Chapter Text
Yoongi adjusts his hat, shifting his weight onto his other leg as he looks at the station clock. Two minutes until the train is due in. If he listens carefully, he can almost hear the hum of the locomotive reverberating off the tracks, just the faintest quiver in the air.
He’s not normally so antsy, impatience causing him to fidget where he stands. Still, it’s hard not to let his nerves get the best of him, especially when he’s awaiting the arrival of his future husband, an omega he’s never met with whom he has only exchanged a few brief letters. Yoongi thinks his nerves can be forgiven.
There’s a whistle in the distance and Yoongi watches the train turn the corner, a sharp plume of steam rising high in the sky as it pulls into the small station. West Oak isn’t a big station—the platform is little more than a slab of concrete on the outskirts of town—and the train stops just long enough for the few departing passengers to collect their luggage and exit the carriages before the pistons are firing and it’s moving again.
Yoongi skims over the people stooped over their bags, eyes settling finally on a slight figure struggling to pull a trunk over the ground. Could this be his bride?
“Jimin Park?”
The man’s head snaps up, eyes meeting Yoongi’s almost immediately. It’s definitely him, Yoongi decides, stepping forward. His cheeks are a little more hollow, dark circles under his eyes that weren’t in the stiffly formal reference photo included in one of the letters, but it’s clearly the right person.
“Mr Min,” Jimin says softly, a tentative smile spreading over his face as Yoongi walks towards him.
“Please, call me Yoongi,” Yoongi says gruffly, holding out his hand for his new bride to shake.
“Jimin,” comes the reply, the omega clasping his hand for only a brief second before his hands drop back down to his trunk.
“How heavy is it?” Yoongi asks, gesturing awkwardly at Jimin’s luggage and kicking himself internally when Jimin’s cheeks colour. “I’ll carry it,” he tacks on hurriedly. “My cart is just over there.”
Jimin seems a little lost for words, fingers wringing themselves on the edge of his jacket as Yoongi grabs the trunk (not heavy at all) and starts walking to where his horse, Apollo, is waiting patiently.
He murmurs his thanks while Yoongi loads the cart and gestures for him to take a seat as he unties his horse. Yoongi hops up beside him a moment later.
“Your journey was alright?” He asks, clicking his tongue for Apollo to start moving.
“It was fine, thank you.” Jimin’s hands clutch onto the side of the cart as they jerk forward. His voice is wavering; he sounds exhausted.
“If it’s alright with you, I thought we’d get all the papers and things signed with the sheriff before we head out to the farm. Saves us having to ride in another day.” Yoongi glances at his soon-to-be-husband.
Jimin nods, the gaunt hollows in his cheeks made darker by the glare of the sun overhead.
“Is it far to your farm?”
“About a half hour’s ride but with the cart it always takes longer.” Yoongi pulls Apollo to a stop outside the Sheriff's building and ties him to one of the beams. “Sheriff Kim is expecting us,” he explains to Jimin as they walk up the steps together. “He’s a friend of mine so you'll certainly see more of him after today.”
The door is already open and Yoongi can see Namjoon’s boots on his desk through the fine lattice of the fly screen. His feet quickly drop down as Yoongi and Jimin open the fly screen and walk into the cool shadow of the Sheriff’s office.
“Namjoon,” Yoongi says, shaking his hand. “This is Jimin.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he looks over at Jimin, eyes twinkling merrily.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he says sincerely. “Yoongi will look after you well, I’m sure of it.” Jimin ducks his head, an uncertain smile pulling at his lips.
“Thank you,” he murmurs as his gaze roams the room. Yoongi notices his fingers are shaking as he clenches and unclenches the hem of his jacket. There’s a pause before Namjoon turns around with a gust of energy, papers cascading over the floor as he knocks into the corner of his desk.
“Don’t worry about those,” he assures as Jimin and Yoongi both bend to retrieve them. “They need sorting anyway. Now, if you two sit down, I’ll find the marriage certificate. It’s in this mess somewhere.”
Yoongi pulls forward one of the straight-backed wooden chairs for Jimin before grabbing another for himself. The tension in the air is palpable and they both sit in silence, waiting as Namjoon shifts through the large pile of paperwork on his desk.
