Chapter Text
It’s a scorching hot summer day. The palace gardens bathe in the early afternoon sun that’s barely weakened by the parasol in the servant’s hand.
Jangma, the rainy season, is late this year, and the entire world seems to have halted in anticipation. The freshly bloomed lotus flowers look shy and lost, floating in the pond that teem with insects and fast-growing carp, and the trumpet vines snaking up the stone fence wilt under the sun’s piercing gaze.
A bead of sweat rolls from the arch of Yoongi’s brow. He ought to go back inside, but the confines of his living quarters don’t put him to ease as he has come to expect. Today – perhaps only today – his mind is like those fish in the pond, swimming in circles because swimming is all they’ve learned to do. Poor things, asinine creatures. What do they know about the world?
Yoongi reaches into his pocket for something to feed them, an offering to the less fortunate, but his hanbok is freshly laundered. When Yoongi was a pup, he had a bad habit of slipping a half-eaten apple or a honey cake into his pocket whenever his dam let him have something between meals. He’d hang onto the treats like they were precious jewels, and he would barter with them for something even better, pressed flowers or shiny pebbles that they would store in a sachet made of silk and play games with.
The surface of the pond seems to flicker, and Yoongi leans toward the water, mesmerised by the sight, wondering if someone has dropped a coin in the water. The royal family doesn’t handle money themselves, but a palace guard could have accidentally…
“Concubine Min,” says the servant in his ever-polite, distant tone. Yoongi feels the blistering sun on the back of his neck. If not careful, it will give him the skin of a peasant.
“I’m…” Yoongi is still looking for the coin, not that he would have any use for it. He settles on a diversion: “I’m feeling quite parched. Would you kindly fetch me some water?”
It’s a request which his newly appointed servant wouldn’t dare turn down, but by doing so, he’ll abandon his station. Yoongi is putting the poor beta between the tree and its bark. He shall apologise later.
Left to his own devices, Yoongi can hardly contain himself. He grabs the hem of his hanbok and kneels by the pond, his nose almost touching the surface of the water. The flickering hasn’t ceased; it has only grown in intensity. Yoongi’s eyes hurt from the brightness, but he’s transfixed.
The water of the pond is cool and silky around his wrist as he plunges a hand in – just a little further – why can’t he reach the coin? The water is turning murky, and all Yoongi can feel are the slimy scales of the fish brushing against his hand, looking for food, there are too many of them in this small pond.
Just then, a large bird caws in the nearby gingko tree, and Yoongi startles. He’s falling forward, and suddenly the pond is in his lungs, his eyes and ears, and Yoongi’s fist closes around something small and solid, and –
Yoongi returns to the surface with a terrible cough that tastes like mud and disease. His fingers are cold as he pries them open to find a thin, evenly shaped coin in his palm. On one side, it reads in remarkably even lettering: 100 won. On the other, an effigy, a face which he distantly recognises.
“Excuse me, do you need any help?”
All the sounds of the world reach Yoongi at once, the wind, the chirping of birds, a strange hum that resembles the beginnings of a summer thunderstorm. But the sky is clear as ever, unbothered by his debasement.
Slowly, Yoongi forces himself to look up. The voice he heard belongs to a young man who stands on the edge of the pond, feet nearly touching the water.
“Are you hurt?” the man asks. He’s dressed in a strange outfit – certainly not a nobleman.
“How dare you address me so casually?” Yoongi demands as he begins to wade toward the grass. Perhaps he could show some leniency, as the man must be from somewhere other than Hanseong, but then again – if the man were caught talking to Yoongi in this manner, he could be imprisoned or worse.
Once the water is only up to his calves, another highly unusual thing happens. The commoner grabs Yoongi by the elbow – touches him, handles him with such ease and speed that Yoongi ends up on the grass, gasping and disoriented and missing one of his silk slippers.
“My danghye,” Yoongi wails. He feels naked as the sole of his foot rests on the grass, even though it’s hardly obvious under the heavy, drenched hem of his hanbok.
“Your shoe?” the stranger repeats in the same, blunt tone that makes Yoongi shiver.
“Yes,” he replies stiffly. He’s been so preoccupied by his misfortune that he hasn’t had time to spare the man a good look – or even consider how he has gained entry to the palace gardens. And where are the beta servants and guards, and where is…?
