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Jungkook is having a bad day.
He wakes up running late, because his phone is dead, and that means his alarm didn’t ring, and that means Jungkook wakes up ten minutes after his first lecture starts. Like a fucking moron, he’d plugged in his phone but forgot to switch on the electric socket.
Breakdown of all the shit that happens in the next ten minutes after he wakes up and stumbles out of bed — Jungkook trips twice, puts on his sweatshirt inside out, brushes his teeth faster than he’s ever brushed in his life, runs like hell for the bus and only realises he’d forgotten his headphones once he’s on the bus.
On the ride there, heart pounding and chest heaving from the dead sprint he’d broken into to catch the leaving bus, he whips out his phone and frantically plugs it into the USB charging port at his seat.
Jungkook waits anxiously for his phone to turn on, knee bouncing. His jitters don’t stop, not even after his phone lights up, and he’s clicking on his email app. There it is — the email from Professor Yang, regarding the essay he’d submitted at the asscrack of dawn. The very reason why he’d stayed up so late and promptly overslept.
Professor Yang’s essay deadlines were always the same. As long as it was submitted before the first lecture of the day, she would have it read and graded almost immediately. It was weird, but no one questioned it.
Music Theory was one of his best classes. He achieved consistent As, and remained at the top of his batch. He usually rather enjoyed doing assignments for it, only the last week had been complete hell, with heavy workloads from all his classes. He’d ended up losing track of time, which led to his last-minute rush to finish a 500-word essay.
But all’s well that ends well. He’d managed to finish it and submit it. Not his best work, but still decent by his standards.
He clicks onto the email, expecting to see an A, or at worst a B.
He frowns when he doesn’t see a grade. He reads on.
As you have not submitted the essay on time…
But he did submit. Didn’t he?
He exits his mail and clicks on his homework submission app, confused. Was it possible that Professor Yang had skipped over his submission by mistake?
His stomach drops when he sees that the document file is attached, but he didn’t turn in the assignment.
Fuck. Oh my god.
In his peripheral vision, he sees a few commuters recoil at his rapidly-souring scent.
He goes back to the email.
… a tardy penalty will be issued. Your grade for this class has been lowered to an A minus.
He’s a fucking idiot.
Jungkook clicks the submission button, feeling numb. It’s fine, he tries telling himself. It’s just an A minus. He can work harder for the next few assignments. He’s still above average in the class anyway. It’s fine.
It still sucks, though.
He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.
The day hasn’t even started, and he’s already tired .
-
He arrives at his first lecture thirty minutes late, looking and feeling a mess, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair unruly. But that would be okay, if he could make it to a seat without getting noticed by the bitch of a professor that he has for Elements of Music. Saying a silent prayer to whatever god is listening, he moves swiftly from the door to the seats —
“Ah! Jeon Jungkook.” Professor Lee says, without even taking his eyes off the textbook he’s holding.
Jungkook freezes. Hopes shattered, he can only face his punishment.
The professor waits a beat before deciding to look up and stare at Jungkook. Dramatic tension, he supposes.
Jungkook fucking hates him.
“It’s nice of you to join us.”
Jungkook drops his head in a quick bow. “I’m so sorry, Professor, my alarm didn’t go off—“
“At this hour, you might as well not have come, Jeon.” It feels like Professor Lee is trying to kill Jungkook with pure eye power alone, with the way he glowers at him.
Jungkook stays silent.
“See me after this. Take a seat.”
Fuck.
He slinks into the seat closest to him, ignoring the eyes of the entire lecture hall on him. It’s like instant relief floods through him as he sinks into the seat, the cool plastic surface against his back.
Then he straightens up, because by god, he cannot afford to fail this class again.
He puts his bag down and reaches in for his laptop — only to remember that his laptop’s at the shop for repairs, so he has to take his notes by hand. Which is fine, really, it’s just that the rest of his notes are on his computer, and it’s really just easier to type and more convenient.
But it’s fine. He’ll get through this. And it’ll be fine.
-
Jungkook leaves Professor Lee’s office with his ears practically ringing from a harsh lashing and two extra demerit points.