“Aha, here we go!” Namjoon brandishes the papers in his hand before placing them in front of Yoongi and Jimin. “You both sign here to declare your marriage,” he explains, pointing at one of the lines on the paper, “and when you’re mated you can come back and sign the line underneath.” He rolls a pen across the desk towards Yoongi.
And that’s that. They both sign the line, Jimin’s neat print next to Yoongi’s lazy scrawl. They’re officially married.
Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s shoulder as they leave, tipping his hat towards Jimin. “Congratulations,” he says simply, nodding at Yoongi with a firm squeeze of his shoulder and a meaningful look towards his new husband.
Yoongi knows what Namjoon means. It’s his way of saying, ‘be a good husband’, but also acknowledging he knows Yoongi isn’t an ass. He’ll do his best—always has.
“I’ve got some things to pick up from the general store,” Yoongi tells Jimin as they climb back up onto the cart. “Shouldn’t take long.” Jimin nods, settling back down on the wooden seat.
“It’s quite a small town,” he comments quietly as they make their way to the store. He doesn’t sound critical, just observational.
“Smaller than you’re used to?” Yoongi asks. Jimin shrugs.
“Not by much. The gold mining towns fill up during the summer but come winter it’s about the same.”
“I don’t usually come in often so you probably won’t see too much of it,” Yoongi says. “I have a set order with Neil Watson at the store which I pick up once a month.” Jimin nods again and Yoongi wonders if he’s disappointed. “If you ever want anything, just let me know and we can see if they have it.”
“Thank you.”
The sun tells Yoongi it’s about three o’clock by the time they’ve finished in town and made the journey back to the farm. They don’t talk much although Yoongi points out some of the important buildings in town as well as the boundaries of the farm while Apollo pulls them up the packed dirt road.
“I think I told you I was a sheep farmer,” he tells Jimin, pointing at the fields on their right dotted with a few dozen sheep, “but I also have apple trees.”
“The sheep are so pretty,” Jimin murmurs, looking at the sheep rubbing themselves against the fence.
“I had the shearing crew in about a week ago so they’re happy without all that hot wool.”
As they turn the corner, the farmhouse comes into view. Yoongi watches Jimin’s face out of the corner of his eye to see his reaction, hoping it’s not a disappointing sight for his new husband. It’s not a huge house but it looks good against the green fields, the white planks almost glowing in the afternoon sun, the porch casting a shadow over the front yard.
“I hope it’s not too small for you—”
“It’s beautiful,” Jimin breathes, and he seems to mean it, eyes wide as he looks at the farmhouse. Yoongi’s chest warms.
“My parents built it when they first bought the land. My brother and I grew up here.”
“It must’ve been a great place to live,” Jimin murmurs, still looking at the house with something close to wonder.
Yoongi ties Apollo and the cart up to the porch and decides to deal with it later. He shucks his boots off at the door and Jimin does the same, stacking them neatly next to the door. The tour of the place doesn’t take long—it’s not a huge house after all—but Jimin’s lips stay upturned as he looks around, fingers reaching out occasionally to brush over the wooden benches in the kitchen or the woollen blankets draped over the couch in the living room. Yoongi had done his best to tidy the place up, trying to make it seem a little less like the house of a bachelor and more like a home for two.
“This is where we’ll sleep,” he says, gesturing into the bedroom. Jimin nods, eyes flicking over the room, settling on the colourful quilt with an expression Yoongi can’t read. He doesn’t say anything.
“You can put your things here,” Yoongi hastens to add, pointing over at a small set of shelves on one side of the bed. He’d built it a few days ago, painting it with some leftover white fence paint he’d found in the shed. It doesn’t look too shabby and Jimin’s smile returns as he looks at it.
“You made this?” Yoongi nods. “Thank you.”
“I’ll bring your trunk in and you can unpack before dinner if you like.” Jimin nods, casting one more look at the room before they head back down the hallway. Yoongi goes out to grab the trunk and Jimin follows, picking up some of the packages from the general store to bring into the kitchen. It pleases Yoongi to see how quickly his husband is willing to help, arms filled with parcels of beans, flour, and sugar. He has a good feeling about this.
