Archive of Our Own

The bedroom was dimly lit, just the glow of a bedside lamp spilling golden warmth over crumpled sheets and bare skin. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between them, broken only by the hitch of breath from the omega beneath him. Jaemin trembled. His thighs were parted around Jeno’s hips, slick already pooling and smearing across the sheets beneath. His fingers clung to Jeno’s biceps, not with desperation—but hesitation. And Jeno, breathless above him, had one hand cupping the back of Jaemin’s head and the other pressing firm against his hip, grounding, reverent. Jeno smelled like fir and heat, all wild alpha, his rut approaching—it was subtle now but heavy in the undercurrent.

“Baby, you’re so warm,” Jeno murmured, voice rasping with restraint. His lips brushed the crook of Jaemin’s neck. “So soft. I missed touching you like this.”

Jaemin’s breath caught. His body reacted despite his mind screaming otherwise—slick gushed again, coating the insides of his thighs, and his inner muscles fluttered like they longed to be filled. Jeno’s cock throbbed, hard and pressed against Jaemin’s entrance, aching with the same desperation he was trying so hard to suppress.

“I missed you too…” Jaemin whispered, but it barely sounded like truth in his own ears.

It wasn’t like Jeno hadn’t been there. He always was. Cooking breakfast before work. Cradling their daughter at dawn. Leaving kisses on Jaemin’s cheek, temple, hands, whispering how beautiful he was even when Jaemin flinched away. The distance hadn’t been Jeno’s. It was Jaemin who built this chasm between them, brick by aching brick, ever since he’d given birth to their youngest a year ago. Still, Jeno had waited. Patient. Tender. Never pushing. Until tonight. Tonight, Jaemin had curled beside him in bed for the first time in months. Clad in a loose nightshirt that barely hid his curves. Jeno had kept his hands to himself, like always, until Jaemin kissed him first—uncertain, trembling, but still real. That was all the permission Jeno needed.

Now here they were. Jaemin beneath him, Jeno above, and everything warm and so close again. Too close.

“Jeno—wait…” Jaemin’s voice cracked, suddenly fragile. “Stop.”

Jeno froze immediately, hovering inches above him. His cock was flushed and wet from where it had rubbed against Jaemin’s folds. The alpha was so close to sinking in—he had already leaked over Jaemin’s slick, the head poised right at his entrance. But he didn’t move. Didn’t push forward. Didn’t even sigh.

Instead, Jeno whispered, “Okay.”

He gently rolled away, onto his back, his arm still extended across Jaemin’s pillow in case Jaemin wanted to come back to him. He didn’t expect it. Jaemin curled into himself, pulling the covers up to his chin as if they could hide his body—his stomach soft and stretched from their daughter, his hips wider than they used to be, his breasts swollen in a way he no longer thought was pretty.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, hating himself more with every breath. “I just… I hate how I look now.”

Jeno sat up slowly, turning toward him. His gaze didn’t trail hungrily down Jaemin’s body the way it used to. He looked straight at Jaemin’s face, into his red-rimmed eyes.

“Don’t apologize for how you feel,” he said, voice still calm despite the tension in his scent. Muskier now. Hotter. His rut was closer than Jaemin had realized.

“Jeno, you almost—” Jaemin swallowed thickly. “You were about to come…”

Jeno nodded, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. I almost did.”

“And now you’ll—”

“—Take care of it myself in the bathroom. Like I’ve done for the past year.”

The silence stretched. Shame burned down Jaemin’s spine.

Jeno smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay, baby. I’d rather do that than make you feel worse. I’ll never touch you if it makes you hurt.”

With that, he rose from the bed, his rut-slick cock jutting out stiff from between his legs. He didn’t bother hiding it. But he also didn’t try to make Jaemin feel guilty.

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The bathroom door clicked shut quietly behind him. Jaemin lay there, staring at the ceiling. The sheets still smelled like Jeno—pinewood and salt. His own scent—hibiscus and milk—was tinged with shame, wilted and bitter. He didn’t cry. He’d done enough of that in the past year. Instead, he turned to the side of the bed Jeno had left—still warm—and pressed his nose into the pillow where Jeno’s neck had been.

From the bathroom, barely muffled by the door, came soft groans. Broken ones. The kind Jeno never let himself make around Jaemin anymore. Jaemin shut his eyes. He should’ve gone to comfort him. Should’ve apologized harder. Should’ve let him stay in bed, let him hold him even if— But he couldn’t.

The scars on his hips. The way his belly folded when he moved. The stretch marks that laddered over his thighs and ass, the ones he used to think were sexy when they first appeared after their son—but now just reminded him how much had changed. He couldn’t let Jeno see him. Couldn’t let himself be seen.

The bathroom door opened fifteen minutes later. Jeno returned, clean, quiet. He didn’t smell like rut anymore—he must’ve taken a cold shower again. His cock was soft now, tucked away under the waistband of his pajama pants. But his scent still throbbed with unspoken want. Jaemin pretended to be asleep. Jeno didn’t call him out. He just slid under the covers beside him and whispered so gently, “I love you.” And Jaemin lay still, barely breathing, while guilt ate at the inside of his chest like acid.

Jeno didn’t reach for him. Not even to brush the hair from Jaemin’s forehead. He simply lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, scent carefully restrained. Like he didn’t want to bother the air between them. Like he didn’t want to choke Jaemin with his need. But Jaemin could still smell the ache beneath all of it—pine sap thickened with longing, edged with rut that even a cold shower couldn’t silence. And for a moment, Jaemin almost turned to him. Almost whispered take me anyway, let Jeno wreck him like he used to—lips trailing down his spine, teeth marking his hips, hands cupping every softened place Jaemin hated. But he didn’t deserve that gentleness. Not when he hated the skin he lived in. Not when Jeno deserved so much more. He squeezed his eyes shut, curling further into himself, and let silence settle again.

Hours passed. Jaemin didn’t sleep. But he never turned to Jeno either—not even when, in the middle of the night, Jeno shifted just enough to press his forehead to Jaemin’s back… and softly, almost brokenly, whispered his name.

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The sun filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting a soft gold across the kitchen counter. The smell of warming milk clung to the air, sweet and familiar, blending with the subtle scent of pine that still lingered faintly from Jeno’s kiss on Jaemin’s shoulder before he left for work.

Their daughter’s bottle sat untouched in Jaemin’s hand, the rubber teat resting against his palm. She was in her high chair now, babbling quietly, fingers smacking together in an endless rhythm of discovery. Their four-year-old son was in the living room with his coloring books, humming off-key to a morning cartoon. And Jaemin stood at the stove, rooted, still thinking about last night.

