#jiminxbtsnet

Nu ABO: A Memoir by Park Jimin

Chapters: 6 of 6 Rating: Explicit Warnings: pining, slight angst, sexual content, swearing, A/B/O dynamics Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin Summary: The world didn’t think it was necessary to give him a guide when it shoved all of these omega hormones at him, so here it is, Park Jimin’s handbook on dealing with heats, unrequited love, and Jeon Jungkook.

His palms are damp from the nerves, the anticipation makes his fingers numb. He can barely hold himself upright; his legs are weak, knees threatening to cave in. Even though he’s changed boxers, the slick is still dripping out of him, wetting his new pair, threatening to soak through and dirty the sweatpants too. Jimin stares at himself in the mirror, sees the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy like he’s been crying. Fuck, it’s so obvious that he’s in heat.

Jimin uses his hand as a makeshift comb, rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to fix it from where it’s been molded by the pillow, dampened from his sweat.

The doorbell rings then, the chime echoing into the open door of the bathroom, and Jimin stiffens. The hair on his neck prickles, body jolting alert like he’s a dog waiting for its owner.

Jimin fusses with his hair one more time, brushes it back with shaky hands to make himself look just a little less disheveled, and he pads over to the door, takes in one giant breath before he reaches for the doorknob.

He opens the door.

Rating: general Warnings: fluff, canon-compliant, too much mistletoe, drinking games, jikook being lil shits Relationships: jikook, side yoonseok Summary: jimin and jungkook try to get yoongi and hoseok together during the holidays but it doesn't really go as planned.

“Hyung. Jiminie-hyung,” Jungkook hisses, jabbing his sharp elbow into Jimin’s side.

When Jimin doesn’t respond, Jungkook does it again.

“Jungkook. We’re the only ones in this aisle. I don’t know why you’re whispering.”

Jungkook looks at him wide-eyed and jerkily twists his head around like he’s trying to catch a shadow in his peripheral and Jimin checks down the aisles too. Nothing there. Content, Jungkook turns back to the bag of chips in his hands, stares at the monkey swinging from the top of the bag and still refusing to look Jimin in the eye. He clears his throat and scrunches his nose a little and Jimin hates how cute he thinks it is. Jimin, we’ve been over this, kick your stupid crush to the curb.

His voice is still a whisper. “Hyung, what do you think of Hoseok-hyung? And Yoongi-hyung?”

There’s a sickening lurch in Jimin’s chest and he clutches the grocery basket closer, forearm pressing the handles into his stomach. Jungkook couldn’t possibly mean…?

“What do I think of them as… people?” Jimin asks, words slow, forced out of his mouth.

“I mean, what do you think of them together?”

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I… didn’t know how to end this… it’s so fucking long, omg i’m sorry. Is this- is this unfortunate? i think the entire thing is just unfortunate.

The new boss is coming today. There’s a weird blanket of silence in the office because of it. The air is charged and heavy. Uneasy. It’s good for office productivity though, because this is the first time everyone’s actually sitting in their cubicles. Yoongi’s not hanging around the water cooler like usual and his tie is actually straight for once, the windsor knot resting neatly against his collar. Hell, even Tae’s not goofing around as much. Usually he’d be wheeling his chair around the room, propelling backwards like a squid, his long legs dangling like tentacles. He was never really cut out for the office life but no one would even know if they see him the way he is now with his body perched over the keyboard, head forward, blank eyes staring intently at the screen.

Jungkook’s at his spot in the front, standing sentry for the rest of the office. Whenever the door opens, everyone’s head shoots up, peering over the cubicle walls for a glimpse of whoever it is. No boss. Just another applicant for the internship position. There’s been about six already, yet still no signs of their new boss, and it’s already the middle of the afternoon. Even Jungkook’s getting a little restless. He tries to hold onto what little patience he has though, keeps his temper in check when the job applicants ask the stupidest questions.

When the glass doors swing open again, Jungkook’s already dreading it, god, this one’s strutting in with huge sunglasses that cover his face, sipping on a coffee and acting way too nonchalant for someone interviewing for a corporate job. The guy pushes his sunglasses up over his head, and, wow, does he really think he can just use his good looks to nail down the internship?

“Hi,” the man smiles. He looks young, fresh out of business school. “My name’s Jimin.” He sticks his hand out for Jungkook to take, cheeks puffing boyishly as he grins.

Jungkook gives him a firm handshake and then hands him the job application. “Nice to meet you,” he grunts, “here’s the job application. Feel free to have a seat while you fill it out.”

