Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10368681.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga/Park_Jimin, Jeon_Jungkook/Park_Jimin, Jeon_Jungkook_&
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga
  Character:
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga, Park_Jimin_(BTS), Jeon_Jungkook, Original_Male
      Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Angst, Fluff, Hyung_Kink, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Slow_Build, Dom/sub,
      Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Unhealthy_Relationships, Min_Yoongi_|_Suga_Is
      Bad_at_Feelings, Jeon_Jungkook_is_a_Little_Shit, (but_he_has_p_good
      reasons_for_being_a_shit), Park_Jimin_Is_a_Sweetheart, (kinda), Alternate
      Universe_-_Royalty, Alternate_Universe, Dirty_Talk, Cock_Rings, Spanking,
      Face-Fucking, theres_a_shit_tone_of_smut_like_abt_20k_so_just_expect_a
      lot_of_everything_u_know, Hurt/Comfort, also_the_rape/noncon_isn't_for
      the_idol_x_idol, Falling_In_Love
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-19 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 40781
****** these voices shall keep me waiting ******
by sue_bts
Summary
     Two boys falling in love with the clouds; another boy growing a daisy
     amidst the mud; a girl cuts her dress so as not to trip over it
     anymore.
     This is the love story of when the sour rain turned sweet.
Notes
     whoop whoop it's actually done !! i've been working on this fic since
     august, so 8 months ,,,, kinda ridiculous yeah? yeah.
     anywayssss, i hope you can enjoy this !! please mind the tags and let
     me know in the comments if im missing any kind of trigger i should
     mention !!! (like i didnt want to tag like everything i mention, i
     mention a wound for like 2 seconds, and there's a minor character
     death but the character isn't even introduced so ..)
     a huge thank you to my friends and followers supporting me along the
     way to finish this - and not murdering me over not posting for so
     long to finish it .. hehe -
     oh and me and my beta reader edited as much as we could of this but
     there are obviously still some errors so please dont mind those !!
     also, important: this isn’t at all historically correct, while it
     wasn’t meaning to be. it deals in the rulership of a Monarchy, while
     giving no specific dates to when this is taking place.
     check out my writing_blog and my personal_blog <333
***** Love for the King *****
Act One- Love for the King  
 
;
 
This is the kingdom. A simple village, and separated from it, the castle. It’s
walled in layers of brick, which at the tops of its 4 corners, are stations
where guards stand day and night. There is a King and a Queen, along with their
many staff. The rain is incessant, relentless; and when it isn’t raining, a
thick veil of fog lays itself along the ankles of the staff. If mapped, there
are 3 things to show of it, a tower that’s up in the clouds, a field for the
horses, and the long strip of building which is the castle. This is where one
enters, and does not leave, if in pure faith to the King, in pure fear, or if
only a body beneath the Ostrich Ferns, of no use to the King any longer.
A question, to those who work for the King: have you been soaked in the grease
of his fingertips over your skin? Have you drowned in it? Have you drowned
in him? Have you been bruised at the knees, bruised at the eyes, at the heart,
with your love for your King?
There isn’t much an answer though. There are gruesome answers, as it is a
gruesome story. Not gory in its violence, nor are there any wars. It’s
gruesome in pretty boys wrecked on wrinkled duvets, and the nitty gritty kinds
of details that twist one’s nose. Of course, love stories can sprout from such
sickly conditions such as those; the same love stories can as well wilt. 
The King is not defeated by the end, dethroned from his power. Yet, it’s still
a happy ending. An ending of maybe two boys falling in love with the clouds,
floating off from the Kingdom finally. Or another boy growing a daisy amidst
the mud, until the rain is sparse enough to let it grow. Perhaps a girl cuts
her dress so as not to trip over it anymore. That can be your happy ending, if
you dare allow it to be.
This is the love story of when the sour rain turned sweet.
;
;
The rain has always been sick, in Yoongi’s years under it he has grown to hate
the flavor. It had always been raining when he’d slept on the bark of trees,
raining when there was nothing to cover him up, not even his pesky jacket that
had holes around the elbows. 
The King had sent him a letter, the return address stamped in thick red candle
wax with the King’s initials. Inside the letter- in scrawled, irritatingly
perfect calligraphy- was an invitation to the castle under the pretenses of:
 ‘how have you survived so many years on the streets, Min Yoongi? Word has come
around to the King that a boy since the age of 12, every year, has somehow been
surviving these harsh, ever ongoing rains. We’re curious as to how you’ve
managed such a feat…’ and so on, the letter continued. 
The royalty had recruited him as a ripe sixteen year old to train horses, he
then had no experience with horses, or training, but he’d accepted the job to
escape the steady rain and escape the drowning poverty flavored that familiar
rain-water flavor. 
After all, it never stops raining in the Kingdom where Min Yoongi lives. When
the season had first turned cold, it’d stayed that way, accompanied by that
ever-falling rancid rain, the entire Kingdom smelling of it. It ruins the weak
fabric of Yoongi’s trousers. When he had received the letter he had tucked it
into his still damp pants pocket until the ink ran down the page, faded beyond
salvation. 
And the small room a servant had lead him to had, and still has, a roof that
leaks. After years on the streets- Yoongi preferred the title ‘traveler,’ in
contrast to homeless- he was once again surrounded by that swelling surrounding
of curdled lies dipped in ocean water. Even under his roof Yoongi had tasted
that awful taste of rain.