Jeno hadn’t said a word about it over breakfast. He’d made eggs, toast, and Jaemin’s tea just the way he liked it—chamomile, oat milk, a touch of honey. Had kissed him on the forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, like nothing had happened. Like Jaemin hadn’t rejected him yet again. Like Jeno hadn’t knotted his fist in the bathroom towel, rut-hot and alone, trying not to cry out his name. Jaemin brought the bottle to their daughter’s lips. She latched quickly, hungry. Her little hands patted at his arm, gummy and warm. He used to love this softness. The roundness in his belly. The weight of her, pressed to his chest. The faint scent of milk and warmth and something only an omega body could make. It had made him feel powerful once—sacred, even. Like a vessel.

Now, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he passed the hallway, all he saw were the parts that didn’t bounce back. The parts that sagged. That didn’t feel his. He wore an oversized hoodie today. Jeno’s, actually. It still smelled like him—resin, cedar, and something sweet beneath it. The sleeves swallowed Jaemin’s wrists, and the hem nearly reached his knees. He hadn’t worn anything form-fitting in months. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jeno. He did. It was himself he didn’t trust. Because no matter how much Jeno kissed his stretch marks, no matter how often he whispered that he wanted Jaemin—all Jaemin saw were the gaps. The space between who he’d been seven years ago and what he was now. A body that had given life twice and now felt… drained. Foreign.

He gently rocked their daughter in his arms as she finished the bottle, resting her cheek against his chest. Her tiny scent—sweet like powdered sugar and peaches—helped settle something tight in his gut. But only for a moment.

“Appa, look!” their son called from the living room. “I draw-ed you!”

Jaemin smiled as best he could and walked over.

The drawing was shaky and adorable—two stick figures holding hands. One had a bow in her hair. The other was labeled APPA, bold letters scrawled across a blue shirt.

“I made your tummy big,” his son said proudly. “Like before. ‘Cause that’s when you made Minji.”

Jaemin’s smile faltered. He crouched, kissed the crown of his son’s hair, and said softly, “It’s beautiful, baby. Thank you.”

He stood too fast. His knees cracked. His lower back flared with dull heat.

It wasn’t the first time he wanted to cry in the middle of a sunny morning.

Jaemin stood in the middle of the living room long after his son had gone back to coloring. The little paper with “Appa” scrawled across the bottom weighed heavier than it should’ve. His daughter burped against his shoulder, and Jaemin gently patted her back, but his throat burned. His tummy had been big. Round and swollen and glowing with life. Jeno used to kiss it every morning and night, whispering to their daughter like she could hear him. “Be gentle with your Appa,” he would say. “He’s doing so much for you already.” Jaemin had felt radiant then. Full. Divine. Now, he felt… used up.

When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see that soft glow anymore. He saw skin that wrinkled in ways it hadn’t before. A stomach that refused to flatten. Breasts that had changed shape. Hips too wide to fit into the jeans he’d worn after their first child. Scars that laddered down his lower belly like reminders of what he’d done—and what it cost. And Jeno. Gods, Jeno was still so handsome. He wore fitted shirts to work now. Sharp, clean lines across his chest and shoulders. His jaw was more chiseled than ever, his hair always pushed back from his forehead. His scent had only grown richer with age—deeper, darker pine threaded with leather and heat. He turned heads even at daycare drop-off. A few omegas had lingered too long in the halls, eyes trailing him, lips parted. And Jaemin would see them. And feel like he was fading.

He walked to the laundry basket, trying to push the thoughts away. Folded tiny socks with trembling hands. Minji’s onesies. A pair of Jeno’s briefs. He pressed them to his nose, just for a second. Jeno’s scent flooded his senses.

You’re still his mate, he reminded himself bitterly. Still his bond. The one who gave him a family. Who sleeps beside him… even if you don’t let him touch you anymore. Jaemin blinked hard. A tear slipped down, hot and fast. He’d started sleeping with a shirt on. Then with the lights off. Then in separate pajamas. Then in the guest room. Then came the refusals—gentle at first, apologetic. Then sharper. Shorter. Easier.

“I’m tired.”

“I’m breastfeeding.”

“I’m sore.”

Eventually, he didn’t need to give reasons. Jeno never pressed. Never begged. He just kept loving him anyway. Making him breakfast. Holding his hand during Minji’s checkups. Leaving quiet notes in Jaemin’s planner: Take a nap today, baby. You’re beautiful. Thank you for giving me a family. Each note made Jaemin cry more than the last. Because he didn’t feel beautiful. He didn’t even feel worthy.

Their daughter stirred in his arms, fussing softly. He kissed her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one in particular.

He didn’t know who he was apologizing to anymore.

To himself?

To Jeno?

To the body he’d spent so long resenting?

The front door opened then, and Jaemin flinched. He hadn’t realized the time. Jeno stepped inside early—his tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, skin flushed. And he was sweating. That’s when Jaemin smelled it. Faint, but unmistakable. His rut. Coming in hard. And fast.

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Jeno hadn’t meant to come home early. He’d tried everything to hold it together at the office. He drank water. Took deep breaths. Locked himself in his private bathroom with the tap running, scent blockers pressed beneath his nose. It only made him lightheaded. The rut had crept up on him this month—unexpected and vicious. Usually, he could feel it building for days: the dull ache in his spine, the pulsing in his knot, the heat crawling just beneath his skin. But not this time. This time, it slammed into him like a wave.

By noon, he couldn’t focus on contracts. Could barely sit still in meetings. His assistant had walked in to offer coffee and instantly stiffened, cheeks coloring red from the sharp bite of his rut-heavy pheromones leaking into the room. She left with a quiet, flustered “I’ll send the documents later, sir.” It wasn’t her fault. His scent was out of control. Pine and ozone, thick like a thunderstorm about to break. He tried spraying neutralizer, but his biology refused to be masked. His rut had decided it was time—and his omega wasn’t beside him.

His body craved Jaemin. Not just any omega. His. It hurt. His skin itched. His cock wouldn’t soften, trapped awkwardly against his thigh even when he tried to cool down in the restroom again. Eventually, he gave in. Told his secretary he was feeling unwell. Told his driver to take him home.

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The ride was hell. Every bump in the road sent jolts of pressure through his groin. He clenched his jaw, fisted the seatbelt, and breathed through his nose, desperate to keep his scent from spilling too much into the car. When he finally stepped through the front door, the scent of home hit him like a brick wall. Hibiscus and milk.

Jaemin.

It was fainter than it used to be, masked by baby powder and formula and lavender laundry detergent—but it was still him. Still his. His mate. His omega. Jeno swayed where he stood.

“Jeno?”