Yoongi leaves Jimin to unpack his things, saying he has some jobs to finish up on the farm before dinner. Jimin is grateful to have a moment to himself on this day that has become one giant blur. He’s exhausted after so many hours on the train—the hard seats had done nothing to help him sleep—and the nerves of meeting his new alpha have twisted his stomach into knots.
Yoongi seems alright. He’s clearly a man of few words but seems kind enough and Jimin reasons he is probably just as nervous as Jimin himself. Well, maybe not quite as much. Still, he’d built Jimin these shelves for his things and even picked some flowers that sit in a tiny vase on the top shelf. Jimin looks at it all, takes a deep breath and tries to settle the sickening dread in his gut.
He doesn’t have very many things to fill the shelves but he does his best to make it look nice. His books take up half of one shelf, his sewing materials the other half. He has the little wooden box that serves as a place for his jewellery on the top shelf next to the flowers and a tiny bottle of scent beside it. The jewellery box doesn’t have much in it: a thin silver bracelet which used to be his mother’s, a colourful stone pendant on a piece of black cord, and the metal ring he’d received from his ex-husband, their marriage date scratched into the side with a pin.
The remaining shelves remain resolutely empty and Jimin wonders if he might be able to get some more books one day to add to his meagre collection. Maybe. He’s not sure if Yoongi will approve of his reading.
There is space in the closet for Jimin’s clothes and he hangs them up neatly next to Yoongi’s. The trunk Jimin squeezes under the bed, dusting off his hands as he stands up from the floor. There isn’t much else to do. He should go and make dinner soon, although he’s not sure exactly what time Yoongi will come back. For now, he sits down on the bed, feeling over the fluffy woollen blanket. It’s probably sheep wool from the farm, Jimin realises, and he wonders if Yoongi made it or someone else. The wool has been dyed all the colours of the rainbow but whoever knitted it doesn’t possess much skill; it is as much made of knots as it is proper stitches.
It is incredibly soft, however, and Jimin can’t help but lay down, just for a moment, to feel the softness against his skin.
The last thing he remembers is watching the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, disturbed by the trunk being pushed under the bed.
There is someone calling Jimin’s name through the syrupy haze of his dream and Jimin reaches for the surface. He wakes with a choked gasp, his brain suddenly clunking into place as he realises where he is. Yoongi is standing at the end of the bed. It was Yoongi calling his name; he shouldn’t have been sleeping.
He opens his mouth to apologize but Yoongi just smiles a little and turns to leave. “Dinner’s ready.”
Jimin stumbles to his feet, still reeling with the last remnants of sleep. He feels terrible. While Yoongi was working hard on the farm and cooking dinner, Jimin just slept for hours.
He follows Yoongi through to the kitchen, tries apologizing only for Yoongi to wave it away as he ladles stew into two bowls.
“You’ve been travelling all day. No wonder you’re exhausted.”
“I should’ve–”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi interrupts quietly. “Here, go sit.” He hands Jimin one of the bowls.
They eat together at the kitchen table in silence. The stew is good—Yoongi clearly knows how to use spices—and Jimin scrapes his bowl clean. He catches Yoongi smiling at him as he does so and can’t help but feel embarrassed. He’s an omega; he should have more manners than this. He puts his spoon down rather quickly, leaping to grab Yoongi’s bowl when he’s finished so he can start on the dishes. It feels better to be helping, hands deep amongst the suds, instead of lazing about like some degenerate omega.
Yoongi goes back out to shut the barn and feed the horses but he’s back inside by the time Jimin finishes drying the last dishes.
“Do you drink tea?” He asks, reaching into a cupboard to pull out two cups and a teapot when Jimin nods. They wait for the water to boil and Jimin finishes putting away the bags of beans and other provisions Yoongi had brought from the store today. Yoongi sits at the kitchen table, fixing part of a leather bridle, but he points Jimin to the right cupboards.
“You can change things around to how you want it tomorrow,” he says and Jimin smiles, bobbing his head gratefully. He’s always liked cooking and it’ll be easier once he’s familiar with the layout of the kitchen and he can move things to where they make the most sense.
The kettle whistles after a few minutes and Jimin pours the hot water over the tea leaves. It’s something herbal and the steam that wafts into his face smells fragrant. Yoongi carries the cups into the living room and Jimin follows with the teapot, careful not to spill on the smooth wooden floors. There’s a couch and two chairs, and when Yoongi sits in one, Jimin settles into the other. The abundance of blankets in the house probably has a lot to do with the fifty sheep outside and he wraps himself in the one draped over the arm of his chair, unable to hide his delight.