God, even the sound of it is disgusting. It drip drips until it drives him
mad. Yoongi had placed a hat to capture most of it and then
everything smelled of the dormant rain, and he would wake up with foul curses
on his tongue. But that’d been usual for Yoongi, and is usual now, he curses
quite a lot actually, however that time his breath in saying the words was the
smell of sleep and musty, stagnant enmity.
;
;
Jimin is a cook, and is a fine one perhaps, but nowhere near extraordinary. He
manages to prepare the meals to some level of decency, good enough for the
King, and is known for his intricate garnishes. He devours the leftovers and
prays to himself in a hunched figure that his cheeks won’t swell and get too
round from the bread rolls. The other cooks don’t bother him, they avoid
whoever has the eye of the King, his attention makes people greedy. 
Jimin cuts open the raw meat to prepare it, and he always hoards the hearts for
himself; while the blood may be bitter and the textures of the meat make Jimin
gag, he devours the hearts so his eyes stay round and his lips stay plush. He
has done this since he was first hired and he continues every time a fresh
batch of animals come in. He takes a rough bite, his teeth tearing and his eyes
watering at the crude flavor. It’s a form of torture that he lets himself
enjoy, but many things are like that in the Kingdom, it’s notorious for
its treachery. 
He’s ended up in the royal kitchen, somehow amongst chefs much older and much
more experienced. He likes to reason that he has some special talent the King
had recognized in him in his hiring of Jimin, but Jimin knows the truth. Nearly
every night he rides the King and digs his nails down the older’s back. The
King ravishes his thick thighs as they spread along his waist, biting and
scratching and always so rough. Then Jimin gets up and walks away and by
Saturday morning is making the King’s breakfast to dine upon as he sits across
from the Queen. 
But all of this is of course ignored, the rest of the younger side of the
staff, who endure it alongside Jimin, just turn their heads. Turn their heads
to the evident hickeys, or maybe even the finger marks on Jimin’s neck from
when the King is angered over the meal wrongly prepared, harshly choking Jimin
as he pounds into him from behind, bent over a desk or the bed. 
So with a certain distinct angst to how he eats, Jimin consumes the hearts of
these animals shipped in for the King’s meals, promising himself he’ll live
long enough to have power, only to force the King to eat one of the raw hearts
and see him choke it down. 
;
;
“Will that be all?” Jungkook asks the King, standing over him as he sits with
crossed legs over his duvet. Jungkook is weary and supporting himself on weak
feet as his back hunches.  
“You know Jungkook… I’ve never had you.”
“Had me?” the brown haired server asks. 
The King nods, “I’ve had all my servants and staff.. except for you.”
“Me?”
“Lay down for me, will you?”
Jungkook lays down on the bed for his King, for the well dressed royalty above.
He knows it’s what he deserves, as his thighs are spread and pressed to stretch
against his abdomen and his head bobs with the King’s thrusts. Jungkook has
gone and made himself a life like this for the crimes of his past.
The King mutters gross things in-between grunts. Honestly, they’re the same
things Jungkook hears in his own head all the time, in his own voice though.
Maybe that makes it worse, the words from himself, rather than the King. He
finishes in him and slick drips down Jungkook’s skin, he shudders with his
pulse slowing down once again. It’s not so bad, the words sound real in
another’s voice, saying things to him like ‘dirty slut,’ or ‘cock hungry
whore.’ Anything that’s crude and crunches in the similarity of stomping on
leaves. He may as well be these things anyways, everyone thinks so from the
many mistakes he’s made. Why not by now?
He serves the King well, everyone says so. At least he hopes they do, but he’s
knew here, knew to this, maybe they’re all laughing at him from behind these
doors right now, and he just can’t hear them, because his ears are smothered in
pillows and the scent of grotesque sex.
;
;
You smell perpetually of mint and bitter black coffee. You pick mint leaves
from the garden in your errands to collect random assortments of ingredients
for the King’s meals. You’d suck on a leaf while at work, then pour yourself a
steaming cup of the thick, horrific liquid. From one place to another, you
leave behind your scent.
The feeling of your ankles twisting before a fall is a familiar one; something
you’ve grown to anticipate, with an irritated huff of your breath that’s
scented the morning rations for breakfast. The grass is slippery in dew in
early mornings, you dance across the bumps that may toss you off keel, by the
time you meet the castle doors the hem of your dress is wet with mud- no matter
how much of the fabric you may bunch in your fists to pick up from the ground.
It’s always raining here in the Kingdom, so in the brief break the rain does
take to gather up more storm clouds, while you’re walking across the courtyard
to the other side of the castle, the rain will decide to pick up the second
that you fall. And with this constant rain, the stone walls are always dampened
at the cracks, drips drip dripping into the courtyard. The trees refuse to
scatter leaves across the grass.
You shake out your hair, opening the doors and your first step echoes the empty
corridors. The tray you’ve been carrying shifts in your hands as you wobble, it
holds the King’s lunch. You regain your step, carrying on down the halls and
chambers until reaching his grand entrance. A few quick knocks and he doesn’t
respond, sometimes he does nap so you open the door after a few moments. 
The sight before you is of the new and youthful server, Jungkook, sprawled over
the sheets, he pants with his chest exposed and the rest of him under strewn
blankets. The King is nowhere in sight, but you quickly make the connection of
what he must have been doing no more than a few short minutes ago.