The voice was soft and startled. Jeno looked up. Jaemin stood in the doorway to the living room, their daughter still nestled in his arms. His hoodie was too large, sleeves bunched at his wrists, but Jeno could see the curve of his thighs, the slight flare of his hips beneath the fabric. The same hips that had taken Jeno’s knot so many times. That had cradled their children. That still made Jeno want to fall to his knees.

“You’re home early,” Jaemin said, shifting Minji higher against his chest. His eyes dropped to Jeno’s face—then lower, catching the stiff outline of his cock beneath his slacks.

“Oh.”

Jeno gritted his teeth. “It started too fast. I—I tried to push through, but I couldn’t.”

Jaemin’s heart stuttered. The scent flooding the room now was different than anything he’d smelled in months. Jeno’s rut was peaking. Sweet and feral. A desperate mix of pine needles, sex, storm-slick heat, and yearning so potent it felt like a weight in the air. It wrapped around Jaemin like a cloak, like Jeno was already marking territory with scent alone.

Still, Jeno stood frozen in place. Eyes pleading. Body trembling with restraint.

“I’ll take care of it myself,” Jeno said, voice hoarse. “Just… give me a room.”

Jaemin stared at him. Then down at their daughter. Then back again. His body wanted to flinch back, to protect itself from the wave of scent, the hunger in Jeno’s eyes. But deeper inside, something long-starved flickered. A part of him that hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be wanted like that. To be devoured. But the rest of him—his aching insecurities, the war he fought in silence—rose like a tide.

Jaemin tore his gaze away.

“Go to the guest room,” he said tightly, barely recognizing his own voice. “I’ll bring you something cold to help it pass.”

He didn’t wait for Jeno to reply. He just turned and walked back toward the kitchen, daughter still cradled in his arms, her eyes blinking up at him like she could sense the crackling tension in the air.

Behind him, he heard Jeno exhale shakily. The quiet pad of footsteps. The guest room door closing with a click. Jaemin set Minji down in her crib and reached for the pack of formula on the shelf. His hands were shaking. The canister slipped, clattered onto the counter. He barely noticed. His throat was thick. His heart thudded against his ribs like it wanted to escape. He wanted to go to him. But what if Jeno saw his body—really saw it—and recoiled? What if he took Jaemin in a haze of rut and later regretted it? What if, in the middle of thrusting into him, Jeno saw his softened belly and stretch marks and realized he didn’t want this anymore? What if he already had? What if the only reason he hadn’t walked away yet was because he was good? Kind? Because that was worse than anything else. Being loved out of obligation. Desired only out of memory.

A soft gurgle from the nursery snapped him back. His son was napping on the floor with a blanket over his legs, thumb halfway in his mouth. Minji chewed her pacifier. This home was full of love. Full of peace. And he was poisoning it with fear.

He sat on the edge of the couch, burying his face in his hands. His scent was turning bitter again—hibiscus wilting in sour milk, trembling under the weight of self-loathing. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending he was okay. He couldn’t keep shutting Jeno out. Because deep down, he missed him too. Missed the nights tangled up together. Missed how Jeno whispered his name when he came. Missed the feeling of Jeno’s tongue dragging up his inner thigh, the warmth of his knot stretching him open until he felt full in every way. Missed being wanted like that. Being loved like that. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was desperate. But when he closed his eyes, he could still feel Jeno’s hands—big and strong and trembling with care—gripping his hips, holding him like something sacred. And if Jeno still wanted him… Even now… He would try. He had to try. For them. For the love that never left, even when everything else did.

Jaemin held the phone to his ear with both hands. It rang twice before his mother answered—her voice warm and honeyed, with the sleepy haze of a slow afternoon.

“Jaemin-ah?”

He cleared his throat. “Eomma. Can… Can you take the kids for the night? Maybe tomorrow, too?” A pause. Not long, but long enough.

“Of course, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a palm to his stomach. He still wore Jeno’s hoodie. Still smelled like the man locked in their guest room, scent pressed thick into the air like longing barely contained.

“I just… I need to take care of Jeno,” Jaemin whispered.

Another pause. Then a gentle, understanding hum. “I’ll come by in an hour.”

He hung up and sat there on the floor beside the crib, Minji babbling softly as her tiny hand wrapped around his thumb. One hour. One hour to choose. To commit. And even now, even after the phone call, he still wanted to run.

His legs were shaking as he packed their son’s overnight bag. Minji’s diapers. Her favorite pacifier. His fingers hovered over her pink bear, then tucked it in alongside her spare clothes. The moment his mother arrived, Jaemin couldn’t meet her eyes. He simply hugged her, tight and desperate, then helped buckle the kids into her car. And when the door finally shut, and the tires rolled off down the street, Jaemin was left standing in the silence of their empty home.

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The scent hit him first. Jeno’s rut had bloomed. There was no masking it now. It seeped through the floorboards, the walls, the very air itself—pine and storm-wind, smoke and wet heat. It vibrated with restraint, humming like electricity through Jaemin’s skin. He padded down the hall on bare feet. The guest room door was closed, but the scent leaked through the crack. Strong. Wanting. He stood there for a moment, breathing it in. Then raised his hand and knocked, once.

“Jeno?”

No answer. He heard movement inside. A muffled groan. The sound of breath being held.

Jaemin opened the door slowly. Jeno was seated on the edge of the bed, shirt long discarded, sweat beading down his chest. His slacks were undone. His cock was hard and slick, flushed a deep red. His hand was fisted around the base of it, but the second he saw Jaemin—really saw him—he stopped.

“Don’t,” Jeno choked, turning his head. “If you came to—don’t. I can’t—fuck, I can’t take much more.”

“I sent the kids to my parents,” Jaemin said quietly, stepping into the room. “They’ll be there overnight.”

Jeno blinked. The flush on his cheeks deepened. His body tensed like he was trying to restrain himself, to physically fight the instinct to scent, to grab, to knot.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Jaemin added quickly. “Not yet. I just… I want to be here. With you.”

Jeno’s shoulders trembled.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t owe me your body just because I’m in rut.”

“I know,” Jaemin whispered. “That’s why I’m here.”

He stepped closer. And Jeno—still shaking—finally let himself breathe again. Jaemin’s scent hit him like a balm. It wasn’t strong—still dulled, still guarded—but the moment it touched the edges of Jeno’s scent-hazed mind, he whimpered. Something deep in him, primal and starved, curled around the familiarity of it. Jaemin reached the bed. Stood between Jeno’s parted knees.

“I don’t know if I can give you everything tonight,” he admitted, voice soft. “But I don’t want you to be alone through this. You’ve waited… so long.”