“Did you knit these?” He asks Yoongi tentatively, somewhat surprised when Yoongi looks up and nods, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“The one on the bed was the first so it looks the worst but I think I’ve gotten better over the years.” He points at another blanket on the couch. “I finished that one a few months ago.”
“It’s wool from the farm?”
“Most of it. There’s a fellow with alpacas who traded me some wool a while ago. That’s mixed into a few of them.”
Yoongi pours them both a cup of tea, passing Jimin his before he settles back in his chair. “I hope the place will be comfortable for you,” he says, eyes flicking around the room before settling back on Jimin. “I’m used to living alone so you’ll have to excuse me if it takes a little time for me to get used to having someone else around.”
“I won’t get in the way,” Jimin assures. “I’m good at being quiet.” Yoongi shakes his head and Jimin wonders if he’s said something wrong.
“You’re not—it’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m just letting you know if you need anything—if I’ve forgotten to show you something—just ask and I’ll do my best.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Yoongi ducks his head, sipping at his tea.
“We didn’t really get to know each other very well through our letters so I guess I should tell you a bit more about me,” Yoongi murmurs after a moment. “My parents passed away a few years ago during the cholera outbreak. The farm was meant to go to my older brother but he didn’t want it so I took it on instead and my brother bought the tavern a few towns over.” Yoongi’s eyes flick over to Jimin. “It’s a pretty quiet life out here. There’s not much to do apart from work on the farm so I thought it was about time I had someone else to share this house with. You know the rest of that story.” There’s a furrow in his brow that wasn’t there before and Jimin’s heart aches a little in sympathy.
“I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”
“That’s life,” Yoongi replies. He sighs deeply, draining his teacup in one sudden gulp. “What about you? You said in your letters you’d been married before?” Jimin swallows at the sudden change in direction.
“I was married for five years previously to an alpha, Markus.”
“Five?” Yoongi’s eyebrows quirk. “And you’re twenty-two?”
“I met him the same way I met you.” Jimin presses his lips together in a wry smile. “We lived at a gold mining camp most of the years. He passed away in an accident last year.”
Yoongi murmurs his condolences and settles a little deeper in his chair. He seems confused.
“Forgive me for asking but five years together and you were never… mated?” Jimin nods, ignoring the spark of hurt that had found a home in his chest so many years ago. He’d never gotten over that slight.
“Markus didn’t want to. When the accident happened, his family kicked me out and I didn’t have anywhere to go.” Jimin forces himself to smile. “That’s why I came back to this.” He’s not expecting Yoongi to frown as deep as he does.
“The family gave you nothing?”
“Why would they? I’m an unmated omega, twenty-four years younger than my alpha. I don’t come from a wealthy family.” Jimin shrugs. “They didn’t owe me anything.”
“Twenty-four—” Yoongi looks almost aghast and it makes Jimin fidget, not comfortable with the look Yoongi fixes on him.
“There’s plenty of older alphas looking for an omega and he was good to me.” He says quietly, aware he sounds like he’s defending himself but not sure why he would have to.
Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut and his expression shifts into something unreadable.
“My apologies. I’m not familiar with what’s normal when it comes to this whole match-making business.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Jimin’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. What sort of omega is he, making his alpha apologize for asking a question.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Yoongi pouring them both another cup of tea. He seems to be thinking hard, brow furrowed in concentration. Finally, he looks back over at Jimin.
“Do you have family? They must’ve been sad for you to be getting married so young.”
“I never met my father and my mother passed away when I was a kid. I was in an orphanage after that.” If possible, Yoongi’s eyebrows knit even closer together and Jimin feels suddenly overwhelmed with shame. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want to turn this all so dark.”
“You can’t help it if that’s how it is,” Yoongi replies, shrugging away Jimin’s apology. He shakes his head a little and his forehead loses some of the tension. “You’re right though. Let’s talk about something lighter.” His eyes search around the room. “You brought books?”
“Just a few,” Jimin mumbles, suddenly worried Yoongi will take them away.