His next lecture is in thirty minutes so he has some free time to burn. Leaving the building and stepping out into the harsh sunlight, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at the dark screen. Maybe he should text someone —
“Hey,” Taehyung says, coming up to him and clapping him on the shoulder. Jungkook breathes his calming beta scent in like a breath of fresh air from the stuffiness of that office. Yoongi’s in tow, their arms linked (reluctantly on the alpha’s side, it seems). “Wanna grab something to eat before Literature?”
Yoongi gives him a onceover with squinty eyes. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks, hyung.” They start walking to the cafeteria. “I overslept, got chewed out by Lee. And my Music Theory dropped to an A minus.”
Taehyung whistles, scent sympathetic. “Sounds like a bad day.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
When they get there, Hoseok’s already sitting at their table, digging into a sandwich.
“Wow. You look bad,” is the first thing the beta says to Jungkook.
“That’s what Yoongi-hyung said,” Taehyung pipes up.
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m having a bad day,” he grumbles, reaching into his bag for his wallet. “Nothing has gone right today. Couldn’t even eat before I left the house. But that’s fine, as long as —“
Jungkook stops. The other three stop and stare at him, waiting expectantly.
He begins a frantic search through his bag, although a nagging feeling tells him that it’s not here. After a minute of futility, Jungkook slides into a chair and proceeds to wilt.
“I didn’t bring any money today,” he says, muffled into the table. His scent dampens with sorrow.
It’s like Lady Luck has chosen this day to spit on him.
“Aw,” comes Taehyung’s voice from beside him as he pats his shoulder. “It’s really not your day, is it?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “I want to die.”
“Don’t say that. C’mon, there’s a party we can go to later. You look like you need to relax.”
“Can’t. I have training today.”
“You really could use the unwinding, though. When’s the last time you got laid?”
Jungkook whips his head up to blink at Hoseok, and his brain conjures together vague memories of a petite omega with pretty lips and a nice ass that he met at a party last month. “Wang’s party.”
Hoseok huffs. “Last month? That’s —“
He’s interrupted by a tray clattering down next to Jungkook. It’s Yoongi, holding out an open carton of chocolate milk and pushing the tray towards Jungkook. “Here. Hyung’s treat.”
Jungkook thinks he could cry. “ Hyung.”
“Don’t mention it, Kook. Seriously, don’t.” Yoongi takes the seat opposite Tae and next to Hoseok.
”I love you so much, hyung.”
“Thanks,” Yoongi says, scent sweetening in vague embarrassment.
Jungkook takes the carton of milk from Yoongi — only to fumble it and spill it all over his white sweatshirt, and wow, Jungkook thinks he could cry again, but this time for a very different reason.
Yoongi sighs.
“You really are cursed today, huh?” Taehyung sounds almost impressed.
Jungkook puts his head in his hands.
-
After he changes into a fresh shirt (courtesy of one Jung Hoseok and his stash of spare clothes), he manages to make it through the rest of his lectures without further issue.
Everything goes fine until his last class.
A sheet of paper, stapled to his last assignment, is slapped down on his table. Scribbled across the top is a blood-red F.
Jungkook looks up slowly.
His art professor stares down at him, lips set in a straight line and brow creased. “What happened?”
She picks it up and flips the page to show him his piece, then waits, probably expecting Jungkook to launch into some long-winded explanation and end off apologising profusely and making a declaration to work harder.
But to be very frank, Jungkook cannot, for the life of him, even remember doing this piece, much less figure out why his professor has decided that this won’t cut it.
He opts for a foolproof method. “I’m so sorry, Professor. This won’t happen again.”
She shakes her head. “I’m disappointed in you, Jungkook. I expect more.”
He says nothing, only bows his head till she eventually sighs and leaves with a ‘see to it that it won’t’.
Dropping his head onto the table, he resists the urge to scream.
-
Coach
Meeting before training this afternoon. Don’t be late.
By the time Jungkook pushes open the door to the locker room, half his teammates are already inside, pulling on their jerseys and gear and chattering away. He makes his way to his own locker, shoves his bag inside, and starts changing.
A sense of foreboding churns in his stomach.
Hockey’s always come easy to him, as natural as breathing. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he fucked up even at this.
He prays from the bottom of his heart that whatever shit luck he’s been having this whole day ended with his last class.
“You think this meeting will be good news?” Dongmin asks as he tugs on his shin guards.