Jeno looked up slowly. His eyes were glassy. Pupils wide. Lips trembling.

“I’d wait forever,” he whispered.

Jaemin’s heart cracked. He reached out, fingers brushing through the damp hair at Jeno’s temples. Jeno leaned into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut, like the touch alone gave him oxygen.

“Let me scent you,” Jaemin murmured.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

He leaned down. The moment Jaemin’s scent glands touched Jeno’s skin, the alpha gasped. Jaemin pressed his cheek to Jeno’s jaw, then his neck, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, his own scent trickling out—hibiscus and milk and something sweeter now. Something braver. He let it rise. Let it flood the space between them. Jeno shivered under him, muscles pulled taut like a bow.

“Gods, you smell like home,” he groaned, hands curling into the bedsheets. “You smell like mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” Jaemin whispered. “Even when I was scared.”

The words made Jeno tremble. Jaemin moved lower, grazing his lips along the underside of Jeno’s jaw, down the slope of his throat. Every inch he covered, he took back. He reclaimed. With scent. With softness. With aching, trembling hands. When he pulled back, Jeno was panting.

“I want to take care of you,” Jaemin said.

Jeno’s eyes snapped open. “You don’t have to—”

“Not because I have to,” Jaemin interrupted, voice shaking. “Because I want to. Because I miss loving you.”

He dropped to his knees between Jeno’s legs.

Jeno’s entire body jolted. “Jaeminnie—fuck—”

“I know you haven’t touched me in months. I know you think I don’t want you.” Jaemin’s hands found his thighs, squeezing gently. “But I do. I want to give you back everything I’ve been too afraid to.”

Jeno’s cock twitched where it lay, glistening at the tip, throbbing against the fabric of his open slacks. Jaemin looked at it, swallowed hard, then leaned in. He nuzzled Jeno’s inner thigh. Soft. Gentle. Worshipful.

Jeno gasped again. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not proving anything,” Jaemin said. “I’m reminding myself. That I’m still yours. That I’m still me.”

Then he leaned forward and licked a slow, reverent stripe along the base of Jeno’s cock. Jeno cried out, hand flying to his mouth, shoulders shaking from restraint. But Jaemin just looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“Let me love you back.”

Jeno’s head tipped back the moment Jaemin’s lips wrapped around him. He let out a broken sound—half a gasp, half a sob—because it wasn’t just the pleasure. It was everything behind it. The months of distance, the ache of loneliness, the yearning he’d carried in his chest like an anchor. And now Jaemin was on his knees, mouth so warm, so wet, taking him in like it was the most sacred act in the world. Jaemin licked slowly along the underside of his cock, gathering the taste of Jeno’s precome on his tongue. He took his time, licking again, then sucking the swollen head into the heat of his mouth. Jeno throbbed instantly, hips twitching, hands flying to the edge of the bed as he forced himself not to touch—not yet—because he couldn’t risk breaking the spell.

“Jaemin,” he rasped, voice ruined. “You don’t have to—”

Jaemin hummed softly around him, then pulled off with a wet pop. “I told you,” he whispered, lips shining. “I want to.”

Then he lowered his head again and took Jeno deeper this time, hollowing his cheeks and moaning low in his throat when Jeno’s cock slid further in. His lips stretched around the girth, and slick coated his inner thighs just from the feel of Jeno’s scent pouring over him—wild now, rut-driven and raw. Jeno couldn’t help it. A strangled, desperate moan tore out of his throat. “Fuck—you feel so good, baby. So good.”

His fingers twitched against the mattress, every muscle in his arms tight from holding back. The need to grab Jaemin’s hair, to thrust up into his mouth, was almost unbearable. But he didn’t. He waited. Let Jaemin set the pace. Let Jaemin take. Jaemin bobbed his head gently, tongue swirling around the tip each time he pulled back. He looked up through his lashes, eyes wet and flushed with heat, and Jeno nearly came just from that.

“Gods,” Jeno groaned. “You’re perfect—fuck, you’re perfect. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Jaemin moaned again, and it sent vibrations through Jeno’s cock that made his back arch.

“You taste like you missed me,” Jaemin murmured, kissing the base of his cock again. “Did you?”

Jeno’s mouth fell open. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

He reached down slowly, finally cupping Jaemin’s cheek.

“I dreamed about this,” he whispered, thumb tracing the corner of Jaemin’s lips. “Every night I touched myself, I imagined your mouth. Your voice. The way you’d look at me when you’re about to come.”

Jaemin flushed. Slick dripped steadily between his thighs now, puddling on the floor. He hadn’t even been touched, but he felt full—heavy with heat, soaked from scent alone. He took Jeno into his mouth again, faster this time, letting his lips slide wetly down the shaft, spit and precome running down his chin. His own need throbbed with each pulse of Jeno’s cock.

“Jaemin—I’m gonna—” Jeno gritted out. “I’m close. So close.”

Jaemin pulled off with a gasp, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

“I want you inside me,” he said breathlessly. “Now.”

Jeno didn’t move right away. He just stared—eyes wide, stunned, wrecked with longing—like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. His cock throbbed visibly, thick with the threat of release, flushed deep red and glistening wet. But even through the haze of rut, his voice came soft.

“Are you sure?”

Jaemin hesitated. His fingers trembled as he gripped the hem of the hoodie. It hung off him like armor, oversized and safe, drowning the parts he hated most about himself. But if he kept hiding… If he kept letting shame dictate how he was loved… Then he’d never believe Jeno’s love was real.

So, with one shaky breath, Jaemin pulled the hoodie over his head. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Goosebumps prickled his arms. He stood in nothing but loose cotton shorts, no bra, no shape-wear, nothing to compress or hide the way his body had changed. His stomach wasn’t flat anymore. His hips were fuller. There were stretch marks over his thighs and the soft swell of his belly, the faint silvery lines that curled down toward his mound. He didn’t look like the omega who used to pin Jeno to the mattress with a smirk and ride him until he begged. He didn’t even look like the omega who carried their son. He looked like someone softer. Someone older. Someone worn. He looked real. And for a long moment, Jeno said nothing. He just looked. And looked. And then his expression crumpled like something sacred had shattered inside him.

“Come here,” he whispered, voice thick.

Jaemin climbed onto the bed slowly, unsure, but the moment his knees hit the mattress, Jeno was pulling him forward. Not to spread his legs or kiss his neck—not yet. First, he just held him. Arms around his waist. Face buried in Jaemin’s belly.

“I missed this,” Jeno murmured, lips brushing the stretch marks like holy scripture. “Every line. Every inch. You’re so fucking beautiful, Jaeminnie. You gave me a family with this body.”