In hindsight, Yoongi might laugh at his lack of awareness, but right then it hits him like a sack of bricks. He’s not at the palace. And worse still: he can’t recognise his surroundings at all. The houses are spread far apart around a grassy clearing, and everything looks strangely clean and untouched.
“Hey, found your shoe,” the stranger calls out in his cheerful tone, waving the mud-covered slipper around.
Yoongi holds his breath for a few moments before he says: “Would you kindly place it on the ground?”
“Sure thing,” the man says, kneeling down in front of Yoongi to push the ruined slipper toward the hem of his hanbok. How scandalous.
“That’s more than enough,” Yoongi says quickly. “You have my gratitude, uh…”
“Kim Taehyung,” the man says, looking up. His hair is much too short and an odd colour, but he’s the kind of man poets write about and whom painters use as their models.
He would look dashing in proper attire, Yoongi thinks as he presses his foot into the wet slipper and represses his frown of disgust, as it would be improper for an omega of his status.
“You must be a commoner,” he says graciously, clasping his cold fingers together. “Who gave you the name Kim? Did you pick it out yourself?”
“And you’re a tour guide at the traditional village, right?” Kim Taehyung says with a smile. “I have to applaud you for the method acting.”
Yoongi doesn’t know how to reply. He feels insulted to his core.
“I am Royal Consort Yoongi,” he says coolly. The muddy water of the pond may have dulled the shine of Yoongi’s carefully crafted clothes and hairdo, but Taehyung’s mistake is still of an unforgivable calibre.
“As in… an omega concubine?”
Blood rushes to Yoongi’s cold cheeks. He can sense other people around them, throwing suspicious glances in his direction. Taehyung, who has stood to his full height and now leers over Yoongi, smells strong and earthy, and tiny alarm bells ring at the back of Yoongi’s mind.
This stranger is an alpha. Young, strong, and evidently uncivilised. Yoongi is not safe in this place. Should he return to the King, sullied by commoners, he’ll be cast aside for good.
At the court, masking one’s scent by rubbing crushed lemon balm on the scent glands is a compulsory practice. Yoongi has only smelled the King’s unmasked scent once – on the very day he was accepted into the palace, and King Sunjo placed his wrist briefly over Yoongi’s to lay the subtlest claim on his newest omega.
“What did you mean by that?” Taehyung tries again, his voice deceptively gentle. He tries to grab Yoongi’s arm again, but he narrowly evades the alpha’s touch. He’s still being watched, by men and women who all wear thin, plain clothes. Someone is pointing a black rectangle at them – a shaman’s talisman, perhaps.
Yoongi has to swallow his pride to survive this tribulation.
“Would you be so kind as to show me the way back to Changdeokgung? It seems that I have gotten lost,” he tells Taehyung, who hasn’t attempted to lay a hand on him again.
Taehyung doesn’t reply, so Yoongi feels compelled to explain further. He opens his fist to show the small coin to the alpha.
“This is what I was looking for when I fell into the pond. It wasn’t this particular pond but a smaller one behind the palace.”
Silence stretches on.
“I’ve never seen a coin like this,” Yoongi continues. It’s written in hangul, too – how peculiar.”
It’s the most Yoongi has talked in weeks, and he feels exhausted by the end.
“Alright,” Taehyung finally says. “Come with me.”
“Where to?” Yoongi asks and bares his teeth on instinct when the alpha’s long fingers close around his fist. Water is still dripping out of his braided hair which has been pinned to the back of his neck, and every step in his wet hanbok feels more tiring than the last.
“Excuse me, I demand to know where I’m being taken!”
“We need to get you dried up first,” Taehyung mutters, ignoring Yoongi’s demands. He takes one of those black rectangles out of his pocket and speaks into the thing as though possessed. They reach the edge of the grass field, toward what can only be a city street.
Suddenly, something approaches them at a dizzying speed, a roaring hunk of metal on wheels, a beast that has lanterns for eyes. Yoongi screams and grabs onto Taehyung’s shirtsleeve. He’s going to be sick, he’s going to faint and soil himself.
In the end, none of those things happen. Yoongi can’t breathe well, and for some reason his eyes are squeezed shut and won’t open at all.
