Chapter Text
Jimin sits in the corner of the room, notepad pressed to his knees. He tries to keep his gaze lowered but can’t help looking up. Seated at the long table, next to the Crown Prince and across from the other rebels, is The General Jeon Jungkook.
“Park Jimin, I must say you live up to your reputation,” the Crown Prince leers at Hoseok. Hoseok blushes and nods, eyes looking down. Jimin will give him shit for the bad acting later.
“So, all you want is the valley?” the Crown Prince continues.
“Give us the valley and everything stops. No more guerilla warfare, not more dangerous border for you. We’ll leave your people alone, and you’ll leave ours,” Namjoon, chief strategist for the resistance and Jimin’s closest friend, cuts in. Hoseok nods next to him, leaning so the Crown Prince can smell his sprayed-on omega scent.
The Crown Prince smiles and turns to his right. “What do you think, General Jeon? Should we make a deal?”
Jimin holds his breath. General Jeon is tall, arms muscled and veiny. His face is straight lines—a sharp jaw, long thing nose, and eyes so dark Jimin can’t tell the pupil from the iris. He looks like a fairy tale prince, only the prince is evil and stands against everything Jimin believes in.
“Well,” Jeon’s voice is deep and sends shivers down Jimin’s spine, “truces are built on trust. And I’m not sure we can trust a group that so openly deceives us.” Jeon turns to face Jimin--the real Jimin.
The room erupts into chaos.
Jimin’s guards immediately surround him. They make it to the hallway and start down the hidden passageway on the left.
They’re almost at the bottom, steps from escaping into the night, when Jimin hears his first guard cry out. Then his second. He turns around, dagger raised and ready.
Jungkook’s face is calm, eyes scanning Jimin’s body top to bottom, assessing. He disarms Jimin with a flick of his wrist and pinches his neck in a way that makes Jimin’s eyes flutter shut and legs give out. Jimin smells pine and the night sky.
The world fades to nothing.
#
When Jimin wakes, he is cold and hungry. His cell is damp, and the threadbare mattress doesn’t have a pillow or blanket to stop his shivering.
He’s stubborn at first. He won’t cry or beg—he is Park Jimin, face of the resistance and an omega who can take care of himself.
But then a day passes. And another. And he hasn’t had a drop of water, let along food given to him. On the third day, he breaks.
“Please, I’m so thirsty. Please”
His voice is rough and unused, and he doesn’t even know if anyone is listening. He presses face against the small window in the door, and thinks he sees a shadow move. But nothing happens, and a few hours later Jimin passes out.
He wakes up covered in thick blankets, a liter jug of water and breakfast spread next to the still-moist mattress. He can smell traces of Jungkook’s smoky pine scent and hates the thought of the Alpha in the cell while he slept.
Food is intermittent after that. He notices a pattern—every three days (he thinks, judging by the light he can sort of see from the small door-window), whoever is watching him changes. He dubs them “bad guards” and “good guards”. The good guards feed him, and occasionally leave him a change of clothes or towels and water he uses to sponge himself clean. The bad guards don’t. And he thinks they watch him, because he feels his skin crawl even though he can’t see their faces through the door-window. Sometimes he hears them laugh when he wakes up crying and gasping in the middle of the night.
##
About two weeks in, Jimin’s door opens and guards march in. Jimin jerks up and presses his back against the wall, shoulders curling in to make him as small as possible. According to his calculations, they are the good guards. But even good guards are Empire guards.
“Get up,” one of them says. His face is neutral. Alpha, Jimin’s nose tells him.
Jimin ignores his command, and the Alpha guard bends down to grab him by the arm. But Jimin is prepared. He pulls the chopstick he’s sharpened from one of his meals and stabs the guard in the neck. The guard cries out, and Jimin sprints toward the door.
The other guard, however, tackles him. Jimin’s head smashes to the ground. He groans as his vision blackens.
###
“You stabbed one of my men,” is the first thing Jimin hears when his eyes blink open. He’s on a bed—a nice bed with curtains and a weighted omega blanket.
“You would’ve done the same,” Jimin bites back.
