Archive of Our Own

The mirror didn’t lie. It never did.

Jimin stood in front of it, his arms limp at his sides, his chest heaving. His reflection stared back, unrelenting, sharp, and unforgiving. He hated it, so fucking much. He hated the way the fluorescent lights overhead washed out his skin, making the sweat on his face glisten like he was drowning. He hated the way his shirt clung to his body, damp and sticking to him like a second skin. He hated the blood that seeped through the old bandages wrapped around his feet, the sharp stinging in his knees from the fresh scrapes that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

More than anything, he hated the look in his own eyes. The emptiness. The frustration. The desperate question: Why are you even doing this?

He turned away for a moment, trying to catch his breath, his hands on his knees, but the pain shot through him, forcing him to straighten again. He was trembling now. Not just from exhaustion, but from the anger bubbling beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

He’d been at it for hours, maybe longer. The clock on the wall was a blur, the numbers meaningless. All he knew was that it was late, too late, and he was still here, in this stupid studio, trying to get this stupid routine right.

He looked at himself again, and the mirror reflected not just his body, but every hateful thought he’d tried to bury deep.

“You’re just an omega.”

“You’ll never be good enough.”

“Too weak. Too soft. Too small.”

The words hit him like knives, one after the other. He couldn’t tell where they were coming from anymore. Were they his own thoughts, or echoes of voices from his past? It didn’t matter. They felt real enough to choke him.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and forced himself to take a step back. He raised his arms into position, trying to block it all out. The trembling didn’t stop. His legs wobbled beneath him, the sting in his knees flaring up, but he ignored it. He had to. He couldn’t let it stop him. Not now.

“Just one more time,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow. “One more.”

He moved, launching into the routine again. His body ached with every step, his muscles screaming in protest, but he pushed through. He’d pushed through worse. He’d pushed through hunger, through sleepless nights, through tears he couldn’t let anyone see. This was nothing.

The spin came, the hardest part of the choreography, and for a fleeting second, he thought he had it. But his foot slipped just slightly, a wobble, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him, it was everything. His rhythm faltered, and the rest of the sequence fell apart in an instant. He stumbled, his legs giving out, and he hit the floor hard.

The impact was jarring, a sharp pain shooting through his wrists as he caught himself. His knees throbbed where they slammed against the wood, and for a moment, he just stayed there. His hands splayed out on the floor, his head hanging low, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Why bother? You’ll never get it right.”

The thought slithered in before he could stop it, and this time, he couldn’t fight it. It wrapped around his chest, squeezing tight, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He pressed his forehead to the floor, his eyes shut tight, as if he could block it all out. But it didn’t work. It never worked.

“You’re a failure. A joke. Nothing more than an omega.”

His breath hitched, and the tears came hot and fast, spilling over before he could stop them. He pressed his lips together, trying to keep the sobs in, but his body betrayed him. His shoulders shook, and his chest ached with the effort of holding it all inside.

He thought about the things he used to do to make himself “good enough.” The days when he’d stare at his reflection in the mirror, counting every flaw, every imperfection, until he couldn’t take it anymore. The nights when he’d go to bed hungry, telling himself that if he just stayed small, stayed pretty, maybe he’d be worth something.

He couldn’t go back to that. He wouldn’t go back to that. But God, it was hard not to.

“Get up,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking. He pushed himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. He sat back on his heels, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. His fingers came away wet with tears and streaked with blood, and he almost laughed at the pathetic sight.

He looked back at the mirror, his reflection still waiting for him. It hadn’t changed. It still looked tired, beaten down, broken. But he stared anyway, forcing himself to meet his own eyes.

“This is all you have,” he whispered. His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “You don’t have a choice. You have to keep going.”

He staggered to his feet, wobbling for a moment before he found his balance. His knees screamed at him, and his feet ached with every step, but he moved back into position. The room spun slightly, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. But he didn’t. He held himself steady, raising his arms again, squaring his shoulders, staring his reflection down.

“One more time,” he said, his voice stronger now, though his body shook. “Just one more try.”

—————————————————————

The sharp clap of Hoseok’s hands brought Jimin out of his daze.

“Alright, guys, one more time from the top!” Hoseok’s voice was as bright and energetic as always, his enthusiasm infectious. Jimin forced a smile, nodding along as Jungkook groaned dramatically beside him.

“Hyuuuung, we’ve done this like ten times already,” Jungkook whined, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “Can’t we take a break?”

“You’ll thank me later when you’re flawless on stage,” Hoseok replied with a smirk, adjusting the straps of his tank top. His gaze landed on Jimin. “You good, Chim?”

“Yeah,” Jimin said quickly, straightening his posture even though every inch of his body ached. He felt Hoseok’s eyes linger on him for a second too long, but thankfully, Hoseok didn’t press.

The music started, and Jimin moved with them, forcing his body to keep up with the sharp, precise choreography. His limbs felt heavier than they should, and his balance was slightly off, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. Every step sent a dull throb through his knees, and he fought the urge to wince.