Someone is talking again – Taehyung’s low voice way too close to his ear.
“He’s in shock, I think… No, hyung, if we take him to the hospital, they’ll assume that he’s gone feral. I don’t trust OC one bit.”
Yoongi slumps into the alpha’s arms, whimpering pitifully because he doesn’t understand what is being discussed.
“Namjoon hyung will know what to do,” Taehyung keeps insisting to his invisible conversation partner.
“Okay, Yoongi-ssi… our pack den isn’t far away. I promise you’ll feel much better after you’ve taken a shower and had a change of clothes.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what a ‘shower’ is. He peers at Taehyung for clues, but then he sees another beast hurtling toward them, and his knees give out.
“Luckily Seokjin hyung was nearby,” Taehyung says, leading Yoongi somewhere, placing one hand on his head and the other on the small of his back. “Watch your head. Okay, perfect… I’ll just strap you in and we’ll be off.”
The cushion Yoongi finds himself sitting on is soft. Taehyung attaches a wide piece of rope across his chest before settling beside him, close enough to touch.
“Everything will be alright,” he says.
Yoongi places a hand low on his abdomen, protecting the one thing that matters. It must be so.
❀❀❀
It’s hard to tell how much time has passed. Yoongi is deep within this pack’s territory, in a den with thick walls and doors that open outward instead of sliding to the side. There’s a plush bed in the room, propped up high off the ground, but Yoongi prefers to kneel on the rug instead.
Earlier, he was shown to a room where warm water fell right out of the ceiling. He was instructed to take off his clothes and wash himself using a thick liquid they called soap.
Yoongi stood there, frozen still, unsure what he was being asked to do. A beta came through the door at some point – a man with unnaturally light hair and soft, pleasant features. He asked if Yoongi knew how to take off his hanbok by himself, as though Yoongi was a helpless pup.
Yoongi sent him away and regretted it afterwards. He felt clumsy and exposed, scrubbing his arms and legs under the spray of water.
He’s somewhat clean now, wearing something akin to sleep clothes. “We have nothing here that would suit your taste,” the beta had explained, promising that Yoongi’s hanbok would be washed and returned to him as soon as possible.
They must be poor and low-class, Yoongi concludes, even if everything else he sees contradicts that very sentiment.
“He just sits on the floor, doing nothing,” someone whispers behind Yoongi. “I haven’t gotten him to eat anything.”
“We have to call a doctor,” another voice replies.
“Not before Namjoon hyung has taken a look. He’s already on his way.”
The voices recede, and Yoongi lets his shoulders slump. He can’t leave the den, dressed so immodestly, so the pack is holding him captive, intentional or not. He also has nothing to mask his own scent with, which makes him all the more vulnerable.
“Yoongi-ssi?” yet another voice calls out. Just how many more are there?
Yoongi’s hands fly to the loose garment he’s wearing out of necessity. He misses his jang-ot, an overcoat which he would pull over his head to hide his face from strange alphas. But he wasn’t wearing one on the palace grounds – it had been warm, and thought he’d be safe there.
“Are you Namjoon?” Yoongi asks, scared that the stranger will be an alpha. But as soon as he inhales, he’s met with the muted scent of a beta instead.
“Oh, Namjoon is our pack leader. I’m Seokjin. I drove the car here, if you remember.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what a car is. He doesn’t remember. Seokjin can likely see the confusion on his face, because he steps closer with a silver tray loaded with a teapot and a plate of fruit and biscuits.
“I didn’t know what you would like, so I brewed simple green tea.”
“I… I would like to show my gratitude by enjoying your hospitality, but… I shouldn’t accept anything that hasn’t been prepared in the palace kitchens.”
Seokjin frowns, but his expression somehow remains open and inviting.
“Well, in any case, I shall leave everything here if you happen to change your mind.” He pauses, looking at Yoongi from the corner of his eye. “Or would it ease your mind if I proved there was no poison in the tea?”
The beta moves to pour himself a cup and blow on the curl of steam rising from it. Yoongi’s throat feels dry, and hunger twists his insides as Seokjin takes a sip.
“Poisoned or not, you’re holding me here against my will. I asked to be taken to the palace.”