Jaemin’s eyes stung. He let Jeno kiss lower, lips tracing the soft curve of his belly, nuzzling the skin like it was the finest silk. Jeno’s hands slid down to Jaemin’s thighs, gripping gently, reverently.

“You’re perfect,” Jeno said again, voice breaking. “You don’t need to hide from me. You’re mine.”

Jaemin nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I want to feel like myself again.”

“You are yourself,” Jeno whispered. “You never stopped being.”

He pushed Jaemin gently onto his back, positioning himself between his legs. And Jaemin didn’t flinch when Jeno kissed the inside of his thighs, even when his stretch marks shone silver in the lamplight. He let Jeno part him, slick shining, cunt flushed and open from arousal alone.

“I’m going to make you feel everything,” Jeno growled, voice shaking. “I’m going to remind you who you are.”

Jaemin exhaled. And opened his legs wider. Jaemin’s thighs trembled, parted wide across the sheets as Jeno sank lower between them. He settled like he belonged there—on his knees, hands cradling Jaemin’s hips like something breakable, nose buried against the soaked folds of Jaemin’s pussy.

“Fuck, baby…” Jeno breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled. “You smell so good. Like heat and honey and home.”

Jaemin’s whole body flushed. His instinct screamed to close his legs, to turn away, to cover the part of himself that had changed—softer, more pliant, more used than it had been years ago. But Jeno didn’t even hesitate. He nuzzled deeper, groaning low in his throat like the scent alone made him feral. Then his tongue found Jaemin’s clit. Jaemin’s breath left him in a gasp. Jeno licked long and slow—deliberate, like he was tasting the sweetest thing he’d ever been allowed. His grip on Jaemin’s hips tightened just slightly, keeping him steady as he buried his face between his omega’s thighs.

“You’re dripping,” Jeno murmured, voice ruined. “Gods, I missed this cunt. Missed how sweet you taste.”

Jaemin whimpered, biting his lip. His fingers tangled in the bedsheets.

“I don’t look the same,” he whispered, eyes wet. “I know I don’t. I know my pussy’s—”

“Don’t.” Jeno pulled back just enough to look up at him, mouth and chin shining with slick. “Don’t ever talk about yourself like that again. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jaemin blinked fast. His stomach fluttered, raw and open.

“I want you to know,” Jeno said, kissing along Jaemin’s inner thigh again, “that I would worship this pussy for hours if you let me. Every day. Every night. You still make me lose control, baby. You always did.”

And then he dove back in—tongue curling through Jaemin’s folds, tracing every line, every soft swell of slick and sensitivity. He sucked on his clit, slow and rhythmic, while his fingers spread Jaemin open wider, stroking just inside the entrance—so gentle, so reverent. Jaemin choked on a moan.

“Jeno—Alpha—!”

The title slipped out like a sob. Jeno groaned into him, rut scent spiking, flooding the room like lightning finally cracking through clouds.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered. “Let me make you come. Let me taste it.”

His tongue pushed inside, slow and deep. Jaemin cried out, hips jerking, thighs trembling around Jeno’s head. His hands flew to Jeno’s hair, clutching tight as he rocked against his mouth.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Alpha—don’t stop—”

Jeno growled, low and possessive, tongue fucking him deeper, lips slick with Jaemin’s taste. And when Jaemin came, he shattered like he hadn’t in years—legs clamping tight, back arching off the bed, scream torn from his throat as slick gushed from his pussy. Jeno licked up every drop. Didn’t stop until Jaemin was whimpering from overstimulation. Then he looked up, eyes dark, mouth wet.

“I need to be inside you.”

Jaemin reached for him, pulling him up.

“Then take me.”

The words weren’t just permission—they were a vow. A surrender wrapped in trust. Jeno surged upward, claiming Jaemin’s mouth in a kiss that tasted like slick and salt and everything sacred. Jaemin moaned against him, still trembling from release, but he pulled Jeno closer with both arms, arching his back to feel every inch of skin press flush to his. Jeno’s cock, slick and throbbing, dragged across the seam of Jaemin’s pussy, coating it with precome.

“Fuck,” Jeno hissed, rut now a storm crashing through his veins. “I’ve missed your body so much. Missed your scent—missed this heat.”

Jaemin spread his legs wider in response, breath catching when the swollen head of Jeno’s cock pressed against his entrance. He was still soaked, inner walls twitching from the aftermath of his orgasm, but when Jeno pushed just slightly, Jaemin flinched.

Jeno stopped instantly. “Too much?”

“No,” Jaemin whispered. “Just—wait. Let me…”

He reached between them with trembling fingers and guided Jeno to his entrance, his body fluttering in readiness even as nerves prickled his spine. “Go slow,” he said. “I haven’t—”

“I know,” Jeno murmured, brushing his lips along Jaemin’s cheek. “I’ll take care of you.”

And then he pressed forward. The first inch slid in with a slick, warm stretch—Jaemin’s body clenching instinctively, drawing him in with soft resistance. Jaemin gasped. Jeno groaned, dropping his forehead against Jaemin’s. “So tight—gods, baby, you’re gripping me so fucking good.”

He pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until Jaemin’s pussy fluttered around the base of his cock, taking him to the hilt.

Jaemin’s mouth parted on a soft, wrecked whimper. “You feel… so full.”

Jeno stilled inside him, letting them both breathe through it.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped. “Still take me like you were made for it.”

He kissed Jaemin slowly—mouth soft and reverent, tongue brushing over his in gentle sweeps. One hand cradled Jaemin’s hip, the other tangled in his hair. When Jaemin began to roll his hips, Jeno took it as permission and started to move—slow, deep thrusts that made Jaemin moan into his mouth with every stroke.

“Jeno,” he whispered. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Jeno pulled back, looking down at the place they were joined. His cock disappeared into Jaemin’s wet, stretched pussy, creamy slick clinging to the base with every thrust.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice raw. “Every part of you. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Jaemin clung to him tighter. He was still crying—but not from shame this time. From love. From finally letting himself feel it again. Jeno moved slow, careful, even as the rut tore through him like fire under his skin. Every thrust was deep and smooth, dragging over every fluttering part of Jaemin’s heat-slick pussy. The slide of cock against inner walls was wet and obscene, their bodies sticking together with every motion, but all Jaemin could focus on was the feeling of being full again. Truly full. Like something inside him had finally been returned.

“Oh gods—” Jaemin moaned, fingers digging into Jeno’s back. “Don’t stop, Jeno. Please, don’t stop.”

Jeno buried his face in Jaemin’s neck, inhaling him like a lifeline. “I’m trying, baby. I’m trying to go slow—but you’re so tight. I—fuck—I can’t hold it much longer.”