“Jungkook?” you call carefully, voice dangerously louder than you had
anticipated it to be. 
He stutters, his breath faltering, eyes slowly wandering to you as his position
is tensed.You’re blank in return. 
“Jungkook, don’t worry about it, it’s…” Your eyes dart around the room for any
sign of the King, seeing nothing, you continue. “Everyone here has been in this
kind of… position, it’s okay, don’t feel bad.”
Jungkook is unscathed. He maintains a steady eye contact, sitting up slowly
from his previous position, the blanket drooling from his frame. “What? A
position of lying under him as he abuses your insides until you spill over?”
It’s a bitter question in a tone of something gone horribly wrong and curdled.
Your fist turns white squeezing down on the tray in hand, but you keep your
stance and steady gaze on him. 
“Jungkook,” you repeat. 
He flicks his eyebrow to a curious, nearly insulting, tilt. The blanket falls
further, trailing down his flat chest to curl in a messy bundle at the v of his
sharp hip bones. 
“He went to his study if you were at all curious, said you can bring him the
food there.” 
“The study isn’t intended for dining-”
Jungkook stares harshly, the front he puts up steadily convincing until you do
feel shunned. The stain glass windows casts light across his figure as he lays
back down completely. His hands aren’t grabby at the sheets to cover him,
exposing thick black hair and his flaccid dick that is splayed over his sickly
pale thigh. 
“I’ll bring it to him there then,” you say in passing, quick steps carrying you
away from the bare boy and his unmoved expression. His eyes drift with your
movements, watching as you disappear to the next door within the grand
bedroom. 
When you’re finally gone his beautiful façade shatters across the duvet,
Jungkook collapsing on himself as tears split his cheeks in half and he swears
he can hear that slapping of skin echoing his eardrums from earlier. 
He clears his throat; his mouth is still polluted with the flavor of the King’s
curdling saliva and the rancid spunk that had run down the sides of Jungkook’s
face. A sigh. This all he deserves. For what he had done.
;
;
The day one of Min Yoongi’s horses had crushed his fourth toe on the left foot,
is something of an unspoken legend. The goal was to have his horses walking on
two hooves by the time the annual carnivals came around that the Queen loved
ever so much to entertain for. The main event was relying on something nearly
impossible to happen, Yoongi, the one responsible for either their annual
success, or their unlikely defeat. The horse had tripped up during one of the
morning practices, had ground its hooves into the boy’s weak fabric of a shoe.
And now Yoongi walks with a perpetual limp, his toe had been amputated with
only a cloth in his mouth to suffer through the pain; grinding his teeth along
the fabric, drool running down the sides of his chin. A nub is left, his step
now awkward and unbalanced. He rushes places, always in such a rush, the
staggering echoes of his step always recognizable through the much echoing
castle corridors, he keeps a steady, while unsteady, pace.
;
;
Jimin dulls out a portion of the King’s meal to the server’s waiting tray of
china dishes. The server is Jungkook, littered in errant bruises up the sides
of his exposed forearms and neck. 
“You bruise easier than I do, a shame,” Jimin comments absentmindedly. Jungkook
watches him, eyes as sharp as a clenched jaw. He studies the cook’s features:
soft, pleasant, a certain vibrance to Jimin that only an abundance of blood
could manage to supply within the damp and dark chambers of the castle.This, a
benefit, to Jimin’s addiction of hoarding the hearts of the King’s meals to
himself. Jungkook, of course, doesn’t know that about him though.
Jungkook shakes away his thoughts, of how pretty Jimin is, how clear of
blemishes, flaws, he is. He’s bitter again, how he should be, how he is.
“And what does that mean?” Jungkook questions.
“-Hyung,” Jimin supplies, while Jungkook just rolls his eyes. “It means the
King may have a certain interest- may I call it obsession- with markings. And
you, dear boy, must have quite sensitive skin to still show of this interest,
from what he had done to you, a few nights previous.”
“Does he do the same to you?” Jungkook asks, his voice wavering in curiosity,
but plagued with his distaste to unneeded conversation. 
Jimin smiles, a soft blush coating his ample, and quite obnoxious,
cheeks. “Well, I’m the King’s favorite, so yes, more than anyone else in fact.”
“Do you offer that as some kind of brag? Or a plea for my pity?”
The cook finishes in his ladling of the King’s fancy soup, to stare straight
ahead as his face goes pale once again. “The option is at hand… opinions may
vary depending on viewpoint.”
Jungkook cackles sharply, his head cracking back in his shakes of
amusement. “Then I shall interpret it as a poor boy seeking some kind of refuge
in the fact that a disgusting man of royal blood takes interest in the meat of
his body, not the brain that he thinks from. The mere fact of your age
difference with the man suggests he offers lust, you offer a title at which you
can sit upon and brag from. An opinion though, of course, no judgment to either
of you good men.” The words are harsh, from a voice softer than you’d expect a
person to say such things. “And aren’t I entitled to this freedom of speech?”
Jungkook smiles once more after the question is raised, a stupid question, they
both know that. And his smile is a sick one, deprived and giving an oddly
fragile appearance within its own confines. 
Jimin, in shock, just watches the younger boy gather up the platter and walk
from the otherwise quiet kitchen, leaving behind only the echoes of his quick
pace.
