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Chapter Text

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PJM

The studio pulses with life, the steady thump of music merging with the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished wood and the bright, unfiltered laughter of students refining their movements. It is Thursday, and I'm leading a contemporary dance class, stepping in for Minji who called in sick this morning. 

As co-owner and manager of Hope on the Street for the last two years, I have shifted to more behind-the-scenes work, like scheduling, budgets, and planning therapy workshops, but I still teach three classes a week and fill in whenever needed.

Today, the kids are electric, their movements sharp, eager, and full of life, echoing the choreography I have drilled into them. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my muscles burn with that familiar, satisfying ache. Still, a bone-deep exhaustion clings to me, an undercurrent of fatigue that has been following me for a few weeks now. But I smile, my Omega purring with pride as I guide them through the final sequence. Their energy is infectious, and despite everything, I can't help but feel a surge of happiness.

"Keep those arms fluid!" I call out, clapping along to the beat. My voice rings bright despite the weight of exhaustion in my bones. "Feel the music, let it carry you!"

The class ends in a burst of applause, the students faces flushed with the joy of accomplishment. I clap back, laughing as I wipe my brow with a towel.

"You guys were incredible today," I say, my heart swelling. "Keep practicing that turn sequence. I want it razor-sharp for next week, okay?"

"Yes, Seonsaengnim!" they chorus, their voices playful, and I grin, feeling my chest tighten with affection for them.

A few students linger afterward, asking about foot placement or stretching tips, and I answer patiently, my love for teaching grounding me even as my body screams for rest.

Soojin, another teacher, who has been with the studio for years, catches me as I'm packing up my water bottle. Her jasmine scent lingers softly around her, her smile warm but edged with concern.

"Jimin, you look exhausted," she says, her voice gentle. "You have been pushing yourself hard lately. Is everything okay?"

I nod, forcing a smile, though my limbs feel like lead.

"Just a busy week," I say, trying to sound light. "Yoongi is in Japan, and I'm juggling the studio and Bora alone. I will survive."

She tilts her head, her eyes soft with care, searching mine.

"You sure? You have been off for a while now. Maybe see a doctor? Or let me take one of your classes next week, just to give you a break?"

I laugh softly, touched by her concern.

"I will think about it," I say, squeezing her arm. "Thanks, Soojin. You are a lifesaver."

She grins, waving me off.

"Just don't burn out, boss. We need you."

I head to my office, a small, cozy space adorned with dance posters and Bora's artwork pinned to the walls. The paperwork is piled high, schedules, invoices, and plans for an upcoming therapy workshop, all waiting for my attention. I approach it with a weary sigh, my eyelids heavy from the weight of the day.

Hobi made me co-owner two years ago when he opened Hope on the Street: Neuron across the city, trusting me to run this branch while he manages the new one. His belief in me changed everything, giving me a purpose I had only dreamed of when I went back to college five years ago to finish my degree in Contemporary Dance and Dance Therapy. 

This studio, these kids, this life, it is everything I have ever wanted, even on days like today when I feel like I'm running on fumes.

By the time I finish the last of the paperwork, the clock tells me it is time to pick up Bora from school. I lock up the studio, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the street as I make my way to the car.

Yoongi's absence weighs on me like a quiet ache, the space beside me in our penthouse feeling too large without him. He is in Japan for the week, meeting with a global artist for a new project, and I miss him, the way his mint-and-rain scent that clings to his shirts, the steadiness of his presence, and the way he makes everything feel right. 

Our penthouse in Gangnam is gorgeous, with high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and extra rooms whispering of future plans, but it feels hollow without him.

━━━━

At the school, I join the group of parents waiting by the gate. Minseo, Lila's mother, is there, her chamomile Beta scent calming and soft. Nearby, Timoteo, Amy's father, stands with a sharp, cedar-and-smoke Alpha scent. 

Yoongi teases me about Timoteo's lingering glances, but I always keep things professional, clear in my devotion to him. We trust each other completely, discussing every insecurity, and I know nothing will ever come between us.

"Hey, Jimin," Minseo says, smiling warmly. "How is the studio?"

"Busy," I laugh softly. "Minji is out sick, so I'm wiped. You?"

"Same old," she says with a shrug. "Lila has been raving about Bora's new dance routine. Those girls are glued at the hip."

I grin, my heart swelling with warmth.

Bora, Lila, and Amy are a trio, inseparable, their friendship a bright thread woven into the fabric of Bora's life. Amy's Omega mother passed away during childbirth, and Timoteo has been raising her alone, a challenge I understand from my own past. He is a great dad, kind, attentive, but unfortunately Yoongi's teasing isn't entirely baseless. Timoteo's eyes linger a bit longer than necessary when he smiles at me.

"Speaking of the girls," Timoteo says, his voice casual but warm, "Amy has been begging for a sleepover with Bora and Lila this weekend. Maybe we could set it up?"

I nod, keeping my tone light.

"That sounds fun," I say. "I will talk to Yoongi and let you know."

The school bell rings, and the kids spill out, a wave of chatter and laughter.

Bora spots me immediately, her face lighting up as she runs over, her backpack bouncing. At nine, she is a bundle of long limbs and bright eyes, her curls tamed into a ponytail. Her pup scent is sweet, tinged with the faintest Omega traits, caring and nurturing, just as I have come to suspected she will present as in a few years. She throws her arms around me, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"Amma!" she exclaims. "I got an A on my math test!"

"That's my girl," I say, hugging her tightly, my Omega purring with pride. "You are so smart, puppy."

Lila and Amy join us, giggling and chattering, and I nod to Minseo and Timoteo as we say our goodbyes. Bora waves enthusiastically as we head to the car.

"See you tomorrow!" she calls, squeezing my hand as we make our way home.

━━━━

Back at the penthouse, the space feels grand yet cozy, the city skyline sparkling through the windows. Bora helps me with dinner, chopping vegetables with careful precision. Her love for cooking, a gift from Jin's influence, shines through, and I can't help but admire her focus.

"You are getting so good at this," I say, watching her slice a carrot, her tongue poking out in concentration.

"Uncle Jin says I'm going to be a chef," she says, grinning. "But I wanna dance like you too, Amma."

I laugh, ruffling her hair.

"You can do it all, puppy. Dance, cook, make music like Appa, or paint like Uncle Tae. The sky is the limit."

She beams at me, and we finish preparing a stir-fry, the kitchen filled with savory scents.

After dinner, Bora settles at the dining table with her homework, her brow furrowing over a math problem. I sit beside her, guiding her through a tricky equation, my own knack for numbers helping. Yoongi typically takes charge of language or music assignments, but when it comes to math and natural sciences, I have got it covered, and with Bora's sharp mind, it is never a real struggle.

"Got it!" she exclaims, scribbling down the final answer. 

I high-five her, my heart swelling with pride.

We curl up on the couch afterward, watching Spirited Away, one of her favorite Studio Ghibli classics. She snuggles against me, her head resting on my shoulder, and I feel a pang of missing Yoongi. I wish he were here to share this moment.

As the credits roll, my phone lights up with a video call from Yoongi. His name flashes on the screen, and Bora squeals with excitement, grabbing the phone.

"Appa!" she says, her face glowing as Yoongi's image appears, his hotel room in Japan softly blurred behind him.

"Hey, puppy," Yoongi says, his voice warm and soothing. "How is my favorite baby girl?"

"I'm nine, Appa," she says, pouting playfully. "Not a baby anymore."

Yoongi laughs, the sound low and comforting.

"You will always be my puppy. How was school?"

She launches into a detailed story about her day, her friends, a new art project, and all the things she is excited about. I watch, my heart full of love for both of them, aching from the distance but grateful for this connection.

When she is done, Yoongi looks at me, his eyes softening.

"Hey, how are you?" he asks, concern lacing his tone.

"I miss you," I reply softly, my throat tight. "But we are good. How is Japan?"

"Busy," he says, running a hand through his hair. "The artist I'm working with is intense, but it's going well. I will be home soon, promise."

"I know," I smile, though it feels bittersweet. "I love you."

"I love you too," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Time for bed soon, don't you think, Bora?"

"Okay, Appa. Goodnight! Love you!" she says, blowing him a kiss before handing me the phone and skipping off to brush her teeth.

"Sweet dreams, puppy."

━━━━

I tuck Bora into bed, her room cozy with books, art supplies, and dance posters. She is clutching her bunny, the same one from years ago, a little worn but still cherished, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"Night, Amma," she murmurs. "Love you."

"Love you too, puppy," I whisper, kissing her forehead. 

My Omega purrs softly, comforted by her warmth.

Back in the living room, I video call Yoongi again, needing his voice before sleep. His face appears, and I smile, my heart easing despite the ache.

"Hey," I say, settling against the couch. "You made it through another day."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice warm. "Just got out of a meeting. How was your day?"

"Exhausting," I admit with a soft laugh. "Taught a class, did paperwork, picked up Bora. Oh, and Timoteo suggested a sleepover for Bora, Lila, and Amy this weekend."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Timoteo, huh? Is he still grinning at you like a lovesick puppy?"

I roll my eyes, grinning.

"Stop it, hyung. It's just a sleepover idea. I told him I would talk to you."

He chuckles, the sound easing the fatigue in my body.

"Sounds like fun for the girls. Bora would love it. What do you think?"

"I think it's a great idea," I say, my voice softening. "She has been so happy with her friends. But I'm so tired, Yoongi. I don't know what's wrong with me lately."

His eyes soften, concern flickering in them.

"You have been pushing yourself too hard lately, Jiminie. Maybe see a doctor? I will be home soon, and we will figure it out together, okay?"

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

"I miss you so much," I whisper.

"I miss you too," he says, his voice thick. "Every second. I love you."

"I love you too," I reply, my heart full yet heavy. "Goodnight, hyung."

"Goodnight, Jiminie," he says, and I end the call, the quiet of the penthouse settling around me.

I slip into our bed, the sheets cool without him beside me. 

The past five years flash through my mind in a vivid blur. Yoongi officially claimed Bora as his daughter, stepping fully and confidently into the role of Appa, with every right and privilege it brings. I have watched her love for dance, music, art, cooking, books, and movies blossom, shaped beautifully by the influence of those around us. Namjoon and Jin's family has grown too, now brightened by their spirited three-year-old pup, Soobin. Taehyung and Jungkook are finally planning to mate during Tae's next heat, and Hobi and Junghon's quiet, steady love continues to deepen with each passing day.

I close my eyes, Yoongi's voice still echoing in my mind, and drift into a restless but hopeful sleep, dreaming of the day when he is finally back in my arms.

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The next morning unfolds with a soft golden light spilling through the penthouse windows, warming the hardwood floors as the sun climbs higher in the sky. The world outside seems alive with energy, but I'm still dragging from yesterday, my body heavy with the lingering exhaustion that clings to my bones. I know I need to push through, today is special for Bora, and I refuse to let fatigue steal that moment.

After school, we have an appointment at the hair salon, a promise I made when she aced her math test. In a moment of reckless confidence, I told her she could choose my hair color if she got an A, thinking it would be a fun motivator. At the time, I thought it was a harmless challenge, something lighthearted. But now, knowing her love for painting and colors, skills that have been influenced by Taehyung's artistic flair, I can't help but feel a little nervous. Bora has always been great at school, but what if she decides I need neon green hair or a white streak down the middle? 

The possibilities feel endless, and that idea both excites and terrifies me.

I’m in the kitchen, sipping coffee and half-heartedly scrolling through studio emails when Bora bursts in like a spark of sunlight. Her ponytail bounces with every step, and her school uniform, her shirt untucked, and socks uneven, is proudly disheveled from dressing herself. In her arms she cradles her favorite sketchpad, its cover soft from use, the corners frayed and curling. The pages inside bulge with layers of drawings, some bold and finished, others half-born in swirls of crayon and watercolor.

She skids to a stop beside me, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with the kind of fierce excitement only a nine-year-old can carry.

"Amma, it's hair day!" she announces, practically hopping onto a barstool. 

Her legs swing in the air as she looks up at me, her voice brimming with energy. 

"You are going to look so cool!"

I laugh, setting my mug down, though a wave of nerves flickers in my chest.

"You are way too excited for this, puppy," I tease, ruffling her curls. "You sure you are not going to turn me into a rainbow?"

She giggles, scrunching her nose.

"It's a surprise, Amma!" she says, her tone conspiratorial. "You will love it, I promise."

I raise an eyebrow and lean in, my Omega purring softly in response to her enthusiasm.

"I trust you, but I'm watching you, little artist. No glitter, okay?"

She sticks out her tongue and flashes a mischievous grin.

"No promises!" she says, her laughter infectious.

I shake my head, still smiling, though the weight of my fatigue makes it harder to enjoy the moment fully. 

For weeks, I have been battling this lingering exhaustion, something that doesn't seem to let up no matter how much sleep I get. I haven't had a chance to see a doctor, between teaching classes, managing Hope on the Street, and keeping up with Bora's boundless energy, I barely have time to breathe. Yoongi's absence in Japan only adds to the pressure, the space where he should be feels painfully empty.

I miss him terribly, but I remind myself that we will talk again tonight, and that thought keeps me going through the day.

━━━━

After school, I pick up Bora, and her face lights up when she sees me, her backpack bouncing with every step.

"Ready, Amma?" she asks, grabbing my hand with a quick tug. 

"Ready as I will ever be," I say, squeezing her hand as we head toward the car.

The salon is a place I have come to cherish, a familiar space of comfort. Euphairia, sleek and modern with its warm lighting and the soft hum of blow-dryers in the background, has been our go-to for years now. Since Yoongi and I moved in together, it has seen countless changes to our hair, Bora's first professional haircut marking the beginning of so many small but significant moments. That haircut had me in tears as I watched her baby curls fall to the floor.

When we walk in, Hana, the head stylist, is waiting for us, her hibiscus-and-rose scent wafting toward me as she greets us with a hug. Her Beta energy is always warm and familiar, like family.

"Jimin! Bora!" she calls, her eyes lighting up as she wraps us in a welcoming embrace. "Ready for the big makeover?"

Bora nods enthusiastically, clutching her sketchpad like a prized possession. Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she leans in closer to Hana, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"It's a secret, Hana-unnie!" she says, her words conspiratorial. "Amma can't know yet!"

Hana laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and winks at me.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," she teases. "Are you sure you trust this little artist with your hair, Jimin?"

I groan, sinking into one of the plush waiting chairs.

"I'm starting to question my life choices," I joke, though my smile betrays me. "Just... no permanent damage, okay?"

Hana's grin widens, and she begins gathering her supplies.

"Don't worry," she reassures me, her voice light. "We will take good care of you. Right, Bora?"

Bora nods, looking completely serious as she follows Hana to the styling station. I try to eavesdrop, but they are too clever, positioning themselves so I can't catch what they are saying. The only words that make it through are "vibrant" and "bold," neither of which do anything to calm my nerves.

Hana glances back at me, her smile mischievous.

"No peeking, Jimin! We are taking you to the VIP corner," she says, guiding me toward a secluded area of the salon where there are fewer mirrors.

I chuckle, shaking my head, as they prepare me for the transformation. Hana drapes a cape over my shoulders, and Bora cackles with delight as she covers the remaining mirrors with colorful towels, ensuring that I won't catch a glimpse of what is happening until it is done.

"You two are enjoying this way too much," I say, my voice mock-stern, though my Omega is content at their excitement.

"It's going to be amazing, Amma!" Bora says, her voice filled with confidence. "You will see!"

I sigh, settling back into the chair, feeling the weight of my nerves. 

When I made the bet with Bora, I was too caught up in her enthusiasm and the pride I felt over her grades. Her love for colors, fostered by Taehyung's artistic influence, could mean anything from neon pink to electric blue.

I try to negotiate a compromise.

"Okay, you two," I say, my voice playful but firm. "I'm all for fun, but let's make it a temporary tint, alright? Something that washes out in a month or two. Deal?"

Bora pouts, but Hana nods with a smile.

"Deal," she agrees, mixing the bleach with practiced ease. "We will make it bold, but not permanent. You will still look like a superstar."

Bora claps, her excitement palpable.

"It's going to be so cool, Amma! Appa is going to freak out!"

I laugh, imagining Yoongi's reaction, his teasing remarks about my "wild side."

"He might love it," I say, winking at her. "Or he will make me wear a hat for a month."

The bleaching process takes time, but it is worth it. Hana applies the bleach carefully, section by section, while Bora, perched on a stool nearby, chats non-stop. She talks about her school day, her friends, and the latest dance routine she has been working on.

I listen, my heart swelling with pride at her confidence and curiosity, the spark in her eyes so different from the fatigue I feel. As Hana works, the mood remains light, with occasional teasing about Yoongi's past hair endeavors.

"Remember when Yoongi tried that undercut?" Hana asks, grinning. "He acted all tough, but panicked when I got the clippers out."

I laugh, recalling his nervousness.

"He was terrified," I say, fondly. "He kept asking if it would make him look like a 'wannabe idol.'"

Bora giggles, clutching her bunny.

"Appa looked cool though! Like a rockstar!"

"He did," I agree, the warmth of the memory bringing a smile to my face.

As the bleaching process ends, Hana wraps my hair, letting it process while Bora flips through a magazine, suggesting hairstyles she thinks would suit her uncles.

"Uncle Tae should try this!" she says, holding up a picture of a vibrant red bob. "It's like his paintings!"

I laugh, shaking my head.

"Tae would probably love it," I say. "But Jungkook might faint."

Hana, who is rinsing the bleach from my hair, grins.

"Speaking of Jungkook, how is that going? Those two are practically inseparable."

I smile softly, thinking about Taehyung and Jungkook, who have been together for four years now. They are planning to mate during Taehyung's next heat, a step that has had Tae buzzing with excitement.

"They are adorable," I say, my voice gentle. "Jungkook is so smitten, it is almost embarrassing."

Bora giggles.

"Uncle Kookie always blushes when Uncle Tae teases him!" she says, her eyes sparkling.

Hana smiles as she rinses my hair.

"Love does that to people," she observes. "Look at you and Yoongi. Still heart-eyes after all these years."

I blush, my Omega purring at the mention of Yoongi.

"He's... my home," I murmur, my voice soft. "I miss him so much right now."

Hana smiles gently, her tone understanding.

"He will be home soon. And when he sees this hair, he's gonna lose it."

As Hana begins tinting my hair, Bora whispers excitedly, her animated chatter filling the space around me. I try to peek at my reflection, but Hana and Bora are too quick, always positioning me so I can't see.

"No peeking, Amma!" Bora says, wagging her finger at me, and I laugh.

"Fine, fine," I reply. "I trust you, puppy."

The salon fills with our laughter, the warmth of the moment grounding me in spite of my exhaustion.

When the tinting is finished, Hana dries my hair, and I feel the anticipation building in my chest.

"Ready for the big reveal?" she asks, her voice playful.

Bora claps, her excitement contagious.

"Yes, yes! Amma, you are going to love it!"

I laugh, my stomach flipping with nervousness.

"I'm ready," I say, my heart pounding.

Hana spins the chair so I can see my reflection. The color is bold, vibrant, and it catches the light in a way that makes my skin glow.

"Wow," I breathe, turning my head, amazed. "You two really went all out."

Bora squeals and rushes to hug my legs.

"Do you love it, Amma? It's so cool!"

I laugh, pulling her up into my arms.

"I love it, puppy," I say, my voice warm. "You and Hana are a dangerous team."

Hana brushes her hands together, satisfied.

"Told you we would make you a superstar," she teases. "Temporary, like you asked. It will wash out in a couple of months."

I smile, feeling a rush of gratitude for the fun of today, for this beautiful moment shared with my daughter.

We pay and leave, Bora chattering excitedly about her next haircut as we head home, the evening air cool and gentle against my skin. Streetlights flicker to life one by one, casting a soft golden hue over the pavement. Though the day’s fatigue still lingers in my limbs, I feel lighter somehow, buoyed by the small, simple joy of our time together.

At home, we decide on takeout, laughing as we scroll through the menu, indecisive over too many good options. When the food arrives, Bora insists on setting the table herself, arranging the chopsticks and napkins with meticulous care, as if preparing for a celebration. The aroma of hot food fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels quietly perfect, full of warmth.

"Uncle Jin would be proud," she says, grinning.

I laugh, nodding.

"He would," I say. "You are going to out-cook him soon."

After dinner, we curl up on the couch, the soft hum of the aircondition filling the quiet between us. Bora sketches in her notebook, her pencil moving in quick, thoughtful strokes, the page gradually blooming with lines and color. I scroll absently through my phone, half-listening to the scratch of graphite against paper, the faint clink of dishes in the sink.

A message from Yoongi pops up. A small spark flickers in my chest, subtle but bright, chasing away the dull weight of the day. I don’t open it right away, I just watch the message sit there, a small promise on the screen. Somehow, the room feels warmer, the air softer. Bora hums quietly as she shades in a corner of her drawing, and I lean back into the couch, smiling to myself, letting the moment settle before I tap on it.

Yoongi
Miss you, Jiminie. How is the hair adventure going?

I smile, snapping a quick selfie but keeping the new hair color out of the frame.

Jimin
You will see when you get home 😉
Bora is thrilled. Miss you too.

His reply comes almost instantly, a single heart emoji glowing softly on the screen. It is simple, almost nothing, but it sends a quiet warmth through me, spreading from my chest outward like the first sip of something sweet and hot.

I wish he were here, sitting beside me, his laugh cutting through the quiet, his arms around me, grounding me in that easy, wordless way he has. The thought lingers, tender and bittersweet. I imagine his scent, the warmth of his breath against my hair, the way the world seems to slow when he is near.

Bora shifts next to me, still sketching, the soft scratch of her pencil pulling me back to the present. I set my phone down, smiling faintly, the glow of his message still resting somewhere inside me like an ember that refuses to go out.

Bora yawns, her pencil slowing. I nudge her gently.

"Time for bed, puppy," I say, my voice soft.

She pouts but nods, gathering her things.

"Can we call Appa tomorrow?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.

"Of course," I say, kissing her forehead. "He will want to hear all about your day."

I tuck her into bed, the soft glow of her nightlight spilling over the familiar chaos of her room. Stacks of books lean against the wall, jars of colored pencils and brushes clutter her desk, and dance posters curling slightly at the edges. It feels like her in every corner, bright, alive, full of possibility.

She pulls her blanket up to her chin, her bunny clutched tightly in one arm. Her eyes are already heavy, lashes fluttering as sleep tugs at her.

“I love you,” she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, slipping into the quiet like a secret meant only for me.

My chest tightens with a quiet ache, the best kind, as I brush a strand of hair from her forehead.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

She is already gone, her breathing slow and even, her small world safely tucked into dreams.

I linger a moment longer, the soft rhythm of her breath steadying something inside me before I turn off the light and close the door halfway behind me.

━━━━

In our bedroom, the quiet feels heavier than usual, settling in the corners like a presence of its own. The space carries traces of him, his scent faint on the pillow, his book still resting on the nightstand, half-read. Yoongi’s absence hums through the room, soft but steady, like a note held just beneath hearing.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at me, I push the ache aside. I think instead of Bora’s laughter at dinner, her careful hands setting the table, and the way she whispered “I love you” before sleep. The memory warms me from within, loosening the knots of worry that had begun to take hold.

I slip beneath the cool sheets, the fabric brushing my skin like a quiet reminder that I am still here, still held by all the pieces of love that fill this house. My eyes grow heavy, the day fading into a blur of light and warmth.

As sleep claims me, I dream of us, of laughter spilling through the rooms, of Yoongi’s hand finding mine, of Bora dancing barefoot across the floor. For a moment, in that soft space between waking and dreaming, we are finally together again.

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The morning sun filters gently through the penthouse windows, casting a soft glow across the bedroom, but my body feels heavy, weighed down by a persistent unease that pulls me from sleep. The light, so warm and inviting, only makes the ache inside me feel more pronounced.

I wake with a groan, pressing a hand to my abdomen as the nausea hits, sharp and sudden, twisting inside me. I wince, fighting the rising discomfort, and lie still for a moment, hoping it will pass. But the sensation lingers, gnawing at me with a queasy weight that is both unfamiliar and vaguely reminiscent of something I can't quite place. The exhaustion, too, clings to me like a thick fog, heavy and relentless, dragging me further into the depths of uncertainty. It has been like this for weeks, this slow, insistent drain on my energy, but today, it feels different. More urgent, somehow.

Bora's voice floats in from the kitchen, light and cheerful, like a song that tugs at my heart. 

I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, before forcing myself to sit up. Every movement feels sluggish, the soft sweater I pull on doing little to ward off the morning chill that lingers in the air. She is already at the counter, her tiny hands working carefully as she pours cereal into a bowl, her bunny tucked under one arm, and her curls still tousled from sleep.

"Morning, Amma!" she greets, her smile wide and bright, the soft scent of her pup nature grounding me in the moment. "You okay? You look funny."

I laugh weakly, ruffling her hair as I join her, ignoring the way my stomach protests at the scent of her sugary cereal.

"Just a little tired, puppy," I murmur, my voice softer than usual, the heaviness in my chest making it hard to speak with my usual energy. "Big day today, huh? Are you excited for your sleepover with Lila and Amy?"

Her eyes light up, her excitement almost tangible, and she nods enthusiastically, the bright spark in her gaze chasing away the last of my doubts.

"Yeah! Amy's Appa said we can watch movies and make popcorn!" she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she eagerly continues eating.

My lips curve into a smile, despite the knot in my stomach. I feel a surge of warmth at the thought of her happiness.

"Sounds like a blast," I say, my voice still a little too faint. 

I pour myself a glass of water, hoping the cool liquid will settle the queasiness swirling inside me. 

"Let's get your bag packed after breakfast, okay?"

She nods, shoveling more cereal into her mouth, while I take a small bite of plain toast, the only thing I can stomach this morning. The nausea begins to ease, but the weariness remains, like a weight pressing on my bones.

As I help Bora gather her pajamas, her favorite blanket, a few books, and her art supplies for the sleepover, I listen to her chatter about her plans with Amy. Her voice, light and melodic, is a comforting distraction from the fog in my head, but my body still feels off-kilter. The deep, lingering fatigue feels like something more than just a bad night's sleep, and I can't shake the growing sense of something looming just out of reach.

By the time we head to Amy's, the nausea has dulled into a dull, persistent ache, though the tiredness is still there, pulling at my limbs like they have been filled with lead. The drive is quick, the city around us buzzing with life, while Bora sings along to the radio in the backseat, her voice clear and joyful. It is a bright contrast to the fog in my mind.

I park outside Timoteo's apartment, a sleek building not far from ours, and help Bora with her bag. Her excitement practically radiates off of her as she bounces up the steps, eager to see her friends.

Minseo and Lila are already there when we arrive, and Minseo greets me with her familiar chamomile scent, warm and inviting. She smiles as she opens the door.

"Jimin! You made it," Timoteo says, his voice warmer than usual, his eyes lingering just a little too long. 

I force myself to smile, brushing off the instinctual flare of discomfort that rises within me.

"Love the hair," he adds, his grin wide. "It's bold."

I chuckle, touching the strands of my newly dyed hair, still adjusting to the new look.

"Thanks," I reply, keeping my tone light and neutral. "Bora picked it, so I'm trusting her taste."

Minseo's smile is kind as she pours tea into mugs. 

"It suits you," she says, though her eyes linger on me, noticing something I wish I could hide. "You look a little pale, though. Everything okay?"

I nod quickly, reaching for the mug she hands me. The warmth of the chamomile tea is soothing as I sip it, my stomach slowly calming.

"Just a rough morning," I reply, forcing a smile. "Probably overdid it at the studio yesterday."

