.”

Jimin couldn’t stop giggling. The teasing was gentle, not cruel—nothing like the things he’d grown up hearing. It didn’t sting. It was warm and familiar, the way people talked when they liked each other.

“Do you want one?” he asked, holding the basket toward Namjoon.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart. Bless you,” Namjoon said, grabbing one and immediately taking a bite. He groaned so loud it made Hoseok laugh.

Jimin smiled, watching them all banter. It was strange to feel included. Strange—and lovely. These men worked hard, sweated and dirtied their hands from sunup to sundown. But they looked at him like he wasn’t a burden. Like he belonged.

Yoongi stepped closer and offered him a bite of his own scone, holding it up with two fingers. “You should try it,” he said. “Tastes better when you share.”

Jimin leaned forward and took a small bite, lips brushing Yoongi’s fingers.

Yoongi’s breath hitched, almost too quietly to hear. Jimin looked up at him, and their eyes locked.

For a second, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

And then—

“You’re going to kill us with the sweetness,” Jungkook muttered.

Jimin pulled back quickly, flustered, and Yoongi cleared his throat.

“I was thinking,” Yoongi said, adjusting his hat. “Namjoon and Seokjin live a little way off. I could take you there on horseback, if you want. Save you the walk.”

Jimin glanced toward the far tree line, where the trail to Seokjin’s house began. He liked the idea of riding with Yoongi, but something in him still liked the feel of solid earth beneath his feet.

“I think I’ll walk,” he said softly. “It’s a nice day.”

Yoongi nodded. “Alright. Just take your time.”

“And if anyone gives you trouble,” Namjoon said, “tell Jin to come knock some sense into them. That man’s got a skillet and no patience for fools.”

“I’m excited to see him again,” Jimin said, smiling. “And Taehyung too.”

“Tell Taehyung I send my love,” Jungkook added.

“Tell him he still owes me five dollars,” Hoseok said.

Jimin’s heart felt light as he stood there, the sunlight warming his skin, the sound of laughter around him. He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was living—baking, choosing his clothes, walking into the field with a gift for someone he cared about.

Yoongi looked at him again, with that quiet steadiness in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low.

Jimin nodded. “Any time.”

……………

The sun hung high in the sky as Jimin approached Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s house, nestled amidst a grove of blooming lilacs. The scent of the flowers mingled with the warm breeze, calming his nerves. He clutched the waist of his skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, and took a deep breath before knocking gently on the door.

Within moments, the door swung open to reveal Taehyung’s smiling face. “Jimin! We’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in.”

Jimin stepped inside, greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and the cozy ambiance of the cottage. Seokjin appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Welcome, sweetheart. It’s so good to see you.”

They led him to the sitting area, where a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits awaited. Jimin settled into a plush armchair, grateful for their warm hospitality.

After some light conversation about the farm and the changing seasons, Jimin hesitated, then spoke. “I... I have some questions. About being an omega.”

Seokjin and Taehyung exchanged knowing glances, their expressions gentle. “Of course, dear,” Seokjin said. “Ask us anything.”

Jimin fidgeted with his teacup. “I’ve been having dreams. Intimate ones. And when I wake up, I feel... confused. Embarrassed.”

Taehyung reached over, placing a reassuring hand on Jimin’s. “That’s completely normal. Your body is adjusting, and it’s natural to have those feelings.”

Jimin looked up, eyes wide. “Really?”

Seokjin nodded. “Absolutely. Omegas experience changes as they mature. Dreams, arousal, even physical responses are all part of it.”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed. “But I don’t understand how it all works. The anatomy, pregnancy... everything.”

Taehyung smiled. “Let’s start with the basics. Omegas, regardless of their primary gender, have the ability to conceive. Male omegas possess both male and female reproductive organs, including a womb.”

Seokjin continued, “During pregnancy, the body undergoes changes to accommodate the growing baby.”

Jimin listened intently, absorbing the information. “And the dreams? The feelings?”

Taehyung chuckled softly. “Those are your body’s way of signaling readiness. It’s natural to desire intimacy, to fantasize. It’s part of being an omega.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “But I thought... I mean, isn’t it supposed to hurt?”

Seokjin shook his head. “Not at all. With the right partner, someone who cares for you, intimacy should be pleasurable. Communication and trust are key.”

Taehyung added, “And it’s okay to explore on your own. Self-relief is a healthy way to understand your body and its responses.”

Jimin’s face turned crimson. “I didn’t know that was... allowed.”

Seokjin smiled warmly. “There’s no rulebook, dear. What matters is your comfort and well-being.”

Jimin felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thank you. I was so confused.”

Taehyung squeezed his hand gently. “We’re always here for you. Never hesitate to ask.”

They spent the afternoon discussing various aspects of omega life, from nesting instincts to managing heat cycles. By the time Jimin left, he felt more informed and, more importantly, understood.

As he walked back to the farm, the sun casting golden hues across the fields, Jimin felt a newfound confidence. He was beginning to understand himself, and with the support of those around him, he knew he wasn’t alone.

……………

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time Jimin left Jin and Tae. He walked with careful steps, the woven basket they’d given him nestled in the crook of one arm, filled with leftover bread and a small jar of apple preserves. But it wasn’t the food he was thinking about.

His mind spun with everything they’d discussed—things he’d always been too afraid to ask, let alone say out loud.

Questions about his body, his needs, the way he’d been waking with heat curling low in his belly and shame pressing at his chest. Tae and Jin hadn’t laughed. They hadn’t scolded or gasped or told him he was wrong. They had only smiled, kind and knowing, and told him it was all right.

That he was all right.

The spring breeze ruffled the hem of his walking skirt as he stepped between the rows of trees, pale pink blossoms still clinging stubbornly to the branches overhead. He let his fingers trail against the bark of one as he passed, grounding himself in its rough texture. The orchard path curved gently, and soon, in the distance, he spotted movement—broad shoulders hunched over a fence post, dark hair catching the gold light.

Yoongi.

Jimin slowed.

There was a stillness to the scene, the kind that made him hold his breath. Yoongi worked steadily, hammering in a new post with rhythmic swings of the mallet. His sleeves were rolled up, strong forearms flexing with each motion, his hat casting his face in shadow. He looked... grounded. Solid. Like someone who’d always belonged to this place and always would.

And Jimin—he’d been brought here. Dropped like a pebble into deep water.

Yet somehow, he didn’t feel like he was sinking anymore.

Yoongi straightened, setting the mallet aside. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm and turned, as if he could feel Jimin’s eyes on him. Their gazes met across the orchard.

Jimin’s breath caught, but he didn’t look away.

Yoongi didn’t call out. He simply waited, one hand on the fence, watching.

So Jimin walked toward him.

The soft earth crunched beneath his boots, and the wind tousled his hair. As he reached the edge of the clearing, Yoongi’s expression eased into something gentle—half a smile, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes that made Jimin’s heart thud.

“I was wondering when you’d wander back,” Yoongi said softly.

Jimin’s fingers tightened slightly around the basket handle. “Didn’t mean to take so long.”

“Didn’t mind,” Yoongi said, voice low. “You looked like you needed it.”

That brought a flush to Jimin’s cheeks. He looked down at the grass between them, then back up. “They were kind to me. Tae and Jin. I... asked them a lot of things.”

“I figured,” Yoongi said. “They’ve got good hearts. And good ears.”

“They do.” Jimin hesitated. “I didn’t know how many questions I had until I started talking.”

Yoongi nodded. “It’s like that sometimes.”

There was a pause. The breeze shifted, and the scent of apple blossoms and earth wrapped around them. Jimin stepped closer, shifting the basket to his other arm.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For being patient with me. For not pushing. Even when I didn’t understand why I was feeling the way I was.”

Yoongi looked at him, really looked, and Jimin felt the weight of that gaze—not heavy, but steady. Sure.

“You don’t owe me thanks for that,” Yoongi said. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know.” Jimin’s voice caught slightly. “But I want to thank you anyway.”

They stood like that for a moment, just the two of them surrounded by rustling leaves and golden light.

“I’m still figuring things out,” Jimin admitted, voice quieter now. “But I’m not as scared as I was. Not today.”

Yoongi gave a small nod, almost solemn. “You feel different.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, a little lopsided. “You’re standing taller. Shoulders aren’t so tight. I can smell it.”

Jimin’s cheeks went hot, but this time, he didn’t shrink from it. “Is that good?”

“It’s real,” Yoongi said. “That’s what matters.”

The quiet stretched again, but it felt soft now, not awkward. Jimin shifted the basket to the grass and clasped his hands in front of him. His eyes flicked to Yoongi’s, then away, then back.

And then, slowly, he reached out and slipped his hand into Yoongi’s.

Their fingers tangled easily, naturally, like they were made to fit together. Jimin let out a tiny breath, the kind you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

Yoongi didn’t squeeze too tight. He just held on.

The sun dipped behind a row of trees, casting long shadows across the orchard. Jimin glanced at the light fading over the hills and then back at their joined hands.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

Yoongi didn’t let go.

And so, they walked together, hand in hand through the orchard, their steps slow and even, the fading afternoon light painting everything in gold. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to. Not when the breeze was warm, and the birds were singing, and the touch between them said more than words ever could.

Home didn’t feel so far away anymore.

……………

Late afternoon had come quickly, and now they were going into town together, just the two of them.

He glanced at the door, where Yoongi had said he'd be getting the horse ready. Jimin took a deep breath, smoothed down the skirt of his navy traveling skirt, and stepped outside.

The stable yard was bathed in light, the dust catching like flecks of gold in the air. Yoongi stood beside the large chestnut mare, gently buckling the saddle strap. He looked calm as always, dressed in a clean shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the lean lines of muscle that flexed with each movement. His hair looked darker in the sunlight, and there was a touch of sweat at his temple, though the air was starting to cool.

“Ready?” Yoongi asked, turning his head with a half-smile.

Jimin nodded, heart fluttering. “I think so.”

Yoongi led the horse forward, patting her neck. “She’s a good one. Gentle. You’ll be fine.”

Jimin stepped closer, resting a gloved hand on the saddle.

“I, um forgot how to—how do I...?” he began, trailing off with an uncertain glance.

Yoongi didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stepped beside him and placed one large hand at the small of Jimin’s back.

“I’ll lift you again,” he said, voice low. “Put your left foot here.”

Jimin obeyed, placing his foot on the stirrup as directed. Yoongi’s hands came to his waist—warm, steady—and then Jimin was rising. It happened so fast he barely had time to react before he was seated in the saddle, skirts arranged carefully over one side. He turned slightly to look at Yoongi, who was stepping up to mount behind him.

His hands still tingled from the feel of Yoongi’s touch, and his cheeks were heating with a slow flush.

Yoongi swung into the saddle with practiced ease, and the mare shifted beneath them. He settled behind Jimin, close—so close Jimin could feel the solid heat of him, the press of Yoongi’s thigh against his. A shiver ran down Jimin’s spine.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked.

Jimin gave a little nod, his voice was thinner than usual. “Mm-hmm.”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, and Jimin could feel the brief brush of breath near his neck as Yoongi adjusted the reins.

“I’ll steer,” Yoongi murmured. “Just sit back and relax. You’re doing fine.”

But Jimin wasn’t sure how relaxed he felt. His back was straight, stiff with awareness. The quiet scent of Yoongi surrounded him—something warm and woodsy, like soap and hay and pine needles—and with each step of the horse, Jimin felt himself sway back into that solid chest. Every movement seemed to press them closer, and there was no way to hide the way his face burned.

They rode slowly down the road, the farm falling away behind them. The morning air was brisk but pleasant, birdsong accompanying the steady clop of hooves. Jimin tried to focus on the landscape—the fence lines, the budding trees, the wildflowers beginning to peek up from the roadside—but his thoughts kept circling back to how Yoongi’s hand sometimes steadied him at the waist, or how his knee brushed the back of Jimin’s leg when they shifted with the rhythm of the ride.

At one point, a gust of wind tugged Jimin’s hair scarf slightly askew. He reached up to fix it, only to feel Yoongi’s hand rise and gently adjust it for him, fingers brushing over the side of his jaw.

“There,” Yoongi said softly. “Didn’t want it flying off.”

Jimin nodded quickly, his throat dry. “Thank you.”

They fell into a companionable silence after that, and though Jimin remained flustered, he found himself slowly settling into the motion of the horse, the steadiness of Yoongi’s presence. There was something comforting about the way Yoongi always seemed to know what to do, what to say—or not say.

Still, Jimin was deeply aware of every place their bodies touched.

He didn’t understand it, not entirely. The ache in his chest, the flutter in his stomach. He thought of the talk he’d had with Jin and Tae just this morning, about feelings and instinct and what it meant to be close to someone as an omega. They’d said it was normal—this wanting, this confusing warmth that didn’t quite have a name yet.

Was this what they meant?

Yoongi shifted behind him, one arm wrapping gently around Jimin’s front to steady them both as they turned a bend in the road.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t want you slipping.”

“It’s alright,” Jimin replied, his voice a whisper.

But his heart was hammering so hard he was sure Yoongi could feel it.

The town was still a few miles ahead, but already the quiet hum of people in the distance could be heard—wagons, voices, the soft ringing of a bell somewhere in the square. Jimin drew in a breath and tried to calm the nervous energy pulsing through him.

It wasn’t the town he was worried about. It was the feeling of Yoongi’s chest pressed against his back, the solid line of his thighs on either side of his own, the way he felt safe and seen and flustered all at once.

He hadn’t expected this to feel so intimate.

He hadn’t expected to like it so much.

……………

The first buildings of town came into view as the road turned from packed dirt to cobbled stone. Jimin shifted slightly in the saddle, looking around to take it all in.

The general store stood at the corner, with its wide porch and crates of apples out front. A few wagons rolled by, and the town square bustled with the usual afternoon trade. Children darted between stalls, and shopkeepers leaned out their doors to sweep or chat idly.

Jimin felt Yoongi straighten behind him, the easy calm he always carried subtly sharpening into something watchful.

He was grateful for it. The moment they passed the first shopfront, Jimin felt it—the weight of gazes. Curious, sharp, assessing. Not everyone stared, of course, but enough did. Most were omegas.

They stood in pairs or little groups outside the dressmaker’s, the bakery, or walking arm in arm along the lane. Pretty, composed, some in light summer bonnets and gloves, others in fine walking gowns—clearly locals. Jimin could feel their eyes travel from his hair scarf to his modest but well-fitted skirt, then lower, taking in the way he sat side-saddle with Yoongi right behind him.

Some looked away quickly. Others didn’t bother.

A tall omega near the millinery whispered something to her companion and then laughed behind her hand. Another rolled her eyes as Jimin and Yoongi passed.

Jimin’s stomach sank a little.

He was used to being ignored in public before the marriage, not glared at. Now, apparently, he was worth noticing—though not in a kind way. He sat a little straighter, tightening his grip on the saddle horn, not daring to look over his shoulder at Yoongi. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what expression he was wearing.

Yoongi’s voice came low near his ear. “You alright?”

“I… I think so,” Jimin murmured. “They’re just… looking.”

Yoongi’s arm shifted, just slightly, as though he might draw Jimin in protectively, but then he stilled it. “Let them.”

Jimin’s throat bobbed. It wasn’t anger in Yoongi’s voice—it was certainty. Like he didn’t care what they thought.

Jimin did.

He didn’t want to. He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help feeling like he didn’t quite belong among them—those other omegas with their pretty gloves and perfect hair and years of knowing exactly how to move and speak in public. Jimin still felt like a guest in his own new life. His cheeks burned.

They came to a stop in front of the general store. Yoongi dismounted first, reaching up with both hands to steady Jimin as he slid down.

Jimin’s feet touched the ground, but his head was still spinning. “I… thank you.”

Yoongi gave him a look, a quiet kind of fondness in his gaze. “You’re fine, Jimin. You look beautiful.”

Jimin blinked up at him, mouth slightly open. “You—what?”

“I said you look beautiful,” Yoongi repeated, as if it were nothing. “And I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Then he turned to hitch the horse, leaving Jimin staring after him, breath caught somewhere in his chest.

They entered the store together. Inside it was cooler, lined with the scent of pine floors and dried herbs hanging from the rafters. Mrs. Alder, the storekeeper’s wife, stood behind the counter, and her face lit up.

“Mr. Min,” she said brightly, “and—oh! This must be your new omega!”

Jimin stepped forward with a polite smile, bowing his head slightly. “Jimin. It’s a pleasure.”

Mrs. Alder beamed. “He’s just lovely. You’ve done well, sir,” she added with a wink to Yoongi. “What can I get for you two today?”

Yoongi pulled a list from his pocket. “A few things for the house. And Jimin might want to look around.”

Jimin wandered toward the corner where fabric bolts were stacked high, fingers brushing lightly over linens and muslins. Behind him, he could hear Mrs. Alder chatting with Yoongi about feed and flour. A few other customers came and went, but most of the omega stares didn’t follow him inside.

It helped.

He ran a hand over a pale lilac fabric and then a rose-printed one. There were day dresses hanging in the corner, and one in particular caught his eye—soft yellow with puffed sleeves and a ribbon at the waist.

A warm voice behind him made him start.

“You like that one?”

Yoongi.

Jimin turned, flustered. “I—yes. It’s pretty. But I wasn’t—”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

Yoongi was already pulling it down from the hook, holding it up in front of Jimin with a small, almost shy smile. “I think it would suit you. You’d look radiant in it.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Jimin looked away quickly, unable to hold his gaze for too long. “Thank you.”

Yoongi paid at the counter, and Mrs. Alder offered to wrap the dress carefully in brown paper. As she did, she leaned over to Jimin with a knowing smile. “He’s a quiet one, your husband, but he’s always been kind. You’re lucky.”

Jimin nodded, voice soft. “I know.”

Outside again, the sun was even warmer, and Yoongi offered to hold the package while Jimin took a few minutes to look through the stalls across the way. The marketplace was busier now—people buying bread and bolts of cloth and pots of cream. Jimin moved slowly, quietly, grateful for a moment to himself.

At one of the smaller stalls tucked into a shaded corner, he found something he hadn’t expected—delicate underwear, trimmed with lace, some plain, some pretty. There was a dusty pink set, soft and feminine, and he stood staring at it for several seconds.

Did he dare?

He remembered the way Yoongi had looked at him when they were getting ready for bed last night. The way his eyes had lingered. The scent of his arousal, the quiet, gentle tension between them.

Jimin’s fingers closed around the set. “I’ll take this one,” he murmured to the stall keeper.

He paid quickly, keeping the package tucked tightly under his arm, then made his way back toward where Yoongi waited by the horse.

Yoongi took the package from his hand, the one with the underwear in it, and offered him a small smile. “All set?”

Jimin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Yoongi climbed up first this time, then reached down and lifted Jimin back into the saddle. The movement made Jimin gasp softly—Yoongi’s hands warm at his waist again, his chest close against Jimin’s back.

It felt… good. Comforting. He didn’t feel nervous this time, just warm.

They began the ride home, the town slowly fading behind them, and though Jimin could still feel the echo of the stares from earlier, they didn’t sting quite as much.

He had Yoongi’s quiet voice in his ear, his steady hands, his certainty.

And tucked beneath his arm, a secret parcel of something soft and new—something just for him.

……………

The clink of dishes in warm water was a comforting sound, echoing softly through the kitchen. Jimin stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up and hair pinned loosely back. Dinner had gone well—Yoongi had enjoyed it, eating everything on his plate with his usual quiet appreciation. That was enough to make Jimin feel proud, even if he was still getting used to the rhythm of cooking for two.

The oil lamp flickered gently beside the sink, casting soft golden light over the countertop. Outside the window, the horizon had gone lavender, the last hints of sunset trailing behind the trees.

Behind him, Yoongi stood from the kitchen table. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, and his voice was low and even, like always.

Jimin turned his head. “Alright.”

Yoongi gave him a small smile before stepping out of the room.

Jimin continued cleaning, humming under his breath, but a few minutes later something unusual pulled at his senses. A scent, faint but unmistakable, wafted through the quiet hallway. It was musky, rich, and sweet in a way that made his pulse skip.