Seokjin lowers the cup, tilting his head. “You were barely conscious when I got there. I was against the idea at first, but Taehyung can be rather persuasive. I assume you know the type?”
Of course Yoongi does.
“Now, how about that tea?”
Yoongi ends up drinking it. Seokjin can be just as persuasive himself. He’s finishing his second cup when the door opens once more.
The scent that hits Yoongi’s nose is so potent, so unrestrained, that he retreats to the corner of the room where the afternoon light trickles through the slats that cover the window. He knocks his teacup over, spilling the rest of it all over the tray of treats.
“I’m not decent,” Yoongi protests. A strong, dominant alpha in his space, his inner wolf points out, suppressed as it usually is.
“What is the meaning of this?” the alpha asks, glancing over his shoulder and then back at Yoongi.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Taehyung’s voice comes from the hallway. “He says he’s a concubine.”
The alpha rubs his face with the heel of his hand and approaches Yoongi.
“Not one step closer,” Yoongi says, tilting his chin up in defiance even though he’s quite literally cornered. “My body belongs to His Majesty the King. You and your little pack of mongrels will be punished to the fourth generation if you dare touch me.”
“Aren’t you a fiery one?” the alpha mutters, though he stays put. He’s big, much bigger than the King, but his stance is less imposing now. Yoongi lets his lungs deflate. He may have won this battle, but he must remain vigilant.
“Who are you to question my good character? As though a commoner like you would be above reproach.”
In his burst of temper, Yoongi has lost his poise and forgotten his manners. The alpha, however, has not:
“My name is Kim Namjoon. I’m a university lecturer in traditional art and poetry. I also dabble in some traditional medicine, which is why my packmates called me here. May I take your pulse, as you seem highly agitated?”
“Certainly not!” Yoongi declares. “I will only accept care from a court physician, not from some charlatan alpha who deems it appropriate to lay their fingers on omegas who are so clearly spoken for!”
“I deeply apologise,” Namjoon quickly says. “May I ask, then – who is this king you serve?”
The utter ignorance, the waning flame of civilisation, Yoongi laments.
“King Sunjo,” Yoongi replies, after a short pause, unused to calling him anything but ‘His Majesty’. “As I am his second and newest consort, I’m willing to forgive you for failing to keep up with state affairs.”
Namjoon considers Yoongi’s words, hands clasped behind his back. “I was under the impression that King Sunjo only sired children with Queen Sunwon and a female concubine who gave birth to one sickly daughter. He wasn’t too fond of… external relations.”
It’s no secret that the King favours his Queen Dowager, but Yoongi – he had visited Yoongi and told him…
Yoongi stands up so quickly that fuzzy black spots invade his vision. Namjoon’s scent, rich and spicy, makes his body rebel against facing him so directly.
“I have insulted you again,” Namjoon says softly. “You should rest now. No harm awaits you while you’re in my den, I give you my word.”
“I don’t…” Yoongi throws a helpless glance to the bed.
“Would you prefer a sleeping mat on the floor?”
“Yes please,” Yoongi says in a small voice. All fight has left him, he just wants more of Namjoon’s scent, his calm words and promises that…
“I’ll have it arranged,” Namjoon says, now standing much closer to Yoongi, releasing more of that thick, intoxicating scent that wraps around him like a blanket.
“I’m terribly sorry for using my pheromones like this, but I can hear your heart hammering in your chest, little omega. It is not right.”
Yoongi nods even though he has never heard of pheromones. Namjoon doesn’t touch him, but he guides him, instructs him. Yoongi’s hands fall to his sides from where he’s been trying to protect his modesty. A soft bedspread is rolled out on the floor and Yoongi finds himself lying on it.
He should have been more adamant about returning to the palace, Yoongi thinks, and that’s the last thought he has before he drifts off.
❀❀❀
Taehyung holds his breath when Namjoon steps out of the room, which originally belonged to Hoseok but fell into disuse when their sole omega set up permanent residence in the pack nest.
“So?” Taehyung asks because their pack alpha just stands there, eyes unreadable.
“I think I… believe him.”
“You do?” Seokjin gasps from the kitchen. They’ve all been here, waiting, busying themselves with chores that everyone usually hates.