By the time the routine ended, his vision was starting to blur at the edges. He stumbled slightly, catching himself by leaning into Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Whoa, hyung,” Jungkook said, steadying him. His eyes flicked to the older’s face, concern etched into his expression. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin said quickly, stepping away and shaking out his legs like the stumble had been nothing. “Just lost my footing for a second, don’t worry.”

Hoseok crossed his arms, frowning. “Jimin, you’ve been off all day. And don’t think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been favoring your right leg. Are your knees acting up again?”

“No,” Jimin lied, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. He softened it quickly, offering a small smile. “I’m fine, really. I just didn’t sleep much last night.”

Hoseok didn’t look convinced, and neither did Jungkook. “Maybe we should call it a day,” He suggested, stepping closer. “You’re clearly exhausted, and pushing yourself like this isn’t going to help.”

Jimin shook his head immediately. “No. I’m fine. I can keep going.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Hyung, come on. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I said I’m fine,” Jimin snapped, the words coming out harsher than he meant. The silence that followed felt heavy, and he immediately regretted it. “Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding their eyes. “I just…I need to practice more. You guys can go ahead without me.”

Hoseok sighed, his expression softening. “Jimin, we’re just worried about you.

“I know,” Jimin said quietly. He forced another smile, trying to make it convincing. “Really, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Hoseok hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded. “Alright. But promise me you’ll eat something tonight and get some rest.”

“Promise,” Jimin lied again.

Jungkook gave him a lingering look as they gathered their things and left. The studio door closed behind them with a soft click, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

Jimin stood in the middle of the studio, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Again. His friends were gone, the room empty except for him. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, and stepped back into position.

The music started, and he moved, throwing himself into the routine. His body protested with every step, every spin, but he pushed through it, ignoring the way his vision swam and his legs trembled beneath him.

The jump came, and he missed the landing—again. His foot slipped, and he stumbled, barely catching himself before hitting the floor.

“Fuck!” he shouted, the word echoing through the empty studio. He grabbed his water bottle and hurled it at the mirror, watching as it bounced off harmlessly and clattered to the floor. His chest heaved, his throat tightening as tears threatened to spill over.

“Why can’t you just get it right?”

The thought clawed at him, loud and cruel. His reflection stared back at him, pale and exhausted, and he hated it. He hated himself.

He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands to the floor as a sob tore from his throat. The emotions he’d been bottling up for days, weeks, months, spilled over all at once, raw and uncontrollable.

Jimin clutched at the floor, his fingers curling so tightly that his nails scraped against the polished wood. His whole body felt like it was on fire, the heat spreading from his chest to the very tips of his fingers and toes. It wasn’t just exhaustion anymore, it was something deeper, something primal that clawed its way to the surface.

His breathing came in ragged gasps, his throat tightening as the first wave of the shift hit him. A sharp pain lanced through his spine, making him cry out, his voice raw and broken. He doubled over, pressing his forehead to the floor, but it didn’t help. The heat intensified, and his vision blurred, the room spinning around him.

His hands trembled as his nails began to get longer, sharpening into claws that gleamed faintly under the dim studio lights. His muscles burned, stretching and shifting in ways that felt unnatural and yet right, like his body was finally doing what it had been holding back for too long.

Jimin groaned as his jaw ached, his teeth sharpening, his canines pressing uncomfortably against his gums before settling into their new shape. His ears twitched, elongating slightly, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly became unbearably loud. Every sound, the creak of the floorboards beneath him, the rustle of his own clothes, felt magnified, like the world had turned up its volume just to torment him.

His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm erratic, frantic. His body shook violently, the transformation taking over completely now. He could feel the soft prickle of fur beginning to sprout along his arms and legs, his skin itching and burning as it gave way to the sleek, silvery coat that marked his wolf form.

Jimin whimpered, his voice catching in his throat as his tailbone stretched, forming a tail that thudded weakly against the floor. His legs shifted, his bones rearranging themselves with sharp, jarring cracks that made him wince. He tried to hold onto some part of himself, to keep the shift at bay, but it was no use.

Finally, with one last shuddering breath, it was over.

He laid there for a moment, trembling, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to process what had just happened. His claws scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed himself up onto shaky legs. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye, and he froze.

A sleek, silver-furred wolf stared back at him, its eyes wide and panicked. It was him, and yet it wasn’t. His chest heaved, his tail tucked low, and his ears flattened against his head. The sight made his heart race even faster.

The frustration that had been simmering in his chest erupted again, raw and uncontrollable. He growled low, his claws raking against the floor as he paced in front of the mirror, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He felt trapped. By his body, by his failures, by everything he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You’re pathetic,” the voice in his head whispered. “Look at yourself. You can’t even control this.”

Jimin let out a sharp bark, his claws digging into the wood as he swiped at the air in frustration. His reflection blurred as tears welled in his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. But the overwhelming emotions, the anger, the shame, the exhaustion, only grew stronger.

And then, the door opened.