Jaemin arched his hips to meet him, gasping when the shift let Jeno hit deeper. “Then don’t. I want all of it. I want all of you.”

That broke something in Jeno. His pace stuttered, then grew more urgent, his thrusts heavier, greedier, grinding into Jaemin like he needed to fuse them together. His knot was swelling now—Jaemin could feel the thick base of it beginning to press insistently against his rim, not yet forcing its way in, but already stretching him wider with every slam of Jeno’s hips.

“Jaeminnie—” Jeno groaned, voice cracking. “I need to knot you. Please, let me—let me claim you.”

Jaemin moaned shakily, lips brushing Jeno’s jaw. “You don’t need to ask. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Jeno growled—low, deep, broken—and drove forward with more force. His knot caught at Jaemin’s entrance, pushing and retreating, slick flooding around it with every push.

Jaemin whimpered, overwhelmed. “Alpha, please—please do it. Fill me.”

Jeno’s scent exploded—pine and thunder and feral want—and with one brutal thrust, he sank his knot inside. Jaemin screamed, back arching as the thick bulb locked them together. His inner muscles spasmed around it, stretched wide and held open, and the moment he clenched, he felt it—the flood. Jeno came with a desperate snarl, biting down hard on the crook of Jaemin’s neck as his cock jerked inside, knot locking deeper. His come poured into Jaemin in thick waves, hot and endless, making Jaemin’s belly feel full, claimed, ruined in the way he’d craved for so long. Jaemin was crying. Jeno was whispering into his skin.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Jeno’s voice cracked with every repetition, the words muffled against Jaemin’s skin as his knot pulsed deep inside, swollen and locked. Each gush of come made Jaemin’s pussy clench helplessly around him, walls fluttering from the stretch, the heat, the claim that now lived inside him.

“Gods, baby,” Jeno panted, arms trembling as he held himself over Jaemin. “You feel so good—so tight—fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

Jaemin couldn’t speak at first. His throat was raw from moaning. His legs were trembling, split wide beneath Jeno’s weight. The stretch of that knot—so thick, so deep—kept him hovering between pleasure and overwhelm, teetering on the edge of another orgasm just from the fullness alone. But what broke him wasn’t the knot. It was the way Jeno looked down at him when he finally pulled back from his bite mark, panting hard. His eyes were glassy. His scent was still wild, rut-thick and possessive—but laced with awe.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jeno whispered, brushing Jaemin’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Even when you cry. Even when you hide. Even now—with my knot in you, with your belly full of my come—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Jaemin’s eyes filled instantly.

His lip quivered. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it…”

“I mean it.” Jeno kissed the corner of his mouth. “I meant it the first time I saw you. I meant it when you were swollen with our son, and again with our daughter. I meant it when you thought you were too tired to be touched. I meant it when you pulled away. And I mean it now, when you’re under me again, letting me love you.”

Jaemin’s walls clenched again, involuntarily. Jeno groaned, hips rocking instinctively. “You keep doing that, and I’m going to come again.”

“Then do it,” Jaemin whispered, desperate now. “Please. Fill me up again.”

And Jeno did. His lips crashed against Jaemin’s in a messy, tear-wet kiss, knot twitching inside the omega’s slick walls as his cock jerked again—another flood, another wave of heat that made Jaemin cry out and cling to him like he was drowning in it. The pressure of it… the way his belly grew warm, heavy, filled… It wasn’t just physical. It was love. Jaemin sobbed softly into Jeno’s mouth. “I thought you’d stop wanting me. I thought I was… ruined.”

“You’re not ruined,” Jeno whispered fiercely, voice shaking. “You’re real. You’re mine. You gave me everything. This body? These hips? This pussy? This scent? Every part of you is sacred to me.”

Jaemin whimpered again, overwhelmed, face turned to the side as tears slid down his cheek.

“You never stopped being the omega I fell in love with,” Jeno said. “Even when you stopped loving yourself.”

Silence. Then—

“I missed you so much,” Jaemin whispered brokenly. “I missed us. I wanted to come back. I just didn’t know how.”

“You just did,” Jeno whispered. “You’re here. You’re wrapped around me. You let me in.”

Jaemin nodded, chest heaving. His hands slid up Jeno’s back, trembling as they held him closer.

“I want to stay like this forever.”

“You will,” Jeno said, kissing his forehead. “I’ll never let you forget how loved you are again.”

૮.◜◡◝ა ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ

The morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and golden. It kissed the edges of their skin where sweat clung and gleamed, painting them in a glow that felt almost unreal. The room still throbbed with the scent of sex—thick and raw, laced with knot-slick and pine—but underneath it bloomed something softer. Hibiscus. Milk. Safety. Jaemin lay flat on his back, thighs still parted, Jeno heavy between them. His knot was still nestled deep inside, warm and swollen, locking them together with every slow throb. Neither had moved. Neither had spoken in several minutes. Jeno’s hand traced slow, open-palmed strokes along Jaemin’s belly—his soft belly, stretched and silken with scars, slicked in places with drying come. He touched it like it was art, like it was history.

“Look at you,” Jeno whispered, reverent.

Jaemin tried to look away.

“No,” Jeno said, gently catching Jaemin’s chin. “Don’t hide. Let me see you.”

His eyes didn’t leave Jaemin’s.

“You’re still everything I ever wanted. Everything I still want.”

Jaemin swallowed thickly.

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Jeno whispered. “But I’m not. Not of your body. Not of you. You’re still my omega.”

He kissed each stretch mark. Each soft fold. Each part Jaemin had spent a year avoiding in mirrors. When he kissed Jaemin’s belly, just above where his knot sat pulsing inside, Jaemin choked out a sob.

“I hate how I flinch when you touch me.”

“Then let me keep touching you until you forget how,” Jeno said, dragging his lips across his skin. “Let me remind your body what it feels like to be worshipped.”

Jaemin reached for him, hands carding through his hair, trembling but open.

“You’re not disappointed?” he asked, eyes glistening.

Jeno laughed—soft, broken, full of disbelief.

“I’m wrecked, Jaeminnie. I’ve been hard for you for a year and never stopped wanting you. You think I’d be disappointed after you just made me come so hard I saw stars?”

Jaemin flushed, but the ghost of a smile curled at his lips. Jeno moved up and kissed that smile. Then kissed Jaemin’s tears.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against his mouth. “Let me prove it.”

He rolled his hips again—gently, knot grinding inside—and Jaemin whimpered.

“Still full?” Jeno teased, breath warm.

“I can feel you,” Jaemin whispered. “Every twitch. Every pulse.”

“I’m not done showing you how much I missed you.”