The General Jeon Jungkook’s face is difficult to read—passive and stoic. His arms are crossed, tattooed hands peeking out from underneath bulging arms. Even the way he stands—long, muscular limbs coiled like they’re ready to pounce at any given moment—is menacing. His musky, pine scent hangs heavy in the room.
Jimin presses his nails into his palms to keep from squirming.
Jungkook is dressed in military uniform—black slacks, black button-down jacket with five, innocuous stripes in the corner indicating his status. There are no medals, but when you are the most decorated officer in Empire history there isn’t any need, Jimin figures.
Jimin feels small, drowning in the huge bed.
“I wouldn’t have been caught in the first place,” Jeon folds his arms over his chest, those black eyes watching Jimin.
The room around Jimin is bare—the walls are beige and there is a red Persion rug peeking out from under the bed. Jimin has nowhere to look other than Jungkook’s broad shoulders and sharp jaw.
“Why did you move me out of the cell?” Jimin finally breaks the silence.
“You’re a diplomatic member of an opposition government.”
“What about when I first got here?” Jimin responds just as quickly.
Jungkook’s lips curl downward.
“Ah. Is the Crown Prince calling the shots these days?” Jimin watches Jungkook’s face for any reaction but sees nothing.
But the Alpha’s scent does darken, and Jimin fights the desire to look down, look away.
“You will be fed regularly. There is a bathroom attached to this room. You can use it freely. If you try anything, you will regret it,” Jungkook finally says. He gives Jimin one last look and leaves the room.
Jimin relaxes into the cushions.
##
Second prince Kim Taehyung is more timid than expected. The Alpha knocks before entering, peeking his head in as if to check for danger before slipping through.
Jimin is still caught off guard.
Taehyung’s angular face marks him as a member of the royal family, but everything else about him makes Jimin wonder if he is a commoner in disguise. It doesn’t help that Taehyung smells like lemon tart.
Servants wheel in a tea cart, café table, and two chairs to the left of the bed. Blueberry scones and lemon cupcakes and walnut cookies and little multicolored cake slices dot a tiered desert display. Jimin loves sweets, and life as the heart of a resistance movement and then prisoner meant that he doesn’t get them very often.
“Why are you here?” Jimin climbs off the bed and stands in front of the table, hands clenched so he doesn’t grab every chocolate dipped baked good he sees.
“I—uh, I wanted to meet you?” Taehyung’s voice is deep and mellow, a sharp contrast from his demeanor.
“Why?” Jimin glances around.
“Well, I mean, you’re famous? Park Jimin, the face that started the resistance and all.” Taehyung chuckles awkwardly.
Jimin hates when people say that. As if he was some magical being that ignited passion in thousands of citizens. As if omegas weren’t already frustrated with being oppressed. As if betas and Alphas weren’t already angry with the rules that hurt their loved ones and partners, as if they also didn’t hate the restrictions it placed on themselves.
Still, Jimin finds himself enjoying Taehyung’s company. The resistance has very little intel on the second prince who, unlike his brother, doesn’t frequent the bars and brothels the Empire’s elite love. He doesn’t even go to official meetings or military strategy if the spies could be trusted.
Taehyung, it seems, is decent.
“You’re actually causing a big stir around the capital, you know?”
Jimin doesn’t know how naïve Taehyung is, to drop information like that, or if Taehyung is just manipulating him.
“Oh?” Jimin laughs as airily is possible, “me? That can’t be true!”
“Some people are taking Jungkook’s side and others are on Tae-Il’s. Even the staff are upset.” Taehyung continues.
“Oh? I mean, I haven’t even seen Crown Prince Tae-Il since arriving, but I understand his position,” Jimin prays he makes sense.
“Jungkook is right. You’re an omega, but you’re still important. You should be treated like a dignitary,” Taehyung stares at his hands as he speaks, like looking at Jimin would make his words more treasonous. “Tae-il is furious that Jungkook got you in here.”
“Well, well, well what do we have here?” Kim Tae-il strolls in with genuinely bad timing. His bone structure and features match Taehyung’s, but everything else is different.