Jimin froze. His heart slammed against his ribs, his claws scratching against the floor as he spun toward the sound. A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the faint hallway light. His tall frame filled the space, and even in the dim studio, Jimin could make out the dark waves of his hair falling across his forehead. He didn’t move, his figure outlined in shadows, but his presence was enough to send a fresh wave of panic rushing through Jimin’s body.

The man took a cautious step forward, his movements slow, measured. “Jimin,” he said, his voice low and steady. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words barely registered through the roar of Jimin’s heartbeat. His legs trembled as he took an instinctive step back, his claws skidding slightly on the wood. He didn’t know this man. He knew of him, Min Yoongi, the studio owner, a former idol-turned-producer, but he’d never met him. Never even seen him up close until now.

And now, here he was, staring at Jimin in his most vulnerable state.

“No, no, no,” Jimin whispered, his voice breaking into a soft whine. His wolf instincts screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He felt cornered, his silver fur bristling as his ears flattened against his head.

Yoongi stopped, his dark eyes locking onto Jimin’s trembling form. His face was calm, almost unreadable, but there was something in his expression, something steady, reassuring. He raised his hands slowly, palms facing out, as if to show he meant no harm.

“Jimin,” he said again, his tone impossibly gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

Jimin’s chest heaved as he tried to process the words. Safe? No alpha had ever made him feel safe before. His experiences had taught him otherwise, alphas weren’t safe. Alphas were dangerous, unpredictable, overpowering.

Yoongi must have seen the fear in Jimin’s wide eyes because he didn’t come any closer. Instead, he did something Jimin didn’t expect.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Yoongi began to shift.

Jimin’s breath caught as he watched Yoongi’s form change effortlessly. His shoulders rolled back, his dark hair blending seamlessly into sleek, black fur. His figure elongated, his limbs transforming with a fluid grace that made it look almost…easy.? Within moments, a large black wolf stood where Yoongi had been, its deep, steady eyes focused entirely on Jimin.

The wolf lowered its head slightly, its ears relaxed, its posture non-threatening. There was no aggression, no dominance, only calm, measured movements.

Jimin whimpered softly, his legs wobbling beneath him as his fear spiked. He took another shaky step back, his tail tucking low. The larger wolf paused, watching him carefully, as if sensing his hesitation.

And then, the scent hit him.

Warm, soothing alpha pheromones filled the room, wrapping around Jimin like a blanket. His head swam, the panic in his chest loosening slightly as the calming scent worked its way into his senses. His trembling eased, though he didn’t know why.

The black wolf stayed where it was, its dark eyes never leaving Jimin. Slowly, it took a single step forward, its movements deliberate, almost cautious. Jimin tensed, his claws scraping lightly against the floor, but the soothing pheromones made it hard to hold onto his fear.

Another step. Then another. The wolf was close now, close enough that Jimin could see the faint sheen of its black fur under the room’s lights, the way its chest rose and fell with steady breaths.

Jimin let out a soft, uncertain whine, his body still trembling. The wolf paused again, sitting back on its haunches. Its head tilted slightly, as if waiting, giving Jimin the space to decide.

Tentatively, Jimin took a step forward. His legs felt weak, his movements hesitant, but the warmth of the alpha’s scent pulled him closer. He didn’t know this wolf, didn’t understand why he was here, why he cared, but in that moment, Jimin’s instincts told him to trust.

The black wolf leaned forward, its nose brushing gently against Jimin’s silver fur. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a wave of comfort through Jimin’s trembling form. Slowly, he lowered his head, leaning into the larger wolf’s touch.

Jimin’s silver fur bristled slightly, his body still caught between fight and flight, but the warmth radiating from the larger wolf’s presence was undeniable. His muscles ached, his knees still bore the faint sting of his earlier falls, and his claws, dulled from scraping against the studio floor, throbbed faintly. He was exhausted, and as much as he wanted to keep up his guard, his body was betraying him, leaning ever so slightly into the comfort Yoongi offered.

The larger wolf stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. He nudged Jimin’s shoulder lightly, his dark eyes steady and calm. The black wolf’s scent was soothing, grounding, like a steady hand pulling Jimin out of the storm in his mind.

A soft whine escaped Jimin’s throat before he could stop it, and he immediately shrank back, embarrassed. He turned his head away, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze, but he felt the black wolf’s gentle presence hovering close.

“Jimin,” Yoongi’s voice came, low and soft, though it held the faint rasp of an alpha who had just shifted back and forth. Jimin’s ears twitched at the sound. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m here to help you.”

Jimin whimpered softly, his body trembling. He didn’t know how to respond, he didn’t even know if he should respond. He didn’t trust alphas, not after everything he’d been through, but this one… this one didn’t feel like the others. Yoongi’s voice was comforting, not demanding. His scent was warm, not overwhelming. Everything about him was calm, deliberate, like he was giving Jimin the space to breathe.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Yoongi said again. “You’ve had enough of that, haven’t you?”

Jimin flinched at the words, the weight of them cutting through him. He let out another soft whine, his silver tail curling around his legs as his body shrank in on itself. His ears flattened, and he risked a quick glance at Yoongi. A pair of understanding eyes met his. He knew.

