makazizy
They called him a "genetic glitch."
Most Omegas smelled of home, of baked bread, or spring rain, or the soft, cloying sweetness of jasmine. Jimin smelled like scorched sandalwood and dark oud. He smelled like summer thunderstorms, beautiful in its fury and violence, all with a tang of a threat.
In the high-security wing of the Blackwood Institute, he wasn't a patient; he was a demolition site. He was a regular visitor to the Institute, it was beginning to seem like a second home to him since he got sent there all the time.
They labeled him "Aberrant." Sometimes, "Psycho."
But even so, non of them could deny that the man was a genius, a master in his craft. Such that even when they locked him up regulary, he STILL walked out free the next day if he chose to. Because no one could perform like Park Jimin, and no one could make clothes as beautiful and exotic as Park Jimin.
He was one of the most powerful people in the world of the Elite in Metropolis. They could call him a disgrace amongst omegas, they could scorn at his ungracefulness but they still got their breaths taken away when he graced that stage with his presence. And they still fought over his magnificently designed clothes when he released them.
Jimin would sit in the center of his padded cell, his fingers tracing the invisible lines of colour in the air and sketches would fly in his mind. He liked the silence. He liked that his inner wolf didn't whine or roll over; she paced, she snarled, and she waited to tear the throat out of anyone who dared to offer him a collar. He was a forest fire that refused to be put out.
And it never occured to him that he could be so irrevocably claimed and wanted.
Just the way he was.
But oh well, life is full of surprises isn't it? And the surprise came in the form of a predator that didn't need to growl to be felt, with an ancient, deep forest, hearth fire scent that sent Jimin sprawling into territories he never wanted to explore