;
;
The horse trainer likes to stay tucked within the confines of his tower room,
not often passing the gates to his training field. Never does he wish to
venture much farther, unless called upon by any of the royal family for his
assistance. And such an occurrence is rare, he mostly carries out his routine
in a quiet manner to be left alone to. He values this use of time, even as a
child he’d bunker down for weeks on end in the same place if he could, until
the old farmer man would yell him off his land, or the rain would flood the
bricks. 
And so when Jungkook wanders from the opposite side of the field, to where
Yoongi stands gazing at him, the only emotion Yoongi holds for the younger boy
is an awful distaste to him. There’s only their mingling breaths among the
silence that drifts in the chill of the early morning air. Jungkook is fairly
new to the castle, Yoongi not recognizing him for anyone significant, so then
not much caring for what he has to say. 
“I’m not here for the King,” Jungkook starts, which only makes his visit of
lesser significance. 
The obviousness to the statement is sickening to Yoongi- who only sneers in
return. If he had been for the King then he’d be wearing much different attire,
the King’s messengers always sling sashes across their barrel chests; this
addition to their uniforms is a certain tradition within the Kingdom, a kind of
bragging right they enjoy to hold over your head, that they deliver words from
the King himself. These sashes match their prideful saunters and gloating
glances. 
The boy’s ignorance to this all just proves further to the observant horse
trainer that he’s both a new kid, and one of a slow mind. 
“Fine then, I don’t exactly care what you’re here for, just get it over with.”
The kid smiles lazily, stepping closer as their distance closes significantly,
only a good 2 yards between them now. 
“I’m not here to run an errand, deliver a message. I’m here for you, Min
Yoongi,” the kid says, his voice a tone of business, like he’s playing a role
that he doesn't quite fit, trying to sound as if he does.
“What do you need from me?” Yoongi ends his sentence hard, like a scribbled
period mark to the end of a capitalized sentence of fountain pen ink that leaks
at the tops of the scrawled letters. 
The boy nearly wheezes, if it’d be called that. A cough, half a laugh, a
stuttered grunt, a breath in that tasted foul enough to gag on; whatever the
word for such a noise. 
“I need to know how you do it.”
“Do what exactly?” Yoongi now growls this question, his patience waring, his
horses growing impatient as well, where he had commanded them to stay. “It’s
not my business to be handing out advice.”
The kid’s face twists to frustration, a scrunch in his brow and his mouth
twisted. “You should care about helping me! It’s important, just in general! If
it matters to you or not, you might as well just help!” His voice goes rapid,
frantic, desperate with a hidden layer of pain that hadn’t been present
previous. 
Min Yoongi snickers loudly, taking his first step closer to Jungkook,
intimidatingly close now. “Be off on your way boy. I don’t have the time for
bothering myself in other people’s problems that I have no business with,
I’m old enough to grow tired of childish quarrels and childish worries and all
these questions on how to go about things.”
“You’re a sick old man for not helping me!”
The boy’s pitch raises, to a new octave, whiny and already digging it’s dirty
claws under the elder’s nerves.
And to say he’s an old man?! The years here, working for the blue bloods, have
worn at Yoongi’s youthful features for sure, but he could easily look mid
thirties in his best state. To say an old man though, one past his 60′s, the
young boy’s disrespect is astounding.  
Hearing such things, of how his age has gotten to him, that’s why Yoongi
admires Jimin’s skin, it’s clear of the tired blemishes you gain when under
stress and lack of sleep, the veins from below the eye and down to the cheek
darken, as your skin grows weaker and thin. Jimin is clear of these flaws,
Yoongi always finds himself gawking and pining over that.
Jungkook, in the short time he’s spent here, has already grown a set of under
eye pockets for himself, they make him look sunken and malnourished. Maybe
someone you would pity if he never opened his mouth to you like he has to
Yoongi. 
“You have to help,” his words have faded to dull begs. A plea of hope, that’s
sunken in under the weight of sorrow. Pain has always been the heavier of the
two, the elder is familiar with that. “I- I can’t go on like this, something’s
wrong with this whole place. Everyone’s sick with the air and the rain and they
act like it’s normal when the King-”
Yoongi crosses his arms and plants his feet hard into the uneven ground. 
Jungkook sinks deeper into his pit of thick grief as his words are cut off, the
seconds ticking past that Yoongi only stares at him in return. 
“Please.”
His heart aches like someone is pulling on it and won’t let up. Jungkook shakes
with the heavy sensation. 
“Ask someone else.” 
And that’s all Yoongi says before turning around and leaving. “There is no one
else!” Jungkook screams after him, stomping his feet. “There’s only you,
Yoongi, and you know that damn well!” 
Yoongi just leaves Jungkook with an overcast sky overhead and looming questions
that boil; boil until steam begins to clog the dark haired boy’s mind and spill
from his ears. 
;
;
The sky looms gloomy overhead, the air chill at your fingertips. Your fingers
are grabby at the thick fabric of your dress and its many layers, holding fist
fulls of it from off of the slippy wet grass. Jungkook stares at you as you
cross over the small courtyard field that separates the dining corders, to the
office side of the castle; it’s where official meetings are held. He waits for
you in front of the regal entrance, light splintering over him in sharp
fragments, the kind of light that breaks through hazy ocean clouds and you hope
it doesn’t break him, cut him apart to fall onto the wet grass. One of his
hands stabilizes his tray of lunch time snacks, the other straightening his
coat. His eyes are bleak, lazily going over your figure as you refuse slipping
over the grass on your way to him.