His hands stilled in the soapy water. The smell was familiar now—he recognized it from the night before, and once again, it tugged at something low in his belly.

His curiosity got the better of him.

With quiet steps, he crossed the kitchen and crept slowly toward the hallway. The door to the bathroom was mostly shut, just slightly ajar.

Then he heard it.

Breathing. Heavy. Unsteady. A small, strained sound that caught in the back of the throat.

Jimin's eyes widened. His face went red, heat blooming fast over his cheeks, down his neck. The scent was stronger now, intoxicating. He didn't need to see anything to know what was happening.

Yoongi was… touching himself.

The realization rooted him to the spot for a heartbeat too long. The sound of it—wet, rhythmic, matched with Yoongi’s quiet, broken sigh—was nothing like the awkward, clinical way Jimin had been taught to think of intimacy. There was something personal, almost reverent in the way Yoongi said his name.

Jimin fled.

He turned on his heel, bolting up the stairs as if chased by a flame. His heart pounded as he pushed into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, pressing his back to it with a hand over his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to listen. He hadn’t meant to enjoy it.

But he had.

His skin tingled. His body thrummed with a strange, restless heat. That scent still clung to his thoughts, making it hard to focus.

In the quiet room, Jimin gathered himself.

He changed into his nightgown—choosing the smallest one he owned. It barely grazed his thighs and clung to him when he moved. He stared at himself in the mirror as he brushed out his hair, his skin still flushed. His reflection looked different somehow—like someone in the middle of changing into something new.

He didn’t know exactly why he chose that particular nightgown. Maybe it was a way of showing Yoongi that… he didn’t mind. That he wasn’t afraid.

By the time Yoongi came upstairs, Jimin was already beneath the covers, his knees drawn up, trying not to overthink every breath. The lamp on the bedside table was still burning softly, its glow golden and warm across the sheets.

Yoongi paused in the doorway.

His hair was a little damp at the ends—he must’ve rinsed off. His eyes met Jimin’s, and something passed between them—acknowledgment, maybe, or something quieter. He didn’t speak as he crossed the room, didn’t look away as he unbuttoned his shirt and hung it neatly over the back of a chair.

Jimin’s breath caught slightly when Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi said quietly.

Jimin blinked. “What for?”

Yoongi didn’t meet his eyes at first. “If I embarrassed you. If you… heard something.”

Jimin’s fingers curled in the sheets. His voice came out soft. “I didn’t mean to listen. I just—caught the scent.”

Yoongi finally looked up, his gaze gentle. “It’s alright.”

There was a long pause.

“I didn’t mind,” Jimin whispered, and when Yoongi blinked in surprise, Jimin’s heart thudded. “I mean, I… It didn’t make me uncomfortable. You’ve been nothing but respectful. I trust you.”

Yoongi hesitated for a long time, then climbed under the covers beside him.

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t heavy—it felt full, waiting.

Jimin rolled onto his side, back to Yoongi, curling into himself a little. The nightgown shifted, the hem riding higher up his thighs. He should have been cold, but he wasn’t.

A moment later, Yoongi shifted too, and then his hand came to rest gently on Jimin’s thigh—warm, broad, careful.

Jimin inhaled sharply.

He didn’t pull away.

“Is this alright?” Yoongi asked, voice hushed.

Jimin nodded. “Yes.”

His voice shook just a little.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t move, just stayed there—a quiet weight, a promise. Jimin felt the tension leave his own body as he sank into the feeling of being held without being asked for anything more.

Minutes passed.

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. The house creaked softly with its usual nighttime sounds. Jimin closed his eyes.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or the next day—but here, with Yoongi’s hand on his bare skin, he felt something rare, and gentle begin to bloom.

Safety. Desire. Maybe even something like hope.

And slowly, wrapped in the quiet warmth of their shared bed, Jimin drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The night was heavy and still. Jimin slept curled tightly under the covers, one small hand fisted in the blanket at his chest. His breathing, once slow and even, grew shallow.

In his dream, the world was cold and sharp. He stood in the middle of a vast, empty field, the grass brown and brittle beneath his bare feet. A shadow loomed in front of him—his father's figure, broad and angry, face twisted in disgust.

"You think anyone could ever want you?" his father spat; voice thick with venom. "A useless little thing like you? Can't even keep a house right. Can't even please a man."

Jimin flinched, arms wrapping around himself as the words hit like stones.

The sky above seemed to grow darker, the ground beneath him shifting and breaking apart. From behind his father, another figure appeared—Yoongi. But his face was hard, unreadable, so unlike the gentle looks Jimin had grown to know.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.

"You're not doing your duty, Jimin. I need a real omega. Not... this."

Pain lanced through Jimin’s chest. His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. No one moved to help him. His father laughed, a cruel sound, and Yoongi simply turned his back.

"You'll end up alone," his father sneered. "No one wants a broken thing."

The earth cracked beneath him, a deep black fissure opening up. Jimin tried to scream, but no sound came out. He reached toward Yoongi, desperate, but his fingers only grasped empty air as the darkness swallowed him whole.

He jerked awake with a gasp, heart hammering against his ribs, cold sweat clinging to his skin. The room was still dark, but the fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting faint golden shapes across the walls. For a moment he didn't know where he was—if he was back at his father's house, trapped, unwanted.

But then he felt it—the solid, steady warmth at his back. Yoongi.

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. He didn’t want to wake him. He didn’t want to be a burden. Not again.

But his trembling must have given him away, because a moment later a rough, sleepy voice murmured behind him, "Jimin?"

Jimin bit his lip, fighting the sob clawing up his throat. He shook his head, but Yoongi was already shifting, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at him.

"You’re shaking," Yoongi said quietly, voice thick with sleep and concern. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Jimin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Wordlessly, Yoongi moved closer, pulling Jimin against his chest. His arms were strong and sure, one hand rubbing slow circles between Jimin’s shoulder blades.

"You're safe," Yoongi whispered into his hair. "I promise you’re safe here."

The words broke something inside him. Jimin pressed his face against Yoongi's chest, hot tears soaking into the fabric of his nightshirt. He tried to muffle his sobs, ashamed of how childish he must seem, but Yoongi only held him tighter.

"Shh. It’s alright," Yoongi soothed, rocking him gently like one might a frightened child.

Jimin hiccupped, hands curling into Yoongi’s shirt. "I—I dreamed you didn’t want me," he choked out. "That I wasn’t... good enough. That you thought I was broken."

Yoongi stiffened slightly, then eased him back enough to look down at him. In the dim light, his face was a study of careful gentleness.

"I would never think that about you," Yoongi said firmly. "Never."

Jimin blinked up at him, tears still brimming. "But what if I can’t... what if I’m not good at being your omega?"

Yoongi exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair from Jimin’s forehead with careful fingers. "Jimin," he said, voice low and steady, "you are already good. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Not tonight. Not ever."

Jimin’s lower lip trembled. "Even if I'm not ready for... everything and I can barely run a house myself?"

Yoongi’s mouth softened into something close to a smile. He tucked Jimin’s head back under his chin, holding him close again.

"Especially if you're not ready," he said quietly. "You get to set the pace. I'll wait as long as you need."

Jimin clutched at him, desperate for the reassurance. The strong beat of Yoongi’s heart under his ear gradually soothed the panic vibrating through him. It felt safe here, in this bed, in these arms. Safer than he had ever felt before.

Slowly, his breathing evened out. His muscles loosened, the last shudders of fear draining from his body.

"I’ll stay right here," Yoongi murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

For a long time they stayed like that, the quiet ticking of the cooling fire the only sound. Jimin finally drifted back to sleep, tucked tightly against Yoongi’s chest, held safe and warm and wanted.

This time, his dreams were filled not with falling and loneliness, but with the soft, steady comfort of being held.

……………

The early morning light slipped gently through the curtains, casting soft stripes across the bedroom floor. The warmth of the bed, the quiet peace of Yoongi’s breathing behind him—these should have been enough to lull Jimin back to sleep. But the heavy ache of last night’s dream still clung to him like a second skin.

Yoongi's words echoed in his mind: You don’t have to prove anything to me.

Jimin wanted to believe him. He did. But deep inside, a cold, anxious voice whispered otherwise. He was supposed to be useful. He was supposed to be perfect. What if Yoongi was just being kind? What if eventually, he'd get tired of waiting for Jimin to be what a proper omega should be?

Without waking Yoongi, Jimin slipped from the bed. His nightgown fluttered around his thighs as he padded quietly across the room. As he dressed for the day—a simple, sturdy skirt and blouse—he barely registered the motions. His mind buzzed, restless.

He needed to be useful. He needed to show Yoongi he was worth keeping.

Jimin hurried downstairs, the farmhouse was still cool and quiet at this early hour. The remnants of last night’s fire glowed faintly in the hearth, and the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and home.

He started with the dishes, scrubbing them furiously even though they were already clean. Then he moved to sweeping the floors, not once but twice, his strokes growing sharper, more desperate. Dust that wasn’t even there was attacked with the broom.

By the time he moved into the kitchen, his hands were trembling from the frantic pace he kept. He didn’t stop to breathe. He didn’t dare stop.

Jimin began chopping vegetables for the midday meal even though it was barely past dawn. His knife flashed against the cutting board, his movements hurried, distracted by the endless spiral of anxious thoughts crowding his mind.

Be good enough. Be perfect. Don’t make him regret marrying you.

The blade slipped.

A sharp pain bloomed in his palm, and he gasped, the knife clattering to the floor. Blood welled up quickly from the cut, a vivid line across the soft flesh of his hand.

He staggered back from the counter, clutching his hand to his chest, his breath coming in panicked little gulps. Tears blurred his vision. He felt so stupid. So useless.

That was when he heard it—the sound of heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs, hurried and purposeful. A moment later, Yoongi burst into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his shirt only half-buttoned.

Jimin froze, mortified. He didn’t want Yoongi to see him like this—messy, bleeding, a failure.

But Yoongi’s face softened immediately when he saw him. He crossed the kitchen in three quick strides and gently took Jimin’s injured hand in his own.

"Jimin," Yoongi said, voice low and filled with quiet urgency. "Why didn’t you call for me?"

Jimin shook his head, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill over. "I—I just wanted to help," he whispered. "I wanted to be useful..."

Yoongi frowned, but not in anger. It was a frown of worry, of something deeper and far more tender.

"You are useful," Yoongi said fiercely. "You don’t have to hurt yourself to prove anything to me."

He led Jimin to the kitchen table and sat him down carefully, pulling over a clean cloth and a bowl of water. He knelt before Jimin, his head bent as he worked with slow, gentle hands to clean the wound.

Jimin watched him in silence, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Yoongi's hands were rough from work, but they were careful—so careful it made Jimin's throat tighten.

Once the wound was cleaned, Yoongi wrapped it neatly in a strip of soft linen, tying it off with a small, secure knot.

"There," he said quietly. "Good as new."

Jimin didn’t say anything. He just stared at his bandaged hand, feeling more broken than before. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve him, the anxious voice in his head hissed.

Without a word, Yoongi shifted closer and tilted his head, nudging gently against Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin tensed for a second in confusion—but then he felt it: Yoongi’s scent, rich and calming, washing over him.

Warmth. Safety. Belonging.

Yoongi was scenting him.

The tears Jimin had been holding back spilled over at last. He clutched the front of Yoongi’s shirt, pressing his face into the fabric, letting the soothing scent anchor him.

"You don’t have to work yourself to pieces to stay here," Yoongi murmured into his hair. "You already belong."

Jimin sobbed quietly, overwhelmed by the simple, gentle truth of it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Yoongi huffed a soft breath, squeezing him tighter. "Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

They stayed like that for a long time, the morning light growing stronger around them, painting the kitchen in soft golds and pinks.

Eventually, Jimin's breathing slowed, and he leaned back just enough to look up at Yoongi. His cheeks were damp, his eyes puffy, but he felt lighter somehow. Less afraid.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Yoongi smiled, brushing a thumb over Jimin's cheek to wipe away a lingering tear.

"You're welcome," he said simply. "Now... let's get you something to eat. You’ve already done enough for one morning."

Jimin gave a shaky little laugh and nodded.

……………

After a few minutes, Jimin finally let go of Yoongi’s shirt, though he stayed tucked close to his side like he couldn’t quite bear to be apart. His hand still ached a little where he’d cut it, but the bandage Yoongi had wrapped felt warm, safe — a small reminder that someone cared enough to tend to him so carefully.

Yoongi pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gently nudged Jimin into it before heading to the stove. “Stay put. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

Jimin watched him with wide, glassy eyes as Yoongi moved around the kitchen. He didn’t think he could’ve looked away even if he wanted to. Every little thing Yoongi did — cracking eggs into a pan, slicing bread, pouring milk — was careful and steady, like he had all the time in the world for Jimin.

The smell of frying eggs and butter filled the air, making Jimin’s stomach rumble quietly. Yoongi chuckled when he heard it and shot him a small smile over his shoulder.

“Good. You’ll eat a proper breakfast, and then if you want, you can come sit with me while I work.”

Jimin tilted his head, confused. “Sit with you?”

Yoongi nodded, flipping the eggs easily. “I’ll be fixing the wagon today. You can sit up there and keep me company. No heavy work, I promise.”

The thought made Jimin’s chest tighten in a different way — not with anxiety, but with something warm and soft. Yoongi wanted him close, not because Jimin was useful, but just because he liked having him there.

Jimin ducked his head, cheeks coloring.

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

A few minutes later, Yoongi set a plate in front of him — eggs, toast with butter, and a cup of fresh milk. Jimin beamed up at him and Yoongi gave him a little pat on the head, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

Jimin picked at his food for a minute, but the comforting smell and the soft hum of Yoongi moving around the kitchen gradually soothed his frazzled nerves. Soon enough, he was eating properly, even letting out a tiny hum of contentment when he bit into the warm, buttery toast.

Yoongi sat across from him, sipping coffee and watching him eat with a small, fond smile.

"You’re cute when you’re hungry," he said easily, like he wasn’t saying something that made Jimin want to curl into a ball.

Jimin nearly choked on his toast and had to take a big gulp of milk to recover. Yoongi chuckled, the low, warm sound sending little shivers down Jimin’s spine.

When he was finished, Jimin stood up, fully intending to help clean the dishes like he normally would. But the second he started gathering the plates, Yoongi shook his head.

“Uh-uh. I said no work today.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Yoongi said firmly, taking the plates from his hands and setting them back down. “You’re going to rest that hand. Doctor’s orders.”

Jimin pouted, but there was no real heat to it. The way Yoongi was so stubborn about taking care of him made something soft and helpless bloom in his chest. So instead of arguing, he just shuffled over to Yoongi and clung to his arm, resting his forehead against the soft linen of his shirt.

Yoongi froze for a second, then let out a slow breath and wrapped an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, tugging him close.

“You’re clingy today,” he murmured, the words low and teasing but affectionate.

Jimin didn’t move, just nuzzled a little closer.

“I’m allowed,” he mumbled.

Yoongi huffed a laugh. “You’re right. You are.”

They stood like that for a long, comfortable moment, until the kitchen clock ticked loudly enough to remind Yoongi that chores still needed to be done. He gave Jimin a gentle squeeze and pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Let’s get you bundled up,” he said. “It’s chilly outside. You can sit up on the wagon and keep me company while I fix the wheels.”

Jimin nodded eagerly, already imagining how nice it would be to just sit nearby and watch Yoongi work.

Yoongi helped him into a soft shawl and made sure he was warm enough before they headed outside together. The sun was bright, but the air still held a bite of cold, and Jimin huddled a little closer to Yoongi’s side as they walked toward the barn.

True to his word, Yoongi set up a little seat for Jimin on the wagon, laying down a thick folded blanket so it would be comfortable. He even tucked a second blanket around Jimin’s lap, fussing over him with a gruffness that made Jimin’s chest squeeze.

“There,” Yoongi said once he was satisfied. “Now you’ll be warm. Just sit back and relax, alright?”

Jimin nodded, smiling so brightly it made Yoongi pause for a moment, his own lips quirking upward.

As Yoongi got to work on the wagon, Jimin leaned against the side rail, watching him with wide, curious eyes. Every so often, Yoongi would glance up and catch him staring, and Jimin would quickly duck his head, cheeks burning.

But Yoongi never teased him for it. He just smiled to himself and kept working, humming under his breath.

Jimin sat there, wrapped in warmth, the scent of the farm all around him—hay and leather and fresh earth—and felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time:

Safe. Wanted. Loved.

And for once, he let himself believe he truly belonged.

……………

The sun was high by the time Yoongi straightened up from the wagon, brushing dust from his hands.

"I’m just going to grab a tool from the barn," he said, glancing up at Jimin, who sat perched on the wagon bench, a blanket tucked around him. "Be right back."

Jimin nodded, giving a little wave as Yoongi disappeared around the corner of the barn. The moment he was gone, the world seemed a little quieter, the sound of birds chirping filling the space where Yoongi's presence had been.

Jimin leaned his chin on his knees, watching the golden light ripple over the fields. The house looked small from here, tucked against the wide stretch of land, and for a moment, a strange loneliness settled over him. He tried to shake it off. Yoongi was so good to him; he had new friends now—he shouldn’t feel so...adrift.

"Afternoon, Jimin."

The voice made him jump a little. He turned to see Jungkook, one of the farmhands, approaching with a relaxed gait, wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into his waistband. His face was sun-browned and kind, framed by messy dark hair and a lazy smile.

"Hello," Jimin said softly, sitting up a little straighter.

Jungkook tipped his head toward the wagon. "Settling in alright?"

Jimin hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Yes. Everyone’s been so kind."

Jungkook’s smile deepened, but he was watching Jimin carefully, like he could tell there was more underneath the polite answer.

"You sure about that?" Jungkook said, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wagon's side. "You look a little...down, if you don’t mind me saying."

Jimin blinked, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck. Was he that obvious? He fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy—it was just...everything still felt so big. So heavy.

"I’m alright," Jimin said, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.

Jungkook just hummed, like he didn’t quite believe him but wasn’t going to press.

"You know," Jungkook said after a beat, "Jin and my Tae were saying they were thinking of dropping by sometime this week. Maybe I'll let them know tomorrow's a good day."

Jimin's head snapped up, hope blooming so fast it almost hurt. "Really?"

"Sure," Jungkook said, grinning. "Reckon you could use some friendly company, huh?"

Jimin ducked his head shyly, but he couldn’t hide the tiny smile tugging at his lips. "I’d like that."

"I'll pass the word," Jungkook said easily, straightening up. "You’re doing good, you know. We all think so."

The words hit harder than Jimin expected. His throat tightened, and he had to blink quickly to keep tears from welling up. It was such a simple kindness, but after so long being made to feel like he was never enough, it cracked something open in his chest.

"Thank you," Jimin whispered.

Jungkook just gave him a wink and a two-fingered salute before turning and heading back toward the fields, whistling a low tune.

Jimin watched him go, heart swelling with something fierce and grateful. He hugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders and breathed in the warm, earthy air.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow Jin and Tae would come. And he wouldn’t have to feel so lost.

A few minutes later, Yoongi came back, carrying a long wooden beam over one shoulder and a tool belt slung around his hips. He paused when he saw Jimin sitting there, staring out at the fields with a small, dreamy smile on his face.

"Something good happen?" Yoongi asked, curious.

Jimin turned to him, cheeks pink but eyes bright. "Maybe."

Yoongi chuckled and shook his head fondly. "Alright, secret-keeper. You just stay put and keep looking pretty, yeah?"

Jimin laughed, a soft, delighted sound that made Yoongi’s heart skip in his chest.

And in the afternoon light, with the breeze tousling Jimin’s hair and that rare, unguarded smile on his lips, Yoongi thought maybe—just maybe—he was the luckiest man alive.

……………

The sun had dipped low behind the hills by the time Yoongi finally finished the day’s work. The golden haze of evening stretched across the fields, cicadas singing their lazy summer songs. The three farmhands—Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jungkook—lingered near the fence line, leaning on tools and wiping the sweat from their brows.

Yoongi stretched his shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache of a long day's labor. He cast a glance toward the house in the distance, where he knew Jimin had already retreated to start on evening chores. A fond smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.