Timoteo's brow furrows, his Alpha instincts clearly kicking in as he takes in my appearance. 

"You sure? You don't look great. Want some water or something?"

I shake my head, feeling my Omega bristle slightly at his too-familiar concern. Yoongi's teasing about Timoteo's crush flits through my mind, and I keep my response polite but distant.

"I'm fine, really," I say, the words sounding more convincing than I feel. "Just need a quiet day."

Minseo's gaze softens as she hands me another mug of tea. 

"You do so much, Jimin. Don't burn yourself out."

I smile, grateful for her warmth. 

"I'm trying not to," I murmur. "Thanks for having Bora. She has been looking forward to this."

"She's a joy," Timoteo says, his tone softening as he watches the girls, who are already sprawled on the floor, absorbed in a game. "They are going to have a blast."

We chat for a bit, Minseo telling me about Lila's latest school project, while Timoteo asks about the studio with an earnestness that edges too close to personal. His gaze keeps slipping back to me, a quiet affection in his eyes that I try not to notice.

I keep the conversation light, focusing on the girls, avoiding anything too intimate. The tea helps, soothing my stomach and easing the nausea further, but the heaviness of my tiredness still lingers, like a shadow, following me.

"I should get going," I say after a while, setting my empty mug down. "Thanks for the tea. Bora, behave, okay?"

Bora jumps up, running over to hug me tightly. 

"I will, Amma! Love you!"

"Love you too, puppy," I say, kissing her forehead, my Omega purring in contentment at the warmth of her embrace.

I wave goodbye to Minseo and Timoteo, then head back to the car, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease as I climb in. I had planned to swing by the studio, check on things, but the exhaustion starts creeping back in as I drive. My eyes burn with tiredness, and I change my mind, turning the car toward home instead, the quiet of the penthouse calling me like a soft promise.

As I drive through the city streets, the morning's nausea starts to replay in my mind, the sensation lingering as a familiar echo. My breath catches, and for the first time, I connect the dots. It feels too similar to when I was pregnant with Bora, the nausea, the overwhelming fatigue, the quiet, nagging suspicion that something is off.

Yoongi and I had talked about having another pup, about filling up the empty room in the penthouse. During my last heat, we had let our guard down, we weren't exactly careful. In the haze of desire, we might have forgotten the condom once or twice, lost in each other, and in the moment. 

A sudden wave of nervous excitement rises in me. 

I was alone when I found out I was pregnant with Bora, terrified and unmarked. But this time, it would be different. Yoongi is my mate, my home, and Bora has already been asking for a sibling, her eyes lighting up whenever she talks about puppies.

But even still, the doubt creeps in, quiet but persistent.

What if Yoongi isn't ready?

No, he has always wanted this, I remind myself. 

He adores Bora, and we have talked about expanding our family before. But the reality of it, the reality of being responsible for another life, of navigating the chaos of parenting with a newborn, suddenly feels so much heavier.

With shaky hands, I pull into a drugstore parking lot, my heart pounding. I grab my wallet and move toward the Omega health aisle, and scan the shelves for pregnancy tests. Three different brands catch my eye, and I grab them, my pulse racing as I pay. 

The cashier's smile is kind, but it is nothing more than a blur as I make my way out, my thoughts racing faster than I can keep up with.

━━━━

Back at the penthouse, I drop my keys onto the counter, the sudden stillness of the apartment amplifying the rapid thrum of my heart. The silence wraps around me, thick and almost suffocating, making my nerves buzz even louder. I take the tests to the bathroom, my hands trembling as I follow the instructions with shaky precision. Each step feels like I'm moving underwater, distant, my thoughts scattered in a million directions. 

Once they are set down on the counter, I try to steady myself. Now, all I can do is wait.

The five minutes stretch on like an eternity. My pacing echoes in the empty space, the sound of my footsteps sharp and disorienting. With each pass, I find myself thinking of Yoongi, his steady hands, the warmth of his voice that never fails to calm me, and the deep, unwavering love we share. I cling to those memories, letting them ground me in the present as I fight my rising nerves.

When the timer finally beeps, I inhale sharply, the tension in my chest making it hard to breathe. I step toward the counter, and my eyes fall on the tests. All three of them, and each one shows the same thing, two lines, bold and unmistakable.

My breath catches in my throat. A wave of emotions crashes over me all at once, relief that it is nothing more serious, joy at the thought of adding another life to ours, and the smallest flicker of nerves about how Yoongi will react, though I know deep down that is a foolish worry. Yoongi has always wanted this with me. He is been nothing short of an amazing Appa to Bora, and his love for me, for us, is more than enough to hold us all together.

I think of Bora then, her sweet voice pleading for a sibling, her face lighting up with excitement whenever a friend gets a new brother or sister. She is going to be over the moon when she finds out. I can already see her, holding her little brother or sister in her arms, her wide eyes filled with pride.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of excitement and nerves stirring within me. My Omega purrs softly, a quiet hum that blends with the fluttering in my chest. 

I need to be certain, though. I can't go on this alone. I dial my doctor's number, my voice trembling just slightly as I request an appointment.

To my surprise, they have an opening in thirty minutes.

"Come now," the receptionist urges, and without hesitation, I grab my keys and head out the door, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat.

━━━━

The clinic is a familiar place, but today it smells different, sterile, yet somehow calming. The nurse, a Beta with a soft lavender scent, greets me with a gentle smile. She takes my blood with practiced ease, her hands steady and professional.

"We will run the test to confirm," she says, her voice warm and reassuring, "but given your symptoms and the results of the at-home tests, it's likely."

I nod, my fingers twisting together in my lap as I try to hold myself together. The anxiety is still there, but it is more of a quiet buzz now, a hum at the edges of my mind.

Soon, the doctor calls me in for an ultrasound. He is an older Alpha with a calm demeanor, one who doesn't rush or push me, letting me process the news at my own pace. After the blood test confirms what I already suspected, he leads me into the ultrasound room. The gel is cold on my stomach, a sharp contrast to the heat of my skin, but as soon as the screen flickers to life, I see it.

There is a tiny shape, a faint pulse, the first heartbeat I will ever know that is not my own. My eyes sting, tears spilling over as I watch the image on the screen. For a moment, I can't believe it is real.

"About eight weeks," the doctor says, his voice a soothing balm. "Everything looks good. Your scent will start to shift soon. I will prescribe some supplements to make sure you stay healthy."

I nod, my throat too tight to respond. The words don't seem to make it past the lump in my chest. Instead, I reach out to take the ultrasound picture he hands me, a grainy snapshot of the future, of everything we are about to become. It still feels a little surreal, but it is real.

So real.

After a moment, he hands me a list of supplements, and I thank him quietly, my voice trembling as I leave the room. I clutch the picture in my hand like a lifeline.

Outside the clinic, there is a small drugstore. I pick up the supplements, my mind still reeling, the weight of what is happening settling into my bones. As I pass a small department store, a display in the window catches my eye, a collection of children's clothes and toys.

Without thinking, I wander in, my heart pulling me toward a "Big Sister Kit" displayed on a shelf. It is a simple set, but the thought of Bora with a new shirt, a book about puppies, and a sketchbook to help her prepare for her sibling fills me with warmth.

For Yoongi, I find something I know he will love, a tiny pair of baby shoes, each one bearing the LA Lakers logo. I smile to myself, imagining his reaction. The way his eyes will light up, that soft, proud smile spreading across his face. I can already picture him, holding the shoes in his hands, laughing with that deep, contented laugh of his, the one that always makes my heart skip a beat.

━━━━

Back home, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my hands as I prepare the gifts. Yoongi's baby shoes nestled in a small box, with the ultrasound picture of the tiny pup growing inside me tucked carefully beside them. The Big Sister Kit for Bora sits nearby, waiting its turn. I stick soft ribbons on the boxes, each one catching the light as I work, then gently hide everything away in a drawer in our bedroom.

The act of preparing, of creating these small surprises, leaves me drained, as if the weight of it all is finally catching up with me. I sit down on the couch, pulling a blanket around me and curling up, the quiet of the penthouse settling like a heavy fog. 

I close my eyes for just a moment, hoping to rest, but instead I drift into a dream.

In the dream, Yoongi is holding a tiny pup in his arms, his smile soft and full of love as he gazes down at our baby. Bora is giggling beside him, her face lit with that same excitement she gets when she is near something new and precious. The warmth in the dream feels so real, so tangible, that when I wake, tears are already on my cheeks. 

My heart is full, swollen with a love I didn't realize could grow even more, but also with an ache, a raw tenderness I can't quite place. The weight of what I'm carrying, physically, emotionally, feels both beautiful and terrifying.

━━━━

A little later, I find myself at the dining table, the hum of my laptop providing a welcome distraction. Emails, studio schedules, the day-to-day of running the business, it is grounding in its normalcy, even as my mind spins with the whirlwind of emotions. The work is a quiet anchor, giving my hands something to do while my heart races with a million thoughts. 

I answer a few emails, check in with the studio staff, but the clock ticks by too slowly. 

By evening, the penthouse is too still, too empty. The familiar sounds of Bora's laughter, and Yoongi's soft teasing, are absent, and I realize just how long it has been since I have truly been alone like this. The silence presses in on me, strange and heavy. I miss them both more than I can put into words.

Just then, my phone rings. It is Timoteo. His voice, warm and considerate, fills the quiet space.

"Jimin, Bora wants to say goodnight."

I smile as her voice comes through, bright and sleepy, with a hint of excitement that she can barely contain.

"Amma!" she exclaims, her words slurring with exhaustion but still full of that unmistakable joy. "We watched Tangled and ate so much popcorn!"

I laugh softly, a little teary-eyed at how happy she sounds. 

"Sounds like you are having the best time, puppy. Be good, okay?"

"I will! Love you, Amma! Good Night."

"Love you too," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "Sleep tight."

Timoteo comes back on the line after a brief pause. 

"She's having a blast," he says, his tone slightly concerned but still gentle. "You sure you are okay? You seemed a little off earlier."

"I'm fine," I reply, trying to keep my voice light and steady, though the truth is it feels like I'm balancing on a precipice. "Just tired. Thanks for checking in."

I end the call and immediately dial Yoongi, my heart fluttering as the line rings. I just want to hear his voice, to feel close to him, even for a moment, but more than that, I want to keep the surprise. A voice call will do. This way, the change to my hair stays a mystery, at least until he is home.

When he answers, his voice is warm, familiar, and comforting, and I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease, just a little. The ache of missing him doesn't disappear, but it softens, replaced by the gentle sense of knowing he is there, even if only through the phone.

"Hey, Jiminie," he says, his voice soft, a hint of rustling in the background. He must be in his hotel room. "How is my favorite person?"

I let out a small, contented sigh as I curl up on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around me, wishing it were his arms instead. 

"Missing you," I say, my voice quieter than I intend. "The penthouse is too quiet without you and Bora."

"I know," he responds, the tenderness in his voice unmistakable. "I miss you too. Are you still not telling me about your hair adventure?"

I grin, the familiar teasing making my chest ache with affection. 

"It's a surprise," I say, my voice light, playful. "You will see when you are home. Bora had a blast picking it out."

His laugh, low and warm, sends a flutter through me. 

"I bet she did. How is she doing at the sleepover?"

"She is having the best time," I say, the image of her wide-eyed with joy flashing in my mind. "They watched Tangled, and ate popcorn... She's in heaven."

"Good," he replies, his pride in her so clear in his voice. "And you? You sound tired, Jiminie."

I hesitate for a moment, my breath catching, and the weight of the secret I'm carrying presses down harder. I'm not ready to tell him, not yet. I need to see his face, to hold him, to share this news in person. 

"Just a long day," I finally say, keeping my tone soft, though I can feel the vulnerability in it. "I'm okay, though. How is Japan?"

"Exhausting," he says, the weariness in his voice clear, but there is also a spark of excitement. "This artist is intense, but the tracks are coming together. I can't wait to be home with you."

"I can't wait either," I say, my throat tight with emotion. 

The love I feel for him, for our little family, bubbles up like a tide. 

"I love you, hyung."

"I love you too," he replies, his voice rough with affection, and I can feel the connection between us, even across the miles. "Get some rest, okay?"

"I will," I say, my heart both full and heavy, the secret I'm holding pressing against me like a promise.

I end the call, feeling the absence of him even more acutely, the space in the penthouse feeling colder without his presence. I climb into bed, the cool sheets against my skin a stark contrast to the warmth I long for. I clutch the ultrasound picture, the tiny shape of our baby a silent reminder of the life growing inside me. Tears spill over as I stare at it, my heart caught between joy, nerves, and overwhelming love.

This pup is a gift, a promise of our family growing, and I know Yoongi will be thrilled. Bora will be ecstatic. But with that joy comes a quiet fear, a flicker of doubt that whispers through me. I remember how lonely I felt when I was pregnant with Bora, when it was just me, unsure of everything, wondering if I could handle it all on my own. But now, I have Yoongi. I have Bora. I have a family built on love, not solitude. And that makes all the difference.

I close my eyes, the ultrasound picture pressed to my chest, the thought of Yoongi's arms, Bora's laughter, and our new pup filling my dreams as I drift off to sleep, my heart anchored in the future that grows inside of me.

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Chapter Text

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PJM

The rest of the week slips by in a haze in an exhausting blur of paperwork, phone calls, and sleepless nights. The fatigue clings to me like a second skin, ever-present and impossible to shed. It is the kind of tiredness that seeps into your bones, making even the quiet moments feel heavy.

Today, I'm working from home again, gratefully accepting Soojin's offer to cover my classes at Hope on the Street. I'm barely running on fumes, the nausea from earlier in the week still simmering quietly under the surface. It no longer feels like a symptom, but a silent whisper of the secret I carry with the new little life of our tiny pup growing inside me. 

I have been struggling to keep it to myself, especially during calls with Yoongi. Every time I hear his voice, I want to tell him. But I haven't, not yet. I'm waiting for the right moment. When he is home. When I can see his face, feel the safety of his arms around me, and finally speak the words aloud.

The penthouse feels unusually still. Bora is at school, and the absence of her bright energy leaves behind a quiet that is both peaceful and strangely hollow. It only deepens the ache of missing Yoongi, whose absence echoes through every room like a sigh. He should be finishing up his project in Japan today and getting home later tonight. Each day without him has felt longer than the one before.

It is early afternoon now. I'm in the shower, the water hot as it pours over my shoulders, chasing away the tension clinging to my muscles. Steam curls thick around me, the scent of my body wash blending with the barely-there sweetness of my shifting Omega scent, a subtle change the doctor warned me would happen soon. It is delicate, almost imperceptible, like the first notes of a lullaby.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, trying to let the heat soothe something deeper than muscle. That is when strong arms wrap around me from behind, firm and grounding, and that unmistakable scent of mint and rain washes over me.

Home.

I gasp softly, heart leaping into my throat as I melt back into the familiar warmth of Yoongi's chest. His skin is slick from the water, his presence solid and real, and all at once the ache of missing him crumbles away.

"Yoongi," I breathe, eyes fluttering shut as I sink into him. "You are home early."

His lips brush my ear, his voice rough with emotion. 

"Missed you too much, Jiminie. Took the first flight out."

His hands move over me slowly, reverently, tracing the lines of my waist, the gentle swell of my hips. Every brush of his fingers ignites something under my skin, chasing away the bone-deep weariness with something softer, more alive.

He nuzzles the crook of my neck, breath warm against the mark he left during our mating, and then he nips at it with a tenderness that sends shivers down my spine.

"Your hair is purple," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and heat. "I like it."

I chuckle, breathless, tilting my head to give him better access. 

"Your fault."

He hums questioningly against my skin, and I smile. 

"When you brought Bora to the studio for 'Children at Work Day', you introduced her to her favorite idol. Remember? He said he loved her name and promised to dye his hair purple for his next comeback because she was so cute. And then, he actually did it. She has been obsessed ever since. She already loved the color because of her name, but now? It's practically part of her personality."

Yoongi laughs softly, lips brushing my scent gland. His grip on my hips tightens, possessive and adoring.

"Not sorry," he growls, voice low and thick with heat. "You look fucking gorgeous, Jiminie."

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and my Omega practically sings under his praise. I turn in his arms, wrapping mine around his neck, my fingers threading through his damp hair as our eyes meet, his gaze dark, intense, and full of hunger.

I kiss him, pouring every ounce of longing and love into the press of my lips. A week's worth of missing him rushes out in a single breath. His lips are warm and demanding, his tongue teasing mine in a rhythm that is both familiar and new, tasting of mint and desire and him. His hands wander lower, grabbing my ass, squeezing hard, and pulling me flush against him. Our lengths press together, hard and insistent, and I moan into his mouth, dizzy with want, the lack of oxygen only heightening the intensity.

"Missed you," I gasp with swollen lips, breaking the kiss with a heaving chest.

"Missed you more," he growls, his voice rough, his hands kneading my flesh, sending sparks through me.

He kisses down my jaw, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing fire over my skin. His teeth graze my neck, nipping at my scent gland, licking the sensitive skin until I'm trembling. My head falls back as I surrender to the sensation. My slick leaks, mixing with the water, the scent of my arousal thick in the steamy air. Yoongi groans, his nose pressed to my gland, inhaling deeply, his hands gripping my hips possessively.

"Fuck, Jimin," he murmurs, his voice low and filthy. "You smell so good."

I whimper, my body aching, and before I can think, I drop to my knees, the shower tiles cool against my skin. Yoongi's cock is hard and leaking, the sight of him making my mouth water, and my Omega whine with need. I lean in, my tongue tracing from base to tip, slow and teasing, savoring the musky taste of him.

He groans, his hands tangling in my wet purple hair, his body is trembling as I suck hard on the tip. I dip my tongue into the slit, tasting the precum there.

"Jimin," he gasps, his voice breaking, his hips twitching slightly.

I take him deeper, my lips stretching around him. I relax my throat as I deep-throat him, my hands gripping his thighs for balance. The water cascades over us, but I barely notice, lost in the rhythm of sucking him off. My tongue swirls, and my moans vibrate against him. I pull back with a hard suck, popping off with a wet sound, and move to his balls, sucking gently, licking the sensitive skin before trailing my tongue back to the tip. I take him in again, blowing him hard.

My head bobs, and my slick leaks faster as I lose myself in pleasing him.

Before he can come, Yoongi pulls me up, his hands firm but gentle, and his eyes dark with want.

"Not yet," he says, his voice rough, and I whimper, my body trembling with need.

He turns off the water, and grabs a towel drying us off in a rush with urgent movements. He bends me over the bathroom sink, the cool porcelain a shock against my heated skin, and I grip the edge, my breath hitching as he kneels behind me. His hands spread my thighs, as his lips brush my entrance, and I moan, my slick dripping faster as he licks a slow stripe, tasting me.

"So fucking sweet," he murmurs, his voice muffled against me, and I cry out as his tongue dives in, licking deep, curling inside me, exploring every inch.

His hands grip my ass, spreading me open, and he sucks at my rim, the sensation overwhelming, driving me to the edge.

"Yoongi, please," I gasp, my voice breaking, as my hips buck against his face.

My reflection in the mirror shows my flushed cheeks, my purple hair damp and wild, and my eyes hazy with desire.

He doesn't let me come, pulling back just as I'm teetering on the edge, and I whine, my body trembling with need. He stands, his cock pressing against my entrance, and I push back, desperate for him. He enters me slowly, the stretch a delicious burn, filling me perfectly, his half-formed knot pressing against my rim.

I moan, my eyes lock with his in the mirror, dark and intense, as my hands grip the sink.

"Missed this," he says, his voice rough, his thrusts deepening, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

I straighten slightly, leaning back against his chest, my head falling onto his shoulder. Our eyes never break contact in the mirror. His arms wrap around me, one hand sliding up to play with my nipple, pinching and rolling it until I'm gasping, the other wrapping around my neck, not tight but just enough to make my arousal spike, and my slick soaking us both.

"Missed you," I murmur, my voice needy, my hips pressing back to take him deeper.

"Fuck, Jimin," he groans, his thrusts hard and relentless, pounding into me with a rhythm that drives me wild. "You feel so good."

I clench around him, as the pressure is building. My moans are loud and unrestrained. His hand on my neck tightens slightly, a possessive edge that makes my Omega purr, and I feel my release cresting, and my body trembling. Yoongi's thrusts grow erratic, as his knot swells, and we come together, my release spilling on the mirror, as his is filling me. The knot locks us in place as we collapse against the sink, our breaths ragged, and our bodies slick with sweat and water.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice trembling, but my eyes are still locked with his in the mirror.

"I love you too," he says, his voice rough, as his lips brush my shoulder, kissing the mating bite gently.

We stay like that for a moment, locked together, his arms around me, and his warmth grounding me. The exhaustion I have been carrying feels lighter, replaced by the glow of our reunion, and the love that binds us.

Eventually, his knot eases, and he pulls out gently, while kissing my neck, my jaw, and my lips.

"Let's get cleaned up," Yoongi murmurs, his voice soft and low, still thick with emotion. 

I nod, my body still tingling, the aftershocks of our closeness humming beneath my skin like a quiet melody.

We step back under the warm cascade of water, steam curling around us in gentle tendrils. The urgency between us has faded, replaced now with something gentler, an intimacy that speaks of home, of years spent learning the language of each other's bodies.

Yoongi's touch is slow, reverent, as he lathers soap in his hands and begins to wash me. His fingers trace the familiar lines of my body, lingering at the small of my back, the curve of my hips, and the slope of my shoulder. There is no rush in him, only care, only love.

I return the gesture, taking my time as I wash his chest, then moving up to his hair. My fingers comb through the wet strands, massaging his scalp with small, circular motions. His eyes flutter closed and he exhales a quiet, contented sigh, one of those soft, vulnerable sounds he only makes when he feels safe. When he feels mine.

"You okay?" he asks suddenly, his hands stilled on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing soft circles into my skin. 

His voice is gentle, but I hear the worry threaded through it. 

"You have been tired lately. Even over the phone, I could tell. I have been... thinking about it a lot."

My heart clenches, full and aching all at once. The weight of the secret nestled deep inside me feels even more profound now. I want to tell him, God, I want to see his face when I do, when he realizes there is a new life growing inside me. But not yet. I want to give him the gifts I have prepared. I want him to hold the ultrasound photo in his hands. I want the moment to be ours.

I offer him a small smile, my fingers still cradling his jaw as I lean in, brushing my lips softly against his. 

"Just missed you," I whisper, the words true in every sense. "But I'm okay now. Now that you are here."

His gaze softens, and he kisses my forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than usual. That is how he says the things he doesn't always have words for.

"I'm here," he says, voice thick. "Always, Jiminie. No matter what."

We finish washing in quiet companionship, the steam wrapping around us like a warm cocoon, the rhythm of the water like a lullaby. There is no rush to leave this moment. In his arms, I feel grounded, cherished, whole.

And as I step out of the shower with him, wrapped in a towel and surrounded by the scent of him, I feel ready. Not just for the day. Not just for the conversation we haven't had yet. But for the future we are building together, one tender moment at a time.

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The afternoon sun paints Seoul in a warm golden glow, casting long shadows across the sidewalks as life hums around us. The air is crisp with the gentle promise of autumn, leaves whispering in the breeze, the scent of dry grass and distant smoke threading through the streets. 

Yoongi walks beside me, his hand laced with mine, and though the fatigue still coils quietly in my limbs, his presence grounds me, steady as a heartbeat.

My purple hair catches the sunlight, glinting like violet fire, a bold splash of color that still makes me smile. Bora's influence lingers on me like glitter, impossible to ignore, impossible not to love. 

Even with the low thrum of nausea in my belly and the quiet ache in my bones, I feel lighter than I have all week. The secret of our pup, the new life growing inside me, rests warm and full in my chest. I can't wait to place the ultrasound photo in Yoongi's hands and watch the world shift in his eyes.

We reach the school gates just as the bell rings, joining the small gathering of parents. Minseo's chamomile Beta scent is instantly soothing, familiar in its gentle steadiness. She is chatting with Timoteo, whose cedar-and-smoke Alpha scent has always been just a bit sharper, a bit more noticeable than I prefer. His eyes flick up as we approach, his smile warm, but there is that same faint undercurrent Yoongi always teases me about.

With Yoongi standing beside me, though, Timoteo's usual confidence takes a half-step back. His posture straightens, his smile tightens. Yoongi notices, of course, he always does. His lips twitch in silent amusement, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, a quiet, unmistakable claim.

"Hey, Jimin, Yoongi," Minseo greets brightly, giving a cheerful wave. "Jimin, your hair is even better in the sunlight. It's stunning."

I laugh, reaching up to tuck a strand behind my ear. 

"Thanks. Bora insisted. Said if her favorite Idol can do it, so can I."

Timoteo nods, his gaze lingering for a second too long before softening. 

"It suits you," he says, then adds gently, "You feeling better? You seemed off at the sleepover drop-off."

I lean subtly into Yoongi's side, and he wraps an arm around my waist with fluid ease. 

"Much better now that Yoongi is home," I reply, my tone light, casual, but deliberate. 

A gentle boundary, clearly drawn. Yoongi's smirk is small, but his eyes sparkle with amusement. He knows exactly what I'm doing.

"Glad to hear it," Timoteo says, his voice kind but measured, eyes flicking briefly to Yoongi. "Must be nice, having the whole family together again."

"It is," Yoongi replies smoothly, his voice low and sure as his hand settles comfortably on my hip. "Missed my family."

Minseo laughs, cutting the tension effortlessly. 

"Lila hasn't stopped talking about that sleepover."

I smile, warmth rising in my chest at the thought of Bora and her best friends. 

"They are a little tornado when they are together," I say fondly. "Bora came home with glitter in her hair and a dozen new dance routines."

We chat for a few minutes, Minseo sharing a story about Lila trying to choreograph a routine for their cat while Timoteo listens with a quiet smile. Yoongi stands close, his scent a calming blanket around me, and my Omega settles, soothed by his presence. Even Timoteo's glances lose their edge, softened by Yoongi's steady, silent strength. 

I'm reminded, again, of how safe I feel when Yoongi is near, not just physically, but emotionally, down to the marrow.

Then the school bell rings, clear and sharp, scattering the quiet conversation. Moments later, the doors burst open, and children spill out in a burst of color and laughter. My eyes search for her automatically, and then I see her. Bora's eyes find us immediately, her face lighting up like the sun as she spots Yoongi.

"Appa!" Bora's voice cuts through the crowd, and my heart skips. 

She sprints toward us, her curls bouncing, her backpack swinging wildly behind her.

Yoongi barely has time to brace himself before she launches into his arms. He catches her effortlessly, pulling her close as she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face near his scent gland.

"Appa, you are back!" 

Her voice is muffled, trembling slightly, and I see her shoulders shake with tiny sniffles, soft and real. Emotion grips my throat unexpectedly. Hormones, probably. My vision blurs for a second as I blink back tears.

Yoongi cradles her with both hands, one holding her secure, the other gently stroking her hair. His voice is a low murmur, barely audible over the chatter around us. 

"Missed you too, puppy. So, so much."

She pulls back just enough to look at him, her eyes shiny with tears but lit with pure joy. 

"You smell a little like Amma," she says, sniffling again as she nuzzles into his neck. "I missed your scent."

I step closer, placing a hand on her small back. My Omega purrs softly at the sight of them, the bond between them strong and unbreakable. Their connection feels older, like it was always meant to be.

"We are so glad you are home," I say quietly, voice thick.

Yoongi meets my eyes over Bora's head, and there is so much love in his gaze it nearly undoes me. 

"Me too," he murmurs. 

Then, shifting her easily to one arm, he reaches for me with the other, pulling me in close. 

"My home."