He reminds you of some kind of bird, you’ve never read up on their specific
names but you catch them peering down at you sometimes. The kind that are dark
and large beaked, with those watchful eyes that always seem to be mocking you,
or judging your every flinch. He’s hooded in a certain darkness that isn’t
familiar, that is looming and full of deceit. He pinches his lips and tries to
stiffen his cracked back. Sometimes when you see Jungkook you think suddenly
wings of black, thick feathers will suddenly sprout from his back, or his
entire face will break into the structure of one of those large birds, and
he’ll launch into a heavy flight with wings that’ll blow you away. Maybe
something like that has happened in a dream that you’ve forgotten, or a
storybook you’d read a long time ago.
You push those kinds of thoughts away, of morphing humans, hybrids, those
fantasies that only exist, and only should exist, in a made up world. Jungkook
is just a boy, but you swear his eyes sometimes break into slits. 
“Finally,” he says, when you make it to him. You eye him wearily.
“Did Jimin make this?” you ask, looking to the tray he holds of neatly laid
crackers with fancy cheeses and a glass of silky wine.
“Who else.” His question is framed dryly, in not even the tone of a question,
more a condescending statement. 
You watch his gaze, he stares steadily in front of himself, past you, as if
looking past the entire world. Then his feet turn on their heels to face the
entrance instead, still blank of an expression, of any point he may be looking
at. He holds the heavy door open for you to enter first, all the Kingdom’s
doors are notoriously heavy, he holds it open effortlessly. 
“Do you hate me because of the day I saw you on his bed?”
Both of your clacking footsteps echo the hallway, paintings lining the walls at
either side of your shoulders. Your voice interrupts, it doesn’t break the
silence, as there is no silence here, but it breaks the empty noise which
contains nothing of value, only feet on marble. 
Jungkook laughs, “I hate everyone.” He doesn’t answer your question though, he
jumps around it, like playing a dirty game of hopscotch. 
“Why’s that?”
His eyes dart to you at his side, a sick frown across his features, grotesque
of humanity. “Why does anyone hate anything?”
He’s good at avoiding, good at playing the naive victim, you admire him for it.
People here should be cowards, going sick with their own rotting lies that sit
in the pits of the stomach, unable to be digested. 
His pace speeds up, still his balance with the tray precise. 
“I don’t know,” you supply, swallowing sharply with your own frown growing. 
He’s quiet, swallowed by the darkness of his pupils, the bags under his eyes
that envelope him. 
“Think of it this way,” Jungkook starts finally, “There’s really not much more
than love or hate; if you hate someone long enough you’ll love them, if you
love them long enough you’ll end up hating them. Of course there are
variations, as there is to anything, like the 3 primary colors that can be, of
course, modified. But you’re always going to end up with either love, or hate,
in how you always end up with yellow, blue and red. It’s a vicious cycle I’ve
found myself twisted within, that constant back and forth, that constant
modifying and diluting. And despite my efforts at pulling myself from it… I
don’t know, I just end up lost between those two words.”
You watch him, gaze hard on his features, his bitten lip, his swollen cheeks of
youth and the cold. You wait for the moment his cheek bones will split apart,
where the gnarled flesh of a bird will grow, and then wings, spreading over the
expanse of his back, along his shoulders and down his arms. It doesn’t happen
of course, as expected, but you wait never the less, as if you’re tempting of
its existence will probe it into reality. 
“It’s not that simple,” you say. He just laughs at you though, the sound like
swirling alcohol down your raw throat. 
“Trust me, when it comes to my past? And me? By now it is that simple.”
What he means by that is blurred, just a soggy scrap of paper, scrolled
handwriting across it, flaking off in gritty little bits, the foul smell of
squid ink across its entirety. Unreadable, illegible, unrecognizable; it could
have been written by the King, or a random peasant of no worth. You wouldn’t
know, it’s beyond salvation. 
His gaze is furrowed and hard as he keeps his eye contact, he backs away to
where the King resides in his office room, past just one more door, and then he
turns away. But in the last split second that you see him, his expression drops
to something of grief, far beyond the comprehension of a glint of an eye to
understand completely. 
;
;
Yoongi’s ribs ache, he speculates it’s from his consumption of the rotten rain
water. They rumble as if hungry, the hollows of them rattling with his
breathes. He’s only aware of their presence, an impending weight within him.
Fingers trail their ridges where they stick out from his skin, tracing the
curves and sharp angles of hunger. He rubs at his brow when he’s in deep
thought, it’s been collecting a wrinkle where he furrows it. Really an old man
after all, with his weathered skin that feels of moldy bread, the wrinkles that
keep popping up when he shifts his face only slightly. 
“Just great,” he says to himself, coughing gruffly. He wanders with wobbling
knees over the distance of uneven ground from his chambers to the main castle
entrance. It’s not an easy task, when you’re sick and it feels as if your own
ribs are threatening at caving you in from the inside. The journey to the main
castle is a struggling one, when the sky hangs heavy over him, hopelessly
reeking of clouds gone bad in their stagnant sitting at the tops of the
atmosphere. They’re boring, the clouds are, they always seem so desperately
lethargic. And Yoongi quickly flicks his vision up to look at them as they peer
back with sour expressions. 
“Dont fail me now,” he mumbles up to them, mouth tasting of morning breath and
old oatmeal. The clouds never say much back, but Yoongi likes to believe
they’re the quiet type, who mingle within themselves and don’t dare risk a
conversation with him. He doesn’t hold it against them of course, he believes
he can chat with them and while they don’t say something back, they’re still
listening. 