Hoseok noticed immediately, elbowing Jungkook in the ribs.

"There he goes again," Hoseok said with a wide grin. "Mooning after that pretty omega of his."

Jungkook snorted. "Can't blame him. Jimin's something else. Sweet as can be."

Namjoon leaned forward conspiratorially, smirking. "Not to mention, Yoongi’s smelling sweeter these days too. Almost like fresh pie sitting on the windowsill."

At that, Yoongi stiffened, his cheeks flushing red. He scowled, more embarrassed than angry. "Don’t you have better things to do than stick your noses where they don’t belong?"

"Nah," Namjoon said easily. "Teasing you is the best part of the job."

Jungkook let out a low whistle, exaggeratedly sniffing the air around Yoongi. "Yep. Smells like someone’s been getting close. Real close."

Yoongi muttered under his breath and turned to check the wagon, pretending to be busy with himself, but the tips of his ears were burning.

"Aw, don’t get shy on us, boss," Hoseok said, laughing. "We’re just looking out for you. And for him too."

That made Yoongi pause. He turned back to them, his expression softening.

"I know," he said quietly. "He's...he’s trying. Real hard."

The teasing faded a little, replaced by something gentler in the farmhands' faces.

Jungkook kicked at a loose stone with the toe of his boot. "We can tell. He’s sweet as a summer peach, that one. Just want to make sure he’s settling in right. It isn’t easy, leaving everything you know behind."

Yoongi’s chest tightened. He thought about how hard Jimin worked to keep the house clean, how he smiled even when he was tired, how he clung to Yoongi’s scent like it was a lifeline.

"He’s doing good," Yoongi said firmly. "Better than I could’ve hoped for."

"Good," Namjoon said, nodding. "Would of been a damn shame if he ended up stuck somewhere he wasn’t wanted."

Yoongi’s hands curled around the edge of the wagon, jaw tightening. "He’s wanted," he said. "More than anything."

The farmhands exchanged a glance and smiled—genuine, approving.

"Figured as much," Namjoon said, slapping Yoongi lightly on the back. "Just had to hear you say it."

Yoongi grumbled under his breath again, but this time it was half-hearted, the warmth in his chest spreading.

"Still," Hoseok drawled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "if you keep smelling like a lovesick pup, we're going to have to start calling you something ridiculous. Like Sugarplum."

Jungkook burst out laughing. "Or Honeysuckle!"

Namjoon wiped a tear from his eye, cackling. "Lord, please let me live to see the day we all call Min Yoongi 'Honeybear.'"

Yoongi groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "I'm about two seconds away from making y’all fix the north fence by yourselves tomorrow."

"Wouldn't blame you," Hoseok said, grinning wide. "But you got to admit, it's a good look on you."

Yoongi shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thought of Jimin waiting for him back at the house, maybe folding linens or setting the table, maybe humming quietly to himself.

It was worth all the teasing in the world.

"Get your butts home before I change my mind about letting you off easy," Yoongi said, tossing the cloth from his pocket at Namjoon.

The farmhands chuckled, throwing mock salutes as they wandered off toward the road, still exchanging teasing jabs between them.

Yoongi watched them go, the laughter fading into the hum of the evening. He rolled his shoulders once more, then started the slow walk back toward the farmhouse, drawn like a moth to the soft, golden glow shining in the windows.

And this time, he didn't even try to fight the smile that broke across his face.

……………

By the time Yoongi reached the farmhouse, the last rays of sunlight had melted into twilight. The windows glowed softly, lighting up the porch with a welcoming golden hue.

He paused before climbing the steps, shifting the small bundle of wildflowers he’d gathered from the far field. They were a little crushed from the walk, but he figured Jimin wouldn’t mind.

He pushed the door open carefully, the hinges creaking slightly.

Inside, the house smelled wonderful — warm, like fresh bread and herbs. Jimin must’ve been busy.

Yoongi didn’t even have to call out. From around the corner, soft footsteps pattered on the wood floors, and a moment later, Jimin appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a clean apron. His face lit up when he saw Yoongi, his whole body seemed to brighten.

"Welcome home," Jimin said, voice light and soft.

Yoongi just stood there for a moment, taking him in — the way the fading light haloed around him, the slight smudge of flour on his cheek, the shy way his hands twisted in his apron.

Wordlessly, Yoongi held out the bundle of flowers.

Jimin blinked, then gasped softly, his hands flying up to cover his mouth. "You brought me more?"

Yoongi shrugged, a little awkward. "Saw them near the creek. Thought you might like them."

For a moment, Jimin didn’t move. Then he stepped forward and accepted the flowers, holding them as if they were the most precious thing he’d ever been given.

"I love them," he said, voice thick with feeling. "Thank you."

Yoongi cleared his throat, feeling that now-familiar rush of affection and protectiveness swell up in his chest. "They're not much."

"They’re perfect," Jimin whispered.

For a few heartbeats, they just stood there in the warm light, close enough that Yoongi could see the faint dusting of freckles across Jimin’s nose.

Then Jimin smiled — a real, glowing smile — and turned toward the kitchen.

"I’ll find a vase," he said brightly, already moving with quick, efficient steps.

Yoongi followed him, more because he couldn’t help himself than anything else.

The kitchen was spotless — the counters wiped down, dishes stacked neatly, floors swept. The woodstove still held some warmth, and a small oil lamp burned on the table, giving everything a soft, cozy feel.

Jimin filled a pitcher with water, humming under his breath as he carefully arranged the flowers. Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a soft, private kind of awe.

When Jimin finally turned back around, flowers proudly displayed on the center of the table, he beamed at Yoongi.

"They make it feel even more like home," he said.

Yoongi’s heart gave a little stutter.

"You make it feel like home," Yoongi said before he could think better of it.

Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, his eyes going wide, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he stepped a little closer.

"Really?"

Yoongi nodded. "Really."

For a second, Jimin looked like he might cry again — the same way he had the first time Yoongi had given him flowers. But he just bit his lip and smiled wider, his hands twisting together at his waist.

"I’m glad," Jimin whispered.

Yoongi pushed off the doorframe, closing the space between them. Carefully, he reached out and smoothed his hand over Jimin’s hair, fingers lingering just a little too long.

"You did real good today," he said. "House looks beautiful. Smells good too."

Jimin laughed — a breathy, shy little sound. "Thank you. I... I like taking care of things."

"I can tell," Yoongi said, his thumb brushing the soft skin just behind Jimin’s ear before he caught himself and dropped his hand. "Makes me feel real lucky."

The kitchen filled with the sound of Jimin’s heartbeat pounding in his ears. He ducked his head, glowing with happiness.

"You're the first person who’s ever said that," he admitted.

Yoongi’s chest ached. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could’ve made Jimin feel anything less than precious.

"Well," Yoongi said gruffly, "they were fools, then."

Jimin laughed again, sweeter this time, and the two of them stood there in the warm kitchen as night wrapped around the farmhouse.

"Come on," Yoongi said eventually, his voice rough with affection. "Let's eat on the porch."

Jimin nodded eagerly, setting the pitcher in the center of the table like a little shrine. He hesitated for a second, then reached out and caught Yoongi’s hand in his own — small, soft fingers curling shyly around Yoongi’s work-roughened ones.

Yoongi looked down at their joined hands, his throat tightening. Slowly, he curled his fingers back around Jimin’s, squeezing gently.

……………

The evening was warm and slow, with a pink-orange sky settling over the fields like a soft blanket. Dinner had been simple — roasted vegetables, warm bread, and a bit of cheese — but eating it outside on the porch made everything taste richer, more peaceful.

Now they sat together on the porch steps, empty plates stacked nearby, the smell of the earth and growing things wrapping around them. The cicadas had started to hum their nightly song, and somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed gently.

Jimin swung his feet slightly, his worn slippers barely brushing the wood of the steps. Even with the soft hush of evening all around, a little buzz of nervous energy thrummed under his skin. He wanted... something. Wanted to be closer.

He shifted on the step, inching closer to Yoongi. Only a little. Just enough that their shoulders brushed.

Yoongi noticed, of course. His mouth curved into a small, knowing smile, but he didn’t say anything.

Jimin’s heart beat a little faster. He tried to sit still, but after a moment, he scooted even closer, until their thighs were almost touching. His hands twisted nervously in his lap.

"You going to crawl right into my lap if I sit here long enough?" Yoongi said, voice teasing but fond.

Jimin’s face burned. He opened his mouth to stammer something, but Yoongi just laughed softly and patted his knee.

"Come here, sweetheart," Yoongi said, his voice low and warm. "If you want to sit, just sit."

Jimin hesitated for half a second longer — just long enough for Yoongi to wonder if he’d scared him off — but then he scrambled shyly into Yoongi’s lap, curling himself up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Yoongi shifted to make more room, settling one arm around Jimin’s waist and letting the other drape casually across his thighs. Jimin fit perfectly there, soft and warm and light as a feather.

Jimin tucked his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, the tension draining out of him all at once. It was silly how right it felt. How good it felt.

"You’re real cuddly tonight," Yoongi murmured, tilting his head so he could nuzzle lightly into Jimin’s hair.

Jimin made a small, embarrassed noise. "Sorry."

"Don’t be," Yoongi said easily. "I like it."

That earned him a shy little smile.

For a while, they just sat there, rocking slightly with the creak of the old porch. Fireflies blinked in the gathering dark, and the last warmth of the day soaked into their skin.

Eventually, Jimin broke the quiet.

"Did you always want a farm?" he asked, his voice soft against Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully. "Not always. I grew up here, though. There wasn’t much choice."

Jimin lifted his head a little, curiosity flickering across his face.

"My mother loved it," Yoongi said, staring out at the fields. "She liked growing things. Said it made her feel like she was doing something good with her life."

He smiled a little, a faint, almost sad thing.

"My father..." Yoongi trailed off, fingers tightening slightly on Jimin’s hip. "He liked having something to control."

Jimin pressed closer, sensing the heaviness in his tone.

"Was he... mean?" Jimin asked, hesitant.

Yoongi shrugged one shoulder. "Not with fists. Not usually. But with words? Yeah."

Jimin frowned, the urge to protect Yoongi — even from old ghosts — flaring bright inside him.

"My mom tried to shield me from it. Best she could. But he thought I was soft." Yoongi’s mouth twisted. "Told me no one would ever want someone like me."

Jimin’s breath caught painfully.

"I want you," he said, voice small but fierce.

Yoongi blinked at him, startled, and then something inside him seemed to melt. He cupped Jimin’s cheek gently, thumb brushing over the soft skin.

"I know," he said. "I know, sweetheart."

They sat with that for a while, the fireflies blinking and the stars beginning to emerge overhead.

Jimin played lightly with a loose thread on Yoongi’s sleeve.

"My father was mean too," he said finally. "Not... not like yours, maybe. But he never thought I was good enough. Always told me I was too delicate. Useless."

Yoongi made a low, unhappy sound in the back of his throat.

"I tried so hard to make him proud," Jimin whispered. "Did everything he asked. But it was never enough."

Yoongi tightened his arms around him, pulling Jimin in closer.

"You don't have to prove anything here," Yoongi said fiercely. "Not to me. Not to anyone."

Jimin nodded against his shoulder, blinking back sudden tears.

"I want our marriage to be different," Jimin said after a moment. "I want it to be... kind."

"It will be," Yoongi promised, voice steady. "We’ll make it that way. Together."

Jimin smiled tremulously and reached up to touch Yoongi’s jaw, as if to anchor himself there.

Yoongi caught his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm.

"We won't be like them," Yoongi said. "We’ll be better."

The words wrapped around Jimin like a warm quilt, soothing the raw, aching parts of him.

For the first time in a long time, he believed it.

The porch creaked as they rocked slowly, the scent of fresh earth and summer flowers rising all around them.

They stayed there until the fireflies faded and the first cool breaths of night kissed their skin. Until the stars showed overhead, and the fields whispered in the dark.

Until the past no longer felt like something heavy on their shoulders — just a story they’d survived, together.

Finally, Jimin yawned against Yoongi’s chest, his body soft and pliant with sleepiness.

"C'mon," Yoongi murmured, lifting him easily. "Let's get you to bed."

Jimin didn't protest. He just curled closer, trusting, as Yoongi carried him inside — toward the life they were slowly, carefully building together.

……………

The farmhouse was quiet, the windows open to the soft sounds of crickets and the distant creak of the barn in the cool night air. The day’s heat still clung lightly to the floorboards as Jimin and Yoongi moved around their shared bedroom, getting ready for bed.

Jimin slipped behind the changing screen, heart hammering faster than it should have. He carefully pulled on his shortest nightgown again — the soft cream one with the lace at the hem. It barely brushed the tops of his thighs, and every time he wore it, he could feel Yoongi’s gaze linger on him longer than usual.

He liked it — more than he could admit aloud yet.

When Jimin peeked out from behind the screen, Yoongi was already under the covers, watching him. His dark eyes caught and held Jimin’s, heavy and warm with something that made Jimin’s stomach twist up in knots.

Feeling shy but determined, Jimin padded across the room. He climbed into bed, careful not to meet Yoongi’s gaze too directly. The mattress dipped under his weight as he scooted close — closer than he normally dared — and laid his head carefully against Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi froze for half a second, as if surprised, but then he relaxed with a low, content sigh. His arm slipped around Jimin’s back, holding him gently against his side.

Jimin smiled against the soft linen of Yoongi’s nightshirt and, gathering his courage, threw one bare leg over Yoongi’s, tangling them together under the quilt.

The room smelled like clean cotton, like the fresh-picked flowers Yoongi had set in a jar on the dresser, and underneath it all — Yoongi himself. Warm, comforting, a little wild.

They lay like that for a moment, listening to the steady thud of each other's hearts.

Then Jimin felt it — Yoongi’s hand, trailing slowly up and down his leg in soft, lazy strokes. Light enough to barely touch at first, then a little firmer, as if memorizing the shape of him.

Jimin shivered, his toes curling. His fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt.

Yoongi paused. His hand slid up one more time — up over the curve of Jimin’s thigh — and then gripped gently, his fingers flexing there.

Jimin gasped, hips shifting instinctively closer. His cheeks burned hot.

"Is this okay?" Yoongi asked, voice low and rough in the dark.

Jimin swallowed hard, heart pounding. He nodded against Yoongi’s chest, then realized Yoongi couldn’t see him.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice shaking a little. "It’s okay."

For a few minutes, they just stayed there. Yoongi’s hand resting warmly on Jimin’s thigh, grounding him. Jimin’s entire body felt alive, every inch of him humming with the nearness of him.

It was Jimin who spoke first, voice small but certain.

"I… I've been thinking a lot lately," he murmured. "About... about children."

Yoongi’s hand stilled, then smoothed gently over his skin again, slow and careful.

"Yeah?" Yoongi said, his voice soft with curiosity.

Jimin tucked his face closer to Yoongi’s chest, as if to hide.

"I want them," he admitted, the words rushing out all at once. "I want to be a mother. I've always wanted to, but lately it’s been..." He faltered, feeling like he might burst into tears just trying to explain the aching need he barely understood.

Yoongi made a low, soothing sound in his throat.

"I understand," he said quietly. His thumb brushed slow circles against Jimin’s thigh. "I've thought about it too."

Jimin blinked up at him, surprised.

"You have?" he breathed.

Yoongi chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest.

"Yeah. Maybe not when I was younger. But lately these last few years... seeing this farm growing again. Having someone here with me. Having you..." His voice trailed off a little, almost shy.

Jimin's heart squeezed so tight it almost hurt.

"I think about little ones running around out there," Yoongi continued, tipping his head toward the window and the moonlit fields beyond. "Barefoot. Laughing. Helping with the chickens or picking apples. I'd like that."

Jimin sniffled, overwhelmed with sudden, fierce emotion.

"Me too," he whispered.

They stayed like that for a while, the room thick with all the things they weren’t ready to say yet but could feel between them — a shimmering thread tying them closer together.

"I’d want them to feel loved," Jimin said suddenly, voice trembling. "Not like we did."

"They will," Yoongi promised. He squeezed Jimin gently. "We'll make sure of it."

Jimin closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Yoongi’s words soak into him like sunlight.

He imagined it then — a small hand in his own, bright laughter in the air, Yoongi kneeling in the dirt with a child on his knee, teaching them how to plant seeds. A home full of noise and love, not fear.

"Thank you," Jimin said after a while, his voice thick with unshed tears.

Yoongi tilted his head down, brushing his nose against Jimin’s hair.

"For what?" he murmured.

"For being kind," Jimin whispered. "For... letting me dream again."

Yoongi kissed the crown of his head, lingering there.

"Dream as much as you want, sweetheart," he said. "I’ll be right here."

A few minutes later, when the night finally lulled them toward sleep, Yoongi’s hand drifted from Jimin’s thigh to wrap fully around him, holding him close and safe.

Jimin drifted off to sleep smiling — heart full for the first time in longer than he could remember.

And Yoongi stayed awake just a little longer, listening to the even breath of the boy curled against him, already thinking of the future they might build together.

Already sure that he would do anything — anything — to give Jimin every dream he ever dared to have.

……………

The soft, early light of dawn bled through the curtains, painting the bedroom in muted golds and blues. The air was cool against Jimin’s flushed skin as he shifted under the covers, lost deep in a dream that made his toes curl and small, breathy whimpers slip past his parted lips.

Yoongi stirred awake at the sounds, still hazy with sleep. It took him a moment to realize what he was hearing — the soft gasps, the small, needy noises. His hand, already resting lightly on Jimin’s waist, felt the way the omega’s body shivered and pressed closer in his sleep.

Jimin’s scent filled the room — sweet, rich, and unmistakably aroused.

Yoongi swallowed hard, trying to be respectful, trying not to respond to the heat rushing through his own body at the sounds and smells Jimin was giving off. But even with all his willpower, he felt himself harden painfully in his pants.

He gave Jimin a gentle shake. "Jimin," he murmured, voice low and rough. "Wake up, sweetheart."

Jimin gasped softly and blinked his eyes open, dazed and confused. His cheeks were already pink, his breath coming quick and shallow.

It only took a second for full awareness to hit — and with it, mortification.

Jimin realized what he must have been doing, what Yoongi must have heard. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, but at the same time... there was something new humming underneath the embarrassment. Something bold. Something curious.

Because even through his panic, he could feel Yoongi. Hard. Close. Warm.

Jimin shifted under the covers, and the movement dragged the hem of his nightgown even higher up his thighs. He stiffened when he realized — the sheer fabric was bunched at his hips now, revealing the soft, lacy underclothes he'd chosen last night when he’d been feeling a little reckless.

And Yoongi was staring. His dark eyes, heavy with something Jimin couldn’t quite name yet, were locked on the bare skin Jimin had exposed.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

Then, gathering every shred of courage he had, Jimin sat up slowly, pretending to adjust his nightgown. He dragged the hem down deliberately, smoothing it over his thighs, pretending he didn't notice how Yoongi's gaze followed every movement.

The tension in the room crackled and buzzed like summer lightning.

Feeling Yoongi’s eyes still on him, Jimin slid out of bed, his legs a little shaky. He padded toward the bathroom, doing his best to act natural — even though he was acutely aware of the way the cool air kissed his bare legs, and of how his nightgown clung to the curve of his backside.

Behind him, Yoongi let out a low, strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

Jimin’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile he tried to hide.

As his hand reached the bathroom door, he heard Yoongi's voice — low and teasing.

"You're cruel, sweetheart," Yoongi said, voice still rough with sleep and something darker.

Jimin froze, blushing fiercely, but he couldn’t stop the little thrill that ran through him.

He turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, catching Yoongi’s expression — part exasperated, part adoring, and all undone.

"You’re teasing me," Yoongi added, almost accusing.

Jimin ducked his head, smiling shyly. His voice, when it came out, was soft but unmistakably playful.

"Maybe a little," he admitted before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

On the other side of the door, he leaned against it for a moment, pressing a hand to his burning cheeks.

His heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest — but it wasn’t fear he was feeling. Not anymore.

It was something warm, something thrilling, something that felt dangerously close to happiness.