Bora giggles and wriggles free, grabbing both our hands and swinging them. 

"Can we get Korean BBQ tonight?" she asks, eyes wide. "To celebrate Appa being back?"

I laugh, the sound breaking the emotional tightness in my chest. 

"Best idea I have heard all day," I say, squeezing her hand. "Our usual spot?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, practically bouncing, and Yoongi chuckles, ruffling her curls.

"Perfect," he says. "Let's say our goodbyes."

We wave to Minseo and Timoteo, who are now surrounded by Lila and Amy, already bubbling with chatter. Timoteo offers me a nod, his eyes flicking one last time to Yoongi, but I lean into my mate's side, basking in his steady presence. Minseo hugs Bora, promising another sleepover soon, and then we are walking to the car, Bora skipping between us, our hands swinging like a family rhythm we have always known.

━━━━

The restaurant is a cozy haven, one we have been coming to for years, its warm wooden tables and sizzling grills a familiar comfort. The scent of charcoal and marinated meat fills the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of other diners. We are seated in our usual corner booth, the one with a view of the bustling street outside, and Bora immediately claims the spot next to Yoongi, her body pressed close to his like she is afraid he will vanish again. I slide in across from them, my heart swelling at the sight of them together, Bora's curls brushing Yoongi's arm as she leans into him, his smile soft and adoring.

"Look at you, sticking to Appa like glue," I tease, reaching across to tap her nose, and she giggles, sticking out her tongue.

"He was gone forever," she insists dramatically.

Yoongi laughs, wrapping his arm around her. 

"A week isn't forever, puppy. But I missed you every second."

We order our usual, bulgogi, samgyeopsal, and all the banchan, and settle into easy conversation. We eat slowly, savoring the food and each other, the table a mess of plates and laughter. Bora tells Yoongi about her sleepover, her words tumbling over each other as she describes the movies they watched, the popcorn they spilled, and the glitter fight that left Amy's room sparkling. Yoongi listens intently, his eyes never leaving her, his smile soft but proud.

"You are going to be a troublemaker like Uncle Tae," he says, winking at her, and she laughs, her nose scrunching.

"Uncle Tae says I'm an artist!" she declares, and I smile, thinking of Taehyung's influence, his paint-splattered studio a second home for Bora.

"You are an artist, a dancer, and a chef," I say, leaning forward to wipe a bit of sauce from her cheek. "You can be everything you want, puppy."

She beams, her eyes shining, and Yoongi reaches across to squeeze my hand, his touch grounding me. 

Yoongi grills the meat expertly, flicking pieces onto Bora's plate while pretending to scold her for stealing mushrooms. I just sit back, watching them, my heart so full it is almost painful. 

"You are going to eat all my share, aren't you?" he teases Bora, who giggles, stealing a piece of mushroom from his plate.

"You just have to be faster, Appa!" she says, her voice playful, and I laugh, watching them banter.

The meal stretches on, Bora stealing bites from Yoongi's plate, him pretending to protest while slipping her extra pieces of bulgogi. This is everything. This is home.

"Amma, are you okay?" Bora asks, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine as she notices my quietness.

I smile, reaching across to squeeze her hand.

"Just happy, puppy," I say, my voice thick. "Love seeing you and Appa together."

She grins, climbing into Yoongi's lap, snuggling into his chest with a yawn. He cradles her effortlessly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"She gets that from you," he says softly, squeezing my hand. "That spark."

"And your stubbornness," I reply with a smile, and Bora giggles. 

"Appa is the most stubborn!"

The laughter that follows is easy and unguarded. My eyes sting again, the emotions sharp and tender, my hand pressing to my belly instinctively. My secret stirs inside me, a quiet promise waiting to be spoken.

We end with patbingsu, sweet and cold, Bora feeding Yoongi spoonfuls with a gleeful mess. He kisses my fingers when I wipe his chin, and his eyes linger, warm and knowing.

"You are a mess," I tease, and he smirks, catching my hand to kiss my fingertips.

"Only for you," he says, his voice low, and my cheeks flush, my Omega purring at his warmth.

Bora yawns again, her energy finally waning, and Yoongi glances at me, his smile soft. 

"Ready to head home?" he asks, and I nod, my heart full.

We pay and gather our things, Bora clinging to Yoongi's hand as we step into the cool evening air, the city lights sparkling around us. The walk to the car is slow, Bora swinging between us, her laughter echoing in the quiet street. I feel the exhaustion creeping back, but Yoongi's presence, and Bora's joy, keeps it at bay, filling me with a warmth that makes everything feel possible.

━━━━

The drive home from the Korean BBQ restaurant is filled with Bora's sleepy chatter, her voice soft and drowsy as she recounts every moment of her day to Yoongi. He hums in response, his hand resting protectively on her head in the backseat, fingers gently carding through her curls. The city outside rushes past in golden streaks, neon lights and streetlamps blurring into a soft halo through the windows. Bora's head rests against Yoongi's shoulder in the backseat, her eyes heavy but happy. I glance at them in the rearview mirror, my heart swelling, one hand resting over my belly as I watch them through the mirror. 

Peace settles into my bones, a rare, complete kind of peace that only comes when the people I love most are safe and close. The exhaustion lingers, but it is no longer sharp. It feels earned.

We arrive home to the quiet hush of our Gangnam penthouse, the building towering around us, lights glimmering like stars. Bora is nearly asleep by the time the elevator reaches our floor, her head heavy against my side, and Yoongi carries her backpack while I hold her hand. She leans against me, her pup scent sweet and comforting, tinged with the faint Omega traits I have noticed more lately. My own scent, now subtly milky from the pregnancy, blends with hers, and I feel a pang of emotion, the hormones making every moment feel raw and intense.

The space is warm and inviting, the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering city below, and the living room still scattered with signs of Bora's play from earlier in the week. Bora kicks off her shoes, her backpack abandoned by the door, and I guide her to the dining table to finish her homework for tomorrow. 

She is half-asleep, her pencil moving sluggishly over a spelling worksheet, but Yoongi sits beside her, his voice low and encouraging as he helps her sound out words.

"Just one more line, puppy," he says, voice low and calm. "You can do it."

She pouts and mumbles a protest but pushes through, her eyes heavy, but she finishes with a triumphant scribble, looking up at him with a sleepy grin. 

"Done, Appa," she whispers, followed by a yawn.

"That's my girl," Yoongi says, leaning in to kiss her forehead, and I feel the familiar burn behind my eyes. 

Watching them like this, so natural, so bonded, makes every part of me soften.

I clear the table, my hands trembling slightly with nerves as I think about the conversation ahead. I have been carrying this secret for days, and the weight of it feels heavier now, the need to share it with Yoongi overwhelming. Tonight, with Yoongi finally home, it feels like the right moment to let it go. I want to feel his arms around me when I tell him we are growing our family.

We settle on the couch, Bora squished between us, her head resting on Yoongi's chest, her bunny clutched tight. She is already half-asleep, her breaths slow and even, and I curl up beside her, my head on Yoongi's shoulder, his arm around us both. The TV is playing the end of a movie we started last week, a cozy Studio Ghibli film Bora loves, but I barely register it, my mind racing with anticipation. Yoongi's warmth, his steady heartbeat, grounds me, and I breathe in his scent, letting it calm my nerves.

Bora stirs, her eyes fluttering open, and she kisses my cheek, her lips soft and sleepy.

"Night, Amma," she murmurs, barely audible.

"Night, puppy," I whisper back, kissing her hair. "Love you."

Yoongi carries her off to bed, her tiny body slack in his arms. I watch him disappear down the hallway, hear the rustle of blankets and the soft murmur of his goodnight. He has been her Appa in every way since he claimed her officially years ago, never letting her or me feel that she isn't his by blood. And the love between them is a bond I cherish more than anything. 

The hormones make my eyes sting, and I wipe at them, blaming the pregnancy for my sudden weepiness.

When he returns, he drops onto the couch beside me and pulls me close.

"She is out like a light," he says, kissing my temple. "I missed this. Missed you."

"Me too," I whisper, melting into his side.

We stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, no words needed. But I know I can't keep the secret any longer. Every second I wait feels heavier than the last.

We finish the movie, the soft music and gentle visuals lulling us into a quiet comfort, but my nerves are buzzing, the secret pressing against me. I'm so tired I almost drift off, my eyelids heavy, but the need to tell Yoongi keeps me awake. He is exhausted too, his eyes half-closed, his intense work from Japan catching up, but he holds me close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm.

When the credits finally roll, we make our way to the bedroom, the penthouse quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. We wash up in the en-suite bathroom, Yoongi brushing his teeth while I splash water on my face, the coolness a brief relief against my lingering exhaustion. 

My stomach churns with nerves, the moment I have been waiting for drawing closer. I glance at myself in the mirror, my purple hair vibrant even in the dim light, my eyes bright but shadowed with fatigue. The milky shift in my scent is more noticeable now. Softer. Sweeter. There is no denying the shift anymore, not just to me, but to any Alpha, especially mine.

Yoongi is already in bed, sitting up against the headboard, the blankets pulled over his lap, his bare chest catching the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He looks relaxed, his dark hair tousled, his eyes warm but tired as he watches me emerge from the bathroom.

I pause, my heart pounding, and move to the dresser, my hands trembling as I open the drawer where I hid the gift. The small box in simple blue, holds the ultrasound picture, the three positive pregnancy tests, and the tiny LA Lakers baby shoes. I clutch it behind my back, my nerves spiking as I approach the bed.

Something in his expression changes.

I straddle Yoongi's lap, sitting on the blanket, my knees bracketing his hips. His hands settle on my thighs automatically, his touch warm and familiar, but his eyes narrow slightly, sensing my unease.

"Jiminie," he says, his voice soft but laced with concern. "What's wrong? You are nervous."

I exhale shakily, my heart racing, and meet his gaze, his dark eyes searching mine.

"Nothing is wrong," I say, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound steady. "I just... I need to tell you something."

I draw in a trembling breath.

"There is something I have been keeping from you," I whisper. "Not because I didn't want to tell you, but because I wanted it to be special. And because I was scared."

"Scared of what?" he breathes.

"Of how real it would be. Of whether the timing was right. Of whether you would be happy."

His brows draw together, alarm creeping into his gaze.

"Jimin, you are scaring me," he says, his voice low, his mint-and-rain scent spiking with worry. "What is it?"

I swallow hard, retrieving the box from behind my back and placing it between us, my fingers lingering on the box.

"There is a reason why I have been so tired lately," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Open it."

Yoongi's eyes flick from me to the box, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. He hesitates, his hands steady but careful as he lifts the top, the lid creaking softly. His breath catches as he sees the contents. His scent shifts, the mint softening to something sweeter, richer, like honeyed rain.

Yoongi doesn't move at first. His breath leaves him in one long exhale. His hands tremble. He blinks once, twice, and then lifts his head to look at me, eyes full of glassy light, his lips parting as if to speak, but his voice breaks.

"Jimin," he manages, his voice cracking, a single tear spilling down his cheek. "Are you...?"

I nod, my own tears falling as I smile, my heart so full it aches.

"I'm pregnant," I say, my voice trembling with joy and nerves. "Eight weeks. I found out a few days ago."

A choked sound escapes him. He sets the box aside, his hands trembling as he pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly, his face buried in my neck. I feel his tears against my skin, his breath shaky, and I cling to him, my own emotions spilling over. The relief, the joy, the love, it is overwhelming, and I sob softly, my Omega purring at his closeness.

"I was so nervous," I say, my voice muffled against his shoulder. "I didn't connect the dots at first. But when I dropped Bora off at the sleepover, it just hit me. It felt like when I was pregnant with her. I bought the tests, took them, and... they were all positive. I went to the doctor to be sure, and when they did an ultrasound, and I heard the heartbeat, I wanted to tell you right away but you were in Japan and—"

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping my face, his eyes shining with tears but bright with joy.

"Jiminie," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "This is... shit, this is perfect. I don't care that you found out days ago. I care that you are okay. That the pup is okay. And that you wanted to tell me like this."

I laugh through my tears, my hands covering his.

"Oh my god," he breathes, the words catching as the news sinks in. "You are pregnant."

I nod again, crying softly, fingers threading through his hair.

"I was so scared for a second," I admit, my voice soft. "I know we talked about it, but I wasn't sure how you would feel now that it is real. But then I remembered how good you are with Bora, how much you love being her Appa, and I knew you would be happy."

Yoongi's eyes soften, and he kisses me, his lips gentle but fierce, pouring all his love into it.

"I'm so happy," he says, his voice breaking. "I want this, Jimin. You, Bora, and our pup, I would do anything for you. All of you."

He kisses me again, soft, and reverent, like he is afraid to break the moment.

"I have never been happier," he murmurs against my lips.

I kiss him back, my hands tangling in his hair, the love I feel for him overwhelming. It is so different from when I found out about Bora, when I was alone, unmarked, and terrified, with no one to lean on. Now, I have Yoongi, my mate, my home, and the certainty of his love makes this moment feel sacred.

We kiss until we are breathless, our tears mingling, and our scents blending into something warm and whole.

Yoongi shifts, gently laying me down on the bed beneath him, his body hovering over mine, careful not to press too hard. His hands are tender, one sliding to my cheek, the other resting on my stomach, his touch reverent. He kisses me again, slow and deep, his lips moving against mine with a love that feels infinite.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice thick, his lips brushing mine. "So much."

"I love you too," I say, my voice trembling, my hands gripping his shoulders as I pull him closer.

He moves lower, his lips trailing down my jaw, my neck, pausing at my mating bite to kiss it gently, making me shiver. He continues down, his hands sliding under my shirt, lifting it to expose my stomach. He presses a soft kiss to the skin just below my navel, his breath warm, his eyes closing as he lingers there, scenting me. He pours every ounce of love into the gesture.

"Our puppy," he whispers, his voice barely audible, and I feel tears spill over again, my heart so full it hurts. "You have been making your Amma glow."

I laugh through my tears, carding my fingers through his hair.

"It feels so different this time," I say, my voice cracking. "With Bora, I was so scared. I felt so alone. But now... I have you. I have Bora. I have everything I need. And I'm so happy."

Yoongi looks up, his eyes shining, and he crawls back up to kiss me again, his lips gentle but fierce.

"You will never be alone again," he says, his voice firm despite the emotion. "You will always have me."

I sob softly, pulling him close, his arms wrapping around me as we settle into the bed, our bodies pressed tightly together. His scent envelops me, sweet and grounding, and I feel safe, loved, whole. The exhaustion is still there, but it is overshadowed by the joy of this moment, and the promise of our growing family.

"You smell... different."

He trails off, blinking as he pulls me closer, his brow furrowed. His nose twitches almost imperceptibly. His hands tighten around me, and his eyes darken, not with lust, but with awe.

"I noticed it the second I hugged you in the shower. I thought I just missed you, but it's different. Your scent. It's deeper."

My heart thuds.

"You noticed?"

He nods slowly, his breath catching.

"It was driving me crazy. It's like... you have always smelled like home. But now it's warmer. Sweeter. Like you are glowing from the inside out."

I chuckle, my exhaustion finally giving way to something gentler, peace, joy, and safety.

We lie there, tangled in each other, my head on his chest, the soft lull of his heartbeat under my ear carries me closer to sleep.

"Bora is gonna lose her mind," I say, my voice soft, a smile tugging at my lips. "She has been begging for a sibling for years."

Yoongi chuckles, his hand stroking my back.

"She will be the best big sister," he says, his voice warm. "Just like you are the best Amma."

I blush, my Omega purring, and kiss his chest, my lips lingering on his skin.

"And you are the best Appa," I say, my voice thick. "This pup is so lucky to have you."

He tilts my chin up, kissing me softly.

"We are all lucky," he says, his eyes shining. "You, me, Bora, and this pup. We are a lucky family."

I nod, tears spilling again, and we hold each other, the quiet of the penthouse wrapping around us like a cocoon. The city hums outside, but in here, it is just us, our love, our future. I think of the Big Sister Kit waiting for Bora, the joy she will feel, and I know this is only the beginning.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you more," Yoongi replies, kissing my forehead. "You and our pups. Always."

We drift toward sleep, Yoongi's arms tight around me, his breath warm against my neck. I close my eyes, the weight of the day, the week, the secret lifting, replaced by a love so deep it feels eternal, carrying us into dreams of our growing family.

And tomorrow, we begin again, this time, as four.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Chapter Text

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

PJM

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across our bedroom, and I wake to the warmth of Yoongi's gaze, his dark eyes soft and adoring as he watches me. His mint-and-rain scent wraps around me, grounding me, and I feel a flutter in my chest, the secret of our pup a quiet pulse of joy beneath my skin. My purple hair is splayed across the pillow, I'm still tired, the pregnancy's exhaustion lingering, but Yoongi's presence makes it bearable, his love a balm to my weary body.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into a smile as he leans closer, burying his nose in my neck.

He inhales deeply, his breath warm against my mating bite, and I shiver, my Omega purring at his closeness.

"God, your scent," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't get enough of it."

I laugh softly, my hands sliding into his hair, tugging gently.

"It's different now, isn't it?" I say, my voice soft, the milky shift in my scent a subtle reminder of the life growing inside me.

He nods, his lips brushing my skin, his hands resting on my hips, careful but possessive.

"It's perfect," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "I still can't believe it, Jiminie. Our pup. I'm already an Appa, but this... it's different. Not more, not less, just... ours."

My heart clenches, tears pricking my eyes as I pull him closer, kissing him softly, our lips lingering.

"I know," I whisper, my voice trembling. "You are the best Appa to Bora, and this pup is so lucky to have you."

He smiles, his eyes shining, and kisses me again, deeper this time, his love pouring into me.

"I love her so much," he says, his voice fierce. "And this pup, you, our family, I'm so happy to share it with you."

Before I can respond, the bedroom door bursts open, and Bora bounds in, her curls bouncing, her bunny clutched tight.

"Morning!" she squeals, launching herself onto the bed, demanding cuddles with a grin that lights up the room.

Yoongi laughs, pulling her between us, squishing her gently as she giggles, her pup scent sweet and familiar.

"There is my puppy," he says, tickling her sides, and she shrieks, thrashing playfully to escape.

He stops quickly, his hand resting protectively on my stomach, his eyes flicking to me with a silent apology, worried she might accidentally kick me.

"Careful, Appa!" Bora says, giggling as she snuggles closer, her small body pressed between us.

She buries her face in my chest, then pauses, sniffing slightly.

"Amma, you smell... weird," she says, her brow furrowing, her voice curious. "Good, but different."

My heart skips a beat, and I glance at Yoongi. He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with a knowing smile. I have been waiting for the right moment to tell her. But this, caught in the chaos of a morning cuddle, isn't it.

"Really?" I say, kissing her forehead, my voice light. "You like it?"

She nods, and snuggles closer, her warmth grounding me. We cuddle for a while, the three of us tangled together, Yoongi's arm around us both, his scent enveloping us. My hormones make every touch, every moment, feel amplified, and I fight back tears, overwhelmed by the love in this bed.

Eventually, I nudge Bora gently.

"Time to get ready for school, puppy," I say, my voice soft, and she groans but complies, sliding off the bed with her bunny in tow.

Yoongi heads to the kitchen to make breakfast, his voice drifting as he hums a soft melody, a habit from his studio days. I help Bora get ready, brushing her curls into a neat ponytail, her school uniform crisp and perfectly in place. She chatters about her art project, her words bubbling with joy, and I listen, a smile tugging at my lips, and my heart swells despite the tiredness still tugging at me.

In the kitchen, Yoongi has whipped up a simple breakfast of pancakes with fruits, Bora's favorite and we sit together, the table a cozy haven of laughter and warmth. Bora steals a strawberry from Yoongi's plate, giggling when he pretends to protest, and I watch them, my chest tight with emotion.

"Appa, you make the best pancakes," Bora says, her mouth full, her eyes sparkling.

"Only for my favorite girl," Yoongi says, winking at her, and I laugh, nudging his foot under the table.

"Hey, what about me?" I tease, and he leans over, kissing my cheek, his lips warm.

"You are my favorite everything," he says, his voice low, and my cheeks flush, while my Omega purrs.

━━━━

We drop Bora off at school, her backpack bouncing with each step as she waves goodbye and runs off to join Lila and Amy. The drive home is quiet, comfortable, Yoongi's hand resting on my thigh, a simple touch that grounds me more than words ever could.

We both work from home today, Yoongi in his home studio, me in my cozy little home office with my laptop, tackling studio schedules and emails. The tiredness is still there, a constant weight, but Yoongi's presence makes it easier. Every so often, he pops in to check on me, offering a glass of water or pressing a kiss to my cheek, small gestures, full of love.

During a break, I make us tea, the chamomile soothing my nausea, and we sit together on the couch, my head on his shoulder.

"I got something for Bora," I say, my voice soft, my nerves tingling. "A Big Sister Kit. A shirt, a book about puppies, and a sketchbook. I thought... we should tell her soon."

Yoongi's eyes soften, his hand finding mine.

"Yeah?" he says, his voice warm. "When do you want to do it?"

"Soon," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "I know we should wait until at least week twelve, just to be safe, but... I can't keep it from her much longer. She has been begging for a sibling for so long, and she is too sharp, she will soon figure out that something is up."

He nods, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"Ok, how about tonight," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "After school. We will make it special for her. She deserves to know."

I smile, tears pricking my eyes.

"Okay, perfect," I say, my voice thick. "I'm nervous, but... I want her to be part of this."

"She will be," he says, kissing my forehead. "She's gonna be the best big sister."

We spend the rest of the morning working, Yoongi popping in to check on me, bringing me water or a snack, his Alpha in overdrive now that he knows about the pup. I love it, the way he hovers without smothering, his care a quiet promise.

By afternoon, he heads out to pick up Bora, leaving me alone in the penthouse, my nerves spiking as I prepare her gift.

I sit on the couch, the wrapped box in my lap, the shirt, book, and sketchbook carefully arranged inside. My hands tremble, the hormones making me emotional, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

The silence of the penthouse feels heavy, the anticipation building as I wait for Yoongi and Bora to return. The door opens, and Bora's voice fills the space, bright and excited.

"Amma!" she calls, running into the living room, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

Yoongi follows, his smile soft but knowing, his eyes meeting mine with quiet encouragement.

Bora pauses, her eyes narrowing as she senses the tension in the air.

"What's going on?" she asks, her voice hesitant, her brow furrowing. "Is Appa leaving again?"

My heart clenches, and I shake my head quickly, reaching for her.

"No, puppy," I say, my voice soft but firm. "Appa is not going anywhere. Come sit with me."

She climbs onto the couch, her small body pressed against mine, and Yoongi sits on her other side, his hand resting on her shoulder. She looks between us, her eyes wide and uncertain, and I feel a pang, hating that she is worried even for a moment.

"We have something for you," I say, my voice trembling with emotion as I hand her the box, its wrapping paper catching the light. "Open it."

She takes it, her fingers hesitant as she tugs at the ribbon, her eyes flicking to me and Yoongi.

"Is it bad?" she asks, her voice small, and my throat tightens, tears threatening to spill.

"No, puppy," Yoongi says, his voice gentle, his hand squeezing her shoulder. "It's good. Very good. Promise."

She nods, still unsure, and unwraps the box, her movements careful. When she lifts the lid, her eyes land on the shirt, the words Big Sister printed in bold, glittery letters. She freezes, her breath catching, and then her eyes widen, and tears well up as she looks at me.

"Amma," she says, her voice breaking. "Really?"

I nod, tears spilling down my cheeks as I pull her into my arms, her small body trembling with happy sobs.

"It's real," I say, my voice thick. "You are going to be a big sister, puppy."

She cries harder, burying her face in my neck, her tears soaking my shirt.

"Thank you, thank you," she says, her voice muffled, her arms tight around me. "I wished for this so much."

Yoongi pulls her into his lap, hugging her close, his own eyes glistening.

"We are so excited, puppy," he says, his voice rough. "You are going to be the best big sister ever."

She turns to him, her tears still falling, and hugs him tightly, her small hands clutching his shirt.

"I love you, Appa," she says, her voice wobbly. "I love you, Amma."

"We love you too," I say, my voice breaking as I wipe my tears, my Omega purring at her joy.

We sit her down between us, her hands still clutching the shirt, and I take a deep breath, wanting to be honest with her.

"It is still really early, though," I say, my voice soft but serious. "The puppy is tiny, and a lot can happen, so we need to be careful. I need to rest a lot, and avoid stress. You and Appa have to help me, okay?"

She nods, her eyes wide, her expression determined.

"I will help, Amma," she says, her voice firm. "I will be so careful."

Yoongi smiles, ruffling her hair.

"We know you will," he says. "But we also need you to keep it a secret for now, okay? Just until we know everything is okay."

She pouts, clearly not thrilled, but nods.

"Okay," she says, her voice small. "But can I tell everyone when it's time?"

I laugh, pulling her close.

"You can be the one to tell everyone," I say, my voice warm. "As soon as we say it's okay."

Her eyes light up, and she hugs the shirt to her chest, her tears drying as her excitement takes over.

"I'm going to be the best big sister, I promise," she says, her voice bright, and my heart swells, the hormones making me emotional again.

━━━━

A few hours later, I'm lying on the couch, a blanket over me, watching a variety show while Yoongi finishes some work in his studio. Bora sits beside me, her new book about puppies open in her lap, her brow furrowed as she reads.

Suddenly, she sets it down and crawls up to me, carefully placing her head on my stomach, her hands gentle.

"Hi, little puppy," she whispers, her voice soft and sweet. "I'm your big sister, Bora. I'm going to love you so much."

I smile, my eyes stinging as I run my fingers through her curls.

"What are you doing, puppy?" I ask, my voice thick with love.

She looks up, her eyes wide.

"My book says puppies can hear us in the tummy," she says, her voice awed. "I want it to know me."

I chuckle, my heart melting, and Yoongi joins us, settling on the couch, his hand resting on my leg.

"It's a bit early for that," I say, my voice soft. "The pup is only about the size of a raspberry right now, so they can't hear you yet. But they will soon."

Bora's eyes widen, her mouth forming a small o.

"A raspberry?" she says, her voice amazed. "That is so tiny!"

Yoongi laughs, pulling her into his lap.

"You were that tiny once too," he says, his voice warm. "Smaller than a raspberry, even."

She giggles, looking at me.

"Really, Amma?" she asks, her eyes sparkling.

"Really," I say, my voice trembling. "You were so tiny, and now look at you. So big, so smart, and so ready to be a big sister."

She beams, snuggling between us, and Yoongi's hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through mine.

"Tell her a bit more about the pup," he says, his voice soft, his eyes encouraging.

I nod, my throat tight, and turn to Bora.

"Right now, the puppy is really small, but every day they get a little bit bigger," I say, my voice gentle. "They have got a tiny heartbeat already, and soon they will start moving, and kicking. You will be able to feel it."

Her eyes widen, her hand resting on my stomach.

"Will it hurt you?" she asks, her voice small, her brow furrowing with worry.

I shake my head, smiling through my tears.

"No, puppy," I say. "It's a good kind of feeling. It means the puppy is strong, like you were."

Yoongi nods, his hand squeezing mine.

"And we will take good care of Amma," he says, his voice firm. "Make sure he rests, eats well, and stays happy. Right?"

"Right!" Bora says, her voice determined, and I laugh, pulling her close, my heart so full it aches.

We talk more, explaining how the pup will grow, how my body will change, how we will all get ready for the new addition. Bora listens, her eyes wide, her questions endless, and I answer each one, my emotions raw but joyful.

The contrast to my pregnancy with Bora hits me hard, back then, I was alone and scared, with no one to share the fear or the wonder. Now, I have Yoongi and Bora, the love in this room feels like a miracle.