He keeps walking, at a quicker pace, though he feels his heart pound in
protest, circulating blood inefficiently.
“Fallen ill,” he once again finds himself saying, on this god awful field. “Of
all days, of all times, of all the people.”
Yoongi’s always been one for self pity. A lot of folks hate him for that, how
he wallows, how he complains. They always bite their tongue of their judgments
though, he complains, but he survives, so they can’t really say anything
against him. He grits his teeth with such a foul taste upon his tongue, a foul
expression placed over the eyelashes of his squinted eyes. 
Jimin bats his own eyelashes as Yoongi walks into his vision across the way, a
field between them of watered down grass and billowing leaves that refuse to
fall just yet.
Too early to die just yet, the leaves will mumble into the breeze. Jimin smiles
like he didn’t hear the leaves saying this.
“You okay?” Jimin calls to the horse trainer, to which the other boy just
flings his hands about in the air as a response. 
“I’ll be well before you know it!”
“The King will cure you for sure,” Jimin answers with his bitter sweet smile
that spreads a blush across his cheeks no matter what the topic he’s
discussing. 
“Yes, I know.” Yoongi’s graveled voice swirls its way over the space between
them, like a silk tie that’d go around a neck.
The King never saves anyone, he may direct one of his staff to the nurse’s, but
when healed it’s said that the King had saved you. Yoongi, though sick with
this tradition of unfair gratitude, plays along with Jimin’s facade.  
Jimin gives a farewell wave, one strong movement of his arm with a fling of his
silky hair. Jimin’s hair is fading at the roots, his real age showing through,
no matter what the King’s expensive hair dye could do to hide it. Yoongi waves
back, though his movement is harsh and he scowls after the glimmering gaze of
Jimin isn’t on him anymore. He just picks up his previous pace and hunches his
caving shoulders.
Fell ill, of all people.
;
;
Mint clings onto your clothes. You rush to the room where a certain Min Yoongi
waits for you. The name mentioned so many times and yet you’ve never come face
to face with the man to match the name. When you enter into the dingy nurse
corders, to deliver the ordered dosage of needed pills for him, the first thing
you take notice of is his overwhelming scent. While you’re highly aware of the
scent you carry, his own flares your nostrils immediately. It’s of stale
living, the scent that’s collected from dusty furniture and moldy stone
crevices. 
“Gross old geezer, isn’t he,” the crusty nurse asks you, in less the form of a
question, more a statement that craves reassurance. You share a glance with her
before your eyes envelope the form of Yoongi himself, sitting on a stained cot,
his face a drooping, sickly yellow. “The rains finally caught up with him,
brought out his real age.”
“You could at least try at being nice, I’m right here, with full working ears
as well,” the gray haired man grumbles. “How old do you even think I am?”
The nurse huffs, “late 40′s I’d say.”
Yoongi guffaws, which launches him into a coughing fit, heaving his skinny
barrel chest. “Mid twenties.” His voice is definitely younger than the face to
match it, with his lips quirked up into a smile that’s defiant against the
obvious anger he holds behind it. “I couldn’t say my exact age though, being
here I’ve lost track…”
You actually find yourself shocked at the age, the youngest you’d say for him
is early to mid 30′s; age shows in the eyes they say, and his are crinkled like
a old, used piece of paper. They’re eyes that are slanted in only grief an old
man could hold. But maybe you’ve got it wrong, maybe age isn’t in the
skin around the eye, in its creases, but the actual eyeballs themselves. The
iris perhaps, the sclera, maybe the tear duct; maybe the shadow from the
eyelashes.
“I’m sorry, anyways, I brought you the medicine you asked for,” you say
finally, amidst Yoongi’s bitter silence he holds to so tightly after his last
remark which had left his voice to slowly trickle away. 
You pass the pill bottle to the nurse’s bloated, grabby hands. 
“And what exactly has the rain done to him?” 
The nurse stares at you harshly, “That’s all I need from you, thank you dear,
be off on your way now!”
She shuts the door quickly then, you hardly catch all the layers of your dress
in time before the wall shakes of the door’s slam.
;
;
Without a further task to complete, you find yourself wandering the halls of
the castle. Upon hearing noises in the study you stop your slow proceedings.
You wait a few minutes and the noises finally stop, there’s shuffling, a door,
and silence from then on. 
Slowly, gracefully, you open the study’s door, the familiar sight of Jungkook
welcoming you. He’s over a lavish, fancy table that has scattered books and his
errant garments wrinkled into puddles of cloth along the floor. 
“You must be frequently bored to find yourself in these types of predicaments
so often,” Jungkook says, his voice raspy, cracking at the higher pitches of
his words. 
Ignoring him, you just watch him ruffle his matted hair, his eyes bleary, out
of focus.
“Beautiful, aren’t you,” you say. “Damaged and broken and you’ve got ugly
hickeys all over you, but you’re so god damn beautiful even still.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes must sting without blinking for so long as they
stare off so absently now; lips turned as if tasting something sour. Within his
mind- a brain purple and red, mushy and wrinkled- Jungkook thinks of you. Of
your dress that clings to your hips as you walk; your loose boots that click on
your feet and that your ankles stick out of; your messy hair, that’d you tie up
into buns at the top of your head but no doubt by the end of the day most of it
would be in your eyes; of your smell, mint and coffee and sweat; he thinks of
how the King must touch you when you’re alone together, how possessive his
fingers must feel crawling across your skin. 