The other wolf lowered itself onto the floor, stretching out slowly so that his head rested near Jimin’s paws. He didn’t move any closer, didn’t press. He just… waited.?

Jimin hesitated, his claws clicking faintly against the floor as he shifted his weight nervously. His muscles still felt tight, coiled with the tension that hadn’t left him since the transformation started. He could feel the faint sting of blood where the skin at his knees had torn earlier, and his body ached in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Tentatively, he took a step closer, his movements slow and uncertain. The black wolf didn’t react, didn’t even lift its head, but Jimin could feel the steady warmth of his presence. It was like standing next to a hearth on a cold winter night, the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones and made you forget, if only for a moment, how cold the world could be.

Another step. Then another.

Finally, Jimin lowered himself onto the floor, his silver fur brushing lightly against the black wolf’s side. He flinched at the contact, but Yoongi didn’t move, didn’t push. He just stayed there, his breathing slow and even, his warmth radiating like a quiet reassurance.

“See?” Yoongi’s voice came again, softer this time. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jimin’s chest tightened, a strange mix of relief and fear warring inside him. He let out another whine, tucking his head down, his ears flattening against his skull. His muscles were still wound tight, his body refusing to fully relax, but the steady rhythm of Yoongi’s breathing was starting to lull him into something close to calm.

Yoongi shifted, his large frame curling around Jimin’s smaller one. The black wolf’s head rested gently against Jimin’s back, and the closeness should have terrified him (it did terrify him) but the warmth and the relaxing pheromones made it harder and harder to hold onto his fear.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Yoongi murmured, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. “But you don’t have to carry it alone. Not anymore.”

Jimin felt the words like a balm against his wrecked nerves. His body gave an involuntary shudder, his breathing hitching, but the other didn’t move, didn’t press. He just stayed there, like a shield against the storm Jimin had been fighting for so long.

Slowly, Jimin’s trembling began to ease. His breathing evened out, the tension in his muscles loosening bit by bit as he sank deeper into the warmth surrounding him. His silver fur brushed against Yoongi’s, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself relax.

His eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion that had been clawing at him for hours finally catching up. He was still scared, still unsure, but the fear felt distant now, like it couldn’t reach him through the steady hum of Yoongi’s presence.

As the minutes stretched on, Jimin let his head rest lightly against Yoongi’s side. His last conscious thought before sleep pulled him under was how warm Yoongi’s fur felt, how safe he’d somehow made him feel, even when Jimin hadn’t thought it was possible.

And for the first time in years, Jimin slept without nightmares.

—————————————————————

The first thing Jimin became aware of was the weight of his body. Every muscle ached, his knees stung, and his head felt heavy, almost foggy. He stirred, trying to move, but something solid and warm beneath him shifted in response. That’s when he noticed it, his cheek was pressed against someone’s chest, the soft rise and fall of their breathing gently lulling him back to reality.

Hold up, what-

His eyes flew open.

The light of the studio blurred his vision for a moment, but he quickly realized where he was, and worse, who he was curled against. He pushed himself up in a rush, stumbling backward as his knees protested, the sharp sting pulling him fully awake.

Sitting against the wall, looking impossibly calm, was fucking Min Yoongi.

Jimin’s breath hitched as he took in the scene. Yoongi’s dark, wavy hair framed his sharp features, and his expression was unreadable, though there was a faint softness in his eyes. He sat with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands resting casually on his knees.

Jimin scrambled to sit up properly, his hands twisting in his lap as embarrassment coursed through him. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t even know how I—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi said, his tone low and even. “Take it easy.”

Jimin’s heart pounded as he ducked his head, unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze. “I’m really sorry. You didn’t have to stay, and I—”

“Jimin.” The older’s voice was kind but firm, cutting through Jimin’s nervous rambling. “It’s fine. You were exhausted. It happens.”

Jimin hesitated, his fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. “Still…I didn’t mean for you to see me like that.”

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Why does that matter?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Because it’s… embarrassing. I’m supposed to be better than this.”

Yoongi let out a quiet hum. “It’s normal, Jimin. Even the best of us get tired. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Jimin finally glanced up, his gaze darting nervously toward Yoongi. “You’ve seen me practice?”

“Sometimes,” Yoongi admitted. “I work late a lot, and you’re usually here, pushing yourself until you can barely stand. It’s impressive, but…” His eyes flicked briefly to younger’s bandaged knees, where faint bloodstains had seeped through. “It’s also a little concerning.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin said quickly, though even he could hear the strain in his voice.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow but didn’t challenge him. Instead, he let the silence settle between them for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not doing enough, no matter how hard you work.”

Jimin frowned, his curiosity outweighing his embarrassment. “When you were an idol?”

Yoongi nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

“Why did you stop?” The question left Jimin’s lips before he could think better of it.

Yoongi’s face shifted, his calm demeanor faltering ever so slightly. His gaze dropped, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “It just…wasn’t for me anymore.”