And Jeno—still buried in him—began to move again. It was barely motion at all, just the gentle rock of his hips, the slow grind of his knot pressing deeper with each shift. But it was enough. Enough to make Jaemin tremble. Enough to make him feel it: the fullness, the stretch, the sweet ache of being held so tightly from the inside that there was no space left for shame. Just heat. Just devotion.

Jaemin moaned softly, fingers curling into Jeno’s shoulders. “Alpha…”

Jeno kissed the side of his neck, lips brushing over the bond mark he’d reopened just slightly during his rut-high bite. The skin was reddened, tender, still damp with sweat.

“I’m here,” Jeno whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Every breath he took filled with Jaemin’s scent—hibiscus opening like petals in warm sunlight, milk sweetened by heat, and slick like golden syrup pooling between his thighs. Jaemin’s hips rolled instinctively, greedily, like his body wasn’t done yet. His pussy clenched around the knot still swelling deeper, and the way it tugged against the sensitive rim of his entrance made him cry out.

“Too much?” Jeno asked, freezing.

“No,” Jaemin panted, dragging his hands down Jeno’s spine. “Don’t stop. I don’t want to be alone in my skin anymore.”

The words hit Jeno like lightning. He pressed his forehead to Jaemin’s, heart thudding wildly. “You’re not. You never were.” He rocked again, a slow grind that dragged his knot across every aching nerve inside Jaemin’s cunt. Jaemin cried out, arching against him. His thighs shook from overstimulation, his walls fluttering around the thick swell of cock still spilling the last traces of rut into him. But this time, he didn’t resist it. He wanted it. To be taken. To be filled. To be claimed again and again, not because he was perfect—but because he was real.

“Jeno, I’m—” Jaemin gasped, voice ragged. “I’m gonna come again—!”

Jeno kissed him hard, swallowing the cry as Jaemin’s second orgasm tore through him, full-body, legs locked around Jeno’s waist. His pussy pulsed around the knot, tighter than before, sucking him deeper in.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned, grinding through it, lips brushing Jaemin’s jaw. “That’s it, baby. Let it go. Let me feel it.”

Jaemin sobbed as he came, slick leaking down between them, the sheets damp beneath his back. When the tremors finally stilled, Jeno held him tighter. No rut now. No frenzy. Just love.

૮.◜◡◝ა ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ

They lay tangled in sweat and scent and silence, Jaemin’s head tucked beneath Jeno’s chin, both of them breathing like they hadn’t in months.

“You okay?” Jeno asked eventually, voice raw.

Jaemin nodded.

“I feel… warm.”

Jeno chuckled gently, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “That’d be all the come I pumped into you.”

Jaemin laughed, shaky and real. “I think you refilled my whole womb.”

“Good,” Jeno whispered. “You deserve to be full of love.”

Jaemin’s eyes welled again, but this time the tears didn’t burn. They soothed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so far away,” Jaemin murmured. “I just hated my body. I thought you would too.”

“I love your body,” Jeno said, nuzzling his cheek. “It’s made for me. It gave me our babies. And every mark on you? I’d trace them every day if you let me.”

Jaemin smiled through the tears. “I’ll let you.”

They stayed like that until the knot softened enough to ease apart, their bodies still joined by the slick and scent of something deeper than heat. Something permanent. The bathwater was warm, steaming faintly as it lapped around Jaemin’s thighs. Jeno sat behind him in the tub, legs on either side of Jaemin’s hips, arms wrapped gently around his middle. The scent of pine, hibiscus, and sex lingered in the air like incense—mellowed now, but still tangible, wrapping around them like a cocoon. Jaemin leaned back against Jeno’s chest, bare skin pressed to bare skin, letting himself be held. For the first time in a year, he didn’t flinch when Jeno’s hand brushed his stomach. Didn’t pull away when fingers traced over his soft sides. He let himself exist in his body, not as a failure, not as something broken, but as something whole.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Jeno murmured into the shell of his ear.

Jaemin nodded. Jeno reached forward, pouring warm water gently down Jaemin’s scalp, careful not to splash. His fingers massaged shampoo in slow, circular motions, and Jaemin’s eyes slipped shut with a soft sigh.

“I used to love this,” he whispered.

“I know,” Jeno said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I missed it.”

He rinsed with the same gentleness, lips ghosting over the nape of Jaemin’s neck as suds ran down his shoulders. Every touch was reverent. Slow. Not sexual. Just closeness, rebuilt piece by piece. Jaemin felt his throat tighten.

“I used to think,” he said, voice trembling, “that I was nothing more than a vessel. For our babies. And that once I was… used, you’d stop seeing me.”

Jeno’s arms tightened around him.

“I saw you more than ever,” he whispered. “Carrying them. Nursing them. Protecting them. Even now—when you’re tired and aching and still show up every single day… you’re more than I ever dreamed I’d deserve.”

Jaemin blinked hard, breath catching.

“I thought if I let you see my body, you’d compare it to what it used to be.”

“I do,” Jeno said.

Jaemin stiffened. Jeno kissed behind his ear. “And I love it even more now. Because this body? It chose me. It gave me our children. And now it’s letting me love it again.”

A soft sound escaped Jaemin—part laugh, part sob.

“You’ve always been so gentle with me.”

“Only with you.”

They stayed in the water until it cooled, limbs relaxed and hearts steady, the ache between Jaemin’s thighs now a warm thrum, not from pain—but from being claimed, deeply, lovingly, without shame.

After the bath, Jeno dried him with a towel. Softly. Like he was something sacred. He didn’t rush. He didn’t tease. He simply tended to Jaemin—gently patting between his thighs where dried slick clung, whispering apologies when he saw the slight puffiness from where his knot had kept Jaemin stretched for so long. He kissed Jaemin’s hipbone after, reverently, like gratitude was a language made of lips and quiet devotion. They moved to the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No clothes. No shame.

Jeno tucked Jaemin beneath the covers, crawling in after him, bare skin slipping against bare skin, and held him like it was the only thing he knew how to do. Jaemin curled into him automatically—head against Jeno’s chest, one leg draped over his hip, cunt still sore and wet where they’d joined. But for the first time in a year, he didn’t want to hide.

“I always thought healing would feel like a sudden moment,” Jaemin murmured against Jeno’s skin. “But it’s just… quiet. Like waking up slowly.”

Jeno’s hand slid down his back, fingertips brushing along the curve of his spine. “You’re allowed to take as long as you need.”

Jaemin hesitated, then whispered, “Did you ever think of someone else? When I wouldn’t let you touch me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

Just honest.

“No,” Jeno said finally. “I touched myself to the memory of you. Always you.”