Yugyeom scoffs. “Doubt it. He’s probably going to let the sunbaes loose on us again. That would be fun. Who doesn’t love getting screamed at for two hours?”
Mingyu shrugs. “Hey, most of them are okay.”
Jaehyun snorts. “And the ones that aren’t more than make up for it. You saw how Park treated Jungkook last week?”
“That’s just Park. He has a personal vendetta against Jeon. He’s less dickish towards everyone else.”
Yugyeom rolls his eyes. “Park is bad, sure, but Choi won’t get off my ass. Fucking annoying.”
“Dude, Choi dislikes you. Park hates Jungkook. Outside of team meetings, whenever the two of them are in a room together it’s like someone died in there.”
Mingyu points a finger at Jaehyun. “Right?”
Jungkook keeps silent. He doesn’t have anything to add. After all, everything they’re saying is true.
Park Jimin is what he would call Jungkook’s mortal rival. They share this mutual hate towards each other, stemming from Jungkook humiliating Jimin one time at a training session and Jimin never leaving Jungkook alone afterwards.
Was it humiliation? Jungkook doesn’t know. He’d just made a throwaway comment about his size — Jimin was more petite than the average alpha — that got everyone laughing but Jimin.
And since then, Jimin had made it a point to make what he could of Jungkook’s life a living hell by taunting him about every single mistake he made on the field, constantly putting him down, and essentially attempting to assert his superiority over him as his senior and an alpha.
Jungkook saw right through it. But he didn’t say anything. Couldn’t even if he wanted to. Even if he was an asshole, Jimin was his senior of two years. He was higher up in terms of the club hierarchy, and of social hierarchy in general.
So the most he could do was take the shit Jimin gave him with as little complaint as possible, because he knew Jimin was just looking for a reaction.
Gradually, the room starts filling up till it’s almost time for training and all his batchmates are present and prepped. Now they wait for Coach.
Jungkook actually likes being in the locker room. It’s a place that holds a lot of weight for him. Lots of good memories. Bad ones, too, but he tries not to think about those too much.
The space itself is cluttered, with the typical mess that one would expect from a bunch of alpha jocks. The air is heavy with so many different scents that sometimes it’s difficult to pick out who’s exactly in the room, beyond that general scent marker of alpha .
To be honest, Jungkook kind of appreciates that about the locker room. Yeah, the intensity of it all takes some getting used to, but now it’s familiar, almost comforting.
It’s easy to think. If he isn’t overly emotional or purposefully scenting hard, it’s almost like he’s scentless.
The door’s shoved open, and in walks their coach, face stoic the way it is before a big match. A few sunbaes (all from the line two years older) saunter in behind him. Jimin’s one of them, and his smile turns into a sneer when he spots Jungkook, who simply turns his attention back to Coach.
He knows he’s not the only one worried about the look on Coach’s face, judging from the way Yugyeom’s whispering wildly into Mingyu’s ear.
“Gentlemen.”
They all fall silent.
Coach grimaces. “Today we’re hosting a few visitors from the neighbouring university, and a friendly match will be held.” The way he says friendly match indicates that it will be anything but, not that it wasn’t obvious enough.
Their team has had a bone to pick with the neighbouring university for the longest time. They’re mortal rivals the same way Jimin and Jungkook are mortal rivals.
Chatter starts anew. Jungkook thinks that he hears Jaehyun mumble a ‘ fuck’ .
“I’ll be counting on you not to let me and your seniors down,” Coach says, voice terse. He turns an eye to Jungkook. “Especially on you, Jeon.”
“Understood, Coach.” Jungkook drops his head in a mini bow.
“Be on the field in five. We’ll be watching from the bleachers.” And with that, he’s walking away, and they’re dismissed.
If Jungkook thought that Jimin would leave without saying something snide, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Let’s see how well the little alpha ace does, hm?” Jimin lilts into his ear, before strutting off behind the rest.
Jungkook doesn’t bother.
He sits down and tries to mentally prepare. He can feel the pressure mounting on his chest. His stomach hasn’t settled.
But they can’t lose this.
Jungkook can’t lose this.
-
He misses every shot he takes.
They lose.
Jungkook loses.
“Fucking hoobaes,” He hears Seungchol mutter as they leave the field.