“Good. That chest over there is full of books so, when you’d like, you’re welcome to have a look. I’ve been meaning to put them up on the shelves but I never got around to it.”
Jimin’s heart leaps for joy as he looks at the huge chest in the corner. Markus had never really approved of Jimin’s reading so he only did so when Markus was working. But Yoongi has books and he’s allowed to read them, encouraged event.
“Thank you,” he breathes, struggling to contain his excitement. Yoongi’s mouth curls with amusement.
“You never had much time for reading or something?”
“Markus didn’t like me reading,” Jimin explains absently, fingers itching to open the chest.
“Go on then,” Yoongi says, gesturing at the chest, and Jimin waits for only a half-second to be polite before he puts down his cup and goes over to the corner.
Yoongi wasn’t joking when he said it was filled with books; it literally is filled to the brim. Jimin hardly dares touch them but he reaches out with tentative hands to pull a few from the stacks. Some of the books are about farming or cooking but underneath there are plenty of novels and Jimin carefully reaches for one titled Moby Dick. There’s a small ship painted on the cover and Jimin deduces it must be some sort of sailing story.
Yoongi’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “You’re welcome to bring some through to add to your shelves, fill them up a little.” Jimin turns to look at him.
“Really?”
“Of course.” He waves a hand. “Do what you like with them.”
Jimin doesn’t take anything out of the chest apart from Moby Dick. It feels too greedy. One is enough and he curls up in the chair across from Yoongi, consuming the pages like a man possessed. It’s been so long since he’s had a new book; he’s practically memorized the ones he’d brought with him.
They sit in comfortable silence. Yoongi is still busy with the bridle, stitching loose ends together with a thick needle before polishing the metal with a rag. Jimin can see him looking up every so often through his peripheral vision but he never says anything and Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi minds him reading here—he’s given him access to a whole chest of books after all. The evening is warm and the gas lamps light the sitting room with a comfortable glow. It’s definitely cosier than his old house in the mining camp and Jimin apologizes to Markus in his mind for thinking ill of their old home.
But all good things must come to an end and eventually, Yoongi stands up to hang the bridle by the kitchen door for the morning. He walks around the room, extinguishing the gas lamps as Jimin washes their cups and puts away the teapot. The nerves that had abated over the course of the evening flap themselves into a frenzy in his stomach and he clenches his fingers into fists, trying to get his hands to stop shaking.
Yoongi has lit the lamp in their bedroom and he waits for Jimin to step into the hallway before extinguishing the last lamp in the living room. Jimin tries not to focus on the sense of impending doom he gets walking down the hallway and to focus instead on the feeling of the book between his hands. It doesn’t help.
“I’m going to brush my teeth,” he mumbles, grabbing his nightshirt and fleeing to the bathroom before Yoongi can say anything. He’d always hated this part of married life the most, as much as he knew it was his duty. He’s had so many months without Markus he’d almost forgotten how thick the dread pulsating in his gut could feel.
He brushes his teeth until his gums sting and shucks his clothes in a whirlwind, pulling his nightshirt over his head in a hurry. As he’s leaving the bathroom, Yoongi comes in to brush his teeth as well and Jimin feels naked already with the cool air swirling around his bare legs. He practically runs down the hallway.
He frets in the bedroom, wondering how Yoongi wants him, wondering if it’ll hurt more than normal. It’s been a while—it probably will . He settles underneath the covers, staring at the ceiling and trying not to show his anxiety on his face when Yoongi wanders back in. In sharp contrast, his husband looks relaxed, clothed in a nightshirt similar to Jimin’s, hair damp from where he’s washed his face. He slides under the covers next to Jimin, the bed dipping below his weight, and carefully extinguishes the gas lamp at his bedside.
Jimin’s heartbeat thunders in his ears.
There’s a long moment of silence, long enough that Jimin’s ears start playing tricks on him until he’s imagining the sounds of the sheets rustling. But Yoongi doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Jimin wonders what’s wrong. Then a thought strikes him. What if this is a test? Maybe Yoongi is waiting for Jimin to say something? To encourage him? Or… Jimin has no idea what. There’s a sour taste in his mouth. He’s not used to this; normally, Markus just went for it.
He has to say something.
“How—how do you want me?” His voice wavers more than he’d like but he manages to say it clearly.