The tone of his voice, the way it grew quieter, more distant, made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Jimin opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could, Yoongi stood, brushing his hands against his jeans. He stretched, rolling his shoulders, and then held out a hand toward Jimin.

“Come on,” Yoongi said, his tone lightening. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jimin stared at the outstretched hand, hesitation flickering across his face. After a moment, he reached out, letting Yoongi help him to his feet. His knees wobbled, but Yoongi’s grip was steady, keeping him upright.

The two of them walked toward the small lounge area at the back of the studio, the silence between them no longer uncomfortable but strangely…pleasant. Jimin’s thoughts raced, circling back to Yoongi’s words and the quiet shadow that had passed over his face when he spoke about his past.

There was more to Yoongi than what Jimin had heard in passing. More than just a former idol or a quiet studio owner. Jimin couldn’t help but wonder what Yoongi wasn’t saying, and why it felt so familiar.

—————————————————————

Jimin had barely touched the tea Yoongi had handed him, his hands wrapped around the mug more for warmth than anything else. They were sitting in the small lounge at the back of the studio, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence between them.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Yoongi said suddenly, breaking the quiet. He leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. “But I think I can help.”

Jimin looked up from the steam rising off his mug, his brows knitting together. “Help?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replied casually. “I’ve been watching your routines. You’ve got the talent, but you’re pushing yourself in the wrong ways. A little guidance could make a big difference.”

Jimin hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug. “Why would you… I mean, you don’t even know me.”

Yoongi shrugged, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Maybe I just admire how hard you work. Or maybe I’m bored and need something to do with my spare time. Either way…” His smile widened slightly, teasing now. “I could give you private lessons, if you’re interested.”

Jimin blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the offer. “Private lessons?”

“Sure,” Yoongi said, his tone light, almost playful. “I’ve got the experience. Might as well put it to use.”

Jimin felt his face flush, though he wasn’t sure why. “I… I don’t know.”

“No pressure,” Yoongi said, his voice softening. “Just think about it. But if you keep training the way you are now, you’re going to hurt yourself. And that’s a waste of talent I don’t want to see.”

The sincerity in Yoongi’s words made something tighten in Jimin’s chest. He ducked his head, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

—————————————————————

Jimin hadn’t been sure what to expect when he finally said yes to Yoongi’s offer, but this wasn’t it.

“Relax,” Yoongi murmured, his voice close to Jimin’s ear. “You’re too stiff.”

Jimin let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping his knees as Yoongi’s larger body pressed lightly against his back. Yoongi’s hands rested firmly on Jimin’s shoulders, guiding him into the stretch. Every movement was deliberate, steady, but it felt surprisingly gentle.

“I am relaxed,” Jimin mumbled, though his posture told another story.

Yoongi hummed softly, a quiet sound of amusement that vibrated in his chest. “Sure, you are.”

Jimin couldn’t help but huff at the teasing tone. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi replied, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “Try harder.”

Jimin scoffed, but he found himself smiling despite his frustration. As Yoongi guided him through the stretch, the tension in his muscles began to ease, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he didn’t feel like he was fighting his own body.

“There you go,” Yoongi said after a moment, his voice softening. “Better. See? It’s not so hard when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

Jimin let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even him. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one bending in half.”

“Hey, I’ve been there,” Yoongi shot back, stepping back to give Jimin some space. “You think I didn’t have to stretch like this every day when I was an idol? You’re lucky I’m not making you do a full splits warm-up.”

Jimin turned to glare at him, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement. “If you even suggest that, I’m leaving.”

Yoongi raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. “Alright, alright. No splits. For now.”

As the tension eased between them, Jimin found himself loosening up, not just physically, but emotionally, too. He hadn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe months. It felt strange, almost foreign, but in a way that made his chest feel lighter.

They moved on to the routine, Yoongi stepping in to demonstrate when Jimin faltered. His movements were fluid and precise, a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself.

“Okay, now you,” Yoongi said, stepping back and crossing his arms as he watched Jimin mimic the sequence.

Jimin gave it his best shot, and for a moment, it felt like he was finally getting the hang of it. But when he spun a little too quickly, he lost his balance, his foot slipping out from under him.

Before he could hit the floor, Yoongi caught him by the waist, steadying him with practiced ease.

“Careful,” Yoongi said, his tone light. “We’re supposed to be fixing your knees, not breaking them more.”

Jimin let out a breathless laugh, his hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s arms for balance. “Maybe I should be the one giving you lessons. You’re too good at this.”

Yoongi arched an eyebrow. “I told you. Years of practice. Though I’ll admit, my secret weapon was always…” He hesitated for dramatic effect, his expression turning mischievous. “Girl group choreography.”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Girl group choreography?”

Yoongi nodded, completely serious. “It’s harder than it looks. The footwork? The timing? It’s brutal. But once you nail a Twice or Girls’ Generation routine, everything else feels easy.”