His teammates don’t say anything to him, which he’s grateful for. They don’t speak a word about how Jungkook was the reason they lost. They simply pack their things and leave, one by one. Dongmin even offers him a pat on the back as consolation.
Jungkook slumps down on the bench and just breathes. He runs a hand through his shower-damp hair.
And Jungkook was the reason they lost. There’s no denying it. He was off his game.
And sure, it wasn’t an official match. It didn’t have any ‘real’ weight. But it might as well had been, from the disappointed look he’d gotten from Coach afterwards.
This whole day has been a huge nightmare.
He scrubs a hand across his closed eyes.
He fucked up. They were counting on him, they were all counting on him, and he fucked up.
He feels so angry , angry at this day, at himself, at everything. The feeling is suffocating, like he’s burning and choking in his own skin. He can feel his alpha just beneath the surface, lurking and ready to take control at any moment’s notice.
A whoosh of air gusts past him as the locker door is open, and is promptly slammed shut.
Jungkook doesn’t look up. No one from the team lags behind after training, even if it is a lost match, so he figures maybe Taehyung’s off from drama and came here so they could have an early dinner.
He can’t tell who it is, the locker room thick with its amalgamation of different scents.
Then he hears tutting. “Jeon Jungkook.”
He looks up to see Park Jimin, eyes wide with faux disappointment, ready to sink his claws into Jungkook.
Great. The cherry on top for a perfect day.
“You played like shit today, Jeon.” Jimin walks closer, bending to catch his eye.
“I’m aware.” Jungkook looks away.
“Coach said it must just be an off day for you. But I don’t think so.”
Jungkook doesn’t reply.
“You know what we really think?”
Jungkook thinks of Seungchol, the way he’d stared at them.
“We think that I was right all along.” Jimin leans down to say it in his ear. “We think you’re useless. Incompetent.”
And Jungkook has to restrain his alpha from doing anything rash, because he knows it’s not true, knows that he’s not useless or incompetent or any of the bullshit that Jimin’s suggesting.
“Some alpha ace you are. Hell, some alpha you are.”
Instinctively, Jungkook reacts to the bait, his alpha roaring in dissent at Jimin’s words and taking control for just a second. Enough time for Jungkook to grab Jimin by the shoulders and shove him harshly into the lockers, pinning him to the doors.
Jungkook catches the fleeting look of shock on Jimin’s face, before it morphs back into a carefully constructed mask of nonchalance.
“Stop,” Jungkook grits out.
“Make me.”
His fist clenches.
Jimin notices, and laughs. “What, is the baby alpha going to punch me?”
Jungkook forces himself to relax, hand slackening and muscles untensing.
Breathe . In and out.
He puts his palms flat against the locker doors and sways forward, breathing deeply as he closes his eyes and tries to calm down.
But his mind is traitorous. The events of today roll in his brain like a strip of film, forcing him to relive all the misfortune he’s gone through in just a single, horrendous day.
Your grade for this class has been lowered to an A minus.
At this hour, you might as well not have come, Jeon.
His patience feels like a rubber band, pulled taut as it stretches, stretches —
I’m disappointed in you, Jungkook. I expect more.
Fucking hoobaes.
Useless. Incompetent. Some alpha ace you are.
Still stretching. The band is fraying. The room is silent, save for the pounding in his ears.
Then, a heart-shaped grin —
When’s the last time you got laid?
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Jimin bares his teeth.
And it’s like a bucket of cold water being dunked over his head, the way he just realises what position they’re in. Jungkook’s effectively caging the shorter alpha in with his arms, and leaning forward, right on the edge of encroaching into Jimin’s personal space.
Pulling back, Jungkook’s gaze drops to his mouth. He doesn’t know why. It just does.
His lips are pink. A little chapped. Thick.
He blinks. Focus.
“Listen,” Jungkook starts, voice a bit subdued. “I’ve had a shit day, and I really don’t need to stand here and take more of your shit. It’s not like I wanted to fuck up, so can you just leave me the fuck alone?”
A pin-drop second of silence. Jungkook almost thinks he wins.
Then Jimin sneers. “Why should I?”
The rubber band snaps.
His vision tinges red.
Before he can even think to think twice, his hands are wrapped around Jimin’s neck, and all he can register is the softness of his skin, how easy it would be to just crush his windpipe with just his bare hands. He barely notices Jimin trying to fight back, his smaller hands scrabbling to even find purchase on Jungkook’s grip or attempting to land blows on his arms and his shoulders.