“Having fun with the enemy Tae-Tae? I would be careful; the little whore has charmed a tenth of our citizens. And we all know you’re not the cleverest Kim.”
Jimin sees a brief flash of…. something in Taehyung’s eyes. Something more than the timid, sweet Alpha he’s been talking to for the past hour.
“Tae-il. I was just having tea with our guest.” Taehyung turns to face Jimin again.
Tae-il walks over to the table, dragging his finger across the filagree. He stops in front of Jimin.
“Park Jimin. In the flesh. What a headache you’ve been,” Tae-il laughs and touches Jimin’s blond locks.
“Crown Prince. I’m glad you’ve come to visit my new quarters,” Jimin flashes a plastic smile, voiced pitched just so.
“Ah Jimin, you must understand. It was for your own good- I know those rebels have put silly things in your head. A few more days in that cell would have reminded you of your place, angel.”
Tae-il’s hand inches towards Jimin’s scent gland. His scent is smoky and suffocating, it makes Jimin want to flinch away.
“I can’t believe those barbarians let a pretty thing like you take suppressants, I can’t wait to smell you,” Tae-il pulls his hand away. His voice is dark with promise.
Jimin blanches. He prays the rebels have a rescue plan.
A week later, Jimin’s scent starts to come back. At first he thinks he’s hallucinating—the blueberry scent faint on his pillow. But it gets stronger.
He doesn’t have a plan. He knows the guards can smell it because he starts to smell them. Not like before when their scents were simply perfumes identifying who and where. Now, their scents are Alpha and they make Jimin want to curl up in a corner when they are annoyed, want to be good for them when they drop off his food.
He’s scared of the guards. He doesn’t trust Alphas. He hides in the bathroom, door locked, when they come inside the room with water or a change of clothes.
His only solace is that somehow, for some reason, these guards haven’t told Tae-il yet, and he hasn’t come to visit either.
His heat eventually hits.
He wakes up, face down and grinding into the bed. His body is hot, too hot. He stumbles into the bathroom, locks it, and turns the shower water to the coldest setting.
There is a commotion outside, the guards growling and shouting at someone. And then, to Jimin’s absolute horror, he smells a deep smoky scent enter his room.
Tae-il bangs the bathroom door so hard the walls shake.
“Where’s the fucking key?” he shouts at the guards. Tae-il and the guards’ scents are spiked with arousal and anger.
Jimin chokes on the air and presses into the corner of the shower, as far from the door as possible. But he knows it’s pointless.
The door finally splinters open, Tae-il’s fist pummeling through the center and followed by his smirking face.
“Hi pretty.”
“Hi fuckface.” Jimin’s heat makes his head fuzzy. He’s shaking in fear.
Jimin is lifted by his neck, Tae-il’s hands pinning him to the shower wall. Jimin’s head gets dizzier, his body filled with fear and disgust and desire and it makes him want to throw up. Everything is too much, but he still tries to swipe at the disgusting man who simply laughs at his attempts.
So Jimin closes his eyes.
And opens them again when he smells pine.
Tae-il is ripped off him. He sinks back to the floor, head pressed into his knees. He hears a roar, a body is slammed to the ground, loud shouting, and the scents of so many alphas.
And then it’s just a pine scent coming closer and closer until it’s right in front of him.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s low voice grumbles.
Jimin presses his face further into his knees. Jungkook’s scent makes his limbs feel like warm syrup. He doesn’t trust himself to look up.
“We should get you out of the shower.”
“N-no. The guards,” Jimin mumbles.
“I’ll take care of the guards, you’re safe.”
Jimin still shakes his head. Jimin doesn’t trust himself and certainly doesn’t trust Jeon Jungkook.
He hears a sigh and then yelps as he’s lifted over the Alpha’s broad shoulders. It’s too much, Jungkook’s foresty scent against his nose, the broad hands on the backs of his knees.
Jimin lies limp—it’s all he can do to prevent himself from begging Jungkook to rail him into next week. The warm, gooey feeling spreads and he wants to press his face into Jungkook’s neck.