Jaemin shut his eyes. “Even when I pushed you away?”

“Especially then,” Jeno said. “Because I knew you were still here. Just buried. And I was willing to wait until you could reach back.”

Jaemin’s heart cracked. He shifted, climbing gently into Jeno’s lap, straddling his hips—not to start something again, but to feel close. His arms wrapped around Jeno’s neck, his pussy pressed against Jeno’s softened cock, still warm, still damp with the scent of knot and come. He buried his face in Jeno’s shoulder.

“I want to stop being scared.”

“You already did,” Jeno murmured, holding him tighter. “You let me love you again. That’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

They rocked like that for a while, no rhythm, no destination—just warmth, breathing, the feeling of two hearts slowly falling into step again. Jeno leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jaemin’s chest, then lower, dragging his lips down Jaemin’s soft belly.

He nosed at the dip above his navel. “One day,” he whispered, “when you’re ready… if you ever want another…”

Jaemin laughed, breath stuttering. “I think your rut already made the decision for us.”

Jeno kissed lower. “Then I hope it’s a girl. I want her to grow up knowing her Appa is the strongest, softest, most beautiful omega in the world.”

Jaemin blinked fast.

“That might be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“It’s just the truth.”

He settled back into Jeno’s arms, letting himself be small there. Safe. And for the first time in months, he didn’t dread the mirror. Didn’t flinch at the stretch in his hips or the soreness in his belly. This body had been through everything—and still, Jeno loved it. Still, Jeno loved him.

૮.◜◡◝ა ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ

Sunlight poured through the windows in gentle waves, bathing their bedroom in warmth. The scent of sex and sweat had mellowed, faded into something more comforting—hibiscus and pine twined lazily together, a quiet testament to everything they’d shared the night before. Jaemin blinked awake slowly. His legs ached in the best way. His hips felt loose, the insides of his thighs sticky with dried slick and come. He could still feel the faint soreness around his rim—where Jeno’s knot had stretched him open twice, maybe three times through the night. They hadn’t counted. There’d been too many kisses between, too much laughter. Too many whispers of I love you, I missed you, You’re still mine. But the most surprising thing wasn’t the ache. It was the peace.

For the first time in over a year, Jaemin woke up held. Jeno was still inside him. They’d fallen asleep knotted during the last round—slow and sleepy, hips barely grinding, Jaemin in Jeno’s lap moaning softly as the knot slipped back inside like it belonged. And now, in the hazy warmth of morning, Jeno’s arms were still tight around him. Their chests pressed close. Jaemin’s face tucked under Jeno’s chin. And his alpha was already awake. Not moving. Just breathing him in.

“Morning,” Jaemin whispered, voice rasped.

“Morning, baby,” Jeno murmured back, voice low and hoarse. “Still full?”

Jaemin flushed, the faintest smile curving his lips. “Mmhm. You’re… still hard.”

“Sorry,” Jeno chuckled softly, kissing his temple. “I think my rut’s officially ended, but my cock hasn’t gotten the message.”

Jaemin giggled into Jeno’s neck. It surprised both of them.

“You sound happy,” Jeno said, holding him tighter.

“I think I am,” Jaemin whispered. “I think I will be.”

They lay in silence for a while longer, limbs tangled under the blankets, their bond scent wrapping through the air like morning incense. Jeno’s thumb rubbed lazy circles on Jaemin’s hip, right where a silvery stretch mark curled like a ribbon. “I want you to know,” he said softly, “I loved you before this body. I loved you in this body. I’ll love you as it changes again.” Jaemin blinked fast. He sat up slightly, still knotted, still joined, and cupped Jeno’s cheek.

“Then can we start over?”

Jeno’s heart stuttered.

“Jaemin…”

“Not from the beginning,” Jaemin said gently, leaning in until their noses touched. “Just… from now. I want to start from this morning. From waking up in your arms again.”

Jeno’s arms wrapped around him instantly, dragging him into a deeper kiss.

“I’ll start anywhere you want,” he whispered. “As long as it’s with you.”

They stayed like that until the sun climbed higher, the knot finally softened, and Jaemin felt Jeno slip out of him with a wet, final stretch. But instead of shame, he felt warmth. Instead of flinching away, he rolled into Jeno’s chest and whispered, “I love you.” And Jeno, steady and sure, whispered it back. Again. And again. And again.

૮.◜◡◝ა ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ

The knock at the door came later that morning. Light. Familiar. Minji’s sleepy babble came first, followed by the tumbling patter of their son’s feet across the porch. Jaemin stood at the mirror in their room, brushing his fingers through his hair, still damp from the bath. He wore one of his favorite robes—the pale blue silk one that had been hanging untouched for months. It still hugged his waist. His belly was soft beneath it, his thighs fuller, and his chest heavier than before. But when he looked at himself… He didn’t flinch. Jeno came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Jaemin’s waist, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

Jaemin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s bring our babies home.”

The door swung open just as their son barreled forward, arms wide.

“Appa!”

Jaemin knelt instantly, catching him mid-leap, laughing as he hugged him close. “Hi, baby.”

“You smell like Daddy,” their son murmured sleepily. “You smell like… happy.”

Jaemin’s heart caught in his throat. Jeno scooped Minji from his mother’s arms, cradling her against his chest, kissing her round cheeks. “You miss us, sweetheart?”

She gurgled and patted his face with both hands. Jaemin’s mother looked at him quietly. And Jaemin… he stood taller. No apologies. Just a quiet, grateful smile. His mother returned it, touching his arm once before heading back to her car.

The door closed behind her, and suddenly, the house wasn’t silent anymore. It was full. Of little voices. Of the scent of their children. Of the rhythm of Jaemin’s heart slowing to something steady again.

૮.◜◡◝ა ᐢ ɞ̴̶̷ ̫ ɞ̴̶̷ ᐢ

Later, after lunch, Jaemin sat on the floor in the living room with Minji crawling across his lap and his son leaning against his side, coloring a new drawing. Jeno came up behind him again, hands settling on his shoulders.

“You look good down here,” he said softly.

“I feel good,” Jaemin replied, tilting his head to smile up at him. “Even after you broke my hips last night because of your rut.”

Jeno snorted and bent to kiss the crown of his head.

Their son looked up. “What’s a rut?”

Jaemin choked.

Jeno coughed into his fist. “That’s an excellent question—for when you’re eighteen.”

Jaemin laughed, cheeks red. But even with his face flushed and his robe wrinkled, he didn’t pull away when Jeno’s hand rested on his belly again. He didn’t hide. Because love had found its way back into every room of the house. Not just between them—but within Jaemin. And he was ready now. To stay. To be seen. To be loved as he was.