As the evening deepens, we stay on the couch, Bora's book forgotten as she snuggles between us, her head on my chest, Yoongi's arm around us both.

"I can't wait to meet you," she whispers, her voice sleepy, and I kiss her forehead, my tears falling into her curls.

"You will, puppy," I say, my voice thick. "And they will love you, just like we do."

Yoongi's eyes meet mine, shining with love, and we talk softly about the pup, our voices weaving dreams of the future, of Bora teaching them to paint, and Yoongi singing them lullabies.

All our dreams of our family growing stronger and brighter.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next few weeks pass in a blur, the rhythm of our lives settling into a new normal tinged with the quiet excitement of our growing family. The initial nausea I felt has morphed into full-blown morning sickness, a daily ritual that leaves me hunched over the bathroom sink or toilet, my stomach churning as the sun rises.

The first few times it happened, Bora's eyes widened with worry, her small hands hovering near me, unsure and upset.

"Amma, are you okay?" she asked one morning, her voice trembling as she stood in the bathroom doorway, clutching her bunny, her curls still mussed from sleep.

I wiped my mouth, forcing a smile despite the queasiness.

"I'm okay, puppy," I said, my voice soft but strained. "This is normal when you are pregnant. It happened when I was carrying you, too."

Yoongi stepped in behind her, his mint-and-rain scent helping me with the nausea a litte, as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Your Amma is strong," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "The pup is just making sure we know they are there."

Bora's brow furrowed, but she nodded, her worry easing slightly.

"Okay," she said, her voice small. "But I don't like it when you are sick."

I pulled her into a hug, her warmth soothing my frayed nerves.

"I know, puppy," I said, kissing her forehead. "But it's worth it for your little sibling. Promise."

She smiled, a little hesitant but trusting, and I felt a pang of love so intense it brought tears to my eyes, the hormones amplifying every emotion. Yoongi met my gaze over her head, his eyes soft with reassurance, and I knew we were in this together, every step of the way.

Today is Friday, and I'm twelve weeks along, a milestone that feels both monumental and fragile. We have a check-up appointment this afternoon, and I have promised Bora she can come, her excitement palpable since we told her about the pup. Yoongi will be there too, his steady presence a quiet comfort as we step further into this new chapter together.

If the ultrasound shows everything is okay, we have decided tonight is the night to tell our friends. Our monthly meet-up is at our penthouse this evening, a perfect chance to share the news, and Bora is adamant about being the one to announce it, her Big Sister shirt clutched like a trophy since we gave it to her.

We pick Bora up from school, her backpack bouncing as she runs to us, her face lighting up when she sees Yoongi and me waiting by the gate.

"Amma! Appa!" she calls, throwing herself into Yoongi's arms, then mine, her pup scent sweet and familiar.

"Ready for the doctor, puppy?" I ask, ruffling her curls, and she nods enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling.

"I wanna see the pup!" she says, grabbing my hand as we head to the car.

━━━━

The clinic is familiar, its sterile scent softened by the warm smile of the nurse, who greets us kindly. Bora clutches Yoongi's hand, her excitement barely contained as we are led to the ultrasound room. The doctor, the same calm Alpha from my last visit, welcomes us with a nod, his demeanor reassuring as he preps the machine.

"Alright, Jimin," he says, his voice steady. "Let's see how your little one is doing."

I lie back as the cool gel touches my stomach, a small shiver running through me. Yoongi's hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through with a grip that is firm yet gentle, steadying and reassuring. Bora stands on her tiptoes, peering at the screen, her eyes wide with curiosity. The machine hums, and then the image flickers to life, a tiny shape, more defined now than at eight weeks, with a fluttering heartbeat that echoes in the quiet room.

Yoongi's breath catches, his eyes glistening as he stares at the screen, his hand squeezing mine.

"That's our pup," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, and I feel tears prick my eyes, my Omega purring at his reaction.

Bora gasps, her small hand reaching for the screen.

"That's it?" she asks, her voice awed. "It is so tiny!"

The doctor smiles, adjusting the probe.

"About the size of a lime now," he says. "Everything looks perfect. The heartbeat is strong, and development is on track."

I exhale, relief washing over me, and Yoongi leans down to kiss my forehead, his lips lingering.

"You are amazing," he murmurs, his voice rough, and I smile, my heart swelling.

Bora's questions come fast, like how big will the pup get, when will it kick, can it hear her yet, and the doctor answers patiently, his tone kind.

"In a few more weeks, you will be able to feel them move," he says, and Bora's eyes light up, her hand resting on my stomach as if she can already feel it.

We leave with another ultrasound picture, a prescription for more supplements, and a sense of quiet joy. The doctor's reassurance that everything is fine feels like permission to share our secret, and Bora's excitement is infectious, her chatter filling the car as we drive home.

"Amma, can I tell everyone tonight?" she asks, bouncing in her seat, and I laugh, glancing at Yoongi.

"We promised, didn't we?" I say, my voice warm. "It's all up to you, puppy. You get to tell them you are going to be a big sister however you want."

She squeals, hugging her bunny tight, and Yoongi chuckles, his hand resting on my thigh.

"She's gonna steal the show," he says, his voice fond, and I nod, my heart full.

━━━━

Back at the penthouse, we dive into preparations for the dinner. Yoongi takes charge of the kitchen, marinating meat for the grill and chopping vegetables with practiced ease, while I set the table, arranging plates and banchan with care. Bora helps, her small hands carefully placing napkins, her excitement bubbling over as she talks about how she will tell everyone.

"I'm not going to say it right away," she says, her voice conspiratorial as she folds a napkin. "I want to surprise them!"

I laugh, ruffling her hair.

"You are going to be so good at this," I say, my voice soft. "They are going to love it."

The tiredness is still there, a constant weight, but the anticipation of tonight keeps me going. The morning sickness has been rough, but knowing we are past the first trimester, with a healthy pup, makes every moment worth it.

I pause to sip water, my hand resting on my stomach, and Yoongi catches my eye, his smile soft.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice low as he stirs a pot of japchae.

"Just tired," I say, smiling back. "But happy. Really happy."

He steps closer, kissing my cheek, his scent grounding me.

"Rest if you need to," he says, his voice gentle. "I have got this."

I nod, grateful for his care, and focus on the table, the penthouse filling with the savory scents of Yoongi's cooking. The city sparkles outside, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the evening light, and I feel a quiet thrill, knowing our friends will soon fill this space with laughter and love.

━━━━

Our friends arrive in a flurry of noise and warmth. Jin and Namjoon come first, their three-year-old son Soobin toddling in with a toy truck clutched in his hands, his dimpled smile lighting up the room. Jin's warm, cedar and honey scent mingles with Namjoon's earthy sandalwood, and they hug us tightly, Jin already teasing Yoongi about his cooking.

"You better not burn the meat this time," Jin says, his voice playful as he sets a homemade kimchi container on the counter.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, grinning.

"Says the guy who set off the smoke alarm last month," he retorts, and Jin laughs, clapping him on the back.

Taehyung and Jungkook arrive next, their hands linked, Tae's vibrant lavender and honey scent bright against Jungkook's crisp cedar-and-earth. Tae's eyes light up when he sees my purple hair, rushing over to hug me.

"Jiminie, you look like an Idol!" he says, his voice gleeful, and I laugh, blushing.

"It's all Bora's doing," I say, and she beams, peeking out from behind me.

Hobi and Junghon are last, Hobi's sunny citrus scent a burst of energy as he sweeps Bora into a hug, spinning her until she giggles. Junghon, quieter but warm, his oakmoss scent calming, sets a bottle of wine on the counter, smiling softly.

"Missed you guys," he says, his voice low, and Hobi nods, his arm around Junghon's waist.

The penthouse fills with chatter and laughter, the air warm with the scents of our chosen family. We gather around the dining table, the grill sizzling with meat, the banchan spread out in colorful arrays. Soobin sits in a high chair, happily munching on rice, while Bora chats with Taehyung about her latest art project, her voice bright. I sit beside Yoongi, his hand resting gently on my knee beneath the table, a quiet, grounding presence as the last traces of morning sickness hum beneath the surface, my body still finding its balance.

The meal is a chaotic symphony of clinking chopsticks, laughter, and stories. Namjoon shares a funny anecdote about a book signing of on eof his favorite author's gone wrong, Jin teasing him about his clumsiness, while Jungkook and Taehyung bicker playfully about who won their last video game match. Hobi and Junghon talk about their recent trip to Busan, Hobi's eyes sparkling as he describes the beach. And I watch them all, my heart swelling, the hormones making every smile, every laugh, feel like a gift.

Bora catches my eye, her expression mischievous, and I nod slightly, my nerves tingling a little. She has been waiting for this moment, she has chosen to keep the announcement for the perfect time. I'm surprised she hasn't blurted it out yet, her excitement practically radiating, but she is playing it cool, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

As we are halfway through the meal, the table piled with empty plates and half-eaten banchan, Bora sets down her chopsticks, her small hands folding in her lap. She clears her throat, a dramatic gesture that makes Yoongi raise an eyebrow, and his lips twitching.

"So," she says, her voice nonchalant but loud enough to catch everyone's attention, "I'm going to be a big sister soon."

The table goes silent, save for a sudden chorus of coughing and gasping. Jin chokes on a piece of bulgogi, Namjoon patting his back as he sputters, while Taehyung nearly spills his drink, his eyes wide. Jungkook's chopsticks freeze mid-air, and Hobi lets out a strangled laugh, his hand gripping Junghon's.

"What?!"

Taehyung recovers first, his voice a squeal as he leaps from his chair, rushing to me and pulling me into a tight hug.

"Jiminie! You are pregnant?!"

I laugh, my eyes stinging as I hug him back, his scent enveloping me.

"Yeah," I say, my voice thick. "Twelve weeks today. We got the all-clear at the doctor's."

The others swarm us, Jin's eyes shiny as he hugs me, then Yoongi, his voice booming.

"Another puppy! You guys!" he says, pulling Bora into his lap. "You are going to be the coolest big sister, Bora."

Namjoon's smile is wide, his dimples deep as he shakes Yoongi's hand, then hugs me gently.

"Congratulations," he says, his voice warm. "This is amazing."

Jungkook and Taehyung are a whirlwind of excitement, Jungkook ruffling Bora's hair as Taehyung peppers me with questions of how I'm feeling, when we found out, what the ultrasound was like. Hobi and Junghon congratulate us, Hobi's eyes glistening as he hugs me, his voice soft.

"You are going to be the best parents," he says, and Junghon nods, his smile quiet but sincere.

Bora basks in the attention, her cheeks flushed as she tells everyone about the ultrasound, her voice animated.

"The puppy is the size of a lime right now!" she says, her hands gesturing wildly, and Taehyung laughs, pulling her into a hug.

"A lime!" he says, his voice gleeful. "That's so tiny!"

"That's what I said!" Bora says.

The table erupts in laughter, the mood electric with joy. Yoongi's hand finds mine under the table, his fingers lacing through mine, his eyes shining with love. I feel tears spill over, the hormones making me a mess, but I don't care. This moment, surrounded by our family, feels like everything I have ever wanted.

We move to the living room, the kids sprawled on the floor with coloring books, Soobin giggling as Bora shows him her Big Sister book. The adults settle on the couches, wine and soju passed around. Of course I stick to water, as my stomach is still sensitive. The conversation flows, stories and laughter weaving through the room, and I lean into Yoongi, his arm around me, his scent grounding me.

Taehyung, ever the artist, pulls out his phone, showing us sketches he has been working on, his eyes lighting up as he talks about a new exhibit. Jungkook teases him, his voice playful.

"You are gonna paint the pup, aren't you?" he says, and Taehyung grins, nodding.

"Already planning it," he says, winking at me, and I laugh, my heart warm.

Jin and Namjoon share stories about Soobin, his latest obsession with trucks, and Hobi talks about a new dance project, his energy infectious. Junghon listens quietly, his hand resting on Hobi's knee, his smile soft but full of love.

I watch them all, my chest tightening with emotion, the sight almost too much to hold. The laughter, the warmth, the easy way they move around each other, it all feels unreal sometimes, like I have stepped into a life I once only imagined.

The contrast to my pregnancy with Bora hits me hard. Back then, everything was quieter, lonelier. I remember the sterile scent of hospital corridors, the weight of every decision resting on my shoulders, the way fear and hope wrestled inside me with no one to witness it. I was alone, scared, unsure if I could do any of it right.

Now, the difference is almost disorienting. I am surrounded by love, by family, by hands that reach for mine without hesitation. Yoongi’s laughter fills the room, and Bora’s voice overlaps his, bright and unrestrained. The sound swells around me until it feels like a tide I could drown in, if not for the steadiness it brings.

My eyes sting, not from sadness, but from the sheer weight of gratitude. I rest a hand on my belly, feeling the quiet promise of new life beneath my palm, and whisper a silent thank you, to the universe, to them, to the version of me who kept going even when he had no one.

"You okay, Jiminie?" Yoongi murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his voice low so only I can hear.

I nod, wiping my eyes.

"Just happy," I say, my voice thick. "So happy."

He kisses my temple, his hand squeezing mine, and Bora climbs onto the couch, snuggling between us.

"Amma, can I tell Lila and Amy soon?" she asks, her voice hopeful, and I smile, brushing a curl from her face.

"Soon, puppy," I say. "Just a little longer, okay?"

She nods, content, and leans into Yoongi, her eyes heavy but happy.

The night stretches on, alive with laughter, music, and the easy warmth of our friends filling every corner of the room. Taehyung and Jungkook launch into an impromptu dance-off, feet sliding and arms flailing with ridiculous enthusiasm, while Hobi jumps in, his signature moves exaggerated and infectious. Jin and Namjoon cheer from the sidelines, voices rising above the music, and Soobin sits cross-legged on the floor, clapping along with a grin that refuses to fade.

Bora giggles, her energy slowly waning, eyes bright and sparkling in the flicker of fairy lights strung across the ceiling. I pull her into my lap, wrapping an arm around her small frame. The warmth of her body presses against me, grounding me amidst the chaos of movement and noise. She rests her head against my shoulder, still humming with residual excitement, and I inhale the faint scent of her scent, and feel a quiet swell of gratitude for this moment.

Even as the music pounds and the room hums with uncontained joy, a peaceful bubble forms around us. I can feel the pulse of our little family and friends in that instant, laughter, love, the messy perfection of connection. For once, the exhaustion and worries of the world feel distant.

As the evening winds down, our friends gather their things, promising to come back soon, their hugs lingering.

"Take care of yourself, Jimin," Jin says, his voice soft, and I nod, my throat tight.

"We will," Yoongi says, his arm around me, his voice firm.

The penthouse quiets as they leave, the city lights sparkling outside, and I feel a deep contentment settle over me. Bora yawns, her head on my shoulder, and Yoongi scoops her up, kissing her cheek.

"Time for bed, puppy," he says, and she nods, too tired to protest.

We tuck her in, her room a cozy haven of books and art, and return to the living room, the remnants of the night with empty glasses, and crumpled napkins, scattered around. Yoongi pulls me into his arms, his lips brushing mine, and for a moment, we just stand there, wrapped in each other, the joy of tonight lingering like a warm, golden glow.

"Our friends," I whisper, my voice catching, eyes stinging. "They are part of our family."

"They are," Yoongi says, his voice rough with emotion. "And we are growing it by one."

I smile, my hand drifting to rest on my stomach, and we sink onto the couch, our bodies close, our hearts open. We talk about the pup, about Bora's excitement, about all the tomorrows waiting for us. The night is filled with love, with laughter, and the quiet promise of what is to come, a perfect ending to a day that feels like a new beginning.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Chapter Text

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

PJM

The past few weeks slip by like silk between my fingers, soft, quick, almost weightless. The rhythm of our days has shifted quietly, subtly, as if the world itself has adjusted its heartbeat to match the gentle thrum of our growing family.

My bump is still small, barely a swell beneath my clothes, but it is there. It is real. Some mornings I run my palm over it as if trying to convince myself this isn't some sweet, fleeting dream. The skin beneath my fingertips feels warm, alive, like the promise of something incredible.

The morning sickness, though, there is nothing dreamlike about that. It hits like an unforgiving wave, sometimes leaving me curled up in bed, unable to do more than breathe through the nausea and wait for it to pass. But Yoongi and Bora are my anchors in the storm. Yoongi with his quiet strength, his hands steady on my back when I tremble. Bora with her soft, sticky little kisses on my cheeks, as if her love alone can banish the queasiness.

Tonight, though, is a break from the rhythm. A glamorous event hosted by Yoongi's agency, a night that promises chandeliers, polished marble, and a sea of smiles that hide more politics than sincerity. I have never attended something like this before. Sure, I have been to a few small functions in university, but something about this feels different. Maybe it is the bump. Maybe it is the weight of knowing I'm carrying our future. Or maybe it is simply the fact that Yoongi invited me not just as his mate but as his partner.

Bora is over the moon about her sleepover with Taehyung and Jungkook. She packed her tiny backpack three hours before we were even supposed to leave, humming under her breath and dancing around the living room in excitement. That joy made it easier to leave her for the night, even though I already miss the way her hand feels tucked into mine.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, adjusting the cuffs of my black suit jacket. The fabric slides against my skin, smooth and structured, hugging me in all the right places. The clean lines make me feel powerful. Confident. A little dangerous, in the way Yoongi's eyes darkened when he saw me earlier.

My hair, once a bold, playful purple thanks to Bora's insistence that "Amma should look like an Idol," has now faded to a soft pastel pink. As Hana promised it is washing out gracefully. And it has, to a soft, delicate, whisper of color that glints under the light. Yoongi loves it. His gaze lingers a little too long whenever he looks at me, like he wants to taste it. To taste me.

I can still feel the heat of his hands from earlier, his lips brushing against my neck in that way that always makes my knees weak.

"You are killing me, Jiminie," Yoongi had murmured against my skin, voice low and rough, the scent of mint and rain clinging to him like a second skin even under the suppressant. "How the hell am I supposed to behave myself tonight?"

I laughed then, pushing him back playfully though my pulse was racing. 

"You will manage," I teased, my eyes drinking him in. 

The way his black suit molds to his lean frame, the way his hair is styled just so polished, yet dangerous. If it weren't for the fact that we actually had to be at this event, I would have dragged him back to bed in a heartbeat. No hesitation.

The agency's scent suppressant rule has always been something of an annoyance. After that scandal a few years ago, when an artist and staff member's affair exploded into the media, everyone at work and these events has to wear suppressants, staff, artists, and even plus-ones like me. It is supposed to keep things "professional." Clean. Controlled.

But suppressants strip away something intimate. Yoongi's natural scent is muted to a faint, neutral nothing. And mine too, the milky, floral softness of pregnancy faded to a whisper. My Omega's instincts ache for that missing warmth. For the invisible thread between us that normally hums strong in the air.

By the time we arrive at the event, the night has already started to glitter. The hall is breathtaking, a cathedral of light and sound. Crystal chandeliers spill gold across polished marble floors. Laughter and music ripple through the crowd like a current, slipping around bodies dressed in sleek tuxedos and shimmering gowns. Every inch of the space has been designed to impress.

Yoongi's hand rests at the small of my back, firm and warm even through layers of fabric. That touch, gentle and possessive, is enough to anchor me amid the flood of strangers. He is not one for loud displays of affection, but I have always understood the language of his hands.

"Hyung!" someone calls. 

An Alpha, tall, broad, and grinning. Yoongi turns, nodding back with that calm, quiet smile that makes people soften instinctively. As we move through the crowd, people greet him with respect, warmth, even fondness. He is well-liked here. It doesn't surprise me. Yoongi doesn't talk much about work, but he carries himself with quiet authority, the kind that doesn't need to be announced.

What does surprise me is how many of them seem shocked to learn he is mated. I catch the quick flicker of disappointment in a few Omega coworkers' eyes when they see me at his side. Yoongi has never been one to advertise his personal life, it is his, ours, a private treasure. But something in me, something primal, responds to those looks with a subtle flare of possessiveness.

But our bond is strong. 

Most Alpha-Omega pairs stop at the Alpha marking the Omega. But some go further. Mutual marking. A deeper, rarer kind of bond. Yoongi and I haven't discussed it seriously yet, but lately, with the pregnancy shifting every instinct in me, the desire to claim him as much as he has claimed me hums under my skin. The thought of leaving my mark on his neck sends a thrill down my spine.

"You are glowing," says Eunji, a Beta from Yoongi's team, her voice warm and genuine as she shakes my hand. "How did Yoongi manage to snag someone like you?"

I laugh softly, my cheeks warming. 

"I'm the lucky one."

Yoongi smirks beside me, that infuriatingly smug tilt of his lips making my heart skip.

"Don't let him fool you," Daehyun, another Alpha, pipes up with a laugh. "He has been hiding this gorgeous Omega from us all this time. You are way too cute and sexy, Jimin. How do you even put up with this guy?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but his arm tightens around my waist. His fingers press just enough for me to feel the subtle warning in his touch. 

"Watch it, Daehyun," he says lightly, but there is a thread of steel beneath the playfulness.

I lean into him, letting my laughter soften the tension. Still, the way his hand rests on me, all solid and claiming, makes something in me purr.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a young Omega standing a few meters away. She is beautiful, long dark hair, sleek black dress hugging her figure. Her eyes keep drifting toward Yoongi with a kind of open yearning that she probably doesn't even realize is so obvious. She is wearing suppressants, but even muted, her attention feels pointed. Hungry.

She is new. I can tell. She has that nervous energy of someone who is still finding their footing in this world.

Yoongi hasn't noticed her, too busy talking with his colleagues, but my Omega bristles all the same. I don't say anything. I won't make a scene over someone looking. But it sparks something sharp and possessive in my chest, something hot and undeniable.

Eventually, Yoongi leads me through the crowd and introduces me to Bang Sihyuk, his boss, a man whose presence seems to fill the room even before he speaks. There is a quiet authority in the way he stands, effortless and unassuming, yet impossible to ignore. His smile is warm, genuine, and his handshake firm, a careful balance of confidence and kindness.

He tilts his head slightly as he regards me, curiosity flickering in his eyes without the faintest trace of condescension.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, and the words feel measured but sincere and kind. I nod, trying to match the calm strength he radiates, while a small thrill hums in my chest, this is someone who shapes the music world, yet here he is, making a moment feel personal, intimate, and unhurried.

"Yoongi is one of our best. I'm glad to finally meet the person who keeps him grounded."

I smile, cheeks warm. 

"Thank you. I'm proud of him."

Yoongi's fingers brush mine gently, almost like a secret. Bang Sihyuk nods, clearly approving. 

As the conversation continues, I notice the subtle ways people respond to him, heads turn, voices soften, gestures become more attentive. It is a quiet kind of power, the sort that doesn’t demand attention but commands it anyway. I glance at Yoongi, who watches with a mixture of pride and ease, and for the first time, I feel the weight of being by his side in this world, not as an outsider, but as a part of it.

“You two make a great pair,” he says, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, before turning back to Yoongi.

Their conversation shifts seamlessly into business, quick and efficient, layered with details I can only half-follow. Words like contracts, schedules, and projections float past me, a language I have never needed to know. I watch Yoongi listen, nod, respond, each gesture precise, measured, and full of quiet authority.

I feel a small restlessness stir in me and catch his gaze. Tilting my head subtly toward the bar, I gesture to him.

“I’m going to get a drink.”

“Okay,” he replies softly, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, half-smile that makes my chest tighten. “I will find you soon.”

I slip away from the circle of executives, their sharp conversation dissolving into the broader hum of the room. Glasses clink and soft laughter drifts around me as I weave through the crowd. The lights glint off chandeliers overhead, painting the room in fractured golds and silvers, but my focus narrows to the thought of him coming for me later, the promise in his words warming me from the inside. Even here, in the midst of strangers and polished formality, it feels like he is only ever a heartbeat away.

The bar is sleek and elegant, lined with glassware that gleams under the chandeliers. Bartenders move like clockwork, pouring, mixing, shaking, and sliding drinks across the polished surface.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the brief moment of quiet at the edge of the chaos. 

"Apple juice, please," I say to the bartender, a friendly-looking Beta with a polite smile.

"No problem," he replies, sliding a chilled glass toward me a moment later. 

The apple juice is crisp and cold, sweet against my tongue. The first sip soothes the dryness in my throat, grounding me in a way the crowd couldn't.

This is the part of events like these I like best, the edges, the quiet moments where I can just breathe. Yet even here, at the bar, the larger room presses in. The event hall is all glitter and heat and too many voices. Chandeliers spill golden light over polished marble, catching on sequins and silk and the shimmer of carefully curated smiles. Laughter swells like music, overlapping with the muted bass from the live band playing near the stage.

It is beautiful, overwhelming, and just a little bit suffocating.

I stand at the bar with a half-empty glass of apple juice in my hand, my pastel pink hair catching stray beams of light like spun sugar. The fabric of my tailored black suit feels sharp against my skin, smooth, structured, like armor. But beneath it, my Omega is restless, prickly, because something is missing.

Yoongi's scent.

Even dulled by the agency's mandatory suppressants, it should still linger faintly at the edges of my senses, grounding and familiar. Without it, I feel off-balance, like walking through a crowded room blindfolded. My own scent is muted too, the milky warmth of pregnancy reduced to the faintest whisper. The absence leaves me feeling exposed in a way I can't quite name.

"Enjoying yourself?" a voice asks suddenly, too close.

My shoulders tense.

I glance to my right, and there he is. Tall. Sharp jawline. Perfectly tailored black suit that screams confidence. His scent is muted by suppressants, but everything about his posture says Alpha. His eyes rake over me like he has a right to look. That alone sets my instincts on edge.

"I haven't seen you at one of these before," he says, leaning an arm casually against the bar. "I'm Jaehyun. Talent manager." 

His smile is smooth, practiced, the kind of smile that is used to getting a reaction.

I shift slightly, putting just enough space between us to make a point. 

"Jimin," I reply, polite but firm. "I'm here with Min Yoongi, my mate."

Something flickers in his eyes at the mention of Yoongi's name. Recognition. Maybe curiosity. Maybe something else. 

"Yoongi, huh?" His voice drops just slightly, as if testing the sound of it. "Lucky guy. You are gorgeous."

My grip on the glass tightens, but my smile doesn't waver. Not yet. My Omega isn't amused, though. Every instinct screams at me to push back, to remind him exactly whose I am, and who Yoongi is.

I glance toward the crowd, spotting Yoongi still deep in conversation with Bang Sihyuk. His profile is sharp against the golden light, a picture of quiet authority.

I take another slow sip of my juice, giving myself a heartbeat to steady my voice. 

"Thank you," I say finally, soft but edged, like silk over steel. "But that's not really something you should say to someone who is already claimed."

Jaehyun's smile widens instead of faltering. And that tells me exactly what kind of Alpha he is.

And just like that, the air thickens, not with scent, but with something sharper. Something waiting.

His eyes move over me like they have every right to. My hand tightens around the cool glass, and my Omega growls under my skin. My bump is still small, barely noticeable under my clothes, but it is there. And the instinct to protect what is growing inside me is sharp enough to cut.

His grin doesn't falter. In fact, it grows. He leans a little closer, one elbow casually resting on the bar, his body language all confidence and lazy challenge.

"Oh, come on, Jimin-ssi," he says, voice smooth as silk. "A little flattery never hurt anyone. Yoongi is a lucky guy, but surely you can handle a compliment."

My jaw tightens, the polite mask pulling thin. 

"I can handle it," I say, my voice cool as ice. "But I'm not interested. I'm here with my mate."

Jaehyun chuckles, a sound low and deliberate, like he is pushing just to see where my line is. 