Jimin stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. He had to brace his hands on his knees to keep himself upright, the sound bubbling out of him uncontrollably.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not,” Yoongi replied, his face utterly deadpan. “You’ve never tried ‘Cheer Up’? That’s an advanced-level warm-up.”

Jimin laughed harder, his cheeks aching from the unfamiliar sensation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this, really laughed.

“Alright, alright,” Jimin said, wiping at his eyes as his laughter finally subsided. “You’re officially the weirdest teacher I’ve ever had.”

Yoongi smirked.“Weird works. You’re not complaining, are you?”

Jimin shook his head, his smile lingering. “No. Not complaining.”

—————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, they both fell into a steady rhythm.

They met regularly in the evenings, the practice room bathed in mellow light as they worked through routines together. Yoongi was patient but firm, pushing Jimin to refine his movements without ever making him feel small. He had a way of explaining things that made the most complicated techniques seem manageable, and Jimin found himself improving faster than he’d thought possible.

For the first time in what felt like years, Jimin started to enjoy dancing again.

Yoongi’s dry humor and unexpected bursts of playfulness broke through Jimin’s usual tension, and their practice sessions often ended in laughter, like the time Yoongi had dared Jimin to mimic a girl group dance, only to demonstrate it himself with surprising precision.

“You’re not half bad,” Jimin had teased, doubling over with laughter as Yoongi twirled dramatically.

“Not bad?” Yoongi had deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. “I nailed that. You’re just jealous.”

The lighthearted moments were a welcome relief, but it was Yoongi’s quiet encouragement that stuck with Jimin the most. The way he’d nod approvingly after a particularly good run-through or offer a simple “Nice” when Jimin hit a move just right. It wasn’t over-the-top or performative, it felt genuine, like he actually cared.

                       ……………….

“Okay, bend forward a little more,” Yoongi instructed, his hands resting firmly but gently on Jimin’s waist. His voice was calm, deep, and patient, as though they had all the time in the world.

Jimin exhaled slowly, lowering his torso further until his palms flattened against the floor. His muscles stretched, protesting slightly, but he pushed through the discomfort. Yoongi was right behind him, close enough that Jimin could feel the faint heat of his body.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yoongi said, leaning in slightly. His touch shifted, fingertips brushing over Jimin’s back as he adjusted his posture. “You’re holding too much tension here. Let it go.”

“I’m trying,” Jimin muttered, his voice a little breathless. His fingers curled against the floor as he worked to follow Yoongi’s guidance.

“You’re not trying,” Yoongi countered, a faint trace of humor in his tone. “You’re fighting it.”

Jimin huffed, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up in his chest. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be so tense if someone wasn’t hovering over me like this,” he shot back, his cheeks burning as soon as the words left his mouth.

Yoongi chuckled, the sound amiable and unhurried. “I’m just making sure you don’t hurt yourself. But if you want me to back off, all you have to do is ask.”

Jimin didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to the stretch. He was hyperaware of every small shift Yoongi made behind him, his hands steady on Jimin’s hips, the way his voice rumbled so close to his ear, the faint scent of cedar and something else distinctly alpha that lingered in the air.

And then it happened.

Yoongi’s hands pressed gently against Jimin’s waist, guiding his hips back to deepen the stretch. The movement was slow, controlled, but it caused Jimin’s backside to push firmly against Yoongi’s groin.

The contact sent a jolt of heat through Jimin’s body. He froze, his breath catching as his heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Behind him, Yoongi stilled as well. His fingers tensed briefly against Jimin’s waist before he relaxed them again, his voice steady but quieter now. “You alright?”

Jimin swallowed hard, his face burning as he nodded quickly. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good,” Yoongi replied, though his tone was gentler now, as if sensing the shift in the air. He didn’t move away, didn’t step back. Instead, his hands remained where they were, steadying Jimin. “Just breathe. You’re overthinking it.”

But Jimin couldn’t focus.

A warmth was pooling low in his stomach, spreading slowly through his limbs. His thighs trembled slightly, and he clenched his hands into fists, desperate to ground himself. It wasn’t just Yoongi’s closeness, it was something deeper, an instinct that waited to break free.

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, his thumbs brushing over Jimin’s sides. A soothing gesture.“You’re shaking. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The concern in his voice only made Jimin’s chest tighten further. He tried to nod, but the heat building inside him was becoming impossible to ignore.

“I’m fine,” Jimin lied, his voice barely audible. He shifted slightly, hoping to ease the tension, but the motion only made him more aware of the slickness beginning to gather between his thighs.

Yoongi’s hands froze.

The faintest change in the air made Jimin’s breath hitch. He knew Yoongi had noticed—shit—the way the alpha’s grip on his waist tightened slightly, the way his breathing hitched, barely audible.

“Jimin,” Yoongi mumbled, his voice quiet. “Are you…”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin blurted out, his voice trembling. He tried to pull away, but Yoongi’s hands remained firm, not holding him back but keeping him grounded.

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi said gently. “It’s okay. This is natural.”

Jimin shook his head, his face burning with shame. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I—I didn’t realize—”

“Stop,” Yoongi interrupted. “You don’t have to explain. Just breathe.”