And maybe — just maybe — he was starting to trust that he could want things. That he could reach for them. That Yoongi might actually catch him when he did.

In the quiet morning light, Jimin smiled to himself.

He had a feeling today was going to be very, very interesting.

……………

Jimin took his time washing up, letting the cool water on his face calm his heated skin. When he finally reemerged, the bedroom was empty — the sheets a little messy, still holding the warmth of their bodies. His heart skipped at the thought that it was their bed now, not just his.

Downstairs, he found Yoongi standing by the stove, two bowls of porridge already set on the table, steam curling in the morning light. His back was to Jimin, broad and familiar, his hair still a little messy from sleep.

Jimin hovered in the doorway for a second, watching him, before stepping into the room.

“Morning,” he said softly.

Yoongi turned, offering a smile that was a little crooked, a little shy. “Morning, sweetheart.”

Their eyes caught — and for a moment, Jimin remembered everything from earlier: Yoongi’s teasing words, the heat of his gaze, the way Jimin had deliberately shown him the bare skin of his thighs.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, biting his lip to hide a small, giddy smile.

Yoongi cleared his throat awkwardly. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

They sat together at the table, the morning light making the wood grain glow. It was quiet for a while, only the soft clink of spoons against bowls. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet — it was warm, content, a kind of peace that Jimin was still getting used to.

Halfway through his meal, Jimin glanced up to find Yoongi looking at him again — not with the heavy heat of earlier, but with something softer. Something almost unbearably tender.

"You sleep okay before…" Yoongi started, trailing off as if unsure how much to bring up.

Jimin nodded, cheeks pink. “Yes, thank you for waking me.”

Yoongi's lips quirked in a smile, softening his whole face. "Good. You, uh… You were making some real pretty noises there, sweetheart."

Jimin nearly choked on his porridge. He coughed, embarrassed, but when he looked up, Yoongi was chuckling quietly, not cruel, just fond.

"You’re mean," Jimin muttered, but he was smiling too.

"Maybe a little," Yoongi teased, echoing Jimin's own words from earlier.

They finished breakfast with light chatter — Yoongi telling him about the chores planned for the day, Jimin promising to keep the house in order while he was out.

When they finished, Yoongi stood, gathering the bowls. He glanced over his shoulder, a little hesitant.

"Before I head out, you want me to bring you anything from the barn? Some more fresh linens maybe?"

Jimin shook his head, touched by the offer. "No, thank you. Just… be careful?"

Yoongi laughed softly. "It’s just fence-mending, sweetheart. I'll be home before supper."

Jimin followed him out onto the porch, trailing close behind like a little duckling. Yoongi stooped to pull on his boots, and Jimin lingered nearby, watching him.

Before Yoongi could stand, Jimin reached out impulsively and smoothed a wrinkle from his shirt.

Yoongi froze for a second, like he wasn’t used to being fussed over, but then he softened into it, eyes fluttering shut briefly under the touch.

“Thank you, Jimin,” he said quietly.

Jimin just smiled and dropped his hand.

Yoongi ruffled his hair gently before straightening up and grabbing his work gloves.

Just as he was about to step off the porch, he paused, then turned back — pulling a small bunch of wildflowers from his back pocket.

Jimin stared, heart squeezing painfully tight.

He took the flowers carefully, like they might fall apart in his hands.

"I love them," he whispered, eyes stinging.

Yoongi smiled softly, shyly — before pressing a quick kiss to the top of Jimin’s head.

"I’ll see you later, sweetheart."

Jimin stood on the porch, clutching the flowers to his chest, and watched as Yoongi strode across the yard toward the fields where the farmhands were already gathering.

From his spot on the porch, Jimin could hear the low rumble of the farmhands' voices carrying on the breeze.

"Well, well," Hoseok drawled, elbowing Yoongi as he approached. "Someone smells like sweet sugar and bed sheets this morning."

The others laughed, not meanly, but in that easy, brotherly way.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, tugging his hat lower over his forehead. "Shut up."

"Bet the little omegas got you wrapped around his finger already," Jungkook said, nudging him.

Namjoon whistled low. "That’s a good thing, boss. Isn’t no shame in taking care of what’s yours."

Yoongi shook his head, but Jimin could see the way the tips of his ears were turning red even from the porch.

"Y’all are worse than a gaggle of old hens," Yoongi grumbled.

But the teasing softened as they started their work, turning into something closer to pride. Jimin could hear the warmth in Namjoon’s voice as he said, "We’re just glad to see you treating him right. Some men don’t."

"Yeah," Jungkook agreed. "Takes a real man to be gentle."

Yoongi didn’t say anything, but his jaw set in that stubborn way it always did when he felt things too deeply to put into words.

Jimin hugged the flowers closer to his chest, heart fluttering.

He turned back toward the house, the screen door creaking softly behind him.

The house felt big and warm around him now — not empty the way it used to.

Because he knew, without a doubt, that Yoongi would always come home to him.

And maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to believe he deserved it.

……………

The sun was high and warm, filling the farmhouse with golden light when Jimin bustled about the living room, straightening cushions and checking the tea set for the fifth time. He smoothed his palms down the front of his soft cotton tunic, heart fluttering with anticipation.

Tae and Jin were coming to visit today — and after all the confusion and flustered feelings he'd been drowning in lately, Jimin could hardly wait to see them. He needed their advice, their easy laughter, the way they made everything seem a little less overwhelming.

When he heard the knock at the door, he practically skipped over to answer it.

"Hello!" Jimin beamed, opening the door wide.

Jin and Tae stood there, arms full — a fresh pie from Jin and a small bundle of flowers from Tae.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Tae grinned, passing the flowers to Jimin, who blushed furiously but accepted them with a happy smile.

"Thought you might like something pretty for your table," Jin said, handing over the pie. "You look excited today."

"I am," Jimin admitted, stepping back to let them in. "I've been looking forward to seeing you."

They made themselves at home easily, settling around the kitchen table as Jimin arranged the flowers in a jar and cut generous slices of pie for each of them.

After a few minutes of chatting about the weather and the farm work, Tae leaned forward with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

"So," he drawled, grinning wide. "We been hearing some gossip from the farmhands."

Jimin blinked, setting his fork down. "Gossip?"

Jin chuckled. "Oh, you know. Little things. Like how our Jimin's been getting really bold with that husband of his."

Jimin felt his cheeks heat instantly. "I—I haven't!"

Tae snorted. "Honey, scooting into his lap on the porch? Wearing those little, short nightgowns? Yoongi's been walking around half dazed for days."

Jimin buried his face in his hands, groaning. "I didn't realize they gossiped like housewives instead of working."

"Everyone’s nosy," Jin said, laughing. "Nothing is wrong with it, though. You're married. You ought to be sweet on each other."

Jimin peeked up through his fingers, still mortified but secretly pleased too. "I guess... I just... I like being close to him."

"You should," Tae said gently, smiling softly. "But let me ask — you feel ready for more? For the next step?"

Jimin bit his lip, anxiety tightening in his chest. "I think I want to… but I'm still a little scared."

Jin and Tae exchanged a knowing glance.

"That's real normal," Jin said kindly. "Took me months before I could even look my Joonie in the eye when he kissed me, let alone anything else."

Tae nodded. "First time is scary. It doesn’t matter how much you want it. It's okay to be nervous."

Jimin looked down at his lap, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. "Were your first times… bad?"

"No," Jin said firmly. "It was awkward, sure. Clumsy. But Joon was patient. He let me set the pace. Made sure I felt safe."

Tae smiled wistfully. "Jungkook cried after our first time. Happy tears. I did too, truth be told."

Jimin's throat tightened. He hadn't expected them to be so honest, so open.

"There are other ways to be close too," Jin added casually, winking. "Ways that don’t have to be scary."

Jimin's eyes widened, and he felt his whole face ignite with heat. He desperately wanted to ask, but his tongue got tied up, and he ducked his head, too flustered to find the words.

Luckily, Tae seemed to sense his hesitation and nudged the conversation in a gentler direction.

"Tell us about how you feel when you’re around Yoongi," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Tell us honest."

Jimin hesitated, heart thudding. "I feel... happy," he said slowly. "Safe. Like… like I can finally breathe."

Jin smiled warmly. "Sounds like love, honey."

Jimin's eyes went wide. "Love?"

Tae laughed. "Maybe not all the way yet. But it sounds like a mighty big crush at least."

Jimin fiddled with his sleeves, flustered. "I do think about him all the time," he admitted. "Even when he's not there. And I want to make him happy. I want to be good for him."

"That’s a crush, all right," Jin said, grinning. "Maybe even the start of something bigger."

Tae leaned forward, his voice soft but serious. "If you're thinking about getting closer — about intimacy — you got to talk to him. Ask him what he thinks it'd be like between you two."

Jimin's stomach twisted nervously. "What if he thinks I'm foolish?"

"He won't," Jin said firmly. "Yoongi's half in love with you already, you just don’t see it yet."

"And even if he’s nervous too, talking about it helps," Tae added. "Communication, sweetheart. It's everything."

Jimin nodded slowly, tucking their advice into his heart.

The conversation drifted then, lighter topics filling the air. They laughed about town gossip, about Namjoon and Hoseok’s latest cooking disasters, and who was most likely to win the upcoming harvest pie contest.

Eventually, Jin and Tae stood, brushing crumbs from their laps.

"You'll be just fine," Jin said, pulling Jimin into a warm hug. "Just keep trusting yourself."

"And trust him," Tae added, squeezing Jimin's shoulder. "He isn’t going to hurt you."

Jimin walked them to the door, waving until they disappeared down the dirt path, their laughter lingering in the warm afternoon air.

When he finally closed the door and leaned back against it, Jimin let out a shaky sigh.

His mind was buzzing with everything they'd said — about communication, about trusting his feelings, about talking to Yoongi openly.

He set about tidying the kitchen, but his thoughts kept wandering — to Yoongi’s soft smiles, his rough hands, the way his touch had started to linger a little longer each night.

Could he really ask? Could he really be that bold?

Jimin glanced at the flowers Yoongi had given him sitting on the table, bright and fresh in the sun.

Yes, he thought, squaring his shoulders.

If he wanted to build a future with Yoongi — a real one, filled with warmth and trust and tenderness — he had to start being brave.

Even if his voice trembled, even if his heart raced, he would ask.

He would find a way to talk to Yoongi tonight — about his dreams, his hopes, and all the messy, beautiful questions blooming in his heart.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd find that Yoongi had been waiting for him to ask all along.

……………

After finishing the last of the dishes, Jimin wiped his hands on a cloth and stood in the quiet kitchen, heart fluttering.

The sun was low now, casting long golden streaks through the windows. Everything felt softer, quieter — like the whole farmhouse was holding its breath along with him.

He drifted toward the sitting room, sitting on the edge of the couch, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. His mind replayed Jin’s and Tae’s words again and again:

Talk to him. Ask him. Communicate.

Jimin chewed his bottom lip, feeling a thrill of nervous excitement. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to trust Yoongi — and trust himself too.

But how to bring it up? How did someone even start a conversation like that?

He imagined just blurting it out over dinner:

"How do you think sex would be between us?"

The thought alone made him bury his flaming face in his hands.

No. Not like that.

It had to be gentle. Natural. Something that wouldn’t make both of them too shy to speak.

Jimin peeked up from his hands, thinking hard.

Maybe after dinner? When they were getting ready for bed?

When it was just the two of them, soft and quiet, maybe even when Jimin had curled up against Yoongi like he always did lately...

The idea made his heart squeeze.

He thought about Yoongi’s hands, warm and steady on his back, the way Yoongi always made room for him, always moved slow and careful, never pushing.

Yoongi wouldn’t laugh at him. He wouldn’t think he was foolish.

Still, Jimin felt tiny tremors of nerves inside him.

What if Yoongi didn’t want him like that? What if he was just being kind because he had to be?

No, Jimin thought firmly, shoulders straightening. Yoongi had chosen him. Yoongi had been patient and gentle, even when Jimin hadn’t understood everything yet.

And Yoongi had looked at him — really looked at him — like Jimin was precious.

He couldn’t let old fears and doubts poison what was growing between them.

He wanted to be bold.

He wanted to be honest.

Maybe he could start by telling Yoongi he trusted him. That he felt safe with him. That when he thought about a future — a real, bright future — he thought about Yoongi being part of it.

Jimin pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

He could do this.

He would do this.

In the other room, he heard the familiar sound of the front door opening — Yoongi’s boots thunking softly against the floorboards as he toed them off, the rustle of his jacket.

"Jimin?" Yoongi’s voice, low and warm, drifted in. "I'm home."

Jimin stood up, smoothing his hands down his sides. He felt almost giddy, like he was about to jump off a cliff — but the ground below was soft, waiting to catch him.

"I'm here!" he called back, voice shaking just a little.

He took one last deep breath, pressing a small, private smile to his lips.

Tonight, he would be brave.

Tonight, he would take the first step toward the future he wanted — the one he could almost see now, bright and full of warmth and laughter and love.

And when he looked into Yoongi’s eyes, he just knew:

He wouldn’t have to take that step alone.

……………

Dinner was quiet, save for the soft clink of cutlery against plates and the occasional low murmur of the wind through the open windows.

Yoongi and Jimin sat side-by-side at the kitchen table, plates filled with simple fare—stew, bread, and the last of the early spring berries.

Jimin picked at his food more than he ate, twisting his fork in circles on the edge of his plate.

Yoongi noticed, of course he did.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice as low and steady as always, but tinged with concern.

Jimin startled a little at being caught and glanced at him, cheeks flushing pink.

"Y-yeah," he said quickly. "I'm fine."

Yoongi just looked at him, giving him that patient silence that made it impossible to lie.

Jimin squirmed, pushing his plate away and folding his hands in his lap.

"I... I wanted to talk to you about something," he said, his voice small.

Yoongi set his fork down immediately and turned his full attention to him.

"Alright," he said gently. "I'm listening."

Jimin chewed his lip, nerves bouncing in his chest.

He thought about backing out, making some excuses. But then he remembered Tae and Jin’s words — communication is important — and how safe he always felt with Yoongi.

"I... talked to Jin and Tae today," he began hesitantly.

Yoongi nodded, encouraging.

"And they... they explained a lot of things. About... um..." Jimin's voice trailed off, mortified.

Yoongi’s expression softened even further.

"About being with someone?" he offered, his voice warm and careful.

Jimin nodded quickly, staring down at his lap.

There was a pause.

Yoongi shifted in his chair, angling closer to Jimin without crowding him.

"What do you want to know, baby?"

The gentle endearment made Jimin's heart squeeze. He drew in a breath and forced himself to look up.

"I was wondering what you thought," he whispered. "About... intimacy. With me."

Yoongi’s eyes darkened slightly — not with anger or anything bad, but with something deep and warm.

He reached out, letting his hand rest lightly atop Jimin’s trembling ones.

"I think..." Yoongi began, choosing his words carefully, "that intimacy can mean a lot of different things. And that we should go as slow as you need. Always."

Jimin’s eyes shimmered with relief, but he still looked confused.

"But..." he said, voice hitching. "What is it like? I mean, Jin and Tae talked about it, but I don’t really understand."

Yoongi hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile.

"Alright," he said softly. "Let’s start with the basics, then."

He pulled his hands back to gesture, like he was explaining something simple and natural.

"Alpha anatomy is made to fit with an omega’s. During heat—or even just when both people want it—an alpha can scent, mount, and eventually... knot their omega."

Jimin made a small, startled noise, and Yoongi hurried on.

"But," he said quickly, "that doesn’t have to happen right away. Knotting is something that happens when it’s safe, when both people want it. And it doesn’t hurt if it’s done right. It’s supposed to feel good."

Jimin’s mouth fell open slightly in wonder, his cheeks burning.

"And... and it’s safe?" he asked timidly.

Yoongi nodded.

"If you’re ready. If you want it. Always."

Jimin nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around it.

He thought back to what Jin and Tae had said—that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should feel good to be close to someone you love.

"But," Jimin said, voice going even softer, "they also said there’s... other ways to be close. Other than that."

Yoongi coughed, face flushing bright pink.

"Ah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. There’s a lot of ways."

Jimin peeked up at him shyly.

"Like...?"

Yoongi chuckled, low and a little embarrassed.

"Like kissing, touching. Using hands or mouths to make each other feel good," he said, each word sounding like it cost him a little more composure.

Jimin gasped, scandalized and fascinated all at once.

"Oh," he breathed.

Yoongi's lips twitched.

"It’s all about trust," he said softly. "About wanting to make the other person feel cared for. Not just about... you know. Getting off."

Jimin nodded frantically, still bright red.

"I think..." Jimin said slowly, "I think I like the idea of being close. But... I'm scared."

Yoongi’s whole body seemed to soften.

"That's alright," he said immediately. "You're allowed to be. Hell, I'd be worried if you weren't."

Jimin looked at him, wide-eyed.

"You would?"

"Course I would," Yoongi said, smiling fondly. "Means you're thinking about it seriously. Means you're trusting me with something real."

Jimin swallowed thickly.

He thought about what it would feel like—letting Yoongi kiss him again or touch him in new ways.

He thought about the way Yoongi always looked at him, like he was something precious.

"I want to," Jimin whispered.

Yoongi reached across the table again, taking his hand.

"And we will," he said. "But only when you're ready. No rush."

Jimin squeezed his hand back, feeling a little braver.

"Okay," he whispered. "Thank you."

They smiled at each other, the last bit of tension bleeding out of the room.

After a while, they finished their meal in an easy, warm silence.

Later, as they stood side-by-side washing dishes, Jimin leaned into Yoongi’s side.

"You know," Jimin said shyly, "I didn’t think marriage could feel like this."

"Like what?"

Jimin smiled.

"Safe. Happy."

Yoongi pressed a kiss to his hair.

"Me neither," he murmured.

They finished cleaning up, and Yoongi dried his hands on a towel.

Before Jimin could slip away to start worrying again, Yoongi reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, wrapped in a piece of cloth.

"I made you something," he said, voice rough.

Jimin blinked in surprise.

"For me?"

Yoongi nodded and held it out.

Jimin opened it carefully—and gasped.

Inside was a comb, carved from smooth, pale wood. Tiny flowers and vines twined delicately along the handle, each line so fine it must have taken hours.

"Yoongi," Jimin whispered, stunned. "It’s beautiful."

Yoongi shrugged, looking bashful.

"Figured you needed a proper one. Your hair’s too fine for the old brush in the house."

Jimin’s hands trembled as he lifted the comb, feeling the care and effort carved into every inch.

"Thank you," he said, voice thick.

Yoongi smiled.

"You’re welcome, sweetheart."

Jimin pressed the comb to his chest, overcome by the simple, overwhelming love of it.

He knew, right then, that whenever he was ready — whether it was tomorrow, or next week, or next year — he wanted to share everything with Yoongi.

His body, his heart, his whole life.

And for the first time, he wasn’t afraid.

Not at all.

……………

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, the warm glow of the lamps casting a soft, golden light around the bedroom. Jimin stood by the wardrobe, biting his lip as he stared at the small pile of nightclothes he had set aside.

Tonight… he wanted to be a little bold.

He remembered how it felt the last time—how Yoongi had looked at him, the heat in his eyes, the way his voice had gone all low and rough. How good it felt to know he could affect him like that, even without really trying.

Heart racing, Jimin picked up the soft, frilly pair of underclothes, one of the ones he had bought in town—white with tiny little bows stitched along the edges. They were delicate, pretty, and made him feel… desirable.

Instead of his usual nightgown, he tugged one of Yoongi’s shirts off the hook by the bed, the one that was soft from wear and smelled just like him—earth, soap, and something warm and uniquely Yoongi.

Jimin pulled it on, the hem falling just to the tops of his thighs, the sleeves swallowing his hands. The combination of his new, pretty underwear and Yoongi’s shirt made a shiver run up his spine.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and flushed. It was obvious what he was doing. He looked… well, he looked like he wanted something. And part of him did.

Not everything yet, not all the way—but he wanted to be close.

He wanted Yoongi.

Swallowing his nerves, Jimin padded out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

Yoongi was already there, sitting on the edge in his sleep pants, toweling his hair dry. He looked up when Jimin entered—and froze.