"Mates can still have fun alone, can't they?" 

His voice drops lower, and something in me snaps like a taut string.

I straighten my spine, taking a half-step back to put space between us. My polite smile disappears.

"I would never do this to my mate," I say evenly. "Especially not when I'm pregnant."

The word lands like a stone dropped in still water. His confident expression falters, just for a second, but that is all I need.

"And definitely not when my Alpha is just a few meters away," I add. "Maybe rethink who you approach, Jaehyun-ssi."

His eyes widen before he quickly masks it, but I have already turned away, threading through the crowd without looking back. My heart is beating too fast, not out of fear, but from the surge of protective instinct and hormonal heat pulsing through my chest. Pregnancy has made me softer in some ways, but it has also made my Omega sharper. Fiercer.

And then I see her.

The young Omega from earlier.

She is draped a little too close to Yoongi's side, one manicured hand resting lightly on his arm, her body angled toward him like he is the only person in the room. She is laughing at something someone else said, not even him, but her hand doesn't move. Yoongi's expression is neutral, polite, focused on his boss, but my Omega doesn't care. My pulse pounds.

I stride toward them, my steps deliberate. I slip my arm through Yoongi's and press close to his side. He glances down at me, surprise flickering into warmth in an instant. His hand finds my waist instinctively, a touch that calms something wild in me.

"Yoongi, love," I say sweetly, the edge beneath my tone sharp enough to slice through glass. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend? "

One of his brows quirks slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitches up as if he already knows exactly what game I'm playing. 

"Of course," he says smoothly. "Jimin, this is Duri, one of our new artists. Duri, this is Jimin, my mate."

The word mate lands like a flare in the middle of our little circle. Duri's bright smile falters just enough to satisfy something in me. She recovers quickly, but I see it. She tilts her head and lets her gaze sweep over me, as if assessing.

"Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi," she says smoothly, though there is a flicker of defiance in her posture. "Yoongi-PD-nim has been so helpful with my debut track."

I tilt my head too, matching her smile with one of my own. It is bright. It is sharp. It is the kind of smile Bora gives when she is about to steal the last piece of cake.

"I bet he has," I reply sweetly. "He's brilliant like that. Always taking care of everyone, aren't you, love? "

Yoongi doesn't say anything, but his thumb presses gently against my hip, a quiet acknowledgment. His eyes glint with amusement, and I feel his warmth through the layers of fabric, grounding me.

"He's a genius," Duri continues, her tone softening into something that tries too hard to sound natural. "I'm so lucky to work with him."

My Omega bares its teeth, metaphorically speaking. 

"Oh, you are lucky, alright," I say lightly, letting a soft laugh trail off my words. "But I'm the luckiest. I get to go home with him every night. Mated life, you know? Nothing like it."

Her smile tightens, polished but strained.

Yoongi clears his throat, stepping in before the tension can thicken too much. 

"Duri has a lot of potential," he says smoothly. "Her debut is going to be big."

I nod, still smiling, my gaze locking with hers in silent warning. 

"Can't wait to hear it," I say softly. "I'm sure it will be... memorable."

The universe throws me a small mercy, as a stern-looking Beta strides up to Duri, calling her name. 

"Duri, PR meeting. Now."

She excuses herself with a tight smile, but not before letting her eyes linger on Yoongi just a beat too long.

I exhale slowly, the air leaving me in a rush.

Yoongi turns to me, brows slightly furrowed, studying my face with that quiet focus of his. 

"You okay, Jiminie?" 

His voice is soft but steady, warm enough to melt some of the tension gathering beneath my skin. His hand slides up from my waist to cup my cheek. 

"You are... feisty tonight."

I laugh, the sound shaky but real. I lean into his touch because even without scent, he is home. 

"Just tired of people not respecting what's mine," I admit. "Probably just hormones."

His thumb brushes against my skin, and something in his eyes softens completely. He dips his head just slightly, his lips brushing my forehead. It is a small kiss, tender, but it makes heat bloom low in my stomach.

"You are mine too, baby," he murmurs. "No one is changing that."

The rest of the event passes in a blur of handshakes, polite conversations, and champagne flutes I can't touch. I watch Yoongi move through the crowd like water, smooth and calm, his quiet charisma drawing people to him. I know what they see, a brilliant producer, an Alpha with quiet power. What I see is the man who traces circles on my back when I can't sleep, the one who is ready with a glas of water when I threw up every morning the first few weeks, the one whose hands always seem to find me like a compass.

Somewhere between the speeches and the toasts, the band begins to play slower music. The crowd starts to drift toward the center of the room where the lights have softened, golden halos spilling over the polished floor. Couples sway together. Some look like they are pretending. Some don't have to.

Yoongi turns to me, his eyes warm, his lips tilting up in a small smile. 

"Dance with me?"

I blink at him. 

"You hate dancing."

He shrugs. 

"You like it."

My chest aches. 

God, I love him.

He offers his hand, and I take it without hesitation. His palm is warm against mine, and when he leads me onto the dance floor, the world contracts, leaving only the two of us suspended in a bubble of light and sound.

The music is soft, a slow instrumental that seeps into my bones like liquid gold. His hand slides to the small of my back, firm, steady, and grounding, and guides me with quiet confidence. My other hand rests against his shoulder, fingertips grazing the curve of his neck. We move together deliberately, our steps small, precise, and in perfect sync, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.

The crowd around us blurs into shapes and streaks of light. I sense the occasional glance, curious or admiring, but it feels distant, irrelevant. Because Yoongi’s gaze is unwavering, warm, and entirely focused on me. In his eyes, I am everything, every unspoken word, every shared memory, every quiet promise.

A small, uncontainable smile tugs at my lips as I realize I can feel the weight of love radiating between us, strong and unhurried. The world outside this moment ceases to exist. Even amid chandeliers, music, and a thousand watchful eyes, it is only Yoongi and me, close, easy, utterly, and irrevocably in love.

"Your cheeks are red," he murmurs, amusement threading through his voice.

"Shut up," I mutter, my heart pounding. "I'm just... hot."

He leans in closer, breath ghosting against my ear. 

"You look beautiful."

His words settle low in my belly, pooling there like molten warmth. The hand at the small of my back slides just a fraction lower, deliberate and grounding, and my pulse jumps in response. The space between us contracts until I can feel the subtle curve of him against me, every nerve alight with anticipation.

I tilt my head, brushing a quick, warm kiss against the edge of his jaw. A soft huff of breath escapes him, and his fingers tighten on my waist, tethering me to the moment. His lips graze the corner of my mouth, a teasing, fleeting kiss that sends a shiver racing through me, leaving me craving more even as I feel the delicious restraint between us.

"Yoongi," I whisper, half warning, half plea.

He hums against my skin, a sound that vibrates through me. 

"Hm?"

The music swells, and I press my forehead against his. My heart is hammering. My hormones are a mess, sharp, hot and desperate. All I want is to crawl closer into him, to drown in his scent that isn't even here, to feel his hands on me with no eyes watching.

"People are looking," I murmur.

"Let them," he whispers back.

And that does it.

I laugh softly, breathless, because he means it. He doesn't care. Neither do I.

I kiss him, just a little. A brush of lips that is quick but so full of everything between us that it sets my skin on fire. He kisses me back, soft and deliberate, before pulling just enough away to look at me. His eyes are darker now, burning, and the heat between us hums like static in the air.

"I love you," he murmurs, voice thick with something tender and fierce.

I grin against his mouth. 

"I love you too."

We sway together until the song ends, moving slower than everyone else, as if the rest of the room has fallen away and we are floating. When the lights brighten and people begin drifting toward their coats, Yoongi squeezes my hand gently, grounding me, and I realize that even in this crowded, glittering room, I have never felt more at home.

"Let's get you home," he says softly, like it is a promise.

━━━━

The night air outside is cool and clean, a relief after the thick heat of the ballroom. The city lights spill across the sidewalk, glinting off passing cars. Yoongi's hand finds mine automatically, fingers lacing through like they were made to fit.

I lean against him as we walk to the car, exhaustion settling in beneath the simmering warmth of everything else. My head spins with the events of this evening, of Jaehyun's arrogance, Duri's too-sweet smiles, and the weight of my own instincts coiled tight in my chest. But threaded through all of it is Yoongi's hand, Yoongi's warmth, Yoongi's quiet, and steady presence.

I will talk to him soon, about marking him, about claiming him as much as he has claimed me. I want that bond deepened. Undeniable.

But for now, I just let him lead me to the car. I'm going home with my mate.

My love.

My everything.

━━━━

The city lights blur past the car window as we drive home from the business function, the glittering hall fading into the night behind us.

My body is a live wire, buzzing with a heat that has nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with Yoongi. The way he commanded the room tonight, his quiet confidence, his possessive touch every time someone got too close, has ignited something primal in me.

My Omega is restless, whining for his mate, for his knot, and the hormones surging through me only amplify the need, turning it into a desperate ache between my thighs. Slick leaks slowly, dampening my pants, and I shift in my seat, trying to ease the pressure without drawing attention.

Yoongi's hand rests on my knee, his fingers tracing lazy patterns that send sparks up my leg, and I bite my lip, fighting the urge to climb into his lap right here in the car. We haven't had proper sex since he came home from Japan, since before he found out about the pregnancy. At first out of caution, the doctor's words about taking it easy echoing in our minds, then the morning sickness hit hard, leaving me exhausted and nauseous every time the mood struck. But tonight, with the adrenaline from the event and the way Yoongi's suit hugs his body, all I can think about is him inside me, his knot filling me, and his teeth on my neck.

He glances at me, his dark eyes catching mine in the dim light, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You okay, Jiminie?" he asks, his voice low, rough from the evening's conversations.

I nod, but my throat is tight, my body hot.

"Just... tired," I say, but it is a lie, and he knows it, his hand sliding higher on my thigh, his thumb brushing the inside, making me shiver.

His smile widens, his eyes darkening with understanding.

"Tired, huh?" he says, his tone teasing, and I feel a rush of heat, my slick leaking more, the ache almost unbearable.

The drive feels endless, but finally, we pull into the underground parking, the engine humming to a stop. Yoongi turns to me, his hand still on my thigh, and I can't wait any longer. As soon as we step into the elevator, I press against him, my lips finding his in a desperate kiss, my hands sliding under his jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his dress shirt.

"Jimin," he groans, his voice rough, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer. "What has gotten into you?"

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, my breath ragged.

"You," I say, my voice low, filthy. "All night, watching you, I couldn't stop thinking about your knot. I need you, hyung. Now."

His eyes widen, then darken with desire, his scent spiking despite the suppressants, a faint hint of mint slipping through.

"Fuck, Jiminie," he murmurs, his hands sliding lower, cupping my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. "You sure? The pup—"

"The pup is fine," I say, my voice desperate, my hands tugging at his tie, loosening it. "I need you to fuck me, Yoongi. Hard."

The elevator dings, and we stumble out, lips locked, hands grasping as we make our way to the door. Yoongi fumbles with the keys, his breath hot against my neck, and I press against him, grinding my hips, feeling his arousal hard against me.

"Jimin," he growls, the door finally opening, and we tumble inside, kicking it shut behind us.

I'm on him again, my hands pulling off his jacket, his tie, unbuttoning his dress shirt with frantic fingers. He groans, his lips finding my neck, kissing my mating bite, his teeth graze the sensitive skin, which makes me whimper. My slick is soaking through my pants already.

"Bedroom," he says, his voice rough, but I shake my head, too desperate to wait.

"Here," I say, pushing him against the wall, dropping to my knees, my hands undoing his belt, his pants, freeing his cock. He is hard and leaking, the sight of him making my mouth water, and my Omega whining with need.

I lean in, my tongue tracing from base to tip, slow and teasing, savoring the musky taste of him, the way he twitches under my touch. He groans, his hands tangling in my hair, his hips thrusting slightly.

"Jimin, fuck," he gasps, his voice breaking, and I take him into my mouth, sucking hard on the tip, my tongue dipping into the slit, tasting the precum.

I moan around him, the vibration making him shudder, and his grip is tightening in my hair.

I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, bobbing my head, my hands gripping his thighs, feeling the muscle tense under my palms. The taste of him is salty and heady, addictive, and I suck harder. My tongue swirls, as my lips stretch around him.

"Shit, Jimin," he groans, his voice rough, his hips bucking, and I hum in pleasure, taking him as deep as I can. My nose brushes his pelvis, as my throat works around him.

I pull back with a hard suck, popping off with a wet sound, and look up at him with swollen lips, and my eyes dark with want. He is breathing hard, his eyes locked with mine, and he pulls me up, kissing me hard, while tasting himself on my tongue.

"My turn," he growls, his voice low and filthy, and he spins me, pressing me against the wall, dropping to his knees.

His hands undo my pants, sliding them down with my boxers, freeing my arousal.

He leans in, his tongue licking a slow stripe up my inner thigh, lapping at the slick, the taste making him groan.

"So fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his voice muffled against my skin, and I whimper.

My hips buck as his tongue finds my entrance, licking deep, curling inside me, exploring every inch.

His hands grip my ass, spreading me open, as he sucks at my rim. The sensation is overwhelming, and almost drives me to the edge. I moan with my hands in his hair, tugging hard. My body is trembling as he eats me out. His tongue is relentless, as his lips suck hard.

"Yoongi, please," I gasp, my voice breaking, my hips grinding against his face. "I need more."

He pulls back with glistening lips and eyes dark with want.

"Not yet," he says, his voice rough, and I whine, my body aching with need.

He stands, his hands on my hips, turning me to face him. Our arousals press together, hard and hot, and he ruts against me, slow and teasing, the friction making me moan, as my slick is making everything slippery and hot.

"Fuck, Jimin," he groans, his voice low, his hips moving against mine, the sensation building, with the heat coiling in my belly.

I grind back, my hands on his shoulders. My lips find his in a heated kiss, as our bodies move together in a desperate rhythm. The feel of him against me, hard and warm, the way his hands grip my ass to pull me closer, is almost too much. The pleasure is building until I'm trembling, right on the edge.

"Yoongi," I gasp, my voice needy, my body aching for release, for his knot.

He pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with want.

"Bedroom," he says, his voice a growl, and I nod.

My legs are shaky as he guides me there, our hands grasping, and our lips brush in quick, desperate kisses.

We tumble onto the bed, the sheets cool against my heated skin, and Yoongi hovers over me, his lips finding mine again. His hands roam my body, teasing, claiming.

The foreplay is a slow burn, his lips trailing down my neck, kissing my mating bite, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making me whimper. His hands slide lower, cupping my ass, squeezing hard, and I arch into him, with my arousal painfully hard and aching, and my slick leaking.

"Hyung," I moan, my voice desperate, my hands in his hair, tugging. "Please."

He smiles against my skin, his lips moving lower, kissing my chest, his tongue brushing my nipple, making me gasp.

"So needy," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, his hand sliding between my thighs, his fingers brushing my entrance, teasing but not entering.

I whine while I buck my hips, begging for more, and he chuckles, the sound low and filthy. His fingers finally slide inside, curling to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

"Yoongi," I cry, my voice breaking, my body trembling as he works me, his other hand stroking my length, teasing me until I'm on the edge, my moans loud and desperate.

He pulls back just as I'm about to come, his eyes dark with want, and I whimper. My body is aching, while my slick successfully soaks the sheets.

"Not yet, baby," he says, his voice rough, and I nod, my hands reaching for him, pulling him closer for a heated kiss.

We rut against each other again, our arousals sliding together, the friction hot and perfect, making me moan into his mouth some more. My hips desperately grind against his, as the pleasure is building again, the heat coiling tight between us.

"Jimin," he groans, his voice breaking.

His hands grip my hips to pull me closer, our bodies are moving in a desperate rhythm.

I feel the pressure build, my release so close, but he pulls back again, his breath ragged, his eyes locked with mine.

"Want to be inside you," he says, his voice low, and I nod, my body trembling with need.

"I want to feel you, all of you."

His eyes widen, his breath catching.

"Jimin," he says, his voice rough. "Are you sure? The pup—"

"I'm sure," I say, my hand cupping his face. "I want this. I want you."

He nods, his eyes dark with love and want, and I straddle him, positioning myself, sinking down slowly, the stretch a delicious burn, filling me perfectly.

I moan, my hands on his chest, and start to move, slow at first, savoring the way he feels inside me, the heat of him, the way he fills me completely.

"Jimin," he groans, his hands on my hips, guiding me, his eyes locked with mine.

I move faster, my moans louder, my body trembling as the pleasure builds. His building knot presses against me with every thrust.

"Yoongi," I gasp, my voice breaking, as my release is building, and my body clenching around him.

He thrusts up, meeting my movements, and I cry out. My release crashes over me, with my body shaking as I come, untouched, my slick soaking us both. He follows not even a second later, his knot is swelling fully now, locking us together. His release fills me, warm and perfect, while his groan is low and rough as he pulls me down against his chest.

We stay like that, locked by the knot, his arms around me, and his breath hot against my neck. I feel whole, loved, and complete.

"Yoongi," I whisper, my voice trembling, my lips brushing his ear. "I want you to wear my mating bite, I want to claim you, too."

His breath catches, his arms tightening around me, and he nods, his voice rough with emotion.

"I would love that, Jiminie," he says, his lips brushing my neck. "I want everyone to know I'm not available. I'm yours. Always."

I smile, my heart full, and we cuddle, locked together, the quiet of the night wrapping around us.

The penthouse is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside, as Yoongi's knot slowly subsides, leaving us tangled in each other's arms, our breaths still uneven from the intensity of our earlier passion.

My body hums with satisfaction, the ache of desire sated for now, but the warmth of Yoongi's skin against mine keeps a low simmer of want alive in my veins.

My pastel pink hair is damp with sweat, sticking to my forehead, and the sheets beneath us are a mess of slick and cum, the air thick with the fading remnants of our muted scents. The scent suppressants we wore to the party are starting to wear off, and I catch the faintest hint of Yoongi's mint-and-rain scent, a tease of the comfort my Omega desperately craves.

Yoongi shifts, his lips brushing my temple, and his voice a low rumble.

"We are a mess, Jiminie," he murmurs, his tone laced with amusement, his hand stroking my hip. "Shower?"

I nod, my throat tight with the lingering emotions from our intimacy, and I let him pull me up, my legs still shaky as we stumble toward the en-suite bathroom. The cool marble floor sends a shiver through me, but Yoongi's hand in mine is warm, grounding, and I lean into him, my heart full.

The bathroom is a haven of sleek tile and soft lighting, the large glass shower beckoning, and Yoongi turns on the water, steam rising as it warms.

We step under the spray together, the hot water cascading over us, washing away the remnants of the night. Yoongi's hands are gentle but deliberate as he reaches for the body wash, lathering it between his palms before sliding them over my shoulders, my chest, and my arms. His touch is reverent, his fingers tracing the lines of my body like he is memorizing me, and I close my eyes, letting the sensation ground me.

"You are so beautiful," he says, his voice soft but rough with emotion, his hands moving lower, skimming my sides, lingering over the slight curve of my baby bump. "Every inch of you."

I blush, my Omega purring at his words, and I reach for the shampoo, pouring some into my hands to wash his hair, my fingers massaging his scalp. He groans softly, leaning into my touch, his eyes half-closed, and I smile, loving the way he melts under my hands.

"Turn around," I say, my voice teasing, and he does, letting me rinse the shampoo out, the water turning his dark hair sleek and shiny.

I press a kiss to the back of his neck, just below his scent gland, and he shivers, his hands reaching back to pull me closer.

We take turns washing each other, our touches lingering, turning into something more as the steam fills the air. Yoongi's lips find mine, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, his tongue sliding against mine as he presses me against the shower wall, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

I moan into his mouth, as my hands grip his shoulders, and my slick starts to leak again despite the water washing it away.

"Jimin," he murmurs against my lips, his voice a low growl, his hands sliding down to cup my ass, squeezing gently. "You are gonna drive me crazy."

I laugh, breathless, my lips brushing his jaw.

"Good," I say, my voice husky. "I want you crazy for me."

He groans, kissing me harder, his hands roaming, but he pulls back before we get too carried away, his forehead resting against mine.

"Gotta take care of you first," he says, his voice soft but firm, and he kneels, his hands gentle as he washes my lower belly, his fingers tracing the curve of my bump with care.

He presses soft kisses to the skin there, each one a quiet promise, and I feel tears prick my eyes, the hormones making me overly emotional.

"Our puppy," he whispers, his lips brushing my skin, and I run my fingers through his wet hair, my heart swelling.

"You are gonna be the best Appa. You already are," I say, my voice thick, and he looks up at me, his eyes shining with love.

"And you are the best Amma any pup could wish for," he says, standing to kiss me again, slow and deep, the water cascading around us.

We finish showering, our touches lingering but unhurried, soft in the way that speaks of comfort rather than need. Steam still curls around us as we reach for the towels, the air heavy with warmth and the mingled scent of us. The suppressants have fully faded now, and Yoongi’s scent wraps around me like a blanket. My own, a milky floral softened by the undercurrent of pregnancy, threads through his, intertwining until it feels like something whole and steady. The blend hums quietly between us, a harmony that settles deep in my chest and soothes my Omega, reminding me that I am safe, wanted, and home.

We slip into soft robes, the fabric cool and clean against our freshly warmed skin, and make our way back to the bedroom, were we quickly change the sheets. The air still carries traces of steam and the faint sweetness of our mingled scents.

Yoongi reaches for the stretch mark cream on the nightstand, a ritual he has taken to with quiet devotion ever since my bump began to show. I lie back on the bed, loosening my robe, and he kneels beside me. His hands are warm as he scoops out a small dollop of cream, spreading it gently across my skin. His touch is unhuried, reverent almost, as his fingers trace slow circles over the curve of my belly.

I watch him in the dim light, his expression soft and focused, his thumbs moving with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten. Each motion feels like a promise, silent, steady, and full of love. My breath catches as he leans closer, the faint brush of his hair against my stomach making me smile. My heart aches, full and fragile all at once, because in this simple act of his care and patience, I feel the quiet truth of everything we have built together.

"You don't have to do this every night," I say, my voice soft, though I secretly love the attention.

He glances up, his lips curving into a small smile.

"I want to," he says, his voice low.

"Want to take care of you. Both of you."

I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his, and he leans down to press another kiss to my bump, his lips lingering as if memorizing the moment.

"Healthy and strong," he murmurs, voice low and certain.

The words hit me right in the chest, and before I can stop myself, tears spill over, warm, ridiculous, and unstoppable. 

Hormones, I tell myself, even as I laugh softly through the blur.

We slide beneath the covers, finding each other easily in the dim light. Our bodies fit together the way they always do, close, familiar, and safe. My head rests on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath my ear, grounding me. His scent wraps around me, and I nuzzle closer, breathing it in. My hand finds its place on his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his pajama top.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The room hums with quiet, the kind that only exists between people who have nothing left to prove.

"Yoongi," I say, my voice soft, breaking the quiet. "Have you thought about names?"

He shifts, his hand stroking my back, his voice thoughtful.

"A little," he says. "Haven't settled on anything, though. You got any ideas?"

I smile, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"Maybe something soft for a girl," I say. "Something sweet."

He hums, his lips brushing my hair.

"Sweet is nice," he says. "What about for a boy? Something strong, like Min-jun or Jae-ho."

I nod, considering.

"Min-jun is cute," I say. "But maybe something softer for a boy too, like Ji-hoon or Tae-yong. I don't know, I just want it to feel right."

He chuckles, his hand sliding to my hip.

"We still have got time," he says. "No rush. As long as they are healthy, I don't care what we call them."

I look up at him, my eyes searching his.

"Do you have a preference? Boy or girl?"

He shakes his head, his eyes soft but serious.

"Not one bit," he says, his voice firm. "As long as our puppy is healthy, I'm happy. Boy or girl, doesn't matter. I just want them to have your smile."

My throat tightens, tears spilling over again, and I bury my face in his chest, my voice muffled.

"Yoongi," I say, my voice breaking. "I feel so lucky to have you. I'm so in love with you, it hurts sometimes. It has been five years already, and I still can't believe you are my mate."

He pulls me closer, his arms tightening around me, his lips brushing my forehead.

"Jiminie," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm the lucky one. You have no idea."

I pull back, my eyes meeting his, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice trembling. "You could have had anyone."

He laughs softly, his hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing away my tears.

"I had a crush on you for months before we even talked," he says, his voice low, his eyes shining. "Back when you were working at that convenience store, all tired and stressed, juggling Bora and everything else. I would come in just to see you, pretending I needed snacks or coffee. My wolf knew the second I saw you, Jimin. You were my endgame."

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. His words hit with quiet certainty, so simple and sincere they almost hurt. My heart pounds against my ribs, the sound filling my ears.

"You... you liked me back then?"

My voice comes out barely above a whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks faster than I can wipe them away.

"Even with Bora? Even when I was a mess?"

He nods without hesitation, his eyes burning with a quiet, unwavering truth.

"Especially then," he says. "You were so strong, so beautiful, even when you couldn't see it. Bora wasn't a complication, she was a bonus. From the moment I met you, I knew I wanted both of you, Jimin. My wolf wouldn't shut up about it."

The words hit me with the force of something long buried and deeply wanted. My breath catches, and before I can stop myself, a sob breaks loose, raw, disbelieving, and full of relief. I pull him to me, kissing him hard, desperate to show him everything words can't hold.

He kisses me back with equal hunger, his fingers sliding into my hair, anchoring me. The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, our mouths moving in perfect rhythm. When our tongues meet, the world narrows to heat and breath, to the thrum of his pulse beneath my hands. Every ounce of love, of gratitude, pours out of me and into him, until it feels less like a kiss and more like a vow.

My Omega purrs, the need flaring again, but it is softer now, less urgent, more about connection than lust.

We lose ourselves in each other for a while, lips meeting again and again, slow and hungry, our hands tracing paths across skin and fabric. Our bodies press close, moving in quiet sync, the world shrinking to the rhythm of touch and breath. His scent fills my lungs, steadying the rush in my veins. In his arms, I feel safe. Loved. Whole.

Eventually, we part, breathless, our foreheads resting together. Our breaths mingle in the quiet between kisses, soft and uneven, and for a heartbeat, everything feels impossibly still, just us, suspended in the warmth of what we have become.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice thick, my hands cupping his face. "So much."

"I love you too," he says, his voice rough, his eyes shining. "Always, Jiminie."

We curl together beneath the blankets, his arms around me, my head resting in his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a slow, comforting cadence that eases the edges of the day. Outside, the city hums, distant and constant, but in here, the world has quieted to just us. Our scents mingle in the warm air, a soft blend of love and belonging, a promise written in the language of touch.

My hand drifts to my bump, and his follows, covering mine, his thumb tracing idle circles over my skin. The simple weight of his hand anchors me. We breathe in sync, hearts beating close, and as sleep begins to pull us under, I think of the life growing betweens us, tiny, steady, and already so loved.

We drift off tangled together, our hearts full of each other and the future we are creating.

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The morning light filters through the penthouse curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across our bedroom, warming the sheets tangled around us.

I wake slowly, my body still humming from last night's passion, Yoongi's arm draped possessively over my waist, his mint-and-rain scent enveloping me like a warm blanket. My Omega purrs contentedly, the pregnancy hormones making every touch, every breath of his scent, feel amplified, with a deep, aching need that simmers just beneath the surface.

My pastel pink hair is splayed across the pillow, and I shift slightly, pressing back against him, feeling his arousal stir against my ass. A soft whimper escapes my lips, which has my slick already leaking again. My body is responding to him with a hunger that has been growing stronger every day since the morning sickness eased.

Yoongi stirs behind me, his lips brushing the mating bite on my neck, sending shivers down my spine like electric sparks.