There’s a long pause and Jimin’s not sure if Yoongi even heard him. Maybe he fell asleep? Maybe he—
“Pardon?” Yoongi’s voice sounds impossibly confused. Jimin isn’t sure how to be clearer.
“How do you want me? On my back or…?” He trails off as Yoongi makes a strangled sort of noise.
“Jimin. We’re not doing that. ”
“On my front then?” Jimin isn’t sure why Yoongi sounds so shocked. There’s another sharp pause and then fumbling in the dark before a match strikes and the gas lamp flares to life.
Yoongi sits up, flings down the matchbox and turns to look at Jimin in a way that has him feeling impossibly small.
“Is that what—you thought I’d just have my way with you?” Yoongi sounds disgusted and Jimin doesn’t get it.
“We’re married.” Yoongi looks at him like he’s grown a third head and Jimin shrinks under the force of his gaze.
“Just because we signed our names on a piece of paper doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to do something you don’t want to. And I’m not forcing myself on you. We hardly know each other.”
Is this part of the test? Jimin doesn’t understand. This is what married couples do. This is what alphas do.
“We’re married. I—I want to.” There’s a stony silence and Jimin waits, breath caught in his throat. Yoongi suddenly huffs a humourless laugh.
“Say that again but this time look me in the eye. You don’t mean that.” Jimin turns to look at him properly.
“I want to,” he repeats and Yoongi’s eyes narrow.
“I don’t believe you.”
Jimin is at a loss for words.
“You’re an alpha. Why don’t you want—why wouldn’t you—we’re married. ” He doesn’t know how else to say it, remembers his first time with Markus far too clearly.
Markus is on him within seconds of Jimin slipping into bed that first night. He’s seventeen, hardly had his first kiss, but he knows what Markus wants when the older alpha rolls over and starts fumbling at Jimin’s nightshirt. He panics, can’t help but recoil from these unfamiliar touches in unfamiliar places. He tries pushing Markus’s hands away but then his own hands are pinned down by his head in his alpha’s grip.
Markus doesn’t yell, doesn’t get angry, doesn’t do anything except lean his head down next to Jimin’s head and murmur, “what are you to me?”
“Your husband,” Jimin stammers, fingers going slack in Markus’s grip. Markus nods.
“What else?”
“Your—your omega?”
“Exactly. Why are you fighting me?” Jimin doesn’t know what to say, any words of protest dying in his throat.
“I don’t know.”
“We’re married,” Markus reminds him. “You’re my husband, my omega. Now, behave.”
Yoongi lets out a pained sigh, snapping Jimin out of his memories.
“Jimin, I’m not forcing myself onto you just because we’re married. We don’t know each other yet. We have plenty of time to—to build something together. When we get to that stage, it’ll be because you actually want to and not out of a misguided sense of duty.” There’s a faint pink tinge to Yoongi’s cheeks, just visible in the glow of the gaslamp.
“But alphas… you need it.” Jimin’s brain is in overdrive. Yoongi’s eyes practically bug out of his head.
“We don’t need anything, Jimin. I’ve lived alone forever. Believe me, we don’t need anything.”
“Oh.”
The dust is settling in his head. Now he’s just confused. Confused and suddenly doubtful, still wondering if this is a test or if maybe Markus wasn’t right about everything or if maybe Yoongi is just an incredibly strange alpha. He decides it’s probably a combination of the first and last.
Yoongi gives him a hard look before turning off the lamp.
“Now, we sleep. Okay?”
“Just… just sleeping?” Jimin has to make sure. Just in case this isn’t what Yoongi means.
“Just sleeping,” Yoongi repeats, the sheets rustling underneath him as he lays back down. Jimin can see his profile against the window, the light from the moon illuminating the room in a faint glow that allows him to see Yoongi’s eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. It takes a few minutes, Jimin watching Yoongi’s eyes almost without breathing until finally they flutter shut and he feels safe enough to turn his back on his husband.
Yoongi doesn’t want him. But he also said they’d consummate their marriage when Jimin wants him to. It’s perplexing. Jimin’s not sure he’ll ever want it—it’s a painful experience, something that was always as much of a chore as churning butter or beating heavy mats. It’s not for omegas to enjoy anyway, only alphas, and he decides Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.