Jimin saw it happen, saw Yoongi’s eyes darken immediately, tracking the line of his bare thighs, the swell of frilly fabric barely hidden by the hem of the shirt. Saw the way Yoongi’s throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.

The air between them grew thick, heavy with something unspoken but very much felt.

Jimin could smell it too—that rich, heated scent that meant Yoongi was aroused. It wrapped around him, sweet and heady, and made his skin tingle.

Yoongi said nothing at first. He just watched, chest rising and falling faster, his towel forgotten in his lap.

Jimin's cheeks burned, but he felt oddly powerful too, knowing the effect he had. He ducked his head shyly, feeling small and brave at the same time, and crawled up onto the bed.

Yoongi’s hands twitched, like he wanted to reach for him—but he stayed still, waiting for Jimin to set the pace.

Jimin slipped under the covers and patted the spot in front of him, smiling a little.

"You coming to bed?" he asked, voice light and teasing.

Yoongi let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a groan and slid under the covers beside him, careful to keep some distance.

But Jimin didn't want distance tonight.

He scooted closer, pressing his front to Yoongi’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Yoongi shivered under the touch.

"Clingy little thing," Yoongi murmured fondly, his voice rough.

"You like it," Jimin whispered back.

Yoongi huffed a soft laugh but didn’t deny it.

Slowly, he turned in Jimin’s hold, rolling over to face him. Without hesitation, he pulled Jimin into his arms, fitting their bodies together, Jimin’s back to Yoongi’s chest. They settled into an easy spoon, like puzzle pieces sliding into place.

Yoongi's arm curled around Jimin’s waist, his hand resting lightly on his belly. His face tucked against the crook of Jimin’s neck, breath warm and steady.

For a while, they just lay there, the steady beat of their hearts syncing up.

Then Yoongi shifted, hips tilting forward—and Jimin felt it.

Felt the hard, undeniable press of Yoongi’s arousal against the curve of his backside.

Jimin let out a startled little noise, half-moan, half-whimper.

Yoongi stilled immediately.

"Sorry," he muttered, voice strangled. "Didn’t mean to—"

"It's okay," Jimin whispered, emboldened by how careful Yoongi was being. "I... I don't mind."

Yoongi groaned again, low and desperate.

"You’re killing me, sweetheart," he said, voice thick.

Jimin wiggled a little, just to tease—and Yoongi retaliated by grinding forward, slow and deliberate.

This time, Jimin couldn’t hold back the full moan that slipped from his lips.

Yoongi cursed under his breath and tightened his grip around Jimin’s waist, his hand sliding lower, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Jimin’s frilly underwear.

Jimin’s breath hitched, hips pressing back instinctively.

Everything was hot and heavy and too much all at once.

Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop.

Slowly, he pulled his hips back, putting a little space between them even though every instinct screamed against it.

"We got to stop," he rasped, voice pained.

Jimin nodded quickly, panting.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Yoongi kissed the back of Jimin’s neck, breathing him in.

"Not because I don’t want you," he said fiercely. "God, baby, I want you so bad. But you’re not ready yet. I’m not going to rush you."

Jimin turned in his arms, looking up at him with wide, shining eyes.

"I trust you," he whispered.

Yoongi cupped his cheek gently.

"I know, angel. And it means everything to me."

They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, letting the heat simmer down into something tender and sweet.

Eventually, Yoongi pulled the covers higher around them, tucking Jimin close against his chest again. He nuzzled into Jimin’s hair, sighing softly.

"Sleep, baby," he murmured. "I got you."

Jimin smiled against his chest, feeling warm and safe and loved in a way he never had before.

"Goodnight, Yoongi," he whispered.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

And wrapped in each other’s arms, they drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

……………

The morning sun poured softly into the bedroom, painting golden stripes across the rumpled quilt and tangled bodies in the bed.

Jimin was the first to stir, though he stayed where he was, resting comfortably against Yoongi's chest. His leg was still thrown over Yoongi’s thigh from the night before, and Yoongi’s hand was warm where it rested low on his back.

Jimin shifted slightly, still half-asleep—and immediately felt it.

A flush spread across his cheeks when he realized Yoongi was still hard beneath the covers, the evidence pressing against him through the thin layers of cloth separating them. Jimin stiffened instinctively, his heart hammering.

Before he could move away, Yoongi shifted too, a low, pleased sound rumbling in his chest. Jimin stilled, peeking up through his lashes just as Yoongi cracked one eye open lazily.

For a moment, they just looked at each other—then a slow, mischievous smile tugged at Yoongi’s lips.

“Well, good morning,” Yoongi drawled, voice thick with sleep and something else.

Jimin's face burned. "M-Morning," he whispered.

Yoongi’s hand, still resting on Jimin’s back, started a slow, lazy stroke downward. The touch made Jimin shiver against him.

"You know," Yoongi said casually, eyes glinting with mischief, "you teased me something awful the other night... walking around in that little thing, smelling all sweet, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing."

"I-I wasn’t—" Jimin started to protest, flustered, but Yoongi only chuckled lowly.

"You were," he teased, his fingers brushing the back of Jimin’s thigh, feather-light but deliberate.

Jimin shivered, clutching the front of Yoongi’s shirt with trembling hands, feeling heat bloom across his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, helpless against the way Yoongi's slow, teasing touches made him feel.

Yoongi shifted just enough to roll his hips up slightly against Jimin, not enough to be crude, but enough that Jimin felt every bit of his arousal pressed against him.

Yoongi must have misjudged though because he was pressed directly against Jimin. He could feel the wet warmth through the fabric.

A soft, desperate noise escaped Jimin’s throat before he could catch it.

Yoongi immediately stilled, his teasing hand stilling as well.

"Easy, angel," he said softly, voice fond now, no teasing. "We’re just playing. I’m not going to push you into nothing, alright?"

Jimin peeked up at him, cheeks flaming but heart pounding with affection. He nodded, still gripping Yoongi’s shirt.

Yoongi smiled and stroked his hair once, soothing. "You tell me if you ever want more. 'Til then, we just cuddle."

Jimin’s heart felt so full it might burst. He nodded again, snuggling closer.

Eventually, they managed to untangle themselves, though not without a few shy glances and smiles.

Jimin padded over to the small dresser and pulled out the new yellow dress Yoongi had bought him in town. He hesitated for a moment, then decided he wanted to wear it today—he wanted Yoongi to see.

He slipped it on carefully, smoothing it down over his hips. The soft, butter-yellow fabric hugged him perfectly, and the delicate little bow at the waist made his heart flutter.

He turned slightly, glancing at his reflection in the small mirror on the dresser.

He didn’t even hear Yoongi move until he felt warm arms circle his waist from behind.

"You’re beautiful," Yoongi murmured right against his ear, making Jimin shiver.

"I—" Jimin tried to protest, ducking his head.

Yoongi turned him gently to face him, hands firm on his waist.

"I mean it," he said, voice serious now. His eyes roamed slowly over Jimin, drinking him in. "Like a dream. Like something out a fairytale."

Jimin’s cheeks flamed scarlet. He wrung his hands in the fabric of the dress, overwhelmed by the sincerity in Yoongi’s voice.

"You don’t have to say that," he mumbled.

Yoongi frowned slightly, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"I want to say it," he said firmly. "You should hear it every damn day. You’re stunning, Jimin."

Jimin’s eyes stung suddenly, emotion welling up so fast he barely managed to blink it back. He ducked his head, but Yoongi only laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Come on, angel," he said, tugging him gently toward the stairs. "Let’s get some breakfast in you before I keep you in this room all morning just looking at you."

Jimin giggled, still flustered but happy, feeling warm from head to toe.

They made their way downstairs, and while Yoongi started the coffee and sliced some bread, Jimin busied himself setting the table, every so often glancing at Yoongi with a shy, pleased smile.

Yoongi caught him looking once and winked, making Jimin squeak and duck his head.

It was going to be a good day.

He could feel it.

……………

The late morning sun was high over the wheat fields, turning everything to soft gold. The gentle hum of insects filled the air as Yoongi worked alone, methodically checking the rows for weeds and damage. With the farmhands having the day off, the fields felt strangely quiet. Peaceful.

Still, he didn’t mind the solitude. Especially when he knew Jimin was back at the house, safe and warm.

By the time noon rolled around, the sun was beating down harder. Yoongi swiped his forehead with his sleeve, pausing to stretch his aching back. He glanced toward the farmhouse—and nearly dropped the hoe he was holding.

Jimin was walking toward him, a small basket swinging from his hand. His yellow dress caught the sunlight like a flame. But what really caught Yoongi’s attention—and made heat flood through him—was the way Jimin had pinned up his skirts to keep them out of the dirt. The white underskirt hugged his thighs and calves, showing off so much leg Yoongi could barely think.

Yoongi swallowed thickly and forced himself to look away, busying himself with stacking some tools nearby.

"Hi, Yoongi!" Jimin called brightly as he approached, cheeks pink from the walk.

"Hey, angel," Yoongi rasped, trying to keep his voice steady. "You didn’t have to come all the way out here."

"I wanted to!" Jimin beamed, holding out the basket. "I brought you lunch."

Yoongi took it gratefully, sneaking a glance at those scandalously bare legs again before jerking his eyes back up to Jimin’s face.

"You’re something else," he muttered, not meaning to say it out loud.

Jimin’s cheeks turned pinker, but he only smiled sweetly and plopped down onto the blanket Yoongi always kept folded in the shade of a nearby tree.

"Come sit," Jimin said, patting the space next to him.

Yoongi hesitated, setting down the basket, then lowered himself carefully onto the blanket. He sat cross-legged, giving himself a little distance. It didn’t help much.

The scent of Jimin—sweet, warm, inviting—wrapped around him immediately.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, chatting about little things. Jimin talked about the flowers blooming by the house, and how he wanted to try baking a new pie later in the week.

Yoongi nodded and grunted at the right times, but honestly, he wasn’t listening too closely. His entire body was aware of how close Jimin was. How pretty he looked. How easy it would be to reach over and—

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on chewing.

But then Jimin shifted closer.

Yoongi blinked as the omega scooted into his side, smiling up at him shyly.

"Is it okay if I…?" Jimin trailed off, looking suddenly bashful.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jimin was crawling right into his lap, skirts bunching up, bare legs brushing against Yoongi’s thighs.

Yoongi froze, hands hovering uselessly in the air. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Jimin wriggled a little to get comfortable—and immediately stiffened when he felt it.

The hard, undeniable evidence of Yoongi’s arousal pressing against him through his thin skirts.

Jimin went very still, wide eyes lifting to meet Yoongi’s.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then a sly little smile tugged at the corner of Jimin’s mouth.

"You like me sitting here," Jimin said softly, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Yoongi gave a strangled noise in his throat, hands clenching and unclenching where they hovered near Jimin’s hips.

"Angel, you have no idea," he said hoarsely.

Feeling a little bolder, Jimin shifted again—just slightly—and Yoongi groaned under his breath.

"Jimin," he warned, voice strained.

But Jimin only giggled, cheeks flushed. "You teased me," he said sweetly. "Now it’s my turn."

Yoongi narrowed his eyes playfully. "That how you want to play it?"

Jimin’s only answer was to wriggle again.

Yoongi didn’t need more invitation.

With a low growl, he shifted, laying Jimin gently back on the blanket. He hovered over him, careful not to put his full weight down, caging him in with his arms.

Jimin’s heart raced wildly as he looked up at him, feeling small and precious under Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi dipped down to nuzzle into Jimin’s throat, scenting him deeply, breathing in his sweetness.

Jimin gasped, arching up into him instinctively.

Yoongi ground his hips forward, slowly, carefully, letting Jimin feel exactly what he was doing to him. The pressure made Jimin moan softly, clinging to Yoongi’s shoulders.

They moved like that for a while, slow and lazy, the heat between them building higher and higher.

Jimin lost track of time. All he could feel was Yoongi—his hands, his mouth, the heavy heat of his body.

But then—

Something changed.

A new feeling bloomed inside Jimin, sharp and overwhelming. It wasn’t bad exactly, but it was a lot, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

He whimpered, tense under Yoongi’s body.

Yoongi immediately froze.

He lifted his head, searching Jimin’s face.

"You alright, angel?" he asked, voice low and gentle.

"I—I don’t know," Jimin whispered, voice shaking.

Yoongi pulled back instantly, sitting up and giving him space. His hands cupped Jimin’s face carefully.

"It’s okay," Yoongi murmured. "We’ll stop. You’re alright."

Jimin nodded, still trembling slightly.

Yoongi helped him sit up, rubbing his back soothingly.

"You felt something new, huh?" he said, sounding unsurprised.

Jimin nodded again, burying his face in Yoongi’s chest.

"It’s normal," Yoongi reassured him. "It’s just... your body’s getting ready for more. Nothing is wrong with you. But we don’t got to rush it, yeah?"

Jimin clung to him tightly, heart still hammering.

After a few minutes, he calmed down enough to pull back, cheeks pink but eyes clear.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Yoongi shook his head firmly. "Isn’t nothing to be sorry for. I’m proud of you."

Jimin’s heart fluttered at the fierce sincerity in his voice.

Yoongi smiled, brushing Jimin’s hair back tenderly. "You’re doing’ real good, angel. We’ll go at your pace."

Jimin nodded shyly, feeling warmth spread through his chest.

After a moment, Yoongi reached for him again, tilting Jimin’s face up and kissing his forehead.

"Want me to help you settle before you head back?" Yoongi asked gently.

Jimin nodded, face burning but trusting.

With careful, loving touches, Yoongi helped ease the tight coil of need in Jimin’s body, never pushing, only giving. He made strong sweeping touches up and down his sides. Grounding Jimin back in reality. He was gentle and patient, murmuring soft praises the whole time.

When they were done, Jimin sagged into Yoongi’s arms, boneless and content.

Yoongi kissed his temple once more, then helped him smooth down his dress and get to his feet.

"You go on back to the house," Yoongi said, giving him a little nudge. "I’ll finish up here."

Jimin hesitated, then leaned up to kiss Yoongi’s cheek, quick and sweet.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Yoongi’s face lit up like the sun.

"Anytime, angel."

Blushing furiously, Jimin hurried back toward the farmhouse, skirts fluttering around his legs.

Yoongi watched him go, heart so full it ached.

Then he shook his head, chuckling under his breath, and picked up his tools again.

Work was going to be real hard today—with the taste of Jimin’s sweetness still lingering on his tongue.

……………

By the time Jimin reached the farmhouse, his face was still burning hot.

He stumbled up the porch steps, heart pounding in his ears, and leaned against the doorframe for a moment, catching his breath. His body still tingled from Yoongi’s touches, from the way Yoongi had held him so carefully, like he was something precious.

Jimin smiled helplessly, pressing his fingertips to his lips.

He slipped inside the house, closing the door quietly behind him. The house was cool and dim, the scent of fresh bread lingering in the air from the morning’s baking. Everything felt so normal, so still—and yet, Jimin felt like his world had shifted somehow.

He made his way to the sitting room and flopped down on the worn couch, hugging a cushion to his chest.

His mind wandered back over the afternoon: the way Yoongi’s body had hovered over his, the way Yoongi had stopped the second he got overwhelmed, without even needing to be asked. No frustration, no anger—just steady hands and soft words.

The memory made Jimin’s chest ache in the best way.

He thought about the way Yoongi had looked at him afterward, so full of pride and care. Like Jimin was brave just for trying.

And then there was the way Yoongi had helped him—gently, tenderly, without rushing or pushing. Like nothing about Jimin’s wants or fears made him any less lovable.

Jimin squirmed a little on the couch, clutching the pillow tighter.

He liked the way Yoongi made him feel. Safe. Seen. Cherished.

And if he was honest with himself… he liked the way it felt to tease Yoongi, too. To see him struggle not to touch, to see that deep hunger in his eyes. It made Jimin feel powerful and wanted, in a way he’d never felt before.

He buried his face in the pillow, kicking his feet a little.

"I like him," he whispered into the fabric, voice muffled.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore. It was something deeper, something warmer. Something that made him want to wrap his whole body around Yoongi and never let go.

Jimin sighed happily, letting himself daydream.

He pictured a future where they did this every day—where he brought Yoongi lunch in the fields, where they stole kisses under the trees, where they curled up together at night and talked about their dreams.

He pictured little ones running around the house, laughter echoing in the halls. Yoongi lifting them up high in his strong arms. Jimin chasing after them with flour on his nose from baking.

A life full of love, softness, and belonging.

The kind of life he never dared hope for before.

Jimin hugged the pillow tighter, his heart full to bursting.

He thought about tonight—how they’d get into bed and Yoongi would pull him close without hesitation. How he could maybe, if he was brave enough, whisper about wanting more kisses, more touches. How Yoongi would listen, would never rush him.

Maybe soon, Jimin would be ready to go even further. Maybe one day, he would be ready to fully claim Yoongi as his mate, to be marked and bound in the way omegas and alphas were meant to be.

The thought made his stomach flutter nervously—but also glow with anticipation.

He closed his eyes, letting the images wash over him.

Yoongi’s rough hands on his waist. Yoongi’s soft voice murmuring praise in his ear. Yoongi’s strong arms holding him steady as they became something new, something whole.

Jimin smiled sleepily, feeling deliciously warm and safe.

For once, his dreams weren’t full of fear or loneliness. They were full of Yoongi’s laughter, the golden light of the wheat fields, the scent of home.

Slowly, lazily, Jimin rolled onto his side, still clutching the pillow.

He wondered if Yoongi was thinking about him right now, out there under the blazing sun. Wondered if he was imagining Jimin’s lips, his hands, the way he fit so perfectly against him.

Probably not, Jimin thought with a giggle. Yoongi was too responsible to let his mind wander like that when there was work to do.

But still… Jimin liked to imagine it.

Maybe he’d make another little treat for Yoongi tonight. Something sweet, like him. Maybe he’d even wear the soft cream nightgown Yoongi seemed to like so much.

Maybe he’d dare to kiss Yoongi first.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.

For the first time in a long time, Jimin wasn’t scared of wanting. He wasn’t scared of dreaming about love, about touch, about happiness.

He was allowed to want. He was allowed to need.

And Yoongi—steady, patient Yoongi—was right there, waiting for him to be ready.

Jimin sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into the couch.

Maybe he’d nap for a little while. Rest up for tonight, when Yoongi would come home, dusty and tired but smiling at him like he was the best part of his day.

And Jimin would be waiting, arms open, heart full.

Exactly where he belonged.

……………

The golden evening sun was just beginning to sink low behind the hills when the front door creaked open.

Jimin, who had dozed off curled around a pillow on the couch, blinked awake at the sound. His heart leapt when he saw Yoongi step inside, his clothes dusty from the field, hair mussed, cheeks flushed from the heat of the day.

Without thinking, Jimin sprang up, the pillow tumbling to the floor as he raced across the room.

"Yoongi!" he cried, throwing himself into Yoongi’s arms.

Yoongi let out a soft, startled laugh, catching Jimin easily against his chest. His arms curled around Jimin’s waist, holding him steady, grounding him. Jimin buried his face against Yoongi’s shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of wheat, earth, and that underlying comfort that was purely Yoongi.

"I missed you," Jimin mumbled, words a little muffled against him.

Yoongi’s hand came up to stroke through his hair. "I wasn’t gone that long, sunshine," he teased, voice low and fond. "But I missed you too."

Jimin beamed up at him, cheeks flushed pink.

"Come sit with me?" he asked shyly, tugging at Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He let Jimin lead him out onto the porch, where the rocking chairs creaked gently in the soft breeze. They settled down side by side, close enough that their arms brushed.

For a few moments, they just sat there, watching the sun dip lower, the fields turning a deep, burnished gold.

Then Jimin, still buzzing with excitement and nerves, blurted, "Can we talk about earlier?"

Yoongi turned his head to look at him, his expression open and patient. "Of course."

Jimin bit his lip, fiddling with a loose thread on his skirt. "I… I was thinking about what you said before. About intimacy. You said it doesn’t always mean, you know, going all the way."

Yoongi nodded slowly. "That’s right."

"So…" Jimin fidgeted. "What we did earlier… with the touching and, um, the feeling close… That was…?"