He bites his lip, he thinks of you, his disgust only grows.
“He almost likes you as much as Jimin,” you say. His eyes finally return to
you, bloodshot, stinging stinging. 
“An honor.” He says this with a hard edge to his tone, jaw clenched and teeth
grinding themselves raw. 
“Of course,” you answer, saying what you should, your face shows otherwise,
“any attention the King may grant you is an honor.”
The word, honor, is reinforced with obnoxious syllable pronunciation. 
He nods. Baring his shoulders, Jungkook swallows sharply. “Yes.”
But there’s such a resistance to the word. A resistance that shouldn’t be
there, and yet holds a rebellious truth. The room turns dark as you back away
from him, his swollen eyes watching; your vision seems to fade into pure black
until your fingers reach the door behind you. 
;
;
Yoongi sputters, he coughs until he feels his lungs at the back of his throat,
he gropes at the wrinkled and dirty sheets of his cot, he scrunches his eyes
away from the cold, bitter air. The air of his room is soggy, damp rain smell
that’s sat around for too long doing nothing, it clogs up his pipes. 
I’ll die here then, he thinks, this is where everything I’ve done all gathers
up in a pool over my duvet and I die.
It’s not that that’d be too bad even, dying; Yoongi is one to accept such a
thing graciously. It’s that he’s got a few things he wishes he could do before
he does actually die. Grind the heel of his shoe onto a used cigar just one
last time, leaving it soggy in some foul smelling rain puddle. Maybe sleep with
one of those country side girls he’s heard so much about over the years from
the older castle men, who’d pass through in business with the King. Maybe even
lower a dark hood to cover his eyes and finally snap his fist into the heavy
cheekbone of the King, just to see the sick man’s eyes water and tears spill
over the arches of his bristled face. 
There’s a knock though, it interrupts his death, his pondering of all that
important stuff that comes up when you’re dying; what you’ve managed to do,
what you haven’t gotten around to just quite yet. All that regret that pools in
the pit of your stomach that starts to turn in unease as death settles upon
you. 
The knock is Jimin, Yoongi grunts to accept him in, he’s in his work attire, he
looks concerned, with his big eyes all big and slanted.
“Listen,” he says, biting his lip, playing with his fingers until they turn to
knots. “The nurse wants me to tell you that you’re not dying.”
Yoongi grunts, “I think I am though.”
“You’re not gonna die hyung, and I’m not just saying that to be the nice one,
who lies. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Jimin pauses, his eyes are anxious. “She
said that you’d say that, that you’d think you were.” 
And Jimin leans forward, splaying his chubby fingers over the sheets by
Yoongi’s bony knee that protrudes from under them. 
“You have pneumonia.”
“And I’m dying from the pneumonia.”
“No. What it is is this thick stuff in your lungs and it’s all gathered to one
place and it makes your chest hurt and it makes it hard to breathe. You’re not
dying.”
Yoongi’s brows pinch together tightly. “Why does she have you coming out to
tell me instead of just doing it herself? Maybe I’d trust it all more if it
were her saying this..”
“I volunteered, Y/n told me she saw you looking quite ill, I went to the nurse
and she asked if I’d like to tell you what’s going on, and I said I would
gladly.”
“I’m sorry Jimin,” Yoongi says, “You’re a nice kid and all, but I think you
don’t want to scare me with the truth. There’s more to this than just a
sickness, I think the rain has finally caught up with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Yoongi, I’m just delivering her message
word for word. And I said I’m not trying to be the nice one who lies!” The
younger sighs, regretting how he’d let his voice rise. He lets his head tilt
slightly. “From what she says, it’s just a minor case of pneumonia. It’ll pass
in about 2 weeks- maybe a bit more in these bleak conditions of yours, what
with the moist air- but you’ll survive it surely.”
The gaze from Yoongi in return is harsh, he bats his eyelashes, tightens his
clenched jaw, and a grumble curdles in his throat.
“The rain is collecting in my throat and threatening to turn me over.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin says more firmly, “You’ve never made much sense to me before.
But right now? you’re a plain mad man.”
“Call me a mad man, that’s just fine. I can be called whatever you’d like to
call me, as long as you let me die. I’ll float off to mind my own business
amongst the stars at night and along the sun that peeks the clouds. And leave
this whole damned place behind, with you left staring up to wherever I went off
to.”
“You’re not much one for poetry, Min Yoongi,” Jimin comments, in his obnoxious
tone of voice that sounds as if he’s a know-it-all. “I’m just here to help
anyways, the attitude doesn’t exactly help.”
“Please leave.”
Jimin gives an accentuated pout to his soft lips. Ultimately though, he stands
up from the stiff, old, battered bed, straightens his back and closes the door
behind himself when he leaves. Yoongi grits his yellowed teeth after the
younger boy, eyes to slits and a dusty, graveled snarl on his tongue. 
Maybe he wishes he were dead, as he feels the sickness slowly crawl from his
lungs to reside a heavy weight within all his limbs. Dead would be better than
just a body waiting for death’s consumption as time ticks its health away.