Jungkook barely feels anything except pure, unadulterated rage, sizzling underneath his skin and spurred on by the encouragement of his alpha.
Make him submit. Make him hurt. Make him ours.
He and the alpha are one now. He has nothing left to lose.
Jimin’s face starts reddening, his lips falling open in a gasp, or a scream, eyes bulging. Just a few more seconds and his gaze would turn glassy and he’d —
Jungkook lets go.
Jimin crumples to the floor in a heap, coughing and wheezing as he touches his throat gingerly.
“Submit,” Jungkook says, looking down at him.
Submission is one of the most humiliating things an alpha could subject themself to. It doesn’t matter if it’s in public or private; the act of declaring oneself inferior in the face of another alpha is equally as mortifying and degrading, whether it’s in front of a single person or a crowd. Submission means vulnerability and giving up, like bending over or baring your neck. Traditionally, the latter indicated submission, but in modern times, just a simple verbal admission has the same weight.
Jimin doesn’t respond, too preoccupied drawing in hoarse breaths that rattle in his chest. Red imprints of Jungkook’s fingers mar the pale porcelain of his neck. Tearstains glitter on his face like twin streams.
Patiently, Jungkook waits. He draws himself up to his full height, towering over Jimin. Seeing him below him, cast in shadow and struggling to get himself under control…
Jungkook breathes in deeply. If he concentrates hard enough, he can detect a wisp of fear permeating the air. He loves it, relishes in it, wants more of it.
The rush of power is undeniable and addictive. He can’t resist opening his mouth, words tumbling out of him before he can stop himself.
“Tormenting me every day at training and for what? To gain some semblance of superiority over me? Your fucking hoobae? How insecure are you , Jimin-sunbaenim? ” Jungkook spits the honorific like an insult. “It’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic. You got butthurt about a stupid, meaningless joke, and you decided to take it out on me for months . Real mature of you.”
“Fucking — fine ,” Jimin rasps, still staring at the floor, “I’m sorry.” He says it with too much venom for it to be sincere. Jungkook sighs.
“You aren’t. And even if you were, I wouldn’t want your shitty apology. Submit.”
Movements slow, Jimin looks up, eyes blazing, and shakes his head. “No.”
He only understands one thing, Jungkook realises. Physical force.
So Jungkook scoffs, leans down, and lets his hand rear back. He strikes him cleanly across the face with as much strength as he can muster. Jimin’s head snaps to the side from the force of it, and it leaves Jungkook’s palm smarting and a blooming handprint on Jimin’s cheek.
Jimin makes a noise in his throat, akin to a whimper. The wisp of fear in the air swells to a conspicuous trace. Jungkook’s pants feel too tight all of a sudden.
“Are you going to submit now?” He asks, voice soft.
A pause.
Jimin turns back to look at Jungkook, and he almost thinks Jimin’s stupid enough to refuse again.
Fresh tears are pooled along his waterline, but he seems to be making an active attempt to prevent them from falling, blinking and angling his head up.
Defeated, he nods. “Yes. I — I submit.”
Something like wild excitement sparks in Jungkook. His alpha howls in triumph. “Good. Take off your clothes.”
Silently, Jimin takes his time stripping himself of his clothes, before he stands entirely naked in front of Jungkook. His body is fit and lithe, all strong lines and lean muscle. His dick is soft between his thick thighs.
Jungkook can’t help but be amused at the way he glares. If only looks could kill.
“On your knees.”
Reluctantly, Jimin shifts onto his knees, glowering up at Jungkook. He’s conceded, but Jungkook knows it’ll take more than this to truly break him in the way he wants to.
The most humiliating thing an alpha can do to another alpha? Bitching them, or turning them from an alpha into an omega through sheer force alone — by knotting them. It’s generally frowned upon, considering it inherently lacks proper consent, and is generally only practised in more traditional communities overseas.
But it isn’t illegal in Korea.
And now, looking at his sunbae obeying his every word, Jungkook thinks that it wouldn’t matter if it’s illegal or not.
Freeing his semi-erect cock from the confines of his sweatpants, Jungkook prods at Jimin’s lips.
“Suck.”