The man blinks and tilts his head like a puppy, eyes squinting, confused.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he says with an amused grin. “You must be Jungkook, right?” and Jungkook just nods dumbly while Jimin talks in riddles.

“I know I’m a little young, but…” Jimin trails off, cocks his head again like he’s organizing his thoughts, sifting through his words.

“I’m Namjoon’s replacement,” he says, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing and hold the fuck up what? “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Jungkook miraculously still has his job four weeks later. He thought he’d be out on the streets by now because whenever Jimin’s around, Jungkook keeps fucking up and Jimin’s his boss who has the power to fire him. As if the first encounter wasn’t embarrassing enough, there had to be second and third and fourth encounters (and counting) that probably made Jimin question Jungkook’s mental state. It made Jungkook question his own mental state. It’s like Jungkook’s body has a mind of its own. He’s spilled coffee on Jimin’s new suit, accidentally scheduled three meetings at the same time, and mindlessly deleted one of their client’s files—but all Jimin does is smile and say, “as long as you can fix it, there’s no apologies necessary” which Jungkook does once he’s able to pull himself together and stop staring at Jimin’s coiffed hair and the way his ass fills out those slacks, god damn.

He blames it all on Namjoon who neglected to tell him how young and ridiculously attractive the new boss would be. Jungkook was expecting some middle-aged man who never smiled and drank more coffee and whiskey than he did water. Not a fresh-faced MBA who joked with his subordinates and asked them about their lives and bought them birthday presents with his own money. Maybe Jimin was in Namjoon’s blueprints all along, Namjoon’s way of securing a future for the company. Lord knows the productivity level went through the roof once Jimin started. All the women (and quite a few men) went out of their way in order to impress the new boss, vying for his attention with presentation boards and embellished sales reports on fancy stationery that does not require a spritz of perfume, Hyeri. It doesn’t even faze Jimin, who just grabs their hands and smiles and thanks them so, so sincerely that it boosts the company morale more than spot bonuses and office parties ever could.

Everyone has a crush on the new boss but Jungkook has an advantage because he’s Jimin’s personal assistant. Or, well, it would be an advantage if Jimin’s presence didn’t turn him into a stuttering, fumbling mess. Jimin seems to increase productivity in everybody except for Jungkook, who takes twice as long in order to get any work done and has to stay late today in order to re-enter data into the correct spreadsheet. The office is cleared out except for Jungkook. And of course, Jimin, who never ever leaves early because “there’s always something to do,” god, Jimin was really something else.

“Jungkook, come here for a second,” Jimin calls, head peeking out from behind his office door, and Jungkook has to will his feet to move because he doesn’t want to see Jimin’s face when he mentions yet another task Jungkook fucked up on. It’s worse than disappointing his own mother.

“You called, sir?”

“Stop calling me that already,” Jimin says, lip jutting out in a pout, “it makes me feel old.”

“Sorry, sir- err, sorry.”

Jimin shakes his head with a soft, exasperated smile and motions for Jungkook to sit down and Jungkook does so reluctantly only after gauging the mood in the room. It’s the first time Jimin’s looked so casual, all stripped of his suit jacket, his hair mussed up like someone’s run their fingers through it all day. A nervous habit maybe.

“Take a break for a minute and keep me company,” Jimin says, and Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief because thank god he didn’t screw something else up. Jimin reaches for something on the upper shelves of the bookcase, arms and back stretched taut, and Jungkook tries really hard not to check out his boss but now that the jacket’s off, Jungkook has a very clear view of Jimin’s ass and he can’t stop looking. It’s a really nice ass.

“—Jungkook,” he says. Jungkook flushes at being caught, head jerking up until he guiltily meets Jimin’s amused eyes.

“Do you prefer wine or whiskey?” he asks, and Jungkook all muddle-headed replies “whiskey” without thinking even though he’s got the alcohol tolerance of a 115-pound teenage girl. Jimin looks pleased though, so Jungkook doesn’t correct himself.

The conversation is awkward at first, stilted and shallow and sounding a lot like a demographic survey but Jimin’s calm smile never leaves his face and it makes Jungkook stutter as he speaks. His fingers are so cold from the nervousness that he sips his whiskey a little too fast, the burn simmering low and hot in his stomach. The alcohol must have hit Jimin too because Jimin’s cheeks flush pink after a while, he starts giggling even though Jungkook’s sure he didn’t say anything funny.

When Jimin’s done with his glass, he pours himself another one. He glances at Jungkook over his glass, gaze hot, eyes so heated it makes Jungkook fidget in his chair.