"A form of intimacy," Yoongi finished gently for him. "Yes."

Jimin’s face went red as a strawberry.

"I liked it," he confessed in a small voice.

Yoongi’s smile was so soft it made Jimin’s chest ache.

"I liked it too," Yoongi said. "I liked being close to you. Holding you. Hearing you laugh and seeing you smile."

Jimin ducked his head, feeling like he might just melt into a puddle right there on the porch.

Gathering his courage, he asked, "Can I ask something else?"

"Always."

"When we… when we were laying together, and I felt… strange. Like I was going to… I don’t know, explode or something." He wrung his hands. "What was that?"

Yoongi cleared his throat, clearly a little flustered himself.

"That’s probably…" He scratched the back of his neck. "You were probably close to having an orgasm."

Jimin’s eyes widened, his whole body going stiff with embarrassment.

"O-oh," he squeaked.

"It’s normal," Yoongi said quickly, his voice calm and reassuring. "It’s a good thing, Jimin. It means you were feeling good. Safe. Your body was just… reacting naturally."

Jimin covered his burning face with his hands, peeking at Yoongi between his fingers.

"You’re not embarrassed, are you?" Yoongi asked gently, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"M-maybe a little," Jimin admitted.

Yoongi’s hand found his, squeezing it.

"There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good," he said softly. "And there’s definitely nothing wrong with you, Jimin. I’m honored you trusted me enough to let yourself feel that way."

Jimin swallowed thickly, heart pounding.

He wanted to say something—to thank Yoongi, to tell him how special he made him feel—but the words got tangled on his tongue.

Instead, he leaned his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, breathing in his warm, steady scent.

They sat like that for a long while, the crickets beginning to sing in the tall grass, the last light of day slipping away into a blanket of stars.

Eventually, Yoongi stood, stretching with a soft groan.

"It’s late," he said, glancing down at Jimin with a fond smile. "You’ll fall asleep right here if you’re not careful."

Jimin pouted a little, not wanting to move from his cozy spot.

Yoongi chuckled low in his chest. "Come on, sunshine."

Before Jimin could protest, Yoongi bent down and scooped him up into his arms—bridal style.

Jimin gasped, clutching at Yoongi’s shoulders. "Yoongi!"

Yoongi just laughed, carrying him easily across the porch and back inside.

"You’re light as a feather," he teased. "Could carry you around all day if you wanted."

Jimin’s heart fluttered wildly. He stared up at Yoongi, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the easy strength in his arms, the tenderness in his eyes.

It was stupidly attractive. Jimin clutched at him tighter, feeling like he might just combust on the spot.

Yoongi carried him all the way to their bedroom and set him down gently on the edge of the bed.

Jimin’s legs wobbled a little as he stood, his face bright red.

"T-thank you," he stammered.

Yoongi just grinned, ruffling his hair before stepping back to start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Jimin, dazed and glowing with happiness, got ready for bed with a dreamy sort of air, sneaking shy glances at Yoongi every few seconds.

Tonight, he thought, snuggling under the quilt, tonight he was going to fall asleep with his heart full to the brim—with gratitude, with hope, and with a growing, overwhelming love for the man who carried him without hesitation.

Yoongi slipped into bed beside him, gathering Jimin close without a word.

And just like that, all of Jimin’s worries slipped away.

Chapter Text

The room was still and warm in the early morning darkness, only the faint creak of the house settling and the rhythmic sound of the wind against the windows breaking the silence.

Yoongi stirred faintly in his sleep, feeling something soft pressing insistently against him. He blinked awake slowly, still half-lost in dreams, and realized with a sudden jolt that Jimin was grinding against him — slow, small movements, desperate even in unconsciousness.

Soft whimpers fell from Jimin’s lips, his face flushed where it was tucked against Yoongi’s chest. His fists clutched lightly at Yoongi’s nightshirt, and his whole body shivered as he moved. Yoongi's breath hitched as he became fully aware of how hard he was, the sensation of Jimin against him making his own body throb with want. Jimin’s night gown had ridden up and Yoongi could feel his hardness press directly against his cunt through his underwear.

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, his voice rough from sleep, trying to gently shake the younger man awake.

It took a few moments before Jimin’s pretty eyes blinked open, hazy and glassy with sleep and something deeper. He froze when he realized what he was doing, body going rigid against Yoongi's.

"I—I’m sorry," Jimin stammered, voice small and wrecked with embarrassment. He tried to pull away, but Yoongi’s hand on his hip kept him close, steadying him.

“It’s okay, Jimin,” Yoongi murmured, his thumb stroking slow circles over Jimin’s hipbone. “You were just dreaming.”

Jimin buried his face in Yoongi’s chest, mortified, but the reality of the situation—the heat between them, the hardness pressing into him, so close—made it impossible to ignore. Shifting slightly, still hazy with leftover arousal, he mumbled against Yoongi’s shirt, "It’s... it’s really big."

Yoongi let out a surprised laugh, soft and a little strained, clearly just as affected. His hand slid up Jimin’s side, reassuring. "You can... if you want to," Yoongi said quietly, "you can touch it. Over my pants."

Jimin pulled back enough to look up at him, eyes wide and uncertain. His cheeks were flaming pink, but curiosity shone through his embarrassment. After a long, trembling moment, he hesitantly reached down, pressing his small hand against the hardness straining Yoongi’s pants.

He gasped, pulling his hand back almost immediately like he’d touched something too hot. “Oh...” His voice was breathless, his whole body trembling with nervous energy. “That... that has to go inside me to make a baby?”

Yoongi, equally flustered, gave a small chuckle and cupped Jimin’s face, brushing his thumb against his cheek. “Eventually,” he said, voice low and gentle. “But not until you’re ready, Jimin. And... we’ll take our time. It’s not something that should hurt. It should feel good for both of us.”

Jimin’s heart was pounding so fast he could barely breathe. He could still feel Yoongi’s hardness, the way it throbbed against his belly, and he could feel his own body responding helplessly, even though he was overwhelmed and shy.

"I..." he whispered, shaking his head slightly, "I'm not ready yet..."

Yoongi pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. "I know. It’s okay. We’re not rushing anything. Just feeling good... being close... that’s more than enough right now."

Jimin relaxed slightly against him, letting out a shaky breath. They lay there for a while in silence, hearts thundering, the air thick with something tender and aching. Eventually, Yoongi guided Jimin to lay back down, adjusting the covers over them and pulling him close again.

As Yoongi tucked Jimin into his side, Jimin couldn’t help but whisper, "Thank you for being patient with me."

Yoongi smiled against Jimin’s hair, breathing him in. "Always, sunshine."

And with their limbs tangled and the morning light just starting to soften the edges of the dark, they drifted back into a doze, closer than ever.

……………

Light slanted in through the windows, soft and golden, brushing across the worn floorboards and the rumpled sheets tangled around Jimin’s legs. He stretched, a soft sigh escaping him as he blinked himself fully awake. His body was warm, still humming faintly with the memory of what had happened earlier.

Yoongi was moving quietly around the room, pulling on a clean shirt and smoothing his hair back with one hand. Jimin sat up slowly, cheeks burning as he stole a glance at him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—the heavy, solid feel of Yoongi pressed against him, the quiet way Yoongi had breathed his name, the invitation to touch. Every time he remembered, heat flared low in his belly, and he squirmed where he sat, trying to get control of himself.

Yoongi must have noticed because he shot him a soft smile, one that made Jimin even more flustered. Jimin scrambled out of bed, grabbing his clothes for the day—a soft yellow shirt tucked into a simple, well-worn skirt—and hurriedly changing while Yoongi wasn’t looking.

By the time they made it downstairs, Jimin had mostly composed himself, though every time Yoongi brushed close to him as they set the table for breakfast, he felt like he might combust.

They ate quietly for a while, the comfortable morning silence stretching between them. Yoongi ate steadily, clearly thinking something over, and Jimin tried to focus on his own plate instead of sneaking glances at Yoongi’s hands, the veins in his forearms, the way his fingers tapped against the table when he was thinking.

When they were finishing up, Yoongi wiped his mouth with a cloth and leaned back in his chair, eyeing Jimin warmly.

“Not much work today,” he said casually. “The field’s been sown, and the animals just need their morning tending. I’ll be home for lunch.”

Jimin’s head snapped up, bright with excitement. “Really?”

Yoongi chuckled. “Really. And after lunch... I thought maybe we could do something together.”

Jimin tilted his head, heart fluttering with curiosity. “What kind of something?”

Yoongi just smiled, slow and secretive. “It’s a surprise.”

Jimin pouted, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. "Can’t you tell me a little bit?"

"Nope," Yoongi said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You got to be patient, sunshine.”

Jimin whined under his breath but smiled too. Yoongi’s surprises were always good ones—like the flowers he kept bringing home, or the wooden comb he’d carved by hand. Jimin trusted him completely, even if his mind was already running wild with possibilities.

He finished his tea, pushing his cup aside. “I guess... I can wait,” he said, playful but secretly eager.

Yoongi stood, stretching lazily before walking over and ruffling Jimin’s hair. “Good boy. I’ll finish up in the barn and be back before you know it.”

Jimin ducked his head, grinning despite himself. He watched Yoongi pull on his boots by the door, watched the way the morning light caught in his hair, softening the edges of him. His heart squeezed tight in his chest, so full he almost couldn’t bear it.

As Yoongi headed out, Jimin stayed at the table for a few moments, fingers tracing idle patterns on the wood. His mind kept drifting back—unbidden, uncontrollable—to the way Yoongi had felt against him that morning. The size of him, the heat of him. The way Yoongi had let Jimin set the pace, hadn’t pushed, had just been there, steady and strong and safe.

Jimin bit his lip, feeling himself flush all over again. It was silly. He was just... curious. That was normal, wasn’t it? Jin and Tae had said so. It didn’t mean he had to act on it right away. It just meant he trusted Yoongi—and maybe, just maybe, wanted more someday.

But for now... for now, he would be patient. He would wait for Yoongi to come back, and he would let himself enjoy this quiet, golden morning, this feeling of being cared for so gently it made his chest ache.

Smiling to himself, Jimin gathered the dishes, humming softly under his breath as he got to work, already counting down the minutes until Yoongi returned and revealed whatever surprise he had planned.

……………

Jimin scrubbed at the kitchen table with a cloth long after it had been clean, the wood already shining from the morning’s polish. His mind kept drifting, betraying him again and again.

He should be focused on his chores. He knew that. There was bread to knead, laundry to fold, the floor to sweep—but every time he tried to move on, his thoughts tangled back to this morning.

To the weight of Yoongi pressed against him when they woke up.

To the heavy heat of him.

To the teasing glint in Yoongi’s sleepy eyes.

And then, like a stone dropped into still water, came the memories of yesterday—the two of them tangled in the golden wheat, Yoongi’s body above him, broad and strong, his touch setting fire to Jimin’s skin.

Jimin pressed the cloth hard into the table, trying to will the thoughts away.

It didn’t work.

He stood up sharply, heart hammering, and began pacing around the small kitchen. His skin felt too tight, his body buzzing with something restless and needy he didn’t know how to tame.

Then came the other memory—the quiet words Jin and Tae had shared when he visited them:

"It’s normal to want to touch yourself. Omegas deserve pleasure too. It’s not shameful to learn what you like."

Jimin bit his lip hard, hesitating.

Could he...?

He glanced around the kitchen. The windows were open to the fields beyond, but there was no one nearby.

He swallowed thickly and turned toward the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. His parents had told him since he was a child that omegas should be modest, passive, clean. They had taught him—through word and punishment—that only alphas could seek pleasure. That it wasn’t a thing meant for him.

Still... Yoongi didn’t treat him like that.

Jin and Tae hadn’t spoken like it was wrong.

Maybe—maybe it would be okay.

Jimin found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling. His heart beat so loud it echoed in his ears. Very slowly, hesitantly, he let his palm drift down his front, feeling the heat already gathering there.

He tried to imagine what it would feel like if Yoongi touched him this way instead. He closed his eyes, picturing Yoongi’s strong hands, the way he looked at him sometimes when he thought Jimin wasn’t noticing.

A soft whimper escaped his throat before he could swallow it down. His cheeks burned.

But he didn’t know what he was doing. He barely knew how his own body worked—only vague, fearful warnings from his parents, whispers in dark corners. He pressed harder, shifted his hand, but it didn’t feel like anything but confusion and a growing knot of shame.

He laid back and tried to mimic the position from the field, pretending Yoongi was on top of him. Jimin moved his hand around until he could find the spot Yoongi’s pelvis had pressed against.

When he found it a moan was forced from his throat startling him. He tried to press there again but every touch felt too harsh. Occasionally he would press right but he couldn’t get a steady rhythm going.

Tears stung his eyes, and he stopped abruptly, withdrawing his hand like it had been burned.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

His parents' voices, sharp and cold, echoed in his mind—telling him how omegas should behave, what he must never think of himself.

Jimin curled in on himself, fists bunching in the sheets.

He wasn’t bad for wanting.

He wasn’t.

Was he?

He sat there trembling, feeling the beginnings of frustration welling up inside him—hot, helpless, bitter.

And then—

A sound.

The creak of the front gate swinging shut.

Footsteps on the packed dirt path.

Yoongi.

Jimin’s heart leapt, startled from its miserable spiral. He quickly wiped at his eyes, straightened his clothes, and hurried downstairs just in time to hear the front door push open.

"Jimin?" Yoongi’s voice called, warm and steady as always.

"I’m here," Jimin replied, breathless.

Yoongi appeared in the doorway, his hair messy from the wind, his shirt sleeves rolled up, a small smile playing on his lips. He held something wrapped in a cloth in one hand—a parcel, maybe, or some surprise for later.

The sight of him—solid, kind, real—made Jimin’s knees go weak with relief.
The shame and frustration didn’t vanish completely, but they dulled, soothed by the presence of someone who had never once made him feel small for feeling.

"Miss me?" Yoongi teased gently, setting the bundle down on the counter.

Jimin nodded before he could stop himself, heart flipping. "Always," he said, voice small but honest.

Yoongi’s smile softened into something even more tender, something that made Jimin’s chest ache.

Without thinking, Jimin crossed the kitchen and threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Yoongi grunted in surprise but immediately hugged him back, broad hands warm against his back.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Yoongi murmured into his hair.

Jimin nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut.

He would tell Yoongi soon. About his fears, his frustrations. About wanting to learn, wanting to be better, wanting—him.

But for now, he just held on.

Held on to the only person who had ever made him believe he wasn’t broken after all.

……………

"Got something in mind for us today," Yoongi said casually, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jimin looked up, curious. "Oh?"

“Thought we could ride out to the creek. You know, the one at the far edge of the orchard. Water should still be cool enough for a swim."

Jimin's heart fluttered immediately. A swim? Together? Just them?

He nodded eagerly.

Yoongi chuckled under his breath, stepping off the porch. "Go grab a light shirt and your oldest skirt sweetheart. I’ll get the horse ready."              

Jimin ran inside, heart pounding with excitement.

He found the light, worn skirt he made years ago and a soft, thin shirt. An old one of Yoongi’s. As he changed, his mind raced with images of what it would be like—sunlight glinting off the water, maybe splashing Yoongi playfully, maybe... maybe more quiet, sweet touches.

By the time he made it back outside, Yoongi had the horse saddled and waiting.

"Come here," Yoongi said, reaching out a hand to him.

Jimin took it shyly, allowing Yoongi to lift him easily onto the horse's back. His fingers fluttered against the saddle horn as he tried to balance, but then Yoongi was swinging up behind him in one smooth, strong motion.

The solid, warm weight of him pressed against Jimin’s back made his cheeks heat instantly. Yoongi's arm settled around Jimin’s waist, casual but protective.

"Comfortable?" Yoongi murmured, voice deep by his ear.

Jimin nodded quickly, not trusting his voice.

They set off at a gentle pace, the soft clop of hooves on dirt the only sound for a while.

"You’re real pretty, you know that?" Yoongi said after a few minutes, his voice low and teasing.

Jimin’s face went even hotter. He ducked his head, smiling in spite of himself.

"I mean it," Yoongi went on. "Sunlight on your hair, little pink mouth all pouty because you're nervous. Going to drive me crazy if you keep looking at me like that, darlin’."

Jimin squeaked, shifting in the saddle—but of course, that only made things worse, grinding him lightly back against Yoongi’s lap.

Yoongi groaned under his breath and tightened his arm around Jimin’s waist, laughing huskily.

"Keep wiggling like that and we aren’t going to make it to the creek," he warned, amused and a little strained.

Jimin covered his burning face with his hands, but he couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

By the time they reached the orchard's edge, Jimin was a flustered mess, and Yoongi was grinning proudly about it.

The creek came into view—bright, clear water winding lazily through the trees, sparkling in the sunlight. The warm scent of grass and damp earth filled the air.

Yoongi slid off the horse first, steadying Jimin as he climbed down. His hands lingered a little longer than necessary at Jimin’s waist.

"We'll let the horse graze nearby," Yoongi said, tying the reins loosely to a low branch.

He kicked off his boots, pulled his shirt over his head, and then, without hesitation, stripped down to just his underwear.

Jimin's mouth went dry.

Yoongi's body was all sun-kissed skin and lean muscle, scarred in a few places from years of work but strong and solid. His thighs were thick and his waist narrow, and Jimin could hardly breathe looking at him.

"Well, come on," Yoongi called, already wading into the creek with a grin. "You aren’t going to make me swim alone, are you?"

Jimin fumbled with his boots, heart hammering.

Undress?

In front of Yoongi?

He managed to get his boots and socks off but hesitated with his shirt. His fingers trembled at the hem.

Yoongi, noticing, turned his back without a word, pretending to be busy looking at the water.

Grateful for the small mercy, Jimin hurried out of his clothes, down to his own thin underthings, and crept carefully toward the water.

The moment he dipped his toes in, he gasped—it was cooler than he expected, but after a moment it felt refreshing against the heat.

He edged in slowly, chest heaving from nerves more than the chill, until he was waist-deep.

Yoongi turned around—and grinned.

"You’re adorable," he said, striding through the water toward him.

Before Jimin could react, strong hands gripped his waist, pulling him gently deeper into the water.

The contact—bare skin to bare skin—sent a jolt straight through Jimin.

He gasped, grabbing at Yoongi's shoulders for balance. The world spun briefly, water lapping up against his chest.

"You okay?" Yoongi asked, voice softer now, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into Jimin’s hips.

Jimin nodded, unable to find his voice. His heart was pounding. His skin burned where Yoongi touched him.

Yoongi must have sensed how overwhelmed he was, because he loosened his hold, letting Jimin adjust at his own pace.

After a moment, Jimin relaxed, allowing himself to float a little, laughing breathlessly when Yoongi splashed water at him.

They played in the creek like children, splashing and laughing, the tension gradually ebbing away.

At one point, Yoongi ducked under the water and popped up behind Jimin, lifting him up by the waist with a victorious shout.

Jimin shrieked and laughed, twisting in his grip until they both tumbled into the water with a giant splash.

When they surfaced, coughing and laughing, Jimin found himself chest-to-chest with Yoongi.

Yoongi was smiling at him, hair slicked back from his face, water dripping down his jawline.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world felt suspended—the sun catching on the water, the distant sound of birds, the heat of Yoongi’s body so close to his.

Then Yoongi reached up and brushed a wet curl from Jimin’s forehead, so gentle it made Jimin’s throat tighten.

"You’re something else, Jimin," he said softly. "You really are."

Jimin, cheeks burning, ducked his head and splashed him again just to hide the way his heart was about to burst.

……………

The afternoon sun warmed the surface of the creek, sending golden ripples over the water. Jimin floated lazily on his back for a moment, toes skimming the surface, before he righted himself and paddled toward where Yoongi was leaning back against a smooth boulder.

Yoongi watched him with a fond, half-lazy smile, his arms resting on the stone behind him, the water lapping at his chest. Jimin still felt a little self-conscious in just his thin underclothes, but Yoongi hadn’t said anything rude or teasing—only sent him soft looks that made his heart flutter wildly.