The soft command settled something in Jimin, though his body still trembled. He could feel the heat surging through him now, his instincts clawing at the edges of his control. He wanted to pull away, to hide, but the warmth of Yoongi’s hands and the steadiness of his presence kept him in place.

“Do you want me to leave?” Yoongi asked after a moment, his tone careful.

Jimin’s breath caught. The idea of being alone right now, of facing this without someone to anchor him, made his chest tighten. He shook his head quickly. “No,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”

Yoongi nodded once. “Alright. Then let me help you.”

Jimin hesitated, his body still trembling as he tried to process the offer. His instincts warred with his embarrassment, but the calm steadiness in Yoongi’s voice pulled him back from the edge.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jimin admitted finally, his voice breaking.

“That’s okay,” Yoongi replied, his tone softer now. “You don’t have to know. Just trust me.”

Yoongi’s hands stayed on Jimin’s hips, keeping him grounded as the omega trembled beneath his touch. Jimin’s breath came in short, uneven gasps, the heat rolling through his body overwhelming every thought in his head. He could feel the dampness of his slick seeping through his pants.

“Jimin,” Yoongi murmured, his voice carrying a calm command. “Breathe. Focus on me.”

Jimin whimpered, his hands pressing harder against the studio floor as his legs quivered beneath him. “I can’t,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “It’s too much.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Yoongi replied, his hands sliding to steady Jimin as he leaned in closer. “Let me help you.”

Jimin hesitated, but his body betrayed him, instinctively leaning back into the warmth Yoongi provided. The alpha’s scent filled the room, wrapping around Jimin and easing the edge of his panic, though the fire in his belly only burned hotter.

“Good,” Yoongi murmured, his tone softer now. He adjusted his grip, pulling Jimin’s hips back gently. “Stay just like this. Look up.”

Jimin blinked, confused, before lifting his gaze. His eyes met his reflection in the studio mirror, and his face burned as he took in the sight. His flushed cheeks, his lips parted as he panted for breath, his thighs trembling and barely holding him upright it was too much. He turned his head away quickly, shaking it in denial. He can’t look in that god damn mirror.

“I don’t want to,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with something reassuring. He leaned in, his chest brushing Jimin’s back, and nudged Jimin’s chin lightly with his hand to guide his gaze back to the mirror. “Don’t look away. Look at yourself. You’re beautiful, Jimin.”

The words hit Jimin like a bolt of lightning, leaving him frozen in place. His reflection blurred as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Yoongi interrupted, his touch remained solid. “You’ve always been. You just don’t see it yet. A butterfly can’t see its own wings.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, his body shuddered under the weight of Yoongi’s words. The alpha shifted a bit behind him, and Jimin’s entire body tensed as Yoongi’s hips pressed forward, his groin brushing against the curve of Jimin’s ass.

“Yoongi—” Jimin gasped, his voice barely audible.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, his hips rolling forward slowly. The friction was maddening, sending sparks of heat straight to Jimin’s core. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Jimin whimpered as Yoongi’s movements became more deliberate, his hips grinding against him in slow, measured motions. The sensation made his legs tremble, and he pressed his forehead against his arms, trying to steady himself. But every roll of Yoongi’s hips sent a fresh wave of slick pooling between Jimin’s thighs, the wetness soaking through his pants and making him feel utterly exposed.

“Look in the mirror,” Yoongi murmured again, his voice dropping as he leaned closer. “Watch yourself. See how gorgeous you are.”

Jimin forced his head up, his eyes locking on their reflection. The sight made his stomach twist—his own flushed, desperate face, his thighs slick with evidence of his heat, and behind him, Yoongi’s sharp, focused gaze as he moved against him.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Yoongi asked, his hands sliding down to the waistband of Jimin’s pants. “How stunning you are?”

Jimin shook his head weakly, his voice trembling. “I—I’m not—”

“You are,” Yoongi insisted, pulling Jimin’s pants down in one smooth motion. The cool air against his skin made Jimin shiver, but before he could protest, Yoongi’s fingers brushed against the slick between his thighs. “You don’t have to hide from this. Let yourself feel it.”

Jimin let out a broken moan as Yoongi’s fingers pressed against his entrance. His rim soaked with slick. The alpha was careful, taking his time as he pushed a single digit inside, the stretch making Jimin’s breath catch.

“You’re so perfect like this,” Yoongi murmured, his voice rougher now as he worked his finger in and out, coaxing Jimin’s body to relax. “Taking me so well.”

Jimin whimpered, his eyes glued to the mirror as Yoongi added a second finger, the stretch making his thighs quake. The slow, deliberate motion of Yoongi’s fingers sent shivers through Jimin’s overheated body, every curl and press making him arch into the touch.

“Good boy,” Yoongi praised, his other hand sliding up to stroke Jimin’s back soothingly. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Jimin let out a choked sob as Yoongi added a third finger, the fullness making his entire body tremble. He felt raw, exposed, but the overwhelming pleasure drowned out everything else. Yoongi’s fingers moved expertly, pressing against that spot inside him that made stars burst behind his eyes.

