– omegaverse – secretly omega jungkook x alpha Tae – enemies to lovers – sxual tension, bickering, eventual mutual pining and smut – strictly 🔞 | MDNI – Patreon hybrid: meaning some following parts might be only available on my Patreon

The air in the arena is a cold & heavy on his lungs, thick with the chemical burn of pheromones, coming off sweaty alphas JK doesn't hear the crowd anymore; he hears the frantic scrape of his own blades & the catch in his breath. Third period, tied up. He can’t fucking lose this

JK, the star of the Eagles, maintains this facade with every ounce of his existence. He might be well ripped and relatively bigger for an omega, but his custom scent blocker— a harsh blend of musky cinnamon designed to conceal even the sharpest omega scents— is his only defense,

Tonight however — tonight the fatigue is deep & the pressure beneath his veneer is lethal. The roar of the crowd was a guttural explosion as Kim fucking Taehyung, seemingly out of nowhere, chips the puck high past the startled goalie.

“Fuck” A strangled, frustrated groan tears from JK's throat. He slams his stick against the ice with a resounding hit, his face contorted in pure fury. "Are you fucking kidding me? Get your heads in the fucking game!" he yells, his voice cracking with rage.

“C’mon, Kook, bury it!” Hoseok’s shout cuts through the din, his voice rough with grit. The goalie’s stance is wide, a wall of pads, but Jungkook’s shot is instinct, his wrist flicks to soar the puck like a bullet, aimed true, but it clips the crossbar with a hollow clang.

"Fuck." Jungkook’s chest caves, failure bitter like blood on his tongue. So close, so fucking close. He's rendered frozen in the offensive zone when Kim pushes past him like a storm, stealing the puck from a rookie defenseman who’s all limbs & no brains Two minutes left, two.

Jungkook’s too far to stop him, lungs burning as he scrambles back. Taehyung’s stick is a blur, the puck arcing high, and Jungkook sees it unfold in slow motion— the goalie’s glove stretching, missing, the red lamp flaring. Tie game. The arena shakes.

In a split second, Jungkook’s on his feet, skating hard toward the ref, voice raw. “Foul! That was a fucking trip!” he shouts, jabbing his stick toward Kim, who’s circling back, lazy confidence. “He hooked the kid’s skate, you blind?”

Kim pulls up, visor glinting, Jungkook can see his fringe sticking to his forehead when he shifts closer to speak. “The fuck you bitiching about Jeon? Puck’s in.” His voice is cocky, deep like hot honey—everything Jungkook hates about Alphas and everything he tries to be.

“You fucking cheated, Kim,” he snaps, but his voice cracks, just a fraction. Taehyung’s eyes narrow mockingly. Damn bastard Jungkook skates away, heart hammering from anger. Kim has pulled this bullshit all four times that he's faced him; he plays dirty, he's good but a cheater.

The final minute is a blur of checks and desperation, but the score holds. The buzzer rips through the arena, a tie that feels like a blade in Jungkook’s gut. He rips off his helmet, sweat dripping down his neck, matting his hair to his forehead. He needs to reapply his blocker.

The crowd’s noise is a dull roar as he glides toward the tunnel, his teeth grit when he sees Kim blowing a kiss toward the crowd. Asshole "What a shit show." Jungkook groans as he flops on a bench, his nose scrunches from the overwhelming scent of sweat and alpha pheromones.

His teammates are already shrugging it off because they can; to them, every game isn't a trial of their self-worth, for Jungkook, it is. Namjoon claps his shoulder. “One point’s fine, man. Season’s young.” his grin is all teeth, alpha-easy. “You played like a beast, cheer, kook.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer; he’s unraveling, the tie a mirror to his own precarious balance. He replays the game—his shot, Taehyung’s goal. He'd already lost the previous game to him; today was supposed to be payback, not a reminder that Kim is in fact, possibly — better than him.

“C’mon, starboy,” Hoseok calls, already showered, tossing Jungkook’s towel at him. “Yoongi's party, remember? Free beer, hot omegas. You’re not sulking your way out of this.” Jungkook scoffs. "Celly for what? a pathetic tie?"

"For keeping it together & not nearly punching Taehyung like the last time." "It was fucking foul & you know it." Jungkook snarls, but he's already getting his blocker-infused body wash from his bag. Arguing with Hoseok is always pointless; the alpha never takes no for an answer

The house is a mess and he wants to leave the moment he steps foot in it. Jungkook shoulders through the kitchen, hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbow, the cotton already sticking to the small of his back,

it’s not wise to sweat in a room full of horny boozed up alphas that could sniff him out, even when buried under ten layers of scent blockers, his heat being around the corner doesn’t help either.

Someone’s spilled vodka on the floor; so now every step squeaks like a skate on fresh ice. Jungkook’s still tasting the tie —metallic and still on the tip of his tongue. Namjoon finds him first, plants a palm between his shoulder blades and presses there.

“Drink, Kook. You’re tense like a goddamn stick.” Jungkook takes the cup because refusing would look weak. The beer is piss-warm and foams over his knuckles. He licks it off without thinking, tongue catching the salt of his own skin, and hates how the motion feels like surrender.

Hoseok appears with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Kim’s here by the way. don’t sucker punch him if you see him, yeah?” He taunts, calling the younger out on his quick fuse, a habit of his. Jungkook scans the living room —

there are bodies stacked three deep, red cups orbiting like satellites — and yet it’s relatively easy to spot Taehyung. The star boy of their playground, graciously handsome.

There’s a group, a small bunch mostly consisting of omegas, their sweetened scents make his nose twitch, at the center of their spiral, stands Kim motherfucking Taehyung, smiling like he’s got the sun shinning out of his ass.

Taehyung’s shed the jersey for a simple black tee that clings to the circumference of his thick arms, his sleeves riding high enough to show the faint bruise from an earlier check.

When their eyes lock. Taehyung lifts his bottle in a lazy salute, mouth curving and there it is, his million dollar smile, it seems almost kind in the dim light of the foresaken house, but Jungkook knows better.

He doesn’t return the courtesy, Jungkook simply scoffs and the room narrows to the glint of his doe eyes as he drains the cup in one go. He’s sweating & sweat is not good, if he’s not careful, the whole room will be smelling like caramel and vanilla, with it all pointing to him.

The vodka burns, it’s clearly cheap but it’ll do for now. There’s a devilish heat licking up his spine. His blockers are a joke tonight — and he’s storming out of the kitchen when he feels the beads of sweat on his forehead, panic gentle in his guts. He needs a smoke urgently.

He moves fast, weaving through the crowd. Someone tries to pat his back; he dodges. “You okay, Kook?” Namjoon pulls him closer by the arm before he can make it out & before he knows, he’s tangled in a dreadingly long conversation with some omega who blushes way too often.

“So listen I’ve gotta split.” Jungkook doesn’t wait for the omega’s response, he could scent his slick and it made his head hurt. The hallway to the back porch is darker, cooler, He’s already fishing his cigarettes out by the time he’s pushing the door open with his shoulder.

The relief lasts a split second. Gone before Jungkook could even take a breath. Taehyung is already there, hunched over the railing. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers. His eyes widen and then glint when they fall upon Jungkook. “Oh, Starboy was it? here for more?”