As Jimin reached him, Yoongi straightened up slightly. His smile softened into something a little more serious.

“Hey,” Yoongi said gently, reaching out to brush a hand lightly over Jimin’s shoulder, drawing him a little closer. “There’s something I want to talk about, if you’re alright with it.”

Jimin blinked up at him, treading water. His heart sped up, but he nodded. "Okay."

Yoongi's fingers traced absent patterns against Jimin's skin under the water, soothing and steady. "It's not bad," he promised. "I just… been thinking about some things. About you. Us."

Jimin floated closer without even thinking, letting himself lean lightly against Yoongi’s chest. "What is it?" he asked, quieter now.

Yoongi hesitated for half a second, as if weighing his words carefully. Then he said, "I've noticed you been having… dreams. A lot of them."

Heat immediately rushed to Jimin's face. He pressed closer to Yoongi without thinking, mortified. "I—"

"Hey, hey," Yoongi said quickly, wrapping his arms loosely around Jimin's waist under the water. "It’s fine, darling. It’s normal. Nothing wrong with you."

Jimin clutched at Yoongi’s shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. The creek lapped gently against them.

"I just…" Yoongi went on, voice low and steady, "wanted to ask if you're feeling... pent-up. Like, maybe you need a little more alone time. To take care of yourself."

Jimin's eyes opened slowly. "Take care of myself?" he echoed, confused.

Yoongi’s cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. He ducked his head a little, smiling sheepishly. "Touch yourself, sweetheart. Relieve the pressure. It’s healthy."

Jimin burned with embarrassment but, somehow, Yoongi’s easy tone made it bearable. He hesitated, feeling the current swirl softly around them. "I…" He swallowed. "I tried."

Yoongi’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. "Yeah?"

Jimin nodded, face nearly buried in Yoongi’s shoulder now. "Jin and Tae said omegas could... But when I tried, it just felt wrong. I didn’t know what to do." His voice dropped. "My parents always said omegas shouldn’t... shouldn’t feel good. That it was for alphas."

The hand Yoongi had resting at his waist tightened slightly, protectively.

"That’s a damn lie," Yoongi said, voice low with anger that wasn’t aimed at Jimin. "You deserve pleasure the same as anyone else. Your body’s yours, Jimin. You got every right to know it and enjoy it."

Jimin shivered, not from the water but from the weight of Yoongi’s words. From how easy and certain they sounded.

"Would you..." he whispered, cheeks flaming, "show me?"

Yoongi froze for a second, his eyes dark and serious.

"You sure?" he asked, voice thick.

Jimin nodded.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, gathering him closer. He shifted so they were both partly perched on the smooth rock now, Jimin half-straddling his thigh, the water pooling around them.

"I’ll tell you," Yoongi said, steady and patient. "Won't touch unless you ask me to. Alright?"

"Alright," Jimin breathed.

Yoongi lifted one hand out of the water and brushed a finger lightly down Jimin’s bare arm. "Start slowly," he murmured. "You can touch anywhere that feels good. Doesn't have to be rushed. You have got to listen to yourself. Your body will tell you what it likes."

Jimin stared at him, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

"You can touch your thighs," Yoongi continued, voice softer now, coaxing. "Your hips. Your chest. Anything that makes you feel good. And if you want to—" He paused, glancing down meaningfully between them. "—you can touch yourself there too. Gently at first. No shame in it."

Jimin’s mouth went dry. The way Yoongi said it—so matter-of-fact, so kind—it made something tight and painful inside him begin to ease.

He shifted slightly against Yoongi's thigh without thinking and immediately felt the sharp spark of sensation.

Yoongi inhaled sharply but didn't move away. His hands stayed firm and grounding at Jimin's waist.

"You’re doing just fine," Yoongi murmured. "Nothing wrong with wanting to feel good, Jimin. I promise."

“You know how omegas and alphas have different… stuff right?”

Jimin nodded, making the tiniest little thrusts against Yoongi’s leg.

“Because you are an omega you have both, a little cock and a cunt.”

Hearing the words, so vulgar fall from Yoongi’s lips made Jimin flush more, spreading down to his chest. Jimin could see the way Yoongi’s eyes tracked it.

Yoongi continued, “To feel good you can touch both or one. If your hand is too hard take a pillow and lay on your front, on top of it. Grind on it the same way you press against me when I wake you up in the morning.”

Yoongi’s voice started to pick up, becoming low with arousal. His scent flaring. Jimin responded to it by brazenly grinding forward. Moaning unabashedly, startling himself.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—Jimin trembling slightly against him, heart hammering, while Yoongi held him steady.

The air between them grew heavier, charged with something deep and hot and a little overwhelming.

Jimin looked up at him, lips parted, eyes wide and wondering.

Yoongi’s gaze dropped to Jimin’s mouth, lingering there. His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against Jimin’s hipbone under the water.

"You’re beautiful," Yoongi whispered.

Jimin whimpered softly, burying his face in Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling like he might catch fire from how intense everything was.

Yoongi chuckled lowly and hugged him tight. "We should cool off," he teased gently, voice still thick with want. "Before I forget myself."

Jimin laughed breathlessly, relief and affection flooding him.

Yoongi tipped them both backward into the water with a splash, making Jimin shriek and giggle as they resurfaced, sputtering and playful.

The heavy tension melted away into sunlight and laughter and the cold, clean feel of the creek rushing around them.

They chased each other through the water for a while longer, splashing and dunking and teasing, until they were both breathless and soaked through, lying side by side in the shallows, grinning at each other like fools.

Jimin curled up close to Yoongi, resting his head on the alpha’s shoulder, feeling warm and safe despite the chill of the water.

"Thank you," he whispered after a long moment.

Yoongi turned his head, brushing a kiss over Jimin’s damp hair.

"Always, sweetheart," he murmured. "Anytime."

The sun dipped lower, casting long, lazy shadows across the sparkling water, and for the first time in his life, Jimin didn’t feel ashamed of wanting.

He felt wanted.

And it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

……………

The sun hung low above the horizon, golden light spilling over the tall grass and the glistening creek.

Yoongi and Jimin had pulled themselves onto the warm, grassy shore, water dripping from their hair and underclothes. Jimin lay stretched out on his stomach, face pressed into the crook of his arm, while Yoongi reclined nearby, hands folded behind his head, a lazy, contented smile playing on his lips.

A peaceful silence wrapped around them, broken only by the distant hum of cicadas and the soft gurgle of the creek.

After a while, Yoongi shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His gaze wandered over to Jimin, taking in the delicate curve of his back, the way his damp hair clung to his forehead, the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

"You know," Yoongi said quietly, voice low and warm, "I haven’t ever been this happy before."

Jimin lifted his head slightly, blinking at him, eyes wide and curious. His cheeks were still pink from their earlier talk and play, but he looked open—receptive.

Yoongi smiled a little, scratching the back of his head. "I mean it. Before you came... it was just work. Days ran together. It didn’t much matter if it was Monday or Friday. But now..." He trailed off, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Jimin’s forehead. His fingers lingered, gentle.

"Now it feels like everything's worth something. Like I'm building something real."

Jimin stared at him, mouth slightly open, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Yoongi..." he whispered.

Yoongi’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing across Jimin’s flushed skin. His dark eyes were steady, vulnerable in a way Jimin had never seen before.

"I think..." Yoongi said slowly, carefully, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Jimin."

Jimin's breath caught in his throat. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just Yoongi’s voice, Yoongi’s touch, Yoongi’s eyes burning into his.

Tears welled up before he could stop them. He covered Yoongi’s hand with his own, squeezing it tight.

"I think..." Jimin said, voice trembling, "I already love you."

Yoongi made a soft, broken sound. He leaned in close, forehead resting against Jimin’s.

"Can you kiss me, please?" Jimin whispered.

Instead of answering, Yoongi tilted Jimin's chin up and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was soft at first—tentative, searching. Jimin made a small, needy noise and leaned into it, clutching Yoongi’s shirt in both fists. That tiny, helpless sound seemed to unravel something inside Yoongi. He deepened the kiss, angling his head to fit their mouths together more firmly, his hands sliding down to Jimin’s hips.

Jimin whimpered again, overwhelmed by how good Yoongi tasted, how safe he felt pressed close like this.

Yoongi broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Come here,” voice rough and low.

He tugged Jimin fully into his lap, straddling his thighs. Jimin settled there, hands braced on Yoongi’s shoulders, trembling with want.

Their mouths met again—hotter this time, hungrier. Yoongi kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to memorize every soft, breathless sound Jimin made.

When Jimin tilted his head back with a little gasp, Yoongi took the opportunity to press kisses down the curve of his neck, his teeth grazing lightly at the sensitive skin.

Jimin clutched at him, shameless now, little moans spilling from his lips.

Yoongi growled low in his chest and sucked a mark at the base of Jimin’s throat, making Jimin arch helplessly against him.

It was only the desperate, shaky whimper Jimin gave that finally pulled Yoongi back to himself.

He pulled away, breathing hard, pressing his forehead against Jimin’s shoulder.

"We got to stop," he rasped. "Not here, not yet. You deserve better than me getting carried away like this."

Jimin nodded weakly, heart pounding.

Yoongi kissed his temple and gently shifted him off his lap. They sat side by side for a moment, catching their breath.

Finally, Yoongi stood and shook himself off, giving Jimin a playful, crooked smile.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you dressed before I forget my damn name."

Jimin laughed breathlessly, feeling drunk on happiness and nerves all at once.

Yoongi bent down and picked up Jimin’s scattered clothes, handing him his thin undershirt first. But as Jimin tried to tug it over his head, Yoongi’s hands "accidentally" brushed slow and teasing over Jimin’s bare sides, making him yelp and swat at him.

"Yoongi!" he scolded, face burning.

"What?" Yoongi asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "Just helping."

Jimin narrowed his eyes at him but accepted the help anyway, biting his lip to stifle his giggles as Yoongi continued to ‘help’ by letting his hands linger a little too long here and there.

By the time they were both fully dressed—still damp but much more respectable—Jimin felt dizzy with how much he wanted to kiss Yoongi again.

Yoongi helped him onto the horse with little difficulty, strong hands steady around Jimin’s waist. He didn't immediately mount behind him, though. Instead, he rested his hands at Jimin’s hips, voice thick with affection.

"You look so damn pretty sitting up there," Yoongi murmured, his breath warm against the exposed skin of his leg. "Blue suits you. Looks good enough to eat."

Jimin squeaked and swatted at him again, but his whole body buzzed at the praise.

Yoongi laughed and finally swung up behind him, settling close so Jimin could feel every breath against his back.

They started back toward the farmhouse, the horse moving at a slow, lazy pace.

Yoongi couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself; every few moments he squeezed Jimin’s waist or leaned in to brush kisses along his neck, just below his ear.

"You smell so sweet," Yoongi whispered at one point, voice low and wrecked. "Bet you'd taste even sweeter."

Jimin gasped, squirming in the saddle. "Yoongi!" he scolded, cheeks flaming.

Yoongi only chuckled darkly and tightened his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him snug against his chest.

"You started it," he said with a grin. "Looking all pretty in my shirt, batting those lashes at me..."

Jimin huffed, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop leaning back into Yoongi’s steady, warm presence.

By the time they reached the house, Jimin’s heart felt so full it might burst.

Yoongi helped him down from the horse with care, setting him on his feet as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

And as they walked up the porch steps, Yoongi laced their fingers together, tugging Jimin close for one more lingering kiss before they stepped inside.

……………

The sun had barely begun to set, casting the kitchen in a soft amber glow as Jimin stood at the stove, humming cheerfully to himself. The smell of roasting vegetables and pan-fried fish filled the farmhouse, mixing with the scent of wildflowers Yoongi had brought in the day before. Jimin had tucked them into a jar near the window, and now they basked in the golden light like a promise of everything good.

Jimin giggled to himself as he stirred a pot. His cheeks were still warm from the afternoon they'd spent together—swimming in the creek, teasing one another, and most of all, that kiss. That kiss. His first real one, and it had been Yoongi. Tender, a little hungry, and full of something that made Jimin’s chest bloom like the spring fields outside.

He bit his lip, smiling as he stirred a little too hard and splashed broth onto the stove. “Oops,” he muttered, wiping it quickly with a cloth. The whole time, his body felt lighter than air. His skin still tingled where Yoongi’s hands had touched him—his waist, his hips, the back of his neck.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t even hear Yoongi come in until warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

Jimin jumped with a soft yelp. “Yoongi!”

Yoongi chuckled against the side of his neck, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “You were hummin’ so sweet I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Jimin’s cheeks went hot. “You scared me…”

“M’sorry,” Yoongi murmured, swaying them gently. “Smell good.”

“The food or me?” Jimin teased, leaning back just a little into the embrace.

“Both.” Yoongi’s voice dipped low and warm. “But mostly you.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the giggle that slipped out. He reached down to stir the pot again, and Yoongi didn’t let go. If anything, he pulled Jimin closer. It was becoming easier now—touch, affection. But still, Yoongi’s presence behind him made him hyper-aware of everything. His heartbeat, the heat curling through his belly, the way Yoongi’s hands were so steady and sure on his hips.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jimin said softly, once he’d managed to gather his thoughts.

Yoongi hummed. “About?”

“The future,” Jimin said, stirring slower now. “About us. About…babies.”

Yoongi stilled for a moment before letting out a quiet, surprised laugh. “Already, huh?”

“I’ve always wanted them,” Jimin said quickly, shy but honest. “But now, with you…I think about it more. I just—I can’t wait to have a family with you. I can’t wait for you to give me a baby.”

Yoongi groaned, pressing his face into Jimin’s shoulder. “You can’t just say stuff like that while I’m holding you.”

“Why not?” Jimin asked, giggling. “It’s true.”

“Because you’re going to make me act up in the kitchen, sweetheart.”

The words were said in a playful drawl, but Jimin felt the way Yoongi’s body shifted behind him—closer, firmer. He felt how the atmosphere changed between them, the tension threading into something thicker, warmer.

Yoongi turned Jimin gently to face him, his eyes searching. “You really want that?”

Jimin nodded. “More than anything.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi’s voice dropped. “You want me to put a baby in you?”

Jimin flushed deep crimson. “Yoongi!”

But Yoongi was already grinning, stepping forward to crowd Jimin back toward the counter. Jimin let himself be guided, giggling and pink-cheeked, until the small of his back touched the wooden edge.

“You started it,” Yoongi murmured, eyes dancing with mischief. “Can’t say stuff like that and expect me not to react.”

Then, without asking, Yoongi leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t rough, wasn’t hurried. It was sure and slow, like they had all the time in the world to memorize the way their mouths fit together. Jimin sighed into it, fingers curling in Yoongi’s shirt. When Yoongi lifted him with surprising ease onto the counter, Jimin let out a soft gasp against his lips, hands grabbing at his shoulders.

“You okay?” Yoongi murmured.

Jimin nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

The kiss deepened, Yoongi’s hands anchoring at Jimin’s hips, warm and possessive. Jimin's legs shifted to wrap loosely around him, the fabric of his trousers brushing against Jimin’s knees. Every inch of him was buzzing—nervous, flustered, but not afraid.

When Yoongi’s hands began to move—up his waist, down his thighs, over the fabric of his clothes—Jimin tensed. Yoongi noticed immediately.

“Too much?” he asked, breath catching.

Jimin shook his head quickly. “No. I just—it’s a lot.”

Yoongi smiled softly and kissed his temple. “That’s okay. We’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”

And somehow, those few words grounded Jimin more than anything else. He nodded and let Yoongi continue. The touches were gentle, not demanding. When Jimin gasped softly, overwhelmed by the pressure building in his belly, Yoongi pulled back just enough to kiss along his jaw, murmuring soothing nothings.

“You’re doing so good,” he said. “So pretty like this. All pink and breathy.”

Jimin whimpered softly, hips twitching once, and that was enough to tip him over the edge of comfort. “Wait,” he whispered.

Immediately, Yoongi stilled, arms wrapping around Jimin as he leaned their foreheads together. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin whispered. “Just…overwhelmed.”

“You did so good.” Yoongi pressed a kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth. “Come here. Let’s lie down.”

Before Jimin could protest, Yoongi scooped him up into his arms, carrying him bridal-style into the front room. Jimin clung to him instinctively, hiding his face in Yoongi’s neck, equal parts mortified and comforted.

Yoongi lowered him gently onto the couch, then settled beside him, curling Jimin into his chest. The house was warm, the hearth glowing with soft coals, and outside the wind rustled gently through the wheat. Jimin's heart was still racing, but the tension was ebbing, soothed by the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s breathing.

They lay like that for a long while, wrapped in each other. Yoongi's hand ran softly up and down Jimin’s back, never straying, just grounding him.

“I didn’t mean to get carried away,” Jimin mumbled eventually, cheeks still warm.

Yoongi pressed a kiss to his hair. “You didn’t. I wanted you to feel good. I just wanted you to know you’re safe with me. Always.”

“I know,” Jimin whispered. “Thank you.”

Yoongi gave him a squeeze. “We’ll take everything one step at a time. No rush, yeah? We’ve got forever.”

Jimin smiled at that. His fingers traced idle patterns against Yoongi’s chest as he relaxed fully into him.

Forever. That sounded good.

That sounded just right.

……………

The bedroom was filled with a quiet kind of peace as Jimin sat at the small vanity, running a brush slowly through his damp hair. The soft scrape of bristles filled the room, blending with the distant hum of crickets outside the window. The day had been full—of emotions, of touches, of new feelings blossoming between them—and Jimin’s heart was still light, still fluttering like a bird in his chest.

Behind him, Yoongi was changing into his nightclothes, moving slowly, his presence a steady comfort.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Yoongi said suddenly, his voice was a little rough, a little quiet.

Jimin ducked his head, cheeks flushing pink. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” Yoongi's voice was closer now, his steps soft against the wooden floor. “And... I have something for you.”

Jimin paused, setting down the brush. He turned in his seat, curious. “Something for me?”

Yoongi nodded, reaching into the drawer of his bedside table. His fingers moved carefully, almost reverently, as he pulled out a small bundle of cloth. He came to stand behind Jimin, his reflection appearing in the vanity mirror—soft eyes, gentle smile.

“I was waiting for the right time,” Yoongi said, unfolding the cloth carefully.

“Figured...tonight felt right.”

Jimin’s breath caught when he saw what Yoongi revealed—a necklace, delicate and old but beautiful, the thin chain gleaming faintly in the candlelight. At its center hung a small, simple locket shaped like a teardrop.

“This was my mama’s,” Yoongi said, his thumb brushing over the locket. “She wore it every day. Told me once it was for someone real special when the time came.”

Jimin blinked rapidly, a lump forming in his throat. “Yoongi…”

“I want you to have it,” Yoongi said, his voice quiet but sure. “You’re...you’re the most special thing I got, Jimin.”

Tears stung at Jimin’s eyes, but he smiled through them, heart squeezing so tightly it almost hurt. “Will you...put it on me?”

Yoongi smiled back, a little shy, a little proud. “Course I will.”

With careful hands, Yoongi unclasped the necklace and stepped closer, standing just behind Jimin. Jimin turned his face slightly, closing his eyes as he felt Yoongi’s hands brush his shoulders, gathering his hair gently to one side. The chain was cool as it slipped around his neck, making him shiver.

Yoongi fastened the clasp with fumbling fingers, then lingered—his hands resting lightly on Jimin’s shoulders. The air between them grew heavy, charged with something warm and aching.

Jimin opened his eyes and saw them both in the mirror—himself, flushed and bright-eyed, and Yoongi standing behind him, looking at him like he hung the stars.

Yoongi leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of Jimin’s neck, right where the clasp rested.

Jimin gasped, the sensation sparking down his spine.

“You’re mine,” Yoongi murmured against his skin. “Always.”

Jimin turned in his seat, reaching up to cup Yoongi’s face with trembling hands. “And you’re mine.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the world falling away around them. Then, with a voice no louder than a whisper, Jimin said, “I love you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened a little, then softened into something so tender it stole Jimin’s breath. “I love you too, Jimin,” he said, voice thick with feeling.