"Morning, Jiminie," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, husky and low, vibrating against my skin.

His hand slides lower, palm splaying gently over my slightly rounded bump, his touch possessive yet tender, fingers tracing lazy circles that make my Omega whine for more.

"How is my mate and our puppy doing?"

I turn in his arms, facing him fully, my hand cupping his cheek, thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble that scratches deliciously against my skin. His dark eyes meet mine, soft and full of love, crinkled at the corners with that sleepy smile I adore, and my heart swells, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, the love, the need, and the life growing inside me.

"We are perfect," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, leaning in to kiss him softly.

Our lips linger in a tender press, no rush, just the quiet promise of us, speaking volumes without words.

The kiss deepens slowly, his tongue brushing mine, tasting of sleep and him, just so addictive. I feel a spark of heat ignite low in my belly, spreading like wildfire, my slick wetting my thighs in a slow, steady trickle. My arousal throbs, hard and insistent, and I press closer to hook my leg over his hip, to start and grind subtly against him.

We pull back, breathless, our foreheads resting together, noses nuzzling in that sweet Eskimo kiss that always makes my heart flutter. My Omega whines softly, needy and desperate for more, the pregnancy turning every sensation into something raw and overwhelming.

"Hyung," I say, my voice low and needy, my hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart under my palm, the warmth of his skin making me ache. "About the mating bite... I want to give it to you. Soon. I need everyone to know you are mine."

His eyes darken instantly, pupils blowing wide with desire, and his breath hitches in his throat. His hand tightens on my hip, as his fingers dig in just enough to leave faint marks, he pulls me flush against him until I can feel every inch of his hardening cock against my thigh.

"Yeah?" he says, his voice rough with want, lips brushing mine in a tease that makes me whimper. "Tell me how you want it, baby. Paint it for me."

I bite my lip, cheeks flushing hot as the words tumble out, my possessiveness flaring from the pregnancy, making me bold and filthy.

"I want to feel you inside me," I say, my voice husky, dripping with need, my fingers tracing his mating gland on his neck, feeling it pulse hot and swollen under my touch, begging for my teeth. "Stretching me wide, knotting me deep, filling me up until I'm dripping with you. And then... I'm going to claim you. Right here."

I press harder on his gland, and he groans, hips bucking involuntarily.

"Mark you as mine, so every fucking Omega knows you are taken, claimed, mine."

He groans loud and deep, the sound rumbling from his chest like thunder, his hips shifting against mine, his cock now fully hard and leaking precum against my skin.

"Fuck, Jimin," he breathes, his hand sliding to cup my ass, squeezing firmly, kneading the flesh until I gasp. "I want that too. Your teeth in me, and your scent all over. But we should plan it right. The bite will make us both clingy as hell for days like last time, there is a chance that my rut might kick in, hard. I can take time off in two weeks. No studio, no meetings. Just us, locked away, fucking like animals until we can't move."

I nod frantically, my body trembling with anticipation, slick leaking more at the thought of his rut, of being knotted for hours, claimed in every way.

"In two weeks then, baby," I agree, my voice breathy and desperate, kissing him again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against his, tasting him fully, devouring him.

The kiss turns wild in seconds, his hands sliding all over my back, hauling me tight against him until there is no space left. Our cocks grind together, mine already slick with precum and his rock-hard. The friction shooting sparks straight through me, making my toes curl. I moan right into his mouth, my Omega is purring like crazy, as the heat builds fast and furious. But he pulls back softly, his forehead pressed to mine, and both of us pant like we have run a marathon.

"Later," he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint, his cock twitching against my thigh. "Let's get up and make breakfast. Bora will be home soon, Tae and JK said they would drop her off after lunch."

I whine softly, a needy, pathetic sound that makes him chuckle, but I nod, my body still aching, with the promise of later keeping the fire simmering low and hot.

"Our puppy," he rasps, voice cracking wide open, hand trembling as it cradles the swell of my belly like it is the whole damn world.

And suddenly the tears just spill, hot and unstoppable, ripping me raw with love.

"You are the best mate, the greatest Appa my pups could ever have. I love you so fucking much," I sob, words scraping out, barely air, my hands clutching at him like he is my only lifeline.

He cups my face, kisses me like I'm the air he desperately needs, trembling with the force of it.

"I love you too, Jiminie. I'm the lucky bastard here, you are literally the best Amma in the world," he chokes, eyes drowning in unshed tears, his forehead crushed to mine, both of us shaking with the depth of it.

We cuddle a little longer, his arms tight around me, lips brushing my bump with tender, reverent kisses that make my heart ache.

A few minutes later we finally drag ourselves up, slipping into soft robes that do nothing to hide our lingering arousals, as the fabric is brushing sensitive skin and making me bite back another moan.

The penthouse is quiet except for the distant city hum as we pad to the kitchen. Yoongi starts on breakfast, as he cracks eggs for fluffy omelets, while the sizzle of the pan fills the air with savory scents. Meanwhile I slice some strawberries and bananas, the sweet juice running over my fingers.

Our movements are synchronized, a dance we have perfected over the years, bumping hips playfully, and stealing quick kisses between tasks. I smile, my heart feeling impossibly full, the domesticity grounding me even as the heat simmers.

After breakfast of omelets loaded with veggies, fresh fruit, steaming coffee for Yoongi and chamomile tea for me, we clean up. Yoongi washes the dishes at the sink while I dry, the warm water and soap bubbles a simple pleasure. But as I reach for a plate, Yoongi's hand brushes mine, lingering deliberately. His eyes darken with that familiar, hungry heat that makes my knees weak.

"Jiminie," he says, his voice low and gravelly.

He pulls me closer by the waist, and his lips find my neck, kissing softly along my pulse point, while his teeth graze just enough to make me shiver.

I gasp, my body responding instantly, with slick leaking in a fresh gush as his hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him. His hard cock presses insistently against my hip.

"Hyung," I murmur, my voice needy and breathy, as my hands grip his shirt, fisting the fabric like I will die if I let go.

He spins me suddenly, pressing me against the counter, the cool marble a shock against my back as his lips claim mine in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of coffee and pure him, dominating my mouth until I'm dizzy. His hands wander greedily, one sliding under my robe to cup my ass, squeezing firmly, while his fingers dig into the soft flesh and as he spreads me slightly. The other hand traces my bump with reverence, with his thumb circling my navel like it is sacred.

"You are so fucking hot," he groans against my lips, his arousal grinding against my thigh, leaving a wet trail of precum. "Pregnant and all, you drive me fucking insane. Your scent, your body, fuck, I could knot you right here."

I moan loud and shameless, grinding back against him, the friction of our robes doing nothing to hide how hard we both are.

"I want you," I whisper, my voice desperate and broken, my hands tugging at his robe, yanking it open to feel his bare chest.

My nails scrape lightly down his abs.

"I need you inside me, hyung. Please."

He growls, low and possessive, the sound vibrating through me, and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively. His lips trail down my neck, nipping at my mating bite until I arch, whimpering. His hands part my thighs wide, which has my robe fall open to expose me completely. His fingers brush my slick entrance, teasing the rim, circling but not entering. Instead he gathers the wetness and spreads it up to my cock, and starts to stroke me slow and torturous.

I whimper, hips bucking, and begging for more, while my slick drips onto the counter in obscene puddles.

"Yoongi," I gasp, my voice breaking into a sob of need, as my hands fist in his hair, and pull hard.

He drops to his knees without warning, his tongue licking a slow, filthy stripe up my inner thigh, lapping at the slick like it is nectar. The taste makes him groan deep and guttural.

"So sweet for me," he murmurs, his lips brushing my entrance, hot breath teasing me until I'm trembling.

Then his tongue dives in, deep and relentless, curling inside me, fucking me with it while his nose bumps my balls. The sensation is overwhelming, wet and hot, his lips sucking at my rim like he is starving. His fingers join to stretch me, scissoring me gently, curling to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes, and my vision whiting out.

"Hyung, please, fuck, right there," I beg, my body trembling violently, moans loud and desperate as he eats me out like a man possessed, tongue lapping every drop of slick, and fingers thrusting in rhythm.

My cock leaks steadily, untouched, the pleasure coiling tight and hot in my belly, ready to snap.

He sucks harder, tongue flicking my prostate mercilessly, and I feel myself teetering on the edge, moans turning to broken whimpers, while my thighs clamp around his head.

"Not yet, baby," he says, pulling back with a wet pop, his lips glistening with my slick, and his chin dripping.

His eyes are dark and feral with want. I whine pathetically, my body aching, empty and desperate, while slick still leaks in pulses.

He stands, hands gripping my hips bruisingly, rutting against me hard. Our cocks slide together in the mess of slick and precum, the friction hot and perfect, skin on skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I moan into his mouth as he kisses me again, and I taste myself on his tongue, musky, sweet, and a little filthy. My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in, grinding back desperately. The head of his cock catches on my rim with every thrust, teasing entry but not giving it.

"Fuck, Jimin," he groans, voice rough and wrecked, hips snapping faster, the wet slap of skin echoing in the kitchen. "You are gonna make me come just like this, your slick everywhere, so fucking wet for me."

I'm close, so goddamn close, the slick making everything slippery and obscene, which has the coil in my belly tightening unbearably.

"Yoongi... I... gonna..." I gasp, and he thrusts harder, once, twice, and my release crashes over me like a wave, spilling hot between us in thick ropes, coating our stomachs as I cry out, body shaking, and clenching around nothing.

Yoongi follows just seconds later, his groan low and animalistic, while release spilling over my bump, warm and sticky, marking me in the most primal way.

We stay like that, breathless and trembling, his forehead against mine, and scents mingling rich and heady of mint, rain, milk, flowers, and sex.

"I love you," he murmurs, kissing me softly, tenderly, while swiping the tears from my cheeks I didn't even realize were falling.

"I love you too," I say, voice trembling with aftershocks, my heart so full it hurts.

We clean up slowly. The counter is wiped down with shaky hands, and robes tied loosely and still buzzing bodies. Yoongi carries me to the bedroom when my legs give out, laying me down gently. He pulls me into his arms, after getting comfortable next to me. We talk softly, about the pup kicking soon, Bora's excitement, and the upcoming mating bite in two weeks. With our voices low and intimate, and hands linked over my bump.

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Chapter Text

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PJM

One and a half weeks have slipped by in a whirlwind of domestic bliss, stolen moments of passion, and the quiet thrill of waiting for Yoongi's time off so I can finally claim him with my mating bite.

My baby bump has grown a bit more noticeable now, a gentle, rounded curve that strains slightly against my fitted shirts, a visible reminder of the life blooming inside me. Yoongi can't keep his hands off it, his palms splaying over the swell every chance he gets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns as he whispers sweet nothings to our pup, his voice low and reverent.

"Grow strong, little one," he will murmur, his lips brushing my skin, and my Omega purrs every time, the hormones turning his touch into something electric.

The morning sickness has mostly faded, thank god, replaced by a ravenous hunger, for food, for Yoongi, for everything life is giving me. I crave strange combinations, like kimchi with ice cream, spicy tteokbokki followed by sweet mango slices. Yoongi indulges me without question, whipping up midnight snacks with a fond smile.

Our nights are filled with heat, his knot locking us together as I beg for more, my body insatiable, slick dripping down my thighs as he claims me over and over. But the days are softer, filled with Bora's endless energy, as she chatters nonstop about being a big sister. Her crayon portraits of our growing family are taped to the fridge, and her curls bouncing as she demands cuddles from both of us, with her small hands pressing against my bump in wonder.

"Feel it, Amma!" she will squeal sometimes, even though it is still too early for kicks, and I will laugh, pulling her close, kissing her forehead.

Yoongi watches us with that soft, adoring gaze, his Alpha content but always protective, his hand never far from me.

Today, though, the air in the car is thick with nervous excitement, a palpable buzz that makes my skin tingle.

Yoongi's hand rests on my thigh as he drives us to the clinic for my check-up, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over the fabric of my loose sweater, but it does little to calm the butterflies swirling in my stomach.

This appointment is a big one, we are far enough along now, around 17 weeks, that the doctor might be able to determine the pup's gender if they cooperate. The thought sends a flutter of joy and nerves spiraling through me, my hand unconsciously drifting to my bump, rubbing gently as if to reassure the little one.

A few strands of my pastel pink hair frame my face, and I glance at Yoongi, effortlessly handsome in his black shirt and jeans, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, his scent warm and steadying despite the faint edge of his own anticipation. He catches my eye, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.

"You okay, Jiminie?" he asks, his voice soft but laced with that Alpha calm that always grounds me, though I can see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flex slightly on the wheel.

I nod, placing my hand over his on my thigh, lacing our fingers together.

"Yeah," I say, my voice a little breathy. "Just... excited. Nervous. What if the pup doesn't cooperate? Or what if the doctor can't tell? Or—"

He squeezes my fingers gently, his thumb resuming its circles, his eyes flicking back to the road but his presence fully with me.

"Hey, breathe," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Everything is fine. The doc said last time our little one looked perfect, strong heartbeat, and good growth. This is just another peek. And maybe..."

He smirks playfully, glancing at me again, his eyes crinkling.

"Maybe today is the day we find out if we are shopping for pink or blue. Trucks or dolls."

I huff a laugh, the tension easing slightly, my free hand still on my bump.

"Or yellow," I say, smiling despite the nerves. "Bora is already insisting on a rainbow nursery, remember? She drew up plans, complete with a unicorn and glitter walls."

"Right," he chuckles, his hand squeezing mine again, the sound of his laughter warming me from the inside out. "Our puppy is gonna be spoiled rotten no matter what. Bora has got all her big sister duties planned already, everything. With the amount of storytime that pup is gonna get, I wouldn't be surprised if they grew up to be more cultured than half the adults we know."

I laugh as I lean back in the seat, my head turning to watch the city blur by, the skyscrapers glinting in the midday sun.

"This pup is going to be so loved," I say softly, my voice thick with emotion.

He glances at me, his eyes softening, and for a moment, the car feels like our own little world.

"As are you," he says, his voice low and sincere.

My throat tightens, tears pricking my eyes, damn hormones, and I squeeze his hand, not trusting my voice.

When the clinic finally comes into view, a modern building with wide windows and a welcoming entrance, my pulse quickens again, a rapid thrum in my chest.

Yoongi parks smoothly in the underground lot, his hand never leaving mine as we step out into the cool air, the echo of our footsteps the only sound. He pulls me close as we walk to the elevator, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, his lips brushing my temple in a quick, reassuring kiss.

"Whatever we find out," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, "they are ours. That is all that matters. Healthy and happy."

"I know," I whisper back, leaning into him, inhaling his scent deeply to steady myself. "I just can't wait to know. To say 'he' or 'she' instead of 'they.' It will make it... more real."

He nods, his arm tightening.

"Yeah. Me too."

The waiting room is calm, softer than I remember, with plush chairs and magazines scattered on tables, full of expectant couples like us, some Omegas with visible bumps, and Alphas hovering protectively. We check in, and Yoongi guides me to a seat in the corner, his arm still around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I rest my head on his shoulder, my hand on my bump, feeling the subtle weight of the life inside.

"Remember our first ultrasound?" I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "When it was just a little blob with a heartbeat?"

He smiles, his fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

"Yeah. And now our pup has got arms and legs, probably sucking their thumb or something."

I laugh quietly, the image warming me.

"Do you think they will be like Bora? All energy and curls?"

"Or like you," he says, his voice teasing but fond. "Sassy and beautiful, with that smile that lights up rooms."

"Or like you," I counter, looking up at him. "Quiet but fierce, with those eyes that see everything."

He leans down, kissing me softly, his lips lingering.

"Or a mix of all of us," he murmurs. "Perfect."

"Park Jimin?"

The nurse calls my name and my heart leaps. We stand, Yoongi's hand in mine, and follow her down the hall to the softly lit ultrasound room, the familiar hum of the machine already waiting. The doctor, a Beta with a kind smile, greets us as I settle onto the exam table, the paper crinkling under me. Yoongi stands beside me, his hand never leaving mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles.

"Ready for another look?" the doctor asks, her voice calm and reassuring as she preps the wand, squeezing gel onto my belly.

"More than ready," I say, my voice a little shaky, and Yoongi squeezes my hand.

The gel is cool, a familiar chill, and the wand presses against my skin. The monitor flickers to life, and there they are. Our pup. No longer a blob, but a tiny person, limbs moving gracefully, and little hands flexing, with their heart fluttering strong and fast. The steady thump-thump-thump echoes through the room like music. My breath catches, and tears well instantly, while Yoongi's hand trembles slightly in mine, with his eyes glued to the screen.

"Look at that," he whispers, his voice rough with awe. "They are... dancing."

The pup kicks a leg, almost in response, and I laugh through my tears.

"Hi, puppy," I say softly, my free hand joining Yoongi's on my bump.

"Everything looks excellent," the doctor says warmly, her eyes on the screen. "Strong heartbeat, good growth, right on track for 17 weeks. The placenta is healthy, amniotic fluid perfect. Now, let's see if we can get a peek at the gender. Sometimes they are shy, but..."

I hold my breath, my heart pounding, as the doctor tilts the probe, searching angles, zooming in. Seconds stretch into small eternities. The room is silent except for the heartbeat and our breathing. Yoongi leans closer, his body tense with anticipation, his thumb still brushing my skin in steady rhythm.

Then, the doctor hums softly, a knowing sound, and adjusts the angle one more time. She smiles, her eyes lighting up.

"Well," she says, her voice bright with certainty, "it looks like you are having a—"

My world tilts, the words hanging in the air, and Yoongi's hand tightens in mine, his breath leaving him in a shaky, incredulous laugh. His eyes go wide, then impossibly soft, brimming with tears as he stares at the screen, then turns to me, his face transformed with so much love it steals my words, my breath.

"Really?" I whisper, my voice trembling, tears spilling down my cheeks as the reality sinks in.

He nods, his own eyes glistening, a grin of pure and radiant joy breaks across his face.

"Yeah, Jiminie... really. Our little puppy."

The doctor chuckles, printing out the ultrasound images, the machine whirring softly.

"Congratulations again to you both," she says, handing Yoongi the photos. "Perfectly healthy, growing beautifully. I will give you a moment."

She steps out, the door clicking shut, and Yoongi presses a gentle and reverent kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering as he helps me sit up, wiping the gel from my belly with a towel. His smile is radiant, but there is something secret glimmering behind it now, a shared knowledge that makes my heart race.

"I can't believe it," I say softly, my hand on my bump, feeling the truth settle warm and real inside me.

"Me neither," he says, his voice thick, pulling me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly. "God, Jimin... I love you."

I laugh through my tears, clinging to him.

"I love you too. It's... perfect."

He pulls back, cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my tears.

"You are perfect," he says, kissing me deeply, slowly, pouring all his love into it.

━━━━

The drive home feels like floating on a cloud, the world outside blurring by in a haze of sunlight and cityscapes. I can't stop touching the pictures in my lap, the blurred outline of our pup, the tiny proof of their gender captured forever.

Yoongi keeps stealing glances at me, a quiet grin tugging at his lips, his hand alternating between the wheel and my thigh.

"Still thinking about it?" he teases softly, his voice warm, his eyes flicking to the photos.

"Maybe," I admit, my fingers tracing the image, resting a hand on my bump. "It feels... real now. Like I can picture the little one."

He hums, his hand covering mine on my thigh, grounding me as always.

"Our little one," he murmurs, voice full of quiet awe, his thumb stroking my skin. "Perfect in every way. I keep imagining... holding our pup. Seeing Bora with her sibling."

"Me too," I say, my voice soft, turning to him. "She is going to be so excited."

The rest of the drive is filled with comfortable silence, a shared secret humming between us, too beautiful to break just yet, the gender a precious gem we hold close. Yoongi's hand stays on me, his scent steady, and I lean into the seat, with my heart full.

When we finally pull into the garage, the penthouse waiting above, he turns to me, eyes sparkling with affection and that playful glint.

"Lunch?" he asks softly, unbuckling.

I nod, smiling wide.

"Lunch. And maybe a nap after. With you."

He grins, leaning over to kiss me.

"Deal. And maybe... a little celebration later."

My Omega purrs at the promise, heat flickering low, but for now, it is the joy, the love, our growing family, that fills me completely.

As we head upstairs, our laughter echoes softly in the hall, the joy of our pup, our tiny miracle, stays nestled just between us.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It is Friday afternoon, the kind of golden hour that makes everything feel suspended in time. The sun dips low behind the schoolyard, casting long shadows over the playground where laughter and shrieks of joy mingle with the rustle of falling leaves. The air carries that crisp edge of early autumn, tinged with the faint scent of chalk and earth.

Yoongi and I stand by the school gates, waiting for Bora. My fingers are laced with his, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over my knuckles. A gentle breeze teases the pastel pink strands of my hair, making them shimmer in the light. He smells cool and grounding, and the simple weight of his presence steadies the flutter of anticipation in my chest.

We are not alone. A small crowd of parents gathers nearby, voices weaving together in easy chatter. Minseo stands a few steps away, animatedly talking about the upcoming school festival, her hands moving as if painting the air with excitement. On my other side, Timoteo leans casually against the fence, his expression open and friendly, though his gaze lingers a bit too long when Yoongi looks away.

He has been that way since the first parent-teacher night, harmless, mostly, but not subtle. I can always feel the weight of his eyes, the faint tension that hums in the space between polite smiles. Yoongi notices, of course. He always does. Without a word, he slips his arm around my waist, the movement easy, natural, but unmistakably possessive.

I glance up to find his lips curved in that faint, knowing smirk, the one that says he is amused rather than jealous. His hand tightens slightly, pulling me closer until my shoulder rests against him.

"So, Jimin," Minseo says, her voice enthusiastic as she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, "Bora mentioned something about a family art project for the festival. Amy's been drawing non-stop, says it's inspired by Bora's ideas."

I laugh softly, my free hand resting on my bump.

“Yeah, Bora’s got big plans. She wants to paint a mural of our family with rainbows, unicorns, and the whole magical kingdom.”

Timoteo chuckles, his eyes flicking to me with that familiar warmth.

"Sounds like Bora. She has got your creativity, Jimin."

His gaze lingers for a beat before he adds with a he gesture toward my pink strands, his smile deepening.

“And that new hair, you pull it off perfectly. Yoongi is a lucky guy.”

Yoongi's grip tightens slightly on my waist, his voice casual but edged with amusement.

"That, I am," he says, his eyes meeting Timoteo's with a subtle challenge. "Jimin is one of a kind."

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I lean a little closer into Yoongi, my Omega quietly purring at his protectiveness.

"Stop it, you two," I say playfully, though my cheeks heat.

Minseo laughs, completely oblivious to the undercurrent that hums just beneath the surface.

The sound of the school bell rings out, sharp and bright, scattering the lingering sunlight like a cue for the scene to shift. Doors burst open, and a flood of children spills into the courtyard, color, noise, and joy tumbling forward. And in that rush, I spot Bora with her little backpack bouncing, her eyes lighting up the moment she sees us.

"Amma! Appa!" she yells, waving wildly, dodging other kids with practiced ease as she runs.

She greets everyone in a whirlwind, hugging Minseo's legs, and high-fiving Timoteo, before barreling into me.

Her small arms wrap around my waist with surprising strength, her face pressing naturally against my belly, the perfect height for her little world to meet the one growing inside me. She nuzzles in close, the energy in her movements softening into something gentle, reverent.

"Hi, little sister," she murmurs, her small hand patting my bump gently. "I missed you today."

My heart squeezes, warmth spilling through me until it blurs behind my lashes. Damn hormones. A laugh catches in my throat, tangled with a sniffle, and I slide my fingers through her curls, still warm from the sun.

"She missed you too, puppy," I say softly, my voice thick.

The memory floods back then, vivid and warm, pulling me into the past like a gentle wave.

It was a quiet evening, just two days ago, the penthouse bathed in the honeyed glow of sunset filtering through the wide windows. Bora lay sprawled on the living room rug, humming softly as she colored another family portrait, stick figures with oversized heads, me with pink hair, Yoongi holding a guitar, and her in the middle, a bright smile drawn between us. Beside her, a tiny blob labeled "puppy" completed the picture. Yoongi and I shared a glance over her head, a silent spark passing between us, the secret we had been holding close ever since the ultrasound. Our little girl.

We had planned it carefully, wanting every detail to feel special. Yoongi had baked cookies shaped like stars, their sweet scent filling the kitchen. The table was scattered with crayons, half-finished drawings, and a little vase of wildflowers Bora had picked herself.

“Puppy,” I said softly, settling beside her while Yoongi sat on her other side.

My hand brushed hers gently.

“Appa and I have something to tell you.”

Her crayons paused mid-stroke. She looked up at us, eyes wide and curious.

“What is it, Amma?” she asked, her voice tentative.

Tears already pricking behind my eyes, I scooped her into my lap, holding her tight. The warmth of her small body pressed into me, and I could feel the familiar flutter of the baby inside.

"We found out something at the doctor today." I whispered.

Yoongi leaned in, one hand resting protectively on my bump, his thumb brushing over the soft curve.

“The puppy… your little sibling… it’s a girl,” he said gently. “You’re going to have a baby sister.”

Bora froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, mouth forming a perfect “O.” And then, as if a dam had broken, tears spilled down her cheeks. She flung her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder, sobbing with uncontained joy.

"A sister! A little sister! I'm so happy, Amma!"

I held her tight, rocking her gently, my own tears slipping freely. Yoongi wrapped his arms around both of us, holding us together, his own eyes misty with emotion.

"Happy tears, puppy?" he asked, his voice thick.

She nodded furiously, sniffles rattling through her little body.

"The happiest! I will teach her everything, drawing, dancing, how to hug Amma and Appa!"

We laughed through the tears, a tangle of limbs and love. The cookies sat forgotten on the table, the crayons scattered, and the world outside the kitchen faded. Bora pulled back just enough to press both hands on my bump, her eyes shining.

"Hi, baby sister," she whispered, her voice wobbly but full of love. "I'm your big sister Bora. I can't wait to meet you."

I stroked her hair, brushing away stray curls from her tear-streaked face. Yoongi kissed the top of my head, murmuring.

"Our family just got a little brighter.”

The moment was perfect, our family complete in that heartbeat, the secret of our daughter sealing us tighter.

Yoongi kneels beside her, ruffling her hair.

"Hey, big sister. Ready for the weekend?"

Bora nods enthusiastically, but her eyes are on my bump, sparkling with joy. Minseo's eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth.

"You are pregnant? Jimin, oh my god, congratulations!"

Timoteo's brows shoot up, his smile genuine but with a flicker of surprise, and maybe a touch of envy.

"Wow, another one? That's amazing. You look... radiant."

Yoongi stands, his arm around me again, pride radiating from him.

"Yeah, we are excited," he says, his voice warm.

Amy and Lila, who have caught up to their parents, squeal in unison.

"Bora told us already!" Amy exclaims, bouncing on her toes. "She is having a baby sister! We are going to play dolls with her!"

Lila nods vigorously.

"And dress-up! Bora said she will share her toys!"

Bora beams, hugging me tighter.

"I told them at recess," she says proudly. "They are my best friends, I had to. They had to know!"

I laugh, wiping a stray tear as Minseo and Timoteo continue showering us with congratulations, hugs, and warm wishes. We linger a little longer, the kids chattering excitedly about upcoming playdates, their energy a comforting hum in the background. But soon, it is time to part, Bora will be spending the next week with Jin and Namjoon, a plan we had arranged carefully to give us some space.

