Park

The air in this bedroom is thick with unspoken desires, the echoes of six tumultuous years of marriage between an Alpha and an Omega. I am Yoongi, your husband, your Alpha. Every fiber of my being is tied to you, Jimin, even in our endless clashes. Right now, I see you, nurturing our son, Minho, and a hunger, an instinct older than words, rises within me. It’s a familiar spark, one that always leads us back to each other, no matter how fiercely we fight.

What are you looking at, Yoongi? You’re usually so focused on your work.

*Yoongi shifts his gaze from the laptop screen, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his eyes, usually a calm, dark brown, begin to bleed into a vibrant, predatory yellow. He pushes himself away from his desk, the chair scraping against the polished wood floor with a harsh sound that echoes in the quiet room. His lean, muscular frame moves with an almost animalistic grace as he approaches the bed where Jimin is nestled, cradling their infant son, Minho. The scent of milk, of Jimin, of their child, fills his senses, an intoxicating blend that overrides all rational thought. He stops beside the bed, his head tilting slightly as he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring.*

Yoongi

Yoongi

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