Jimin smiled, a little wobbly, a little dazzled. Yoongi leaned down, and they kissed—soft, slow, full of everything they couldn’t say aloud. A promise. A vow. A beginning.

When they finally pulled apart, Jimin’s hands stayed on Yoongi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over his warm skin. Yoongi leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it.

The tension between them was palpable, electric, but they didn’t push it. Not tonight. Tonight was about love—about everything tender and careful and new.

Yoongi helped Jimin to his feet, his hand warm and steady in Jimin’s. Together, they climbed into bed, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight. They settled beneath the quilt, Jimin immediately snuggling close, his head tucked against Yoongi’s chest, his fingers playing with the edge of the locket now resting against his heart.

Yoongi’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. He kissed the top of Jimin’s head and whispered again, “I love you.”

Jimin smiled into Yoongi’s shirt. “I love you more.”

Outside, the wind whispered through the wheat fields, and the moon bathed the world in silver. In their little farmhouse, in their shared bed, two hearts beat together, steady and sure—two souls, finally home.

……………

The moon hung heavy outside the bedroom window, casting pale light over the wooden floorboards and the quilt-covered bed. The house was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock in the other room and the occasional groan of the old farmhouse settling into the night.

Jimin lay curled on his side, staring at the gentle rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest beside him. His thoughts were a mess—twisting and circling, looping back to the creek and that conversation that had settled deep in his bones.

Yoongi had been so kind then, so patient. He always was. But now, lying here in the dark, Jimin felt restless. His body hummed with energy, and his chest ached with wanting—wanting closeness, wanting answers, wanting something he couldn’t quite name.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Yoongi, though he doubted he’d be able to sleep like this. Not with the warmth pooling low in his belly or the way his skin prickled with the memory of Yoongi’s hands on his waist in the creek, of his voice saying things that made Jimin’s heart race.

“…Yoongi?” he whispered, barely audible.

A pause. Then, softly, “Yeah?”

“You’re awake?”

“I am now,” Yoongi replied, his voice sleepy but not annoyed. “What’s wrong?”

Jimin hesitated, chewing his lip. “I... I feel something. That thing we talked about. By the creek.”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. His hand slid across the sheets and found Jimin’s, fingers curling gently around his.

“Are you… pent up?” he asked quietly.

Jimin nodded before realizing that Yoongi couldn’t see him in the dark. “Yeah. I think so.”

There was a pause. Then, Yoongi’s voice, careful, gentle. “Do you want me to leave? So, you can take care of it?”

Jimin felt his face burn. His instinct was to say yes—because that’s what was proper, right? That’s what he was taught. But he didn’t want that.

He squeezed Yoongi’s hand.

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to leave. I want... I want you to touch me.”

Even in the dark, Jimin could feel the shift in Yoongi’s presence—his breath catching, the stillness that followed. Not tense. Just surprised.

“…Are you sure?” Yoongi asked softly. “You don’t have to say that for me.”

“I’m not,” Jimin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about it for days. About you. And I… I trust you.”

Yoongi’s hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw. “That means everything to me, Jimin.”

“I want this,” Jimin said. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to,” Yoongi said gently. “We can stop anytime. And I won’t do anything you don’t ask for.”

Jimin swallowed. “You promise?”

“With everything I am.”

A few moments passed between them in quiet understanding. Jimin leaned in closer, forehead resting against Yoongi’s. Their breath mingled, warm and slow.

“Tell me how this works,” Jimin said quietly. “How we do this… together.”

Yoongi smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Jimin’s forehead. “We start small. Only what you’re comfortable with. If you feel overwhelmed, you tell me. If anything hurts, you tell me. There’s no goal, no pressure. Just us.”

Jimin nodded slowly, nerves still fluttering but softened by Yoongi’s calm voice, by the way his hand hadn’t stopped gently stroking his cheek.

“Okay,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi leaned in and kissed him—tender and slow, a silent conversation of reassurance. Jimin sighed into it, hands fisting in the front of Yoongi’s shirt. He didn’t feel afraid. Not really. Just shy. And loved.

Their kisses deepened, and Jimin felt himself melting under the affection. Yoongi moved slowly, his touch reverent, and asked for permission every step of the way—whether he could hold Jimin closer, whether he could press kisses to his neck, whether he could touch here or there.

And Jimin said yes. Every time.

Yoongi gently placed Jimin on his back, slightly hovering over him. He looked at Jimin, could see the want but he could also see the apprehension.

“I’ll stay above your underwear, unless you decide you want more okay.” Yoongi murmured just below his ear.

Jimin nodded, scent flaring, “Please, please touch me. Yoongi, it feels so … so … just please.”

Yoongi’s scent flared in response, the air between them somehow becoming heavier. Jimin’s legs widened slightly, unconsciously.

“It’s okay baby, I got you, Alpha’s got you.” Yoongi trailed a hand from Jimin’s neck down to his lower stomach. Touch steady and strong, claiming.

Jimin moaned loudly, unable to control himself. The heat between his legs almost unbearable now, “Alpha please. Touch me please.”

Jimin was begging now, making tiny thrusts up into the air, desperate to feel something.

Yoongi groaned, thrusting into Jimin’s side, “Lift your hips up baby.”

Jimin did so without thinking, completely trusting Yoongi.

Yoongi’s hand tugged Jimin’s nightgown up until it gathered around his waist. Exposing his lower half.

Jimin had opted for the pale pink set of underwear, his slick had seeped through, drenching it.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, “Fuck sunshine. A walking wet dream is what you are.”

Jimin was almost crying at this point, so unused the complete heat overtaking him.

Yoongi lightly trailed his hand down, between Jimin’s legs. He pressed down lightly on Jimin’s small omega cock.

It felt like nothing Jimin had ever experienced before. He moaned loudly, trying to close his legs around Yoongi’s arm.

He tried to talk but all that came out was whimpers, his hips desperately grinding up into Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi took a deep breath, reminding himself of the boundaries. This was about Jimin not himself.

“Can I touch your cunt baby or do what me to stay here.”

The room smelt like sex, moans and whimpers echoing through the room. Jimin tried to answer but he couldn’t get the words out. He was so overwhelmed by what he was feeling.

Yoongi noticed and stopped moving his hand, but he kept it there. A steady reminder and allowed Jimin the time to collect himself.

Jimin took a deep breath, taking in the combined scent of their arousal. He nodded at Yoongi, “Please touch more.”

Yoongi knew what he meant but he wanted to hear Jimin say it, “Touch what Jimin, your cunt or your cock?”

Jimin whimpered loudly, trying to thrust up but unable to because of Yoongi’s weight pinning him down.

“My … my … cunt.”

Jimin’s face flushed more, and he turned his head to try and hide in the pillow. Yoongi bent down and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for answering baby. Good job.”

The praise went straight through him, igniting the flame in him further.

Yoongi’s hand moved down slowly until he found Jimin’s clit, lightly pressing down. Jimin couldn’t explain it, but it felt stronger than the pressure on his cock.

Jimin’s breath picked up, becoming more frenzied as his hips followed the movement of Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi made sure to keep his touch strong and steady, building up a rhythm. It wasn’t long until Jimin felt that strange feeling again.

“Yoongi it’s happening again.”

Yoongi moved his face until it was tucked in against Jimin’s scent gland, “Just breathe baby, I’ve got you. Keep breathing and moving with my hand.”

Yoongi made sure to keep his hand steady, never faltering and soon Jimin was climaxing.

His moans reached a new high, his thighs clamped down strongly around Yoongi’s arm, and his hips bucked wildly.

Yoongi remained steady, until his breath was shaky, and his voice was gone.

Eventually, Jimin felt the wave of emotion fall, and he clung to Yoongi as the aftershocks trembled through him. Yoongi didn’t let go. He helped Jimin breathe through it, murmuring soft praises into his hair and rubbing his back until Jimin’s heart stopped racing.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” Jimin said quietly against Yoongi’s chest, his voice thick.

“You were amazing,” Yoongi whispered. “You let yourself feel something new. That’s brave, Jimin.”

“I feel… good,” Jimin said. “Safe.”

Yoongi kissed the top of his head. “That’s all I ever want for you.”

They lay in the quiet for a long time, tangled in each other beneath the quilt. Eventually, Jimin whispered, “Thank you.”

Yoongi kissed his temple. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Jimin smiled, sleepy now. His body was still humming, but it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. It felt warm. Right.

Yoongi tightened his arms around him, and Jimin melted into the safety of that embrace, drifting toward sleep with one final thought: This is what love feels like.

……………

The early morning sun poured golden light through the farmhouse windows, gently stirring Jimin awake. He blinked sleepily, warmth still clinging to him from the night before—Yoongi's arms wrapped around him, breathing steadily against the back of his neck.

Jimin turned slowly, careful not to disturb the peace. But when he met Yoongi’s soft gaze, already open and watching him with that unspoken tenderness, he flushed.

“Did I wake you?” Jimin asked in a whisper.

Yoongi shook his head. “No. Been awake for a bit. Didn’t want to move.” He smiled and pulled Jimin closer. “You looked so beautiful.”

Jimin buried his face into Yoongi’s chest with an embarrassed huff. “Don’t say things like that first thing in the morning.”

“Why not?” Yoongi chuckled, running his hand through Jimin’s sleep-tousled hair. “You should know by now—I’ll never get tired of looking at you. Especially like this. All soft and sleepy and mine.”

Jimin’s breath caught. That word—mine. He didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against Yoongi and let it warm his heart.

Yoongi shifted slightly to press a kiss to Jimin’s forehead. “You were brave last night,” he murmured. “You trusted me. Let me see more of you. I don’t take that lightly.”

Jimin looked up at him with wide eyes, vulnerability shining through. “I… I wanted you to know how much I trust you. How much I…” He hesitated. But he didn’t need to say the rest.

Yoongi saw it. Felt it. He cupped Jimin’s cheek and leaned in, brushing their noses together before kissing him sweetly. “I love you, Jimin.”

Jimin’s heart swelled. “I love you too.”

They laid there for a while, wrapped in the comfort of the moment, until Yoongi finally sat up with a groan. “As much as I’d rather stay in bed with you all day, I’ve got to head out. Wheat doesn’t tend itself.”

Jimin giggled and followed him out of bed, already moving toward the washbasin to freshen up.

By the time breakfast was done, the house was filled with warm bread, soft laughter, and a kind of quiet joy that Jimin never thought he’d get to have. He followed Yoongi out onto the porch after their meal, still barefoot, still glowing from the affection they shared.

Yoongi was pulling on his gloves, hat slung over one shoulder, when he turned back to Jimin.

“You’ll be alright here?” he asked, brushing his fingers against Jimin’s cheek.

Jimin smiled. “I’ll miss you, but yes. I think I’ll work on the quilt today.”

Yoongi looked at him for a long moment, then grinned. “Come here.”

Jimin stepped closer, confused.

And then Yoongi’s hand slid around his waist, and he dipped him—one hand at Jimin’s back, the other cupping his jaw—and kissed him deeply.

Jimin let out a startled yelp that was swallowed in Yoongi’s mouth, clutching at his shirt as he was bent backwards dramatically, heart racing.

From the barn, a chorus of whooping and laughter rang out.

“About damn time!” Hoseok’s voice yelled.

“Don’t drop him!” Jungkook added with a cackle.

Yoongi chuckled into the kiss before pulling Jimin back upright and steadying him. “Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he said innocently, brushing Jimin’s hair from his face.

“You absolutely meant to,” Jimin muttered, flustered and pink to the ears.

Yoongi tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But I’d do it again.”

Jimin smacked his arm lightly, laughing despite himself.

“You sure know how to make a goodbye memorable.”

Yoongi leaned in again, this time pressing a far gentler kiss to the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “Because I love you. And I want everyone to know how lucky I am.”

Jimin looked down at his hands, smile softening. “I never thought I’d have this. A home. A person.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “You have both. For as long as you want them.”

Jimin looked up, eyes shimmering. “Forever?”

“Forever,” Yoongi promised.

He kissed him one more time, sweet and slow, before finally pulling away to head down the steps. The farmhands were waiting with knowing smiles, but they didn’t say anything as Yoongi joined them—only exchanged a few amused looks as they walked toward the fields.

Jimin stood on the porch for a while after they left, the morning breeze catching in his hair. The scent of wheat and earth, the memory of Yoongi’s touch, and the sound of laughter in the distance filled him with a deep, steady kind of joy.

This was his life now.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

……………

The evening air was still warm as the sun began its slow descent behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the farmhouse. The porch creaked softly beneath Jimin’s bare feet as he stepped outside with two mugs of tea, the steam curling into the dusky air. Crickets had already begun to hum their evening song, and the scent of summer grass drifted lazily in the breeze.

Yoongi was just rounding the corner of the barn, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the dust of the day still clinging to his boots. He looked tired—but when he spotted Jimin waiting for him with a soft smile and two mugs in hand, his entire face lit up.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” Jimin said, holding out a cup as Yoongi approached.

Yoongi chuckled and took it gratefully. “You’re always a step ahead of me.”

They sat together on the porch swing, side by side, the wood gently rocking beneath them as they sipped in comfortable silence. The golden light washed over Yoongi’s face, catching in the lines of his jaw and cheekbones, making him look almost ethereal.

Jimin leaned into him with a contented sigh, resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I missed you today,” he murmured.

Yoongi pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I missed you too, sweetheart. I always do.”

The quiet stretched for a few moments before Yoongi stirred. “Hey… I wanted to tell you something.”

Jimin glanced up, sensing the shift in tone. “What is it?”

“I’ll need to head into town early tomorrow morning,” Yoongi said. “There’s some trading deals I’ve been trying to settle, and it’s best I get there first thing to talk to a few folks before the market gets busy.”

Jimin blinked, then nodded, trying not to let the sudden dip of disappointment show too clearly. “How early?”

“Before dawn, probably,” Yoongi admitted. “I hate leaving you while you’re still asleep, but I didn’t want to wake you just to say goodbye.”

Jimin set his tea down and reached for Yoongi’s hand. “Wake me,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just for a minute.”

Yoongi turned his palm to cradle Jimin’s fingers, his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of his hand. “Alright,” he said. “I will.”

They sat like that for a long while, holding hands and watching the sun fade from orange to pink to dusky purple. Eventually, Yoongi pulled Jimin closer, their mugs forgotten, and whispered against his hair, “We’ve made a good little life here, haven’t we?”

Jimin smiled, heart full. “The best.”

……………

Inside the house, the gentle creak of the floorboards and the soft crackle of the fireplace gave the evening a hushed comfort. Jimin moved around the bedroom, pulling down the quilt and fluffing the pillows while Yoongi unbuttoned his shirt and folded it neatly over the back of a chair.

There was a quiet rhythm to their routine now—how Yoongi would roll his shoulders with a low sigh as he stretched after a long day, and how Jimin would hum quietly under his breath while slipping into one of his soft nightshirts. It was domestic, familiar, and for Jimin, impossibly sweet.

He stood in front of the mirror, brushing out his hair with the wooden comb Yoongi had carved for him. The strokes were slow and calming, and he caught Yoongi watching him from the bed, already half-tucked beneath the covers, propped up on one elbow.

“You always look so pretty when you do that,” Yoongi said, his voice low and fond.

Jimin’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he ducked his head, brushing a little faster. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He smiled to himself, heart warm and fluttery. After setting the brush down, he padded over to the bed and climbed in beside Yoongi. As soon as he settled beneath the covers, Yoongi pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking his nose against the side of Jimin’s neck.

Jimin giggled. “You’re all cold.”

“You’ll warm me up,” Yoongi murmured, breath teasing against his skin. “You always do.”

They lay like that for a moment—quiet, close, the soft sound of the wind brushing against the farmhouse windows.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Jimin asked, turning slightly so he could look up at him.

Yoongi shook his head. “Not nervous. I just wish I didn’t have to leave you behind. I like having you with me.”

Jimin tucked himself a little closer, looping an arm over Yoongi’s middle. “I’ll be right here waiting. Just come home safe.”

Yoongi leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then his temple. “I promise.”

Jimin tilted his head up, eyes soft. “Will you wake me before you go?”

“I will,” Yoongi whispered. “Just for a moment. I won’t leave without kissing you goodbye.”

The room went quiet again, but this time it felt full—of affection, of comfort, of words left unsaid that didn’t need to be spoken.

Jimin curled into him, his leg tangling with Yoongi’s, and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Jimin. I love you.”

Jimin smiled, feeling the weight of those words like a blanket over his heart. “I love you too.”

……………

It hadn’t been long since Jimin and Yoongi said goodnight to each other but just like last night Jimin could feel something flickering to life deep within him.

Jimin shuffled around slightly, trying to get comfortable. He thought back to last night, the feeling of Yoongi’s hand on him. The sensations he made him feel.

Jimin thought about asking Yoongi to touch again but the thought of waking him up for it mortified him.

Taking deep breaths Jimin tried to ground himself. Almost unconsciously his hand traveled south.

He gasped slightly at the feeling of his hand brushing against his small omega cock. He tried to remember how Yoongi did it yesterday.

He pushed his palm down, grasping himself through his underwear, moving his hand slightly up and down.

Jimin’s hips started to move a little while he tried to stifle his moans. It felt so good, but Jimin remembered how it felt when Yoongi’s hand touched his cunt.

He moved his hand down, trying to find what Yoongi called his clit.

It took a few moments, but Jimin found it and pressed down. Moving his fingers in a circle the same way Yoongi had.

Jimin’s thighs spasmed around his hand and he couldn’t stop the whimper that came out.

This seemed to wake Yoongi up, who tightened his arm where it was wrapped around Jimin’s waist.

“What’s wrong baby, does Alpha have to touch you again?”

Yoongi whispered his words into Jimin’s ear before trailing a line of kisses down Jimin’s neck.

Jimin’s breath caught but the idea of his alpha taking over, taking care of him felt right.

Jimin moved his hips back, until it was flush with Yoongi’s and begged, “Please Alpha. I need it. Please.”

Yoongi tugged Jimin’s nightgown up and moved his hand down to Jimin’s cunt. His hand cupped him through his underwear and the heat of his hand, the sheer size of it caused Jimin to moan loudly.

Yoongi moved one arm under and around Jimin and placed his hand on Jimin’s lower stomach, right over his womb. His other hand found his clit and started to move his fingers in rapid circles.

Jimin cried out, trying to grind up into Yoongi’s hand but couldn’t with Yoongi’s arms pinning him down.

Yoongi’s other hand pressed down lightly, somehow heightening the pleasure. Quickly Jimin could feel himself reach climax.

But it felt different, it was stronger. One of Jimin’s hands moved up to grip the mattress, his other held Yoongi’s wrist.

Jimin could hardly get a word out before his thighs began to shiver and his hips moved uncontrollably.

Yoongi could see the signs and kept up his steady and strong rhythm. Jimin’s moans reached a new height as he climaxed.

Yoongi kept touching him through it before slowly easing off. He held Jimin close as he came down from his high.

Jimin whispered out, “Thank you.”

Yoongi whispered back, “There is no need to thank me. I’ll always help you.”

Jimin squirmed, still sensitive, Yoongi hadn’t moved his hand yet. It was just lightly cupping him.

Jimin sighed, “I didn’t want to wake you, you have an early morning.”

Yoongi squeezed him lightly, causing Jimin to jump, “I’ll never tun down the opportunity to touch you. I don’t think you realize how deeply I love you, how deeply I want you.”

Jimin turned over and looked into Yoongi’s eyes, “I might not understand yet, but I want to and I think I’m starting to.”

Jimin could feel Yoongi’s cock press against him.

He could feel the heat through his clothing, and he didn’t know what, but something came over him. He reached down and grasped him.

Yoongi groaned loudly, catching Jimin’s hand with his, “You don’t have to touch me back baby, we can save it for tomorrow. It’s late.”

Jimin pouted at him, but agreed, “Fine, but tomorrow you’ll let me. Right?”

Yoongi threw his head back and groaned again, “Christ baby, you’ll be the death of me. Yes, tomorrow you can touch me.”

Jimin giggled lightly, moving up to kiss Yoongi, “Thank you Alpha. Love you.”

Yoongi wrapped Jimin up in his arms and kissed him back, “Love you too Omega. Sleep well.”