“I have no proof,” Namjoon says. “Only the way he talks, how he carries himself. How he seems unused to the slightest bit of alpha pheromones. My intent was only to calm him down, but he went out like a light.”
The alpha’s expression contorts with something like shame as he adds, “I feel like I drugged him or something.”
“You tried to help him,” Seokjin reasons, waving a wooden spatula that’s dripping soap suds. “He kept blabbering about the palace, the poor thing. Rest will do him good.”
Namjoon nods. “Maybe so. Though I’m still undecided on the matter of Taehyung’s disobedience.”
All eyes turn to Taehyung, who slinks into the couch cushions.
“You brought a stranger into my den without my explicit permission,” Namjoon continues wearily. “Your heart is in the right place, I know this, but not every wolf is a friend.”
“But hyung…”
“You’re an alpha, and yet you submit to me. Remember that before you do something like this again.”
Taehyung feels like a scolded pup. It’s unfair, too, when he’s done everything right. He saved Yoongi from Omega Control, and from sleazy alphas who would’ve gladly taken advantage of his cluelessness. He followed his moral compass, and he’s still being reprimanded.
“Tae,” Jimin whispers into his ear, a clear warning. It comes too late, though. Taehyung is already on his feet, prowling toward Namjoon who’s walking in the direction of his study.
Even though his approach is anything but sneaky, the pack alpha doesn’t react before Taehyung is hanging from his neck, trying to pull him down to the floor. Taehyung has been working out a lot, he’s in the best shape of his life, so maybe just this once he can make Namjoon submit and admit to his fault.
But as it happens, Namjoon is their pack alpha for a reason. The wisest, strongest, et cetera. He responds to Taehyung’s challenging growl with his own, much more terrifying one, and Taehyung’s inner alpha slinks into a corner of his mind. That moment of vulnerability is enough for Namjoon to flip their positions, to pin Taehyung to the ground with a knee pressed to the small of his back and his teeth hovering centimetres from his jugular vein.
“Are you ready to submit now?” Namjoon asks. He’s out of breath but far from dishevelled.
“Yes, alpha,” Taehyung replies, even though in spirit he still hasn’t given up. Namjoon seems to sense that because he keeps pressing Taehyung to the ground while he gives his neck a few dominant licks. Taehyung hates it. Hates that it almost makes him purr.
“Silly pup, thinking you could challenge your alpha like this,” Namjoon croons. Taehyung kicks his feet a bit.
Namjoon sighs. “I know, baby. You can let it all out.”
There’s a glob of clear snot stuck to Teahyung’s upper lip as he kicks and squirms a bit harder. Because pack alpha knows what he needs. When Namjoon finally lets him off the floor and suggests that they revisit the topic at a later date, Taehyung wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, teeth bared and cheeks burning from embarrassment.
Jimin hands him a tissue, a forbearing smile on his face. Always the pack alpha’s pet, Taehyung thinks bitterly as he wipes his entire face in rough swipes. He’s never seen Jimin rebelling against Namjoon, but at the same time, their pack alpha lets him get away with murder.
Meanwhile Taehyung gets roughed up and bitten and fucked…
“Where’s Jungkook?” Seokjin suddenly asks.
“He was home earlier today,” Jimin says, beaming at Taehyung as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking about. “I think our baby alpha got a bit overwhelmed by the scent of a new omega, so he’s getting some fresh air.”
“Someone should check up on him,” Seokjin says, a hand on his hip. “Alpha-yah, be a darling and call the pup.”
Without a word, Namjoon nods and stomps out of the room with his phone. Taehyung and his emotional outburst all but forgotten. Jungkook goes out motorbiking all the damn time. Sometimes he ends up in another city and gets a room in a shady roadside motel, and Namjoon and Hoseok and Seokjin lose their damn minds because they treat Jungkook like a delicate crystal vase.
The fact that he’s a retired taekwondo champion holds little weight in their minds.
“How about Hoseokie? Has anyone seen him?”
“I haven’t actually,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. “I texted him that there was a pack emergency, but he didn’t reply.”
“So, he doesn’t know about Yoongi yet?” Taehyung asks, mostly because he wants to prove to the rest of the pack that he’s back in his right mind and should be taken seriously.
For some reason, Jimin holds an awkward pause. “Well, I didn’t think I should break the news via text. This is… a big deal, you know?”