“Do you not like me?” he says out of the blue. Jungkook’s dumbfounded because that couldn’t be further from the truth, he’s so into Jimin that it’s probably immoral and definitely against HR’s policies.

“Of course I like you,” Jungkook answers, “why would you think that?”

“Namjoon-hyung told me a lot about you. He says you’re really good at what you do. You never make any mistakes.” Jimin’s bottom lip juts out again, expression looking all put out and, god, the alcohol’s really getting to him because his boss is fucking cute and it makes Jungkook want to bite his lip, suck it until it’s red and swollen. “I thought you were trying to give me a hard time or something.”

“Never. You’re just,” he breathes, “—distracting.”

“Distracting? I’m distracting?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, alcohol loosening up his tongue, “you’re distracting. You make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous,” Jimin murmurs, warm and smooth like whiskey.

Jungkook shrugs a shoulder. “You’re attractive,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Jimin has the nerve to blush, as though he didn’t know the entire office practically swoons whenever he smiles.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Jimin’s voice keens, “you’re the distracting one, god.” He drapes an arm over his eyes and laughs, all breathy and high, and Jungkook’s heart beats in his ears. He leans over the desk and grabs Jimin’s collar in the heat of the moment, pulls him forward until their lips crash together, fever running high and desperate in his chest. Jimin’s lips are still at first, stiffened from shock, but he responds just as desperate and Jungkook nearly cries in relief. It’s like the four weeks culminated in this, Jimin’s knotting his fists in Jungkook’s shirt and moaning as he kisses back, all teeth and tongue and fire.Everything’s frantic and fast like they’re scared of breaking the pace, too scared to think. Jimin tastes like whiskey and his tongue’s so wet and hot it makes Jungkook groan deep in his throat, makes him lose control of his hands, pulse thrumming in his veins as he grips and grabs at every part of Jimin he can reach. And Jimin whines in response, all low and needy, climbing up onto the desk with a clatter and licking the inside of Jungkook’s mouth while he fists Jungkook’s shirt tight, tugs him closer like he can’t get enough, can’t stop until they both run out of air.

When they finally break apart, Jimin’s eyes are glassy, his lips are wet and puffy and Jungkook can’t stop staring at them, wants to bite at them again, lick them until Jimin moans into his mouth. “Whoa, Jungkook, I think- I think we should slow down.” But Jungkook’s gone, mind lost in a drunken haze, just wants to taste Jimin again. “Jungkook,” he breathes when Jungkook nips at his jaw, “shit, this- this is so wrong.”

“Not wrong,” he murmurs against Jimin’s neck, mouthing at it. “I’m your personal assistant. And I’m personally assisting you.”

Uhh…. oops, Jungkook turned out a little less adorable than expected. Thank you for being patient!   ♡

When Jungkook hit eighteen, Jimin panicked. There hasn’t been a word of any Alphas presenting past the age of eighteen—if Jungkook was going to be an Alpha, it should have hit him already. So Jimin’s holding his breath, waiting for that inevitable day, for Jungkook to come knocking on his door, red-faced and smelling of omega sweetness.

They all gambled on it—Jungkook was definitely going to present as an omega now. Jungkook’s not an in-betweener, he’s always on either side of the spectrum, either black or white, never gray. Presenting as a beta would be too, too common and Jungkook is not common. Not at all.

Jimin knew it too. Jungkook is tooth-rottingly sweet, all bunny smiles and big round eyes and a kind, soft heart that is innate in every single omega. An Alpha would snatch him up in a heartbeat. And Jimin, poor omega Jimin, would be left in the dust because that’s the way it works in the world. There hasn’t been a single situation in which an omega has ended up with another omega. Alpha-Alpha pairs happened sometimes, it was rare, but it’s happened. But an omega with another omega was unheard of. It was impossible. Something in the omega biology just switched off the pheromones like a light switch, made it so that omegas would never, ever be attracted to each other.

So Jimin’s just waiting. Jungkook will present as an omega and they’ll be on the same poles of a magnet, so alike but always repelling, never meant to be together. He’s played with these magnets when he was younger, childishly thinking that his strength could trump the magnetic poles, forearms straining, forcing the like ends together—but they never touched. Jimin can’t stand it. It makes something in his chest burn, the idea that fate could be so cruel is just so gut-wrenchingly painful that he doesn’t even want to face the world. He spends all day in bed now, just buried under the covers, waiting for the knock on the door that would change everything.