Tonight, I will give Yoongi the mating bite. With his rut likely peaking, we will be lost in each other for days, consumed, barely able to think of anything else. The thought is bittersweet, knowing we can’t fully care for her during that time, but Jin and Namjoon are thrilled, and little Soobin is practically bouncing at the prospect of “big cousin” time.

"See you soon," Minseo says, waving as she herds Amy away.

Timoteo lingers a second, his smile soft.

"Take care, Jimin. Yoongi, keep him happy and relaxed."

Yoongi nods, his grin sharp.

"Of course, always."

As they leave, Bora tugs my hand.

"Amma, when do I go to Uncle Jin's?"

"Soon, puppy," I say, scooping her up despite my bump, her weight familiar and comforting. "But first, you will spend the afternoon with us."

━━━━

Bora chatters beside me in the car, her backpack resting on the seat next to her. She is talking non-stop, about her day at school, a new friend, and a wild story she made up about a dragon. Yoongi drives, his hand resting lightly on my thigh, stealing soft glances at me with that quiet, content smile.

We stop for ice cream on the way home, picking up her favorite, strawberry swirl, of course. The sun dips lower as we finish the cones, the creamy sweetness lingering on our tongues. We sit in the park afterward, the cool evening air wrapping around us as we watch Bora swing higher and higher, her laughter bright and free, filling the space between us like music.

"Push me higher, Appa!" she yells, and Yoongi obliges, his deep chuckles mixing with her giggles.

I watch them, my hand on my bump, feeling our daughter, a quiet flutter, the first real kick, making me gasp. Yoongi's eyes meet mine in excitement.

The afternoon slips into evening as we settle at home, Bora eager to "help" pack her bag for Jin's, though it is mostly filled with toys and crumpled drawings. In the kitchen, we cook dinner together, a simple bibimbap. Bora's tiny hands grip the big spoon, stirring with exaggerated concentration, the sauce splattering across her nose. Laughter spills through the penthouse, a soft, comforting sound that fills every corner. The air is warm with the familiar scents of home and the delicious, simmering meal.

As dusk falls, we drive to Jin and Namjoon's, Bora bouncing with excitement in the backseat.

"Uncle Jin said we will have pancakes for breakfast!" she exclaims.

Namjoon greets us at the door, his smile wide and easy, the comforting smell of something simmering drifting out from the kitchen. Soobin toddles close behind him, clutching a toy car in one hand, eyes lighting up when he spots Bora. From deeper inside, Jin waves with a wooden spoon, an apron tied loosely around his waist. The entryway fills with voices and laughter, coats half-hung, shoes kicked aside in the familiar chaos of family. Bora barely pauses for a goodbye hug before she is swept away, already chasing Soobin down the hall, their laughter echoing off the walls. Jin chuckles, shaking his head as he ushers us in, the evening unfolding around us like something soft and well-worn, safe, ordinary, and utterly precious.

"Take your time," Jin says softly, hugging me tight. "We have got her. Enjoy your... second bonding."

Yoongi smirks, his arm around me.

"Oh, we will."

Namjoon claps Yoongi's back.

"Call if you need anything."

We linger a moment, Bora waving from Soobin's side, then leave, the door closing on her happy shouts.

In the car, Yoongi's hand finds mine.

"Are you ready, Jiminie?"

My heart races, heat and love coiling.

"For you? Always."

━━━━

The penthouse door clicks shut behind us, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet after Bora's laughter fades into memory, leaving only the hum of the city far below and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

The floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering skyline, but my world narrows to Yoongi, his scent flooding the air like a storm breaking, mint and rain and raw Alpha need crashing over me, drowning my senses. My Omega whines deep in my chest, a desperate, needy sound, slick already pooling hot and thick between my thighs. The pregnancy hormones turn every breath into gasoline on an open flame, igniting me from the inside out.

My cock twitches, hardening instantly, straining against my pants, and I shift, as the friction makes me gasp softly.

Yoongi turns, his eyes dark and blown wide, pupils swallowing the warm brown until only a thin ring remains, feral and hungry. He doesn't speak, just stalks forward, slow and deliberate, each step a promise, until my back meets the hallway wall with a soft thud. His hands cage me in, forearms braced beside my head, his muscles flexing under his shirt, and he leans in close. His nose drags up the column of my throat in a slow, possessive drag. He inhales me deep, before a guttural growl rumbles from his chest as he scents me. His mint floods my lungs, marking me from the inside.

"Fuck, Jimin," he growls, voice gravel-rough and wrecked, vibrating against my skin. "Your scent, so milky, so sweet, so fucking mine. I have been half-hard all day thinking about tonight, and you claiming me."

I tilt my head instinctively, baring my neck in submission and invitation to get to his bite mark. A soft, breathy moan slips free as his tongue flicks over my mating bite, the sensitive scar sending sparks exploding straight to my cock, making it throb painfully. My slick gushes relentlessly, soaking through my underwear, which has the wetness spreading down my thighs.

"I'm all yours," I breathe, my voice trembling with need, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him close desperately. "But from tonight on, you will be mine too. I'm gonna mark you, make you smell like me forever."

He shudders violently, a low, animalistic rumble vibrating in his chest, his hips rolling forward involuntarily, grinding his hardness against my thigh. The feel of him, thick, hot, and pulsing. It makes me whimper, and my hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled. One hand slides down to cup the curve of my belly, his thumb stroking reverently over the swell, even as his eyes burn with lust.

"Our daughter is in there," he rasps, voice thick with awe and possession, "and you are still the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen. I need to scent you."

He growls, pulling back just enough to yank my sweater over my head in one swift motion.

It hits the floor, forgotten, and cool air kisses my flushed skin, turning my nipples to harden instantly. But his body heat chases it away as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his nose rubbing hard against my scent gland, as both of ours flare hot and needy.

His mint floods me, overwhelms me, as he marks every inch, and I whimper, my slick dripping down my legs in rivulets, soaking through my pants completely.

"Yoongi, please," I beg, hands fumbling with his buttons.

My fingers are shaking as I expose his chest, as the warm, taut skin under my palms makes me dizzy. He helps, shrugging out of his shirt with impatient jerks, and then we are chest to chest. His scent glands drag over mine in deliberate, grinding passes. Sparks explode behind my eyes, as our pheromones tangle into a perfect, heady storm of milky-floral and minty-rain, blending until I can't tell where I end and he begins.

He drops to his knees without warning, palms sliding up my thighs, pushing my pants and underwear down in one rough motion. My cock springs free, flushed and leaking, precum beading at the tip in a steady drip, and he groans deep in his throat, nuzzling the base shamelessly, inhaling my scent like it is his drug.

"You smell so fucking good," he mutters, voice muffled against my skin, tongue flicking out to lap at the precum, swirling around the sensitive head with deliberate slowness.

The wet heat of his mouth, the velvet drag of his tongue, it feels electric, and pleasure shoots up my spine, making my knees almost buckle.

I cry out, and my fingers thread through his dark hair, gripping tight as my hips buck involuntarily into his face.

"Hyung... fuck—"

He takes me into his mouth in one smooth, filthy glide, lips stretching wide around my girth, relaxing his throat until his nose presses firm into my pelvis, burying himself to the root. The heat is scorching, the wet suction overwhelming, when his cheeks hollow as he sucks hard. His tongue swirls under the head, flicking the frenulum with precision that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I keen, my thighs trembling violently, as slick gushes from my hole in response, running down my legs in hot streams.

He pulls off with a lewd, wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to my cock, and chases the slick with his tongue, lapping up every drop from my thighs like he is starving for it, the musky-sweet taste making him groan louder.

"Turn around," he orders, voice absolutely wrecked, hands gripping my hips to spin me before I can think.

I obey instantly, bracing my hands on the wall, ass presented to him, dripping and open, my hole fluttering desperately. He spreads my cheeks wide, groaning at the sight of my slick-drenched rim, pink and swollen, clenching on air.

"Look at you, so wet for me, baby. Leaking like a fucking faucet. I'm gonna eat you out till you are sobbing, till you can't stand."

His tongue dives in without mercy, hot, slick, and relentless, fucking into me deep, curling to spear that spot inside that makes my vision white out completely. I scream, the sound raw and broken, pushing back instinctively, riding his face as he devours me like a man possessed. His lips suck hard at my rim, his tongue thrusting in and out in a brutal rhythm, the wet squelch obscene and perfect.

Suddenly, his fingers join, two at first, thick and calloused, stretching me wide with a burn that morphs into blinding pleasure, scissoring open before a third slides in, curling to peg my prostate relentlessly. The dual assault of tongue lapping slick, and fingers fucking deep, has me sobbing, with tears streaming down my face, and my cock dripping untouched onto the floor in steady pulses.

"Yoongi, fuck, right there, don't stop, please, I'm—"

The pressure builds impossibly fast, a coil snapping tight in my gut, and I shatter, coming hard with a broken, guttural cry. Ropes of cum splatter the wall in thick arcs, as my hole clenches spasmodically around his tongue and fingers, milking them as waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me shaking, and boneless.

He doesn't let up, licking me through the aftershocks with broad, soothing strokes, his tongue delving deep to gather every drop of slick until I'm trembling, oversensitive, whining pathetically. Only then does he stand, spinning me to face him, his mouth glistening with my essence. He looks beautiful with his chin dripping, and his lips swollen and red. He kisses me filthy and deep, his tongue shoving the taste of myself into my mouth, all musky, sweet, and utterly debauched. I moan into it, my hands clawing at his back, and nails leaving red trails.

"Your turn," I pant, dropping to my knees before he can protest, the hardwood cool against my skin.

His cock strains against his jeans, a massive wet spot blooming at the tip from his precum. I free him eagerly, the thick length slapping heavy against my cheek, hot and veined. The scent of his arousal makes my mouth water. I wrap my lips around the head, sucking hard and immediate, my cheeks hollow as I swirl my tongue around the crown, dipping into the slit to taste his salty precum of addictive, pure Alpha essence.

He groans, hips jerking forward, hands tangling roughly in my hair.

"Jimin, fuck, your mouth... So hot, so wet—"

I take him deeper, relaxing my throat with practiced ease, diving down until my nose buries in his pubic hair, swallowing around his length. The stretch in my throat is exquisite, his cock pulsing hot against my tongue, and he curses loudly, thrusting shallowly into the tight heat. I hum deliberately, the vibrations rippling down his shaft, making him shudder violently, his balls drawing tight under my rolling fingers. I pull back slow, tongue tracing every throbbing vein, lapping at the underside before sucking the head like a lollipop, hollowing my cheeks until he is babbling incoherently. My hand pumps the base, slick with spit and precum, the wet schlick-schlick filling the hall.

"Enough," he rasps, voice shredded, hauling me up by the arms, mouth crashing into mine in a bruising kiss. "Bed. Now. I need to be inside you."

We stumble down the hall, shedding the rest of our clothes in a frantic trail of jeans, socks, and everything else, until we are bare, skin on skin. He pushes me onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my heated back, and crawls over me like a predator, scenting every inch of my neck, and chest. He sucks hard on my nipples, the sharp pull sending a jolt through me that forces my back to arch high off the bed. Then he trails reverent kisses along the swollen curve of my bump, his lips worshipful against the taut skin. Lower still, he nips possessive marks into my thighs as he descends my body, slow and deliberate bites that bloom into heat. Until I'm writhing beneath him, slick pooling in a growing wet spot on the sheets, my cock leaking steadily onto my stomach. His cock slides deliciously against mine, hot and heavy, both of us leaking profusely, the friction maddening of our mixing precum, and slick smearing, the glide perfect and torturous.

"Want you inside," I beg, spreading my legs wide, knees hooked over his hips, hole clenching visibly, begging. "Knot me, hyung, please, fill me up, breed me—"

He growls, primal and deep, lining up with shaking hands, the blunt head of his cock nudging my entrance, smearing through the slick.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby," he promises, voice dark. "Knot you so deep you will feel me for days, dripping with me."

He pushes in slow, torturously slow, inch by thick inch stretching me wide, the burn morphing into blinding fullness, every ridge and vein dragging against my walls. I moan loud and broken, my nails raking his back in red lines, as my legs wraps tighter around his waist to pull him deeper. When he bottoms out, his balls pressed flush against my ass, we both still, panting harshly, our foreheads pressed together, and eyes locked, with all our love and lust swirling.

"Move," I whisper, clenching deliberately around him, and he does in long, deep thrusts that hit every sensitive spot, his cock dragging over my prostate with every stroke.

The room fills with the wet slap of skin on skin, my squelching slick, our echoing moans and gasps. His knot swells at the base, catching on my rim with every pull back, the tug sending jolts of pleasure-pain that make me sob.

"Yoon... Yoongi... I... I'm... close," I gasp, my cock trapped between us, leaking steadily onto my bump in pearly streaks. "Knot me, Alpha. Now—"

He slams in hard one final time, his knot popping past my rim with a filthy, audible stretch, locking us together as he comes with a roar that shakes the bed. Hot pulses flood me deep, painting my insides, as the pressure triggers my own release. Cum spurts between us in thick ropes, splattering our stomachs and chests as I clench around him rhythmically, milking him of every drop, waves of ecstasy crash me until I'm boneless.

We collapse, still locked tight, his weight grounding me, and his cock pulsing inside me. His neck is bared instinctively, his gland pulsing hot and swollen, begging, and I strike. My teeth sink deep into the soft skin, piercing the gland with a wet crunch, the metallic tang of blood flooding my tongue as I claim him forever.

He cries out, a raw, broken sound, as his hips jerk hard once more with another spurt of cum flooding me as the bond snaps into place. It is electric, a golden thread weaving between our souls, exploding in white-hot light behind my eyes. I feel him, every emotion, every pulse of love and possession, his pleasure mirroring mine, amplifying until we are one.

Mine.

The word echoes in my mind, in my blood, in the very fiber of our beings. His scent shifts irrevocably, laced with my floral essence, permanent and perfect.

I lick the wound closed, purring deep and satisfied as the bite seals, the bond thrumming between us like a living heartbeat. He nuzzles my neck, whispering praises.

"My Omega, my mate, my everything"

His hands stroke my bump gently, our daughter safe and cocooned between us, probably feeling the shift in our bond.

We stay knotted, tangled, scented, and fully claimed, bodies humming with remnants of mating heat, the tension dissolving into blissful afterglow. The act is complete, the bond sealed, but the night is only beginning, its pulse quickening. The world outside fades into shadows, the air thick with the promise of more, rounds of rut-fueled fucking, knots, bites, and love.

We remain caught in this moment, time stretching, hours ours to shape in sweat and slick and endless devotion.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

I wake up to sunlight spilling across the bed like warm honey and the faint scent of fresh paint drifting under the bedroom door. It is a Saturday, exactly four weeks since Yoongi and I stumbled out of our mating-rut haze, still dizzy with my claiming bite and the brand-new completeness of our bond.

My bump has grown into a proper little basketball under my ribs, round and firm and impossible to hide. Our daughter kicks in lazy somersaults every time Yoongi’s voice rumbles nearby, like she is already tuned to her Appa’s frequency.

Today is Nursery Day.

We have been talking about it for weeks now, Bora picked the colors (light lavender walls with butter-yellow accents because “purple is for princesses and yellow is for sunshine and baby sisters need both”), Yoongi ordered every possible baby gadget known to mankind, and I have been banned from lifting anything heavier than a paintbrush since the day I tried to carry a box of onesies and Yoongi nearly had a heart attack.

I pad down the hallway in Yoongi’s oversized hoodie and soft pajama shorts, following the sound of hushed whispering and the occasional clatter of tools. The nursery door is cracked open, and the sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.

Yoongi is on his knees in the middle of the room, surrounded by flat-pack pieces that look like a small IKEA explosion. He is wearing gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, a black tank top stretched across his shoulders, and the most serious expression I have ever seen on a man trying to decipher Swedish instructions. Bora is perched on his back like a koala, curls bouncing, holding a tiny Allen key in one hand and a half-eaten strawberry in the other.

“Appa, it says step four goes into slot B, but slot B is missing!” Bora announces dramatically.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering.

“Slot B is not missing, puppy. It’s hiding because it knows I’m about to lose my mind.”

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my bump, trying not to laugh.

“Good morning, my brave furniture warriors.”

Two heads snap up. Bora squeals and launches herself off Yoongi’s back, barreling into my legs.

“Amma! Look! Appa said I could help paint the clouds on the wall but then he said the ladder is too high and I’m too short and you are too pregnant and now we are building the crib and it’s evil!”

Yoongi stands, brushing sawdust off his knees, and the second he sees me his whole face softens. He crosses the room in three strides, hands already reaching.

“Morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” I say, tilting my face up for the kiss he is already leaning in to give me.

It is soft, slow, still tasting like the mating-bite honeymoon that hasn’t quite worn off yet. His palms slide under the hoodie to rest on the bare skin of my bump, his thumbs stroking in those familiar circles that make our puppy flutter like she is dancing.

“Don't even think about it, you are not lifting anything today,” he murmurs against my lips, his Alpha voice slipping out.

I roll my eyes, grinning.

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, Appa’s orders, world’s orders.”

Bora tugs my hand.

“Amma, come see! I picked the perfect purple! It’s called ‘Lavender Dream’ and it smells like grapes!”

The walls are exactly that, soft, dreamy lavender that makes the whole room feel like a hug. Bora has already started painting fluffy white clouds near the ceiling with a roller on a stick, standing on a step-stool that Yoongi keeps steady with one hand while pretending he is not terrified she will fall. Yellow accents are everywhere, buttery curtains still in their plastic, a sunshine-mobile waiting to be hung, tiny bee lamps on the dresser, and a mountain of plush blankets folded in the rocking chair.

Yoongi tries to steer me toward the rocking chair.

“Sit. Rest. Direct from afar.”

I plant my feet.

“Yoongi, I’m pregnant, not made of glass. I’m hanging the mobile.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but Bora beats him to it.

“Appa, Amma is stronger than you! Remember when he carried three grocery bags and the stroller up some stairs last week?”

Yoongi’s ears turn pink.

“That was different.”

“Was not!”

Bora and I chorus, then dissolve into giggles.

He throws his hands up.

“Fine. But I’m holding the ladder.”

“Yoongi, it’s a step-stool.”

“I’m holding it.”

I let him. Honestly, it is adorable how his Alpha has gone into overdrive. Every time I reach for something higher than my head, he is there. Every time I bend over, he is hovering like I might topple. Last night he carried me from the couch to the bed because I "yawned too big".

We spend the morning in a happy, paint-splattered bubble. Bora sings made-up songs about baby sisters and purple clouds while Yoongi wrestles the crib into submission. I hang the mobile, little felt butterflies in every shade of yellow, and step back to watch them spin lazily above the mattress.

Yoongi sneaks up behind me, his arms wrapping around my bump, and his chin on my shoulder.

“Look what we made,” he whispers, voice thick. “A whole room for our little girl.”

I lean back into him, tears pricking sudden and fierce.

“We are really doing this. Another tiny human who is gonna call us Amma and Appa.”

He presses a kiss just below my ear, right over the mating bite that still tingles sometimes when emotions are high.

“Best thing we will ever do together.”

Bora demands a “family hug” and wedges herself between us, arms around my belly and Yoongi’s legs. Our little puppy gives a solid kick, like she is joining in, and we all laugh until we are breathless.

By noon the crib is assembled (miraculously level), the dresser stocked with tiny clothes folded into perfect rainbow rows, and the walls officially cloud-approved. Bora collapses dramatically on the rug, her arms spread like a starfish.

“I’m starving, Appa. Can we have pizza? I heard my baby sister saying she wants pizza.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at me.

“Well, whatever Amma and your sister want.”

I’m already scrolling on my phone, cravings hitting like a freight train.

“Pineapple, ham, jalapeños, extra cheese, and… anchovies.”

Yoongi makes a retching sound.

“You are a monster.”

Bora gasps.

“Amma, that’s the weirdest pizza ever!”

“Pregnancy is weird,” I defend, sticking out my tongue. “Our little princess wants salt and sweet and spice. She’s very opinionated.”

Yoongi orders two pizzas, one normal (pepperoni for him and Bora), one abomination (mine), and adds garlic knots because he is secretly a softie.

While we wait, we tackle the finishing touches. I sit cross-legged on the floor arranging books on the lowest shelf. Goodnight Moon, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and a Korean folktale book from Yoongi's mom. Yoongi hangs the name plaque, in soft wooden letters painted butter-yellow with tiny lavender butterflies, above the crib. And Bora tapes glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling, standing on Yoongi’s shoulders while he grips her ankles like she is made of glass.

The doorbell rings. Pizza.

We spread everything out on the nursery floor like a picnic with cardboard boxes open, paper plates, soda for Bora, sparkling water for me, and beer for Yoongi that he barely touches because he is too busy making sure I don’t choke on a jalapeño.

Bora takes one look at my slice and gags dramatically.

“Amma, it smells like fish and fruit had a fight.”

Yoongi leans over, sniffs, and fake-gags into a napkin.

“I’m calling child services. This is abuse.”

I take a huge bite, moaning exaggeratedly.

“Mmm, heaven. Our little girl says thank you, Appa.”

He watches me chew, eyes soft and a little glassy.

“Anything for you.”

Bora climbs into his lap, pepperoni grease on her chin.

“When she comes, can we have pizza picnics in here every Saturday?”

“Every Saturday,” Yoongi promises, kissing the top of her curly head.

I set my slice down, suddenly overwhelmed. The room smells like lavender paint and pizza, us, and little-girl sweetness. The mobile spins lazily above us, the butterflies catching the afternoon light. Bora’s laughter echoes off the walls we painted together. Yoongi’s hand finds mine across the blanket, fingers threading.

Five years ago I was alone, working the night shift at a convenience store, terrified of loving him, of being an unmarked Omega on my own again. Now I’m sitting in a purple nursery that smells like home, watching the love of my life teach our daughter how to fold a pizza slice in half, feeling our second daughter dance under my ribs like she can’t wait to join the party.

I swallow hard, tears slipping free before I can stop them.

Yoongi notices immediately.

“Jiminie?”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, laughing wetly. “I’m just… so happy it hurts.”

He shifts Bora gently to the side and crawls over, cupping my face, thumbs wiping my cheeks.

“Hey. We are here. This is real, this is your life.”

Bora crawls into my lap, careful of the bump, and wraps her little arms around my neck.

“Don’t cry, Amma. We love you bigger than all the stars we stuck on the ceiling.”

I hug her tight, then reach for Yoongi, pulling him into us until we are a tangled pile of limbs and pizza grease and love.

“I love you,” I breathe against Yoongi’s lips. “Both of you. So much.”

He kisses me soft and slow, tasting like pepperoni and forever.

“We love you more, Jiminie. Every day. Even when you order weird pizza topping.”

Bora giggles, squished between us.

“Even anchovies?”

“Even anchovies,” Yoongi concedes, and we all dissolve into laughter that shakes the mobile and makes our pup kick in delighted approval.

Later, when the sun dips low and paints the lavender walls rose-gold, we lie on the nursery rug staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars. Bora is asleep on Yoongi’s chest, one hand curled over my bump like she is guarding her sister even in dreams. Yoongi’s fingers trace lazy circles on my skin, counting kicks.

“This is it,” he murmurs, voice hushed with wonder. “Everything I have ever wanted with you. Our little family. Our home.”

I turn my head, and kiss the bite mark on his neck that matches mine.

“Ours,” I whisper. “Forever.”

Outside, the city hums. Inside, four heartbeats sync into one perfect rhythm, all of us safe in a lavender room that smells like pizza and love and the sweetest kind of chaos.

And tomorrow there will be more chaos, more laughter, more weird cravings and overprotective Alphas and big-sister demands. But tonight, we are exactly where we are meant to be.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Chapter Text

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

PJM

The calendar on the fridge says I’m exactly thirty-nine weeks and four days, which in pregnancy terms translates to “any second now, buckle up.” My belly is enormous, like I have swallowed a perfectly round beach ball that has decided to take permanent residence. The skin is stretched so tight it sometimes gleams under the lights, faint silver stretch marks shimmering like little lightning bolts across the dome.

Every breath feels like a mini workout now, my lungs squished up under my ribs, and our daughter has apparently inherited her Appa’s restless energy after too much coffee, with practicing full somersaults, karate kicks, and what feels suspiciously like river-dance routines at 3 a.m..

Yoongi’s mother, or Mom, as she insisted the very first day five years ago, as she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug and declared, “None of that ‘Mrs. Min’ nonsense, you’re my son now”, arrived two days ago with two full suitcases, a cooler packed with homemade banchan, and zero intention of leaving until our pup is safely in my arms. She took one look at Bora’s excited face and announced that someone needed to be here for our nine-year-old when labor hits, because a child cannot exactly tag along to the delivery room or stay home alone for however many hours this might take. Bora has been glued to her side ever since, learning how to fold perfect kimchi pancakes, begging for stories about “when Appa was little and had the chubby-cheeked phase,” and practicing her “big sister” voice on every stuffed animal in the house.

I love Yoongi's mom with my whole heart. She is the mother-in-law every Omega dreams of, warm, fierce, zero judgment, and treats me like I personally hung the moon and stars. She still tears up when I call her “Mom” sometimes, and pinches my cheeks like I’m the nine-year-old. She has already knitted three blankets, two bonnets, and a tiny cardigan the color of my previous pink hair.

Right now we are all crammed in the kitchen, sunlight pouring through the massive windows, the penthouse smelling like garlic, sesame oil, and pure love. Yoongi's mom is at the stove stirring doenjang jjigae with the concentration of a Michelin chef, Bora is perched on her step-stool “helping” by washing cherry tomatoes with intense concentration, and Yoongi is chopping vegetables with one hand while the other keeps drifting to my belly every time he passes behind me. His palm slides over the taut skin like he is checking that our daughter is still there, still real, still kicking.

I lean into every single touch, my Omega purring like a smug, overfed cat.

“Jiminie, sit down,” she scolds for the tenth time today, waving a wooden spoon at me like a conductor’s baton. “You are waddling like a very pregnant, very adorable penguin. Let this old lady handle lunch.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I laugh, rubbing the aching small of my back where the weight of my bump pulls constantly. “The doctor said light movement is good. Besides, if I sit down, I will never get up again. Gravity and I are not friends right now.”

Yoongi pauses mid-chop, a cucumber slice forgotten in his fingers. His eyes flick to me, worry etched deep between his brows.

“Baby, you have been having those practice contractions all week. Let me finish this.”

“I’m literally just stirring rice, Yoongi.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart flips at the raw concern in his voice. Yoongi has been a nervous wreck since the Braxton Hicks started, he is timing them on his phone meticulously, but also always rubbing my back in slow circles, or fetching some water. I have even caught him googling “how to tell real labor from false labor” at 2 a.m.. His Alpha is in full overdrive, scent spiking with protective anxiety every time I so much as sigh.

Bora spins on her stool, tomato water dripping from her little fingers like ruby beads.

“Amma, when is my sister coming? Grandma said maybe today!”

Mom and Yoongi both freeze mid-motion. I laugh softly, reaching over to ruffle Bora’s curls.

“We don’t know yet, puppy. Soon. Very soon.”

Another contraction chooses that exact moment to roll through me, a little sharper than any other this week, a tight, hot band squeezing from my spine around to my front like a fist closing. I hiss through my teeth, gripping the counter edge hard enough to turn my knuckles white, as my breath catches in my throat.

The pain lingers, deep and radiating down my thighs, making my knees wobble.

Yoongi drops the knife with a clatter that echoes like a gunshot. He is at my side in a heartbeat, his hands hovering like he is afraid to touch me and make it worse.

“Jimin? Breathe, baby, in through the nose, out through the mouth, like we practiced—”

His mom is already pushing a chair toward me with her hip, wooden spoon still in hand.