Jimin looks positively murderous as he opens up to take Jungkook’s cock in his mouth, thick lips wrapping prettily around him. Wet heat envelopes him, pleasure fizzing through his veins as he eases in.
Then sharp teeth scrape against his length.
Jungkook hisses. His fingers tangle into Jimin’s hair and he pulls, eliciting a yelp from him as he tenses at the pain.
“Use your teeth again and I’ll fuck you dry.” It’s a promise that Jimin seems to understand.
He’s generally still after that, which is good because he isn’t fighting back, but also boring. Jimin doesn’t deign to suck him off properly, still too proud to move.
So Jungkook takes matters into his own hands by grabbing Jimin’s head and beginning to facefuck him roughly, pistoning in and out of his mouth with a newfound energy that he hasn’t felt this whole day.
Alarmed, Jimin tries to move away, but Jungkook holds his head firm, using his mouth like a fleshlight. His fear spikes in the air.
“That’s it,” Jungkook groans. “Take this fucking cock. It’s all you’re good for, anyway.”
Tears slip from Jimin’s waterline and roll steadily down his face as Jungkook fucks in and out of his mouth, ignoring how he slaps at his thighs and unwillingly takes him. His cheeks are puffed out comically, brow drawn tightly together.
Jungkook glances further down. His knees are shaking almost-imperceptibly, mild trembles running through his body.
Satisfaction’s never tasted sweeter.
“Not so mouthy now, hm?” Jungkook grips tighter, letting his fingernails graze his scalp.
By now, he’s already fully hard, and he thinks that he can see Jimin’s throat bulge every time he shoves his cock into his warm mouth.
“Feels nice finally having some peace and quiet. Doesn’t it feel easier not having to run your mouth all the fucking time?”
Jimin splutters around his cock, presumably trying to say something, but what would’ve been a scathing reply only translates to vibrations that have Jungkook biting back a moan.
“Fuck, do that again,” Jungkook mutters. He thrusts all the way in, to the hilt, so Jimin’s nose is pressed against coarse hair, and holds his head there, basking in the way Jimin’s eyes blow wide and how he gags on his cock. The smaller alpha’s turning red, a pretty rose down to his chest.
With immense gratification, Jungkook notices that Jimin’s starting to get visibly aroused. He barks out a dry laugh. “You like this? Shit, didn’t peg you as a slut.”
The only response he gets is Jimin’s gaze knifing to his.
Eventually, Jungkook thinks he’s had enough, and pulls him off his cock. A fleeting feeling of déjà vu hits when Jimin drops backwards onto his palms, coughing and wiping at his lips.
His legs fall open, and he swears he sees Jimin flush in embarrassment when he notices Jungkook openly staring at his semi.
“Get on the bench. Now.”
Jimin blanches. “But you already — you don’t need to —“
Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Does it look like I came? Your mouth wasn’t good enough, sunbaenim.”
Jimin shakes his head frantically. “No, please, let me try again, Jungkook-nim, please —“
Jungkook scoffs. “Oh, so now I’m Jungkook-nim.”
“ Please!”
Silence. Then Jungkook speaks, tone cold.
“You never gave me a second chance when I fucked up, so why should I?”
Jimin stills. He knows he’s lost.
He knows that this will be Park Jimin’s last day as an alpha.
“On the bench. Face down, ass up.” Jungkook holds back the ‘omega’ on his tongue. Not yet.
Two beats pass before Jimin moves to present, motions almost robotic.
And once again, Jungkook beholds the sight of his sunbaenim underneath him and completely at his mercy. His skin, bronzed and smooth, shimmering with sweat underneath the harsh lights of the locker room. His ass is a work of art in itself, round and supple. Jungkook wants to bite it.
So he does, and relishes in the little noise of pain and shock that Jimin emits.
He doesn’t waste any more time after that, spreading his cheeks and appreciating how he’s waxed clean everywhere. This might not even be the first cock he’s had up his ass. But it doesn’t matter. There won’t be anyone else once Jungkook’s through with him.
Spitting on his rim, Jungkook holds a finger out to Jimin. “Suck. It’s all the prep you’re going to get.”
Jimin had never been kind to him, so he can’t see why he should be charitable now.