“Don’t look away,” Yoongi murmured, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Watch yourself. See how beautiful you are when you let go.”

Jimin’s gaze locked on the mirror again, and his reflection startled him. His face was flushed, his lips swollen from biting down on them, and his body trembled as Yoongi stretched him open with ease.

When Yoongi added a fourth finger, Jimin cried out, his back arching as pleasure consumed him. Slick dripped down his thighs in hot waves, and his entire body trembled as Yoongi’s steady hands kept him grounded.

“I’ve got you,” Yoongi whispered, his voice softer now as he leaned closer. “You’re safe with me.”

Jimin’s chest heaved, the alpha’s words echoed in his mind. You’re safe with me. The tension in his body began to unravel, replaced by an overwhelming wave of heat and desperation that made him feel  exposed and vulnerable.

Yoongi’s fingers moved inside him, deliberate and unrelenting, stretching and curling just right, and the intensity was unbearable.

“Don’t hold back,” Yoongi murmured against his ear, his voice a mix of command and reassurance. “Let yourself feel it.”

Jimin whimpered, his hands pressing harder against the floor as his thighs quaked.Every press of Yoongi’s fingers against that spot inside him sent sparks of pleasure racing through his veins, building an unbearable pressure in his core.

Yoongi shifted closer, his chest pressing against Jimin’s back as he leaned into him. The movement brought their bodies flush together, and Jimin gasped as Yoongi’s hips rolled forward, his crotch pressing firmly against Jimin’s ass.

It drive him absolutely insane. Feral even. Yoongi’s fingers continued their relentless pace inside him, while his hips ground against him in slow, deliberate movements that left Jimin utterly undone. The dual sensation was too much, the heat inside him threatening to consume him entirely.

“You feel that?” Yoongi murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of Jimin’s neck. “How good you are? How perfectly you’re taking everything I give you?”

Jimin let out a choked sob, his head dropping forward as his body trembled violently. “Yoongi—” he gasped, his voice breaking as pleasure tore through him. “I can’t— I’m gonna—”

“Yes, you can,” Yoongi interrupted, his tone firm yet soothing. His free hand slid up to grip Jimin’s waist, holding him steady as his movements quickened. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

The pressure inside Jimin reached its breaking point, and with one final thrust of Yoongi’s fingers, he shattered. His entire body arched, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as his orgasm ripped through him like a tidal wave. Pleasure crashed over him, stealing his breath, gasping and crying out Yoongi’s name like a lifeline.

His vision blurred, his reflection in the mirror dissolving into a haze of sweat-drenched skin and violently shaking limbs. His thighs were slick with heat, his knees buckling as the aftershocks wracked his body.

“I’ve got you,” Yoongi murmured again, his arm wrapping around Jimin’s waist to keep him from collapsing. “That’s it. Let it all out.”

Jimin let out a broken sob, his forehead pressing against his arms as his body gave in completely. He could feel Yoongi’s hand stroking his side, his touch steady and reassuring as Jimin tried to catch his breath. The alpha’s presence was grounding, his scent calming the chaos still swirling inside Jimin’s chest.

When Jimin finally looked up, his gaze met Yoongi’s in the mirror. The raw intensity in the alpha’s eyes made Jimin’s chest ache, but it wasn’t judgment he saw there, it was something deeper, something that made Jimin’s lips part in a soft gasp.

“You’re incredible,” Yoongi said softly, his voice filled with quiet awe. “You’re stronger than you think, Jimin.”

Tears pricked at Jimin’s eyes, but this time, they weren’t from shame or fear. He let out a shaky exhale, leaning back into Yoongi’s embrace as a sense of warmth and safety settled over him.

—————————————————————

Jimin stood in front of the mirror once more.

The studio was quiet, the faint hum of the lights overhead the only sound. His reflection stared back at him,sweaty, tired, but not defeated. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his hair clinging to his forehead, and his lips slightly parted as he studied the person looking back at him.

It was a sight he’d seen countless times before, but this time, it felt different.

The old doubts whispered faintly in the back of his mind, the familiar sting of insecurity threatening to creep in. He caught himself glancing at the faint scabs on his knees, the ones that told the story of every fall, every time he’d pushed too hard, every time he’d tried to prove he wasn’t weak.

But then Yoongi’s voice echoed in his mind: “Look at yourself. See how beautiful you are when you let go.”

Jimin closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The weight in his chest felt lighter now, as though the cracks he’d been holding together for so long had finally been filled with something warm, something steady. He let out a soft breath, opened his eyes, and faced the mirror again.

This time, he didn’t see failure staring back at him.

He saw someone strong. Someone who had stumbled, who had doubted, but who was still here, still standing. Someone who had fought through his own fears and found a way to keep going.

His lips curled into the faintest smile as he straightened his posture, his hands dropping to his sides.

“The mirror didn’t lie,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “It never does.”

And this time, he was grateful for it.