“Sit, sit, sit! That looked like a real one, not those fake ones you have been teasing us with.”

“I’m okay,” I pant, waving them off, but the ache doesn’t fade as fast as the others.

It sits low and heavy, a promise rather than a warning.

“Just another practice... ow... damn it.”

Bora scrambles down from her stool and barrels into me, arms flung around my hips, or rather, around the massive bump that now takes up most of my front. Her cheek presses right against where her sister’s head is nestled low, and she squeezes tight with all her nine-year-old strength.

“It’s okay, Amma! I’m hugging the hurt away! Baby sister, be nice to Amma!”

The pressure of her hug is sweet and fierce, until a sudden, warm gush floods down my legs, soaking my soft gray sweatpants in seconds. My water breaks with an audible splash onto the pristine kitchen tiles, the sound shockingly loud in the sudden silence.

For one stunned heartbeat, the room is completely still.

Then everything explodes into motion.

Bora squeaks, jumping back, eyes wide as saucers.

“Did I squish too hard? Did I break her, Amma?!”

Yoongi’s face goes white as paper, mouth open, no sound coming out. His pupils are blown wide, his Alpha's instincts short-circuiting into pure panic.

His mom gasps, her hand flying to her chest, wooden spoon clattering to the floor.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, his water broke! It’s time!”

I stare down at the puddle spreading between my bare feet, brain short-circuiting. The liquid is clear, tinged faintly pink, and warm against my skin.

“That… was not a Braxton Hicks.”

Bora’s lower lip wobbles, fat tears instant.

“I hurt you! I hurt my sister!”

“No, no, puppy—”

I crouch as fast as my whale-body allows, knees protesting, and cup her tear-streaked face in both hands.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, sweetheart. This is normal! It just means your sister is ready to meet us now. You did perfect, your hug was exactly what she needed to know it’s time.”

She sniffles, nodding, but still looks terrified, her bottom lip trembling. Yoongi is still frozen, staring at the puddle like it is a ticking bomb.

His mom is already moving like a general, she is grabbing towels from the drawer, and barking orders.

“Yoongi! Snap out of it! Get the hospital bag! Bora, sweetheart, come help Grandma clean up, everything is fine! ”

Yoongi doesn’t move. Two full minutes of pure deer-in-headlights, his Alpha completely checked out.

I waddle over, water still trickling down my legs, and touch his cheek gently.

“Yoongi,” I say softly, voice steady despite the next contraction already building low in my back. “Breathe with me, love. In… out... Good. Mom, can you clean up and calm Bora? I need to change and drag my mate back to planet Earth.”

She nods instantly, already on her knees with towels.

“Go, go! I’ve got this.”

I take Yoongi’s trembling hand and lead him to our bedroom. The hospital bag has been packed for weeks, and repacked obsessively, sits right by the door. I close it behind us, lean against the wood, and pull him into a hug, nuzzling his neck, releasing calm milky pheromones to soothe his spiking anxiety.

“Hey,” I whisper, cupping his face. “Look at me.”

His eyes are wild, mint scent sharp with fear.

“Your water, fuck, Jimin, it’s happening. I... I can’t—”

“You can,” I say firmly, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “You are the strongest Alpha I know. Our daughter is coming, and I need my mate. Can you be my mate right now?”

He exhales shakily, nodding, some focus returning to his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

“Good.”

I step back, peeling off my soaked sweatpants and underwear, grimacing at the sticky mess.

“Now help me. I can’t reach my feet anymore.”

That snaps him into action like a switch flipped. He kneels immediately, gentle hands sliding soft maternity leggings up my legs, careful around the bump, then thick socks over my swollen feet, kissing each ankle like I’m made of glass. His touch is reverent, and grounding us both.

“Phone?” I ask, voice already breathy as another contraction coils low.

“Pocket,” he mutters, pulling it out, thumbs flying.

He is calling the hospital to confirm that the OB is on call. His voice is steady now.

Just as I’m about to stand, another contraction hits, real and deep, radiating from my back around to my front like a steel band. I grip Yoongi’s hand hard enough to leave crescent marks, breathing through it in short, sharp bursts. When it passes, sweat beads on my forehead, but I manage a shaky smile.

“Okay. That one was four minutes apart. We gotta move.”

We are back in the kitchen in seconds. Mom has the floor sparkling again, and Bora bouncing on her toes, eyes shining with excitement now instead of fear.

“Amma! Next time I see you, I will have a sister!” she squeals, throwing herself at my legs again, this time more gently, hands splayed over my bump.

“I love you! Tell baby sister I love her too!”

I bend awkwardly, kissing her curls, her cheeks, her forehead.

“Be good for Grandma, okay? We will call as soon as she is here. FaceTime the second she is in my arms.”

Yoongi kneels too, hugging her tight, voice thick.

“Love you, puppy. Take care of Grandma. And be brave.”

Mom pulls Yoongi into a fierce hug, whispering rapid instructions of driving safe, to hold my hand, and to not faint. She makes him promise to call the second she is born. Then she turns to me, cupping my face, eyes wet but fierce.

“My brave boy,” she says, voice cracking. “Fast and easy delivery, hm? I will be praying every second.”

Another contraction hits, stronger this time, stealing my breath as it grips me. I clutch her shoulders, fighting to stay centered, my body instinctively tensing. Yoongi’s hand is at my lower back in an instant, rubbing firm, steady circles that help anchor me in the chaos. His scent wraps around me like armor, a grounding presence in the storm of pain.

I focus on the feel of him, the rhythm of his touch, breathing through it, willing the contraction to pass. When it finally ebbs, there is no time to linger. We are moving, the urgency of the moment settling in. Bora blows kisses from the doorway, her eyes wide but full happiness.

The elevator ride is a still, tense silence, save for the quiet rhythm of my measured breathing and Yoongi’s white-knuckled grip on the railing beside me. His jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff with the weight of everything happening around us, but he doesn’t let go of me, not for a second. My heart beats in time with the elevator’s slow descent, each second feeling like a lifetime, each breath more precious than the last.

In the car, I update the contraction timer app from the start of the first contraction in the kitchen, first seven minutes, then six minutes, then five and a half, now four.

Yoongi’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, but his voice is calm when he speaks.

“You are doing amazing, Jiminie. We are almost there.”

I open the group chat with our friends, typing with shaking fingers.

Jimin
Water broke!! Heading to hospital now!!
Baby girl incoming!! 💕💕💕

The replies flood instantly.

Jin
FINALLY!!! Updates mandatory every 10 minutes or I'm coming!!

Namjoon
Breathe, Jiminie!! You have got this!! Sending all the strength!!

Hoseok
GOOD VIBES INCOMING!!! YOU ARE A CHAMP!!

Tae
AHHHHH MY NIECE!!! I’M CRYING!!

Jungkook
HYUNG DON’T FORGET THE PLAYLIST I MADE FOR THE DELIVERY ROOM

I laugh through the next contraction just as we pull into the hospital driveway, sharp enough that I cry out, gripping the dashboard, nails digging into the leather. Yoongi parks crookedly at the emergency entrance, jumps out, and is at my door in seconds, one arm around my waist, the other wheeling the hospital bag like a man on a mission.

Nurses are already waiting with a wheelchair. I sink into it gratefully, the relief instant on my back and hips. Yoongi’s hand never leaves mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles in frantic little circles.

The automatic doors slide open, cool hospital air washing over us, sharp with antiseptic and hope. Another contraction builds low and fierce as they wheel me inside, and I squeeze his fingers so hard I’m scared I will break them.

We are here.

Our daughter is coming any moment now.

The wheelchair rolls me through the maternity ward faster than I expect, fluorescent lights blurring overhead, Yoongi’s hand a vice around mine. Every bump in the linoleum sends a jolt through my hips, and another contraction is already building, fiercer and lower, like a freight train barreling down my spine. I grit my teeth, breathing in sharp bursts through my nose, out through pursed lips, exactly like the classes drilled into us. Yoongi’s scent is everywhere spiked with adrenaline, wrapping around me, anchoring me even as panic flickers in his eyes.

“Almost there, baby,” he murmurs, voice trembling but steady for my sake. “You are doing so good, Jimin. So fucking good.”

━━━━

A little while later the delivery room doors swing open and the nurses move like choreography they have done a thousand times. They have the monitors already beeping, the IV line started, and a fetal heart-rate strap around my belly instantly. They swap warm blankets for the soaked ones clinging to my thighs. The OB, a calm Beta doctor with kind eyes and quick hands, greets us with a smile that instantly calms the chaos.

“Welcome back, Jimin-ssi. Looks like baby girl decided today is the day. Let’s see how far along we are.”

She checks me efficiently, gloved fingers gentle but sure, and her eyebrows lift.

“Seven centimeters already, ninety percent effaced. This little one is in a hurry. Second babies don’t mess around.”

Two hours.

That is all it has been since my water broke in the kitchen, less time than it took Bora to make her entrance nine years ago. My body remembers the drill, apparently, and has decided to skip the warm-up round entirely.

Yoongi’s face is a mix of awe and terror.

“We just got here.” he repeats, voice cracking.

The doctor chuckles.

“Some second labors are like this, fast and furious. Jimin-ssi, you are doing beautifully. Next contraction, I want you to bear down a little, okay? Let’s see if we can get you to ten.”

I nod, sweat already beading along my hairline, hair sticking to my forehead. Yoongi wipes them away with the sleeve of his hoodie, then presses a cool cloth to my neck. His other hand never leaves mine.

The next contraction hits like a tidal wave, rolling from my back around to my front, pressure so intense my vision tunnels. I groan low, gripping Yoongi’s fingers hard enough that I feel bones shift.

“That’s it,” the doctor coaches, voice steady. “Ride the peak, Jimin-ssi. Breathe with me, heee, hooo, heee, hooo—”

I follow her rhythm, but the urge to push is already clawing at me, primal and unstoppable. My body knows what to do even if my brain is screaming too fast, too soon.

“The pressure is building,” I gasp, legs shaking in the stirrups. “I... I have the urge to push. I need to push.”

“Perfect,” the doctor says, snapping on fresh gloves. “Next one, give me everything you’ve got.”

Yoongi leans close, forehead pressed to my temple, scent flooding my senses.

“I’m right here, baby. You are the strongest person I know. Our girl is almost here.”

The contraction crests again, and I bear down with a guttural cry that rips from my chest. Fire blooms between my legs, stretching, burning, but beneath it is the most incredible pressure, like my body is splitting open to let the universe in.

Yoongi’s grip tightens, his breath hitching as he watches.

“Crown!” the doctor announces triumphantly. “I see dark hair, lots of it. One more big push, Jimin-ssi, and we will have her shoulders.”

I’m sobbing now, not from fear but from the sheer overwhelming power of it, my body doing something ancient and miraculous. Yoongi’s tears drip onto my shoulder, hot and salty.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “So fucking much.”

Another contraction, another roar from my throat, and suddenly the pressure releases in a rush of fluid and relief. Our daughter slides into the world with a thin, furious cry that pierces straight through my heart.

Time stops.

The room narrows to that sound of tiny lungs, perfect pitch, pure life.

“Time of birth, 15:47,” a nurse calls, and Yoongi lets out a broken laugh-sob.

The doctor lifts her, all slippery and red, her tiny fists waving, and places her on my chest. Instantly, the pain fades to background noise. She is warm, impossibly soft, smelling like heaven and amniotic fluid and us. Her little mouth roots against my skin, dark hair plastered to her head, her eyelashes already long and thick.

Yoongi’s hands hover, trembling, until the nurse guides him.

“Appa, whenever you are ready, the cord is right here.”

He takes the scissors with shaking fingers, cuts, and the cord pulses once more before stilling. Our daughter is free, separate, hers.

A nurse comes to take her, wrapping her in a warm blanket and gently rubbing her dry. She wails the whole time, small fists flailing, indignation written all over her tiny face, until the moment the nurse hands her into Yoongi’s arms.

The change is instantaneous. Her cries quiet almost immediately, and her little face scrunches up as he nuzzles her, his scent surrounding her like a lullaby. She melts into him, tiny body relaxing completely, as if she has always known exactly where she belongs.

“Hi, Nabi,” he whispers, voice raw. “Min Nabi. Our little butterfly. You are finally here.”

The name slips out like it was always waiting. We had whispered it in the dark weeks ago, half-joking, but now it fits her perfectly, delicate wings still folded, but ready to open.

Yoongi brings her to me, eyes glistening, and settles on the bed beside me. I’m shaking with exhaustion, every muscle trembling, but the second her weight settles against my chest again, everything quiets. Her tiny fist uncurls against my skin, fingers splayed over my heart.

I study her closely, drinking in every tiny detail. Her perfect rosebud mouth, Yoongi’s nose, my lips, there is even a delicate dimple in her left cheek. Tears spill freely down my face, unchecked, each one a mix of awe, love, and wonder.

“She is perfect,” I sob, laughing through it. “Yoongi, look what we made.”

He wraps his arms around us both, careful of cords and monitors, burying his face in my neck.

“You did it, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You were incredible. I’m so proud of you. I love you, so damn much.”

I turn my head, find his lips, and kiss him slow and deep, tasting salt and joy and relief. Nabi squirms between us, letting out a soft grunt of protest, and we break apart laughing.

A nurse approaches gently.

“We need to do her checks, and weight her, just the usual. Appa, want to come with?”

Yoongi nods, pressing one last kiss to my forehead.

“Rest, Jiminie. I’ve got her.”

I watch them go, my Alpha carrying our daughter like she is made of starlight, and the exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My eyes flutter shut, the world narrowing to the soft beeping of monitors and the lingering scent of mint, milk, and new life.

I’m out for maybe ten minutes, long enough for them to weigh her, clean her properly, and swaddle her in the tiniest hat, when Yoongi’s voice pulls me back.

“Jiminie,” he whispers, settling beside me again. “Open your eyes, love. Someone wants her Amma.”

I blink awake, and there she is, fresh, pink, and with her eyes cracked open for the very first time. Storm-gray, just like Yoongi’s had been when he was born. His mother had told me about it before, and now I see it for myself. She gazes up at me, solemn and almost impossibly wise, and my heart splinters, breaking wide open all at once.

“Hi, Nabi,” I breathe, cradling her close. “I’m your Amma. Welcome to the world, butterfly.”

Yoongi’s arm slides behind my shoulders, pulling us into the cocoon of his body. His phone is already out, thumbs flying.

Yoongi
Min Nabi born 15:47 💕 3.4kg, 51cm. Perfect.
Jimin was a goddamn superhero. We will FaceTime soon.

He sends to message to our group chat and the replies explode instantly, crying emojis, hearts, and Jin already demanding photos, as Taehyung sends voice notes of happy screams.

Yoongi calls his mom a moment later, and puts it on speaker.

“Yoongi?” Mom’s voice wavers. “Is she—?”

“She’s here, Mom,” he says, voice cracking again. “We named her Nabi. She is… she is so beautiful, Mom.”

A sob on the other end, then Bora’s excited shriek in the background.

“Grandma, me too! Amma! Appa! When can I see my baby sister?”

We laugh through tears as the nurse returns to finish my postpartum checks, a fundal massage (which hurts more than I thought it would), stitching up a small tear, ice packs, and the whole routine. It is a bit of a blur, but I’m too blissed-out to care. The pain feels distant, like it belongs to someone else. Nabi is already rooting at my gown, tiny mouth searching for the warmth of me, making soft little sounds like she has been waiting forever to be this close.

I can't help but smile through the exhaustion, feeling the full weight of how perfect and impossible it all is. In this little moment, it is just us, and nothing else matters.

“Skin-to-skin and first feed whenever you are ready,” the nurse smiles. “Appa, want to help with the latch?”

Yoongi’s hands are steady now, guiding my gown down, helping position Nabi until she latches with a soft, satisfied grunt. The pull is strange and perfect, pain and relief and love all at once.

We stay like that, me feeding our daughter, and Yoongi feeding me ice chips and forehead kisses, until the room quiets, monitors steady, and the world outside the door fading to nothing.

Nabi’s eyes drift shut, milk-drunk and content, her tiny fist curled against my skin. Yoongi rests his chin on my shoulder, watching her with the softest smile I have ever seen.

“We did it,” he whispers. “Our family… it’s complete.”

I turn just enough to kiss him again, slow and reverent.

“Almost,” I murmur against his lips. “Wait till Bora meets her.”

He laughs quietly, tears still clinging to his lashes.

“Tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just us.”

The monitors beep softly, the city hums far below, and our daughter sleeps between us, warm and safe, loved beyond measure.

Tomorrow the chaos begins again. Tonight, we are suspended in the quiet miracle of her very first hours, breathing her in, memorizing every perfect detail of Min Nabi, our butterfly, finally free.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The morning light filters through the hospital blinds in soft golden stripes, painting Nabi’s tiny face in warm glow. She has latched to my breast, nursing with little gulps and sighs, the fierce determination only newborns possess. Her miniature fist is curled against my skin like she is holding on for dear life. I’m propped up on pillows, sore in places I forgot existed, but the ache feels sacred, and earned.

Yoongi sits right beside me, thigh pressed to mine, one arm draped around my shoulders, the other gently supporting Nabi’s blanket-wrapped bottom. We haven’t stopped staring at her since the moment she was born.

I can feel the exact second Yoongi’s phone vibrates against the bedside table. He has been checking it every thirty seconds, waiting for the perfect moment.

“Ready?” he whispers, voice rough from lack of sleep and too many tears.

I nod, brushing a kiss to Nabi’s downy, dark and thick hair, already sticking up in every direction like her Appa’s does when he gets up in the morning.

“Let’s show my mom and Bora.”

The ringing feels endless, as he taps the FaceTime icon. Then his mom’s face fills the screen, eyes puffy from probably crying all night, Bora is bouncing behind her like a little jack-in-the-box.

“Yoongi! Jiminie!”

Her voice cracks immediately.

“Is she... Oh my God—”

Yoongi turns the phone slowly, angling it so Nabi’s face is center frame. The second she sees her, she lets out a broken sob that echoes through the speaker.

“Oh… oh my precious girl… look at her… she’s perfect. She’s absolutely perfect.”

Tears flood my eyes instantly. I didn’t think I had any left after yesterday, but here they are, spilling hot down my cheeks. Nabi makes a tiny squeak, unlatches, and blinks up at the phone with stormy gray eyes.

“Hi Grandma,” I manage, voice wobbling. “Meet your granddaughter. Min Nabi.”

Her hand flies to her mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Oh Jimin, she looks just like you when you smile. And she has Yoongi’s nose, look at that little button!”

Bora shoves her face into frame, curls wild, eyes enormous.

“Amma! Appa! She is sooo tiny! Grandma, zoom in, look at her lips! She has Amma’s lips!”

Yoongi laughs wetly, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“She is 3.4 kilos, Bora. Not that tiny.”

“Still tiny!” Bora insists. “Grandma, pleeeease can we come now? I finished all my homework and I helped make breakfast and I even folded laundry with you! I need to meet her in real life!”

Yoongi's mom smooths Bora’s curls, her own tears still streaming.

“Soon, puppy. Let Amma rest a little more. But look—”

She leans closer to the camera, voice dropping to the softest whisper.

“Nabi, this is your grandma. I already love you sooo much.”

Nabi blinks slowly, then lets out the tiniest, milkiest coo. The sound undoes us all. I’m openly crying now, chest heaving, and Yoongi’s arm tightens around me like he is holding my pieces together.

“We love you both so much,” I choke out. “We will be home this afternoon. Promise.”

The call ends with Bora blowing a thousand kisses and Mom clutching her heart like it might actually burst. Yoongi sets the phone down, cups my wet cheeks, and kisses me slow and deep. It tastes of salt and gratitude and wonder.

“You okay?” he murmurs against my lips.

“Never been better,” I whisper back, and it is the truth.

He spends the next twenty minutes taking photos of Nabi’s tiny fist wrapped around his finger, her cheek squished against my chest, and the three of us tangled together in the hospital bed. He sends them to the group chat.

Yoongi
Homeward bound in a few hours.
Meet our beautiful little butterfly.
Nabi says hi. 💕🦋

The replies explode instantly, like everyone has been camped out with their phones since yesterday.

Jin
I’M CRYING IN THE CARLINE AT KINDERGARTEN

Namjoon
She is beautiful. Jimin, you are a legend.

Hoseok
SOOO CUTE!!!

Taehyung
SHE HAS MY WHOLE HEART ALREADY

Jungkook
PLAYLIST FOR NABI DROPPING IN 3…2…1…

Jin
People keep looking at me weird, because I'm
dropping of my son at kindergarten sobbing more than him.

I laugh until my stomach hurts, then wince because everything still hurts, and Yoongi kisses the top of my head like he can make it all better.

━━━━

A few hours later, the final checks are done, my blood pressure is perfect, and Nabi’s hearing test was passed with flying colors, her little heels pricked for the newborn screening. The nurse wheels me out while Yoongi carries the Maxi-Cosi like it contains the crown jewels. Nabi is bundled in the softest pink blanket Yoongi's mom knitted, eyes wide and wondering at the world rushing past, taking in everything with a curious wonder that melts my heart.

I slide into the backseat beside her car seat, legs still wobbly, and buckle myself in. Yoongi drives like there is a bomb in the car, with both hands on the wheel, speed limit religiously observed, and eyes flicking to the rearview every three seconds. Nabi falls asleep before we even leave the parking garage, lips pursed in a perfect little rosebud, one fist escaped from the blanket and curled by her cheek.

The drive is quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and Yoongi’s occasional whispered assurances.

“We are almost home, butterfly.”

━━━━

She startles awake with a tiny cry of protest, her arms flailing like she is personally offended by the disturbance, the second Yoongi lifts the carrier out of the base. I reach for her instinctively, but my legs are still jelly, so Yoongi just shifts the carrier to one hand and guides me with his free arm.

The elevator ride feels eternal. My heart is in my throat. I can already hear Bora’s excited squeaks echoing down the hallway before the doors even open.

The second we step into the penthouse, they are waiting.

Bora launches herself at my legs first, careful of my belly but fierce in her hug.

“Amma! You are home! You did it!”

Yoongi's mom is right behind her, eyes already red-rimmed, and hands pressed to her mouth. The entire living room transformed into purple and yellow balloons tethered to every surface, a hand-painted banner in Bora’s wobbly hangul that reads WELCOME HOME NABI 🦋, and the faint scent of fresh bibimbap simmering on the stove.

Mom’s gaze locks on the carrier and she crumbles.

“Oh… oh my baby…”

Yoongi moves with quiet care, unbuckling Nabi and lifting her into his arms first so his mom can see. The moment Nabi is free, his mother’s hands tremble as she reaches for her, a quiet desperation in the gesture.

“Can I—?”

“Of course,” Yoongi whispers, his voice soft and steady as he gently transfers our daughter into his mother’s waiting arms.

His mom cradles her like she is made of spun glass, her tears flowing freely now, each one a silent testament to the depth of her love.

“Look at you… my little Nabi… you are even more beautiful in person.”

She presses the gentlest kiss to Nabi’s forehead, then looks up at me with shining eyes.

“Jiminie, thank you. Thank you for giving us this miracle.”

I’m crying again, (big surprise) and she pulls me into a one-armed hug, careful of the baby, kissing my cheek over and over.

“My brave, beautiful boy.”

Bora tugs at my sleeve.

“Amma, you look tired. Sit down. I made you a pillow fort.”

I laugh wetly and let her lead me to the couch, where she has arranged every pillow in the house into a throne. Yoongi follows with the diaper bag like a pack mule, grinning through his own tears.

Mom settles into the rocking chair with Nabi, whispering too fast and soft for me to catch all of it, something about how she will teach her to make kimchi, how she will spoil her rotten, how she is the most perfect grandchild in the universe.

Nabi lasts maybe ten minutes before her face scrunches in pre-cry mode, she is hungry again. I reach for her automatically.

“Come here, butterfly. Amma has got you.”

Yoongi’s mom hands her over gently, and I settle back into the pillows, lifting my shirt. Nabi latches on immediately, as if she has been doing this for years, her tiny gulps filling the quiet room like a soft, soothing rhythm. Yoongi sits beside me, his arm around my shoulders, his chin resting lightly on top of my head, grounding me with his presence.

Bora watches, eyes wide with awe, taking in every moment like it is something magical.

“She is so loud when she drinks.”

“Wait till the burps,” Yoongi teases.

After feeding, I shift Nabi to my shoulder, patting her gently. She lets out a massive burp, the sound so loud it makes Bora dissolve into giggles, while Mom claps as if we have just won a gold medal at the Olympics.

But then, just as quickly, Bora straightens, her face going serious.

“Amma… can I hold her now? Please? I washed my hands three times and I practiced on my doll and everything.”

My heart squeezes so tightly it feels like I can’t breathe. I glance at Yoongi, and he meets my gaze, his eyes full of permission, pride, and something deeper, something warm. I nod, unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

We move to the couch. Yoongi arranges pillows around Bora like a fortress, his movements careful and steady, then guides her arms into the perfect cradling position, his hands lingering for just a moment before he lets go.

“Support her head, puppy. Just like we showed you.”

I lean over carefully, every muscle protesting, and gently lower Nabi into her big sister’s arms for the very first time.

The room falls into a profound stillness.

Bora stares down at her sister, her eyes wide with awe, like she is seeing the stars for the first time. Nabi blinks up at her, her storm-gray eyes round and curious, then lets out the softest, sweetest coo, as though in greeting.

“Hi, Nabi,” Bora whispers, her voice trembling with a wonder too big for her small body. “I’m your big sister. I’m gonna teach you everything, how to draw rainbows, how to dance, how to make Appa laugh when he is grumpy. I already love you so much.”

A single tear slips down her cheek, landing softly on Nabi’s blanket. In response, Nabi’s tiny hand unfurls, fingers stretching, brushing Bora’s thumb, and then, delicately, holding on.

And that is when I lose it completely. Silent sobs shake my shoulders, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound. Yoongi pulls me into his side, his arm tight around me, kissing my temple over and over, his own eyes a little red.

Across the room, his mom is openly weeping into a tissue, snapping photos with shaking hands, as if trying to capture this perfect, fleeting moment forever.

I look at my family, my mate, my perfect daughters, my mother-in-law who loves me like her own, and I have never felt so whole. Every hurdle, every painful memory, every agonizing contraction, every sleepless night, every stretch mark and tear, it all led to this moment. Two little girls who own my heart completely, a mate who would burn the world down to keep us safe, and a grandmother who crossed the country with banchan and love in her suitcase.

I was a single Omega working every shift available at a convenience store five years ago, terrified of the future. Now I’m here, home, surrounded by more love than I ever dared dream.

Nabi yawns, tiny pink tongue curling, and Bora giggles through her tears.

“She is sleepy. Can she sleep in my room tonight? I will be super quiet, I promise.”

Yoongi chuckles wetly.

“We will see, puppy.”

I lean over, pressing a kiss to Bora’s curls, then Nabi’s forehead, then Yoongi’s lips.

“Thank you,” I whisper to all of them, voice breaking. “For this life. For letting me have this.”

Yoongi kisses me slow and deep, tasting like salt and forever.

“Thank you for choosing us, Jiminie. Every day.”

Nabi sighs softly in her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, while Bora hums a quiet lullaby to her, the melody sweet and soothing. Yoongi’s mom, ever the planner, is already making mental notes for tomorrow’s breakfast, her mind focused on what is best for milk supply, avocados, oatmeal, maybe a little honey.

The sun dips lower, painting the room in rose gold, and I know, this is the moment I will tell our daughters about when they are older. The day our family became complete. The day love grew so big, so vast and radiant it spilled over the edges of the world, flooding the stars themselves with its boundless, eternal light.

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FINISH

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