Taehyung waits because he senses that Jimin isn’t done talking.
“If what he says is true, or even some part of it, there’s no way he would survive out there on his own. He has no identification, no blood ties to other Korean people… he’s like an illegal immigrant.”
“But where would they even deport him back to?” Taehyung argues, mostly because he’s not done arguing and his alpha pride has taken a major blow.
“I don’t know,” Jimin says and bites his lip. “I’m sure he’d be a person of interest to the government if they somehow believed his story. This goes beyond evading Omega Control, and Hoseok could end up in the crossfire if word got out.”
“Hoseok would never take the government’s side.”
“I’m not saying that he would,” Jimin says mildly. “We just have to proceed with caution.”
The tiny hairs on Taehyung’s nape stand up when Seokjin puts a hand on the back of his neck and gives it a squeeze. “Enough speculation, my darlings. I’m sure we’ll have a pack meeting as soon as everyone gets home, but before that there’s not much we can do.”
Frankly, it’s unfair how reasonable Seokjin and Jimin can be. They would be such a power couple if they didn’t have three knotheaded alphas and a bossy omega to manoeuvre around like unruly pieces on a chessboard. Sure, even betas aren’t without instincts, and Namjoon can force them into compliance as pack alpha, but for them subgender isn’t a restriction.
Growing up, Jimin thought he would present as an omega. Taehyung was pretty sure he’d be a beta like his sire. Seokjin says he wouldn’t have cared either way, but then again Seokjin hasn’t experienced life as an alpha nor an omega.
When Taehyung presented, his parents threw him a huge party. The first alpha pup in their family line for four generations. The new clan patriarch. Then, Taehyung met a tall, lanky alpha at an art fair and realised he wasn’t fully straight – and that his parents wouldn’t like it because they thought that traditional packs were inappropriate in this day and age.
Taehyung packed his bags and moved into Namjoon’s pack den, let the alpha bite him, let him lick the mark he’d left while they made love. At that point, they didn’t even have an omega yet, so Taehyung was the one helping Namjoon through his painful ruts, taking everything his alpha had to give. Taehyung shivers at the intensity of the memories.
And then, he thinks about Yoongi. Taehyung couldn’t detect any alpha scents on Yoongi’s milky skin. His scent gland is intact, tantalisingly small and dusty pink in colour. Taehyung is bad at guessing people’s ages, but the omega looks a bit older than him, probably in his mid-twenties. How is that possible?
Since no one is paying him attention anymore, Taehyung sneaks to Yoongi’s door and peeks his head in. The omega is sleeping soundly on the floor, his forehead smooth of lines and eyelashes dark and wispy against his cheekbones. The dictionary definition of beauty, Taehyung thinks, a strong tugging sensation in his belly; he’s a fish on a hook, getting reeled in.
This is dangerous. Taehyung feels like the predator he biologically is. An unclaimed omega in their den, discovered by Taehyung. Yoongi was his first. Does having these thoughts make him a bad person?
Yoongi rolls over to his side. His nose is small and delicate. I belong to the king, Yoongi had said. The king is centuries away, however, and he’d left his omega unclaimed. What does Yoongi owe him?
“Let him sleep,” Jimin’s voice whispers. “I finally reached Hoseok hyung on the phone. He’s coming home, so I need you to explain everything from the beginning.”
“How about Kookie?” Taehyung whispers. A pack meeting needs all six members.
“He’s in Sokcho, I heard.”
“How the fuck did he make it there in a few hours?” Taehyung hisses. And what right does Jungkook have to hop on his bike and drive to the East Sea at the slightest inconvenience? They have a small holiday residence near the sea, paid mostly with Seokjin’s television money.
“He promised to ride back tonight. Namjoon hyung is mad.”
“You think so?” Taehyung mutters. At least watching Jungkook receive a punishment for reckless driving would be fun. The only time Namjoon doesn’t go soft on him is when Jungkook has endangered himself with his adrenaline junkie behaviour.
Gently, Jimin pulls Taehyung back into the hallway and kisses Taehyung on the cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for thinking on your feet and bringing the omega home. He seemed so… frightened. I feel bad for him.”
“Yeah, me too,” Taehyung says with a sigh. It’s a part of the truth at least.