Jungkook can’t see his expression from behind him, but he takes his index in his mouth and slobbers all over it, licking over the digit until Jungkook retracts his hand and slowly eases it into Jimin’s puckered hole.
He’s tight and hot. Working his finger in and out, Jungkook watches as Jimin shivers under his ministrations, body all tensed up.
Patience leaves him soon enough, his hard cock demanding attention, so after he spits another glob of saliva in Jimin’s pink hole, he’s lining up at his entrance, and pushing right in.
Jimin’s rigid, and it’s like once Jungkook enters him, he reignites some kind of fight still within him, as he struggles and cusses him out.
“ Fuck, ” Jungkook breathes, choking out a dry laugh. It’s like with every inch he pushes in, all the stress and negative emotions from today just melt away from him, leaving only pleasure. He feels good. “So fucking tight for me.”
“Rot in hell, fuckface,” Jimin snaps. He’s trying to seem angry, but Jungkook can hear the quiver in his voice, can see the tears in his eyes, can tell that he’s breaking. The crack in his visage only serves to spur Jungkook on, igniting a sense of dark excitement in his stomach.
Jungkook pouts. “No? You don’t wanna be my cute little omega whore?” A sneer twists his features. “ Too fucking bad, then. ”
And he snaps his hips forward, bottoming out without a care for Jimin’s comfort.
Jimin screams out, jerking forward. “ Fuck!”
Jungkook grins. It’s like music to his ears.
Jimin tries not to make any noise — really, his efforts are commendable; Jungkook can really tell he’s trying — but it doesn’t take long till he’s lost any illusion of dignity. He starts begging, as if Jungkook will bother listening.
“S-stop, stop,” Jimin chokes out in between gasps when Jungkook begins to really start fucking into him, powerful and forceful enough to make Jimin slide further down onto the wooden bench with each stroke.
“Why is it that you have a knot,” Jungkook says, reaching down to flick at the thick base of Jimin’s semi, making him shudder, “but you moan like a bitch?”
“Don’t —“ His voice cracks, and he breaks off into a sob. He doesn’t finish his sentence.
“What is it that you called me?” Jungkook says, grabbing a handful of Jimin’s generous ass, only to let go and deliver a swift slap on the smooth skin. Jimin’s breathing stutters at the impact. He clearly wasn’t expecting it.
“Jungkook, p-please —“
“Just a useless, incompent hoobae? Barely an alpha?” Jungkook laughs wildly. “Fucking ironic.”
Dragging his teeth over his scent gland, Jungkook breathes him in like tobacco smoke. He smells of distress and fear, all previous bravado gone.
Good.
It’s pungent and intense, but Jungkook revels in it.
“I’m gonna mark you, Jimin-ah,” Jungkook says against his skin. “Gonna make you my omega after I knot you. My own personal fuckhole, always ready and dripping for me.”
“ Ah, J-Jungkook —“
“Not Jungkook,” he says, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, “ Alpha.”
A shudder goes through Jimin. “I — no…”
“Say it,” Jungkook hisses.
Jimin hesitates, so Jungkook lands a stinging slap on his right ass cheek, and is delighted to see how it leaves a faint pink mark. Jimin jumps at the spank.
(He bruises so easily it’s fun. Jungkook genuinely can’t wait to explore that. But that’s for later.)
Jungkook leans forward and yanks on Jimin’s hair, forcing him to look back at him as he pounds into him. He wants to see the hope in his eyes flicker out.
“Say it.”
Still, he doesn’t say anything, not till Jungkook hits a spot within him that has a keening moan fall from his tongue.
“Alpha,” Jimin garbles out, relenting. “Alpha, alpha, alpha —“
Jungkook knows he doesn’t really mean it, not yet, but he will. All in due time. For now, it’s enough.
“Good omega,” Jungkook cooes, relinquishing his hold on his hair, but not before pinching his cheek. He slows down his thrusts, leaning down so that his chest is to Jimin’s slim back, Jungkook’s larger body draping over his smaller one.
Power and pleasure mingle together to form something dangerous that burns through him, getting him drunk on the feeling, on how Jimin makes him feel. He presses his lips to the column of his neck, tongue swiping out to lave at his sweat-slick skin, savouring the heady taste of salt and soap and Jimin .
Jimin responds beautifully to the attention to his neck, quivering and panting as mewls escape from him, sounds that only increase in pitch and volume when Jungkook nips at his neck, near his scent glands.