A few weeks after Jungkook’s eighteenth birthday, Jimin goes into heat. It’s never happened before—he’s always taken his pills like a good omega, knew a heat would distract Namjoon-hyung to no end and Jimin definitely doesn’t want to be on the end of Seokjin’s wrath, thanks. But it happens when Jimin is too depressed to pull himself out of his bed, forgets to take his suppressants for weeks on end until the heat finally hits. When it does, Jimin is strung out of his mind and is clawing off the cotton T-shirt that’s sticking way too closely to his sweaty skin. He frantically unbuckles his pants, ready to lock himself in his room and deal with this himself, fuck the universe for making Namjoon the only goddamn Alpha in his dorm.

When his jeans are around his ankles, there’s a knock on his door and Jimin curses because this could not come at a better time.

“What?” he barks, swinging the door all the way back in a quarter arc, and Jungkook’s standing right in front of him, jaw dropped like a ventriloquist dummy, eyes big and wide and struck with panic. His cheeks pinken as his gaze drops down the length of Jimin’s body before snapping back up out of embarrassment.

“I, uh—”

The pingponging Jungkook’s eyes are doing makes Jimin awkward and embarrassed, should have put some damn pants on before he answered the door, jesus christ Jimin.

“What do you need?” Jimin says, softer, almost apologetic. He self-consciously curls an arm in front of his midsection, face hot and turned away from Jungkook’s gaze.

“I… gotta go,” Jungkook mumbles, disappearing before Jimin could even blink, hastily slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Jimin’s heart drops to his stomach because in a moment of clarity, he realizes that was it. That was the knock he was waiting for. He’s heard of it happening—one omega’s heat affecting another omega’s hormones. His own heat triggered Jungkook’s own latent omega hormones, he’s sure of it, fuck fuck fuck he can’t believe his body would betray him like this.

The painful dread sinks into his gut and the frenzied, sex-crazed rush of his heat dampens. When the haze finally dissipates, Jimin is lucid and feeling really, really stupid for just standing in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but boxers and mismatched socks.

He just wants to crawl back into bed again and sleep off his heat.

But then there’s another knock on his door.

Jimin has enough sense to put his pants back on before he opens it. It’s Jungkook again, fidgety nervous Jungkook who shifts his weight from side to side, looking just as flighty as Jimin’s imagined in the many scenarios he’s played in his head. Jimin can do this. He can be the good hyung who shows Jungkook the ropes.

“I think I just-” Jungkook stops himself and his face twists. When Jimin flits his eyes down, Jungkook’s hands are in fists, knuckles white and straining against his skin. “I just presented,” Jungkook says, voice tight.

The bile rises in his throat.

“Just- just take some of my suppressants now. Before your heat kicks in. And then I’ll go with you to the doctors’ tomorrow.”

“Hyung—”

“It’s fine,” Jimin says, turning back to his room and rummaging through his bedside drawer for the half-full bottle of suppressants. “Not a big deal,” he continues, “presenting as an omega isn’t the worst thing in the world.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his words but it doesn’t sound that believable.

“Hyung, that’s not—” Jungkook tries again, only to be interrupted by the rattle of pills when Jimin throws an orange prescription bottle his way.

“This will help,” Jimin says. He feels agitated and he doesn’t know why. Jungkook just needs to leave so he can sleep. He never should have answered that door.

“Hyung,” he tries again. “Jiminnie-hyung.”

Jimin only pays attention when the door bangs shut and Jungkook’s standing there with his body all tensed, hands still clenched in fists around the prescription bottle like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Do you not smell it?” Jungkook says slowly, as though Jimin’s some scared, wounded animal he’s approaching.

Jimin responds without thinking, “smell what?,” mouth reacting before his brain notices. But suddenly, through the gloom, there’s a moment of clarity. It’s Jungkook’s smell, definitely, but it’s different. It’s heavier, muskier, and not like any omega smell at all.

“Oh my god, you—” Jimin’s heart picks up, “you’re—”

“—not an omega,” Jungkook finishes.

At that point, his face is warm again, his omega body coherent and responding to the presence of an alpha in his room.

“This is honestly the worst time to tell me that,” Jimin says, the heat back with a vengeance, warmth flaring in his gut. The shiny doe eyes that Jimin’s so accustomed to contorts, switches into something much darker. Jungkook stares at him, intense. How the hell did he think Jungkook could possibly be an omega?

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, voice low. He moves through the room, smooth and languid, stepping closer and closer until the smell of him makes Jimin’s mouth dry. “Teach me,” he says. “About omegas.”