Jimin feels his back hit the mattress and finally opens his eyes.
Jungkook is as handsome as ever, eyes dark and hair windswept. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he hovers over Jimin. The Alpha’s body dwarfs Jimin’s, sinewy muscle coiled like he’s holding himself back. Jimin wants to drown in that pine scent.
And then Jimin feels slick drip into his already soaked pants.
Jungkook growls. Jimin knows he’s fucked.
Jimin closes his eyes for the second time that night.
But to his surprise, he feels the presence above him vanish. Jungkook is at the door when he opens his eyes.
“No one will touch you.” Jungkook walks out the door. Jimin almost cries when the door closes.
Jimin furiously fingers himself nonstop for the next three days, imagining it’s the Alpha’s tattooed hands. The pine scent never leaves his door.
Jimin can’t sleep. Omegan maids thoroughly cleaned the room of heat-scent. Guards replaced Jungkook at the door. Jimin is clean and dry. But he’s thinking about it again.
He can’t figure out why Jungkook helped him. First with the cell and then again with his heat. Was Jungkook playing him? Or was he just trying to piss Tae-il off- some internal Empire politics? No matter how he thought about it, Jungkook saved him. Jeon Jungkook, The General, the Empire’s Devil, the man who doubled the empire’s land in 10 years and killed thousands of innocents, had saved him.
It just doesn’t sit right with Jimin.
The door jerks open and Jimin bolts upright. Forest scent fills the air and Jimin hates how safe it makes him feel.
“What are you—”
“The guards said you wanted to talk?”
Jungkook is tense, Jimin can smell. And see. As he walks closer, Jimin notices a slight limp, dried blood on the Alpha’s forehead and knuckles. Shallow breathing. Jimin can smell that Jungkook has dismissed the guards outside.
“Yeah, I meant at a normal time. Why are you here in the middle of the night? What if I was asleep?”
Jimin fists the blankets next to him and presses his back against the headboard, watching as the Alpha comes closer.
“It’s convenient for me to talk now. And you’re obviously awake.” Jungkook stops at the foot of the bed, crosses his arm, and leans on one of the bed posters that jut up to the ceiling.
Jimin studies the Alpha for a moment. Even injured, Jungkook makes him want to submit, want to lower his eyes and tilt his neck left.
“What do you want from me?” Jimin finally says.
“What do you mean?”
Jimin takes a deep breath through his mouth, but he can still taste Jungkook’s scent somehow.
“I’ve been here for almost a month, but no one has questioned me,” is where Jimin starts.
“Crown Prince Tae-il feels that questioning you isn’t reasonable.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks you don’t know anything. That Kim Namjoon is the mastermind behind the resistance,” Jungkook’s face is, as usual, frustratingly calm.
“And what do you think?” Jimin fights the instinctual urge to break eye contact.
“I-“
At that moment, the bathroom door bursts open.
“Oh shit,” Namjoon says, looking between Jimin and Jungkook.
Jungkook is on Namjoon immediately, smashing Namjoon’s head into the wall. He turns toward Hoseok, who was already halfway to the bed and grabs him by the hair.
“Hobi!” Jimin leaps out of the bed and jumps onto Jungkook’s back, but Jungkook turns and slams Jimin into the ground.
Jimin cries out in pain. Jungkook, for some reason, pauses. And that pause is enough for Hoseok to stick something in the Alpha’s neck. Jungkook’s eyes dim and he falls like a sack of bricks onto Jimin.
“Min, we have to get out of here NOW,” Hoseok rolls Jungkook over and pulls Jimin and Namjoon off the floor.
“We—we need to take Jeon. This is too big an opportunity,” Namjoon splutters, half-conscious but still thinking strategy.
“And then what? Do you think we can keep Jeon Jungkook? He’ll kill us in 30 seconds, he’s too strong,” Hoseok bites back.
“Joon is right. We take him, this could be what we need,” Jimin decides, already getting to one side of the huge Alpha.
Hobi shakes his head. The three rebels carry the Alpha out through the bathroom ceiling and into the night.