Reaching a hand down to grope at Jimin’s dick, he realises that Jimin’s fully erect.
Fuck.
Jungkook groans. “Like I said. A fucking slut is what you are, getting off to being bitched by your hoobae.” He licks at the rapidly reddening marks on his skin. “You should be thanking me for doing you a favour, Jimin-ah.”
He gives Jimin the courtesy of a few loose pumps around his cock that have Jimin trying to rut against his hand, but Jungkook pulls his hand away before he can achieve real satisfaction, and as an afterthought, grabs Jimin’s wrists to prevent him from trying to jerk himself off.
“This is fucking great stress relief, by the way,” Jungkook says as he grinds against his prostate. “Was having a terrible fucking day, so thank god you came along. Just had to strut your pompous little ass around, rub salt into my wound, right?”
He laughs into Jimin’s ear, leaving him with one last statement. “Now you finally get what you’ve had coming for a long time.”
Straightening up, still gripping tightly onto Jimin’s wrists, Jungkook uses it as leverage to ram into his hole, aiming to hit his prostate dead-on with each stroke, while chasing his own orgasm. He can feel the base of his cock begin to expand as his body prepares to knot.
Wails are torn from Jimin, small body shaking underneath him, as he babbles out incoherent words. His scent is no longer predominantly fear and pain; arousal takes centre stage, spicing the air around them as their scents mix.
He’s so fucking close —
Jimin comes a second before Jungkook fucks his knot into his abused hole.
The alpha — no, the omega — screams as his release splatters on the bench, his walls fluttering around Jungkook’s cock, while Jungkook, moaning and stars bursting behind his eyelids, pumps him full of thick, hot seed, plugged up in him thanks to his knot.
He’s leaning down and his teeth are biting down onto Jimin’s scent gland before he knows it, sweet blood leaking into his mouth before he licks at the wound, saliva speeding up the healing process. Distantly, he can hear Jimin sobbing.
Jungkook can feel nothing but contentment.
Jimin’s bitched. Jimin belongs to him now.
They lay there for a moment, the knot locking the two of them together. Jungkook tries to catch his breath, continuing to lick at the claiming bite and scenting him heavily.
Then, over the haze of the pheromones in the air, barely overpowering the scents already in the room and their own frenzied ones,
Jungkook smells it.
Omega slick.
He stops licking.
Jimin smells it too, from the way he stiffens up and tightens around him. A whimper escapes him. He hangs his head, mouth dropping open.
Then —
“ Alpha ,” Jimin whines, swivelling his hips on his knot.
It’s almost scary how excited Jungkook feels, a grin splitting his face. He runs a hand up Jimin’s side, feels him shiver at his touch.
“Omega.”
-
The next day, Jungkook pulls on his jersey and slams his locker door shut. While he’s lacing up his boots, he notices Dongmin sniffing the air and then turning to Yugyeom.
“Yugyeom. Can you smell that?”
Yugyeom raises his nose and inhales deeply, before blinking. “Oh, yeah.” He raises his voice, looking around at the others with a smirk on his face. “Which one of you assholes fucked an omega here?”
Jungkook keeps quiet, focusing on his gear, as his teammates grunt in response.
“Wasn’t me.”
“God, I wish.”
Mingyu looks up, expression suspicious. “Hey, wasn’t Jeon the last one out of here after training yesterday?”
All eyes fall on Jungkook.
Jungkook looks up and rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I would do that?” He says acidly, after a brief pause.
Dongmin shakes his head and nudges Yugyeom. “He’s right, Jungkook’s really not the type to.”
Yugyeom shrugs, eyeing him. “You never know.”
Jungkook’s about to retort when his phone goes off, and Jaehyun says something else that has everyone yelling, subject at hand forgotten. Excusing himself when he sees the caller ID, he goes out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. No one else is in the hallway.
He takes the call.
“Alpha,” Jimin says into the receiver, so breathy and needy it’s almost a moan. “Need you.”
A fond smile curls his lips. “It’s okay, omega,” he soothes. “Alpha will be home soon, alright? Alpha will take good care of you once I’m back.”
Jimin hiccups. “Really? Alpha’s gonna take care of omega?”
Jungkook hums.
“Really.”