Maybe he welcomes his death to come to him much sooner than when he was young
on the streets. When young, one would feel death was some inevitable sentence,
a punishment not rightfully deserved. Those are thoughts from youth though,
when you’re naive to the world. Once within the walls of the kingdom, did
Yoongi see the world spin until only a veil of that evil fog from the rain was
over his eyes. 
;
;
When Min Yoongi was 16, he had given up upon request. 
How most people are, he’s biased to success. And when success had not come down
upon him at an early age, Yoongi had slept in the gutter. He’d been one of
constant rain, stood under bridges and at the sides of buildings, he spent so
much time in that condition he began to believe he was made of the stuff.
Yoongi was a sunken-in kind of child, with worry under his eyes and messed up,
scruffy hair that always got in the way of his vision when he couldn’t get it
trimmed. The King had offered success within the creases of his palm; the
young, hungry, impressionable boy’s greed was once again surfaced to lead him
in his decisions. 
The King had come up to his tower’s top room and knocked harshly on the door.
Upon opening it he had been pinned against the wall. The first thing Yoongi
remembers of the experience were a bruising pair of lips on his hollow flesh.
The 2nd, the old man’s wandering, wandering hands. When he was asked to strip
off his ragged clothes, the request had been nothing of the unordinary. Once
doing as told, the King had intertwined his fingers in those shaggy locks,
pulled at them until the back of his head hit the wall. He performed evil acts
upon the boy’s young body. 
But with success- that swelling lust for it Yoongi had possessed- the enduring
was worth it.
Sparing the gritty details of course, Yoongi’s expression had contorted, of a
compliant uneasiness, the power over him impenetrable but none the less
unendurable. It was disgusting, degrading, the scratchy hairs of the King’s
beard at his every crevice.
On that night the moon hit the top of the room’s stained glass skylight, its
brightness as if it were leaning right against the glass. On the bed under it,
Min Yoongi laid in pale glow it gave off; he barely made out the constellations
of the stars between the moans overhead and the bristled kiss of the King. The
stars twinkled at him and his neck ached. When finished, the King had buttoned
up his trousers, summoning of the young boy to return to sleep. 
Yoongi’s eyelashes shut, beaded with salty tears. 
;
Yoongi doesn’t know now if he thinks of that first night as a scarring one.
He’d been impressionable then and had believed that if he worked hard enough,
he’d impress the King into receiving a raise. No such luck on that front, even
still.
Yoongi, now, isn’t so naive, but just the opposite, harsh and thorny. If
questioned, he really couldn’t say that night, or any of the others afterword,
were very traumatic; it’s more that they disgusted him beyond belief. But past
those shallow irritations of his, he didn’t much care. 
And this is the difference between him and Jungkook. Jungkook takes it to
heart, the abuse, the King’s overarching control that he uses to suck the life
out of people. Jungkook is new to the game, the game of rotting lies and skewed
perceptions and dresses twisting across muddy grounds. The smell of curdled
milk at the dining table, or rancid cheeses served over gritty crackers-
Jungkook’s nose still crinkles to the smells. Wrinkles to the graze of a finger
at the hem of his trousers. 
Jimin though. God, what even is Jimin? The missing card of a deck of 51. He
strives for perfection and seeks that power. He can only have that sense of
power when it’s being dulled out to him by the King himself. This strength he
gathers from enduring what others can’t. Even Yoongi has some limit to what he
can withstand, while Jimin grows addicted to the thrill of pushing his own
boundaries. That’s why he’s used so often, because he feeds off of it. He
thrives. He’s sweet to the tongue upon taste, sweaty at the corners of his head
and the ends of his matted hair as he’s bent over a desk, panting until his
lungs burn up and are coughed away.
Jimin feels the ache of a hickey across his neck with nothing other than
fondness and adoration that trickles from the corners of his lips that crack
into a sly sort of smile. 
And Yoongi envies him for that. 
;
;
A tap. A stutter of your name that’s from a broken, faint voice against the
door. A muffled plead for you. You call him in.
“Jungkook, is that you?”
The bedroom door creaks, his body weight against it until it gives way and he
has to support himself. 
The boy stumbles into your corders, his hair disheveled at his forehead and
over his ears. His eyes flick up to you, bloodshot and his lips plump in how
they get when crying. His eyes get nervous then, flicking back down to hide
themselves as his shoulders shake. 
“Jungkook?” you ask, voice growing softer watching him. You remain in your seat
at the foot of your bed, letting him find you there in his fumbling steps of
messy crying. The noises that escape him are bitter and gritty, sometimes
breaking into the higher pitch of none other than a child. “Come over here
already dear, hurry up on over.” 
He finally collapses to your side, almost falling completely to his back on the
comforter. 
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
The boy curves over his words, bumping them but not settling on any to choose.
It’s as if he drifts along the choices, of all the things he could say, all the
things he won’t, and chooses haphazardly and without reasoning or a pattern of
any sort. He just takes his pick and lets his words effect you however they’d
like, a lazy routine of his that you’ve both noticed in him and come to
despise. It’s inconsistent and unpredictable, flighty and a voice of youth,
only proving further his age. How young he is, really. Just new to being an
adult. It’s quite foul on your tongue, ignorant and rude. You find yourself
glaring at him in his weak state of tears, wrecked by the conflicting emotions
of sympathy and crude distaste. That’s how it is in this Kingdom, under this
ruling of the King, you love your enemies, hate your friends, and think of it
all as something normal. But it’s clashing, so obviously, and you watch it all
begin to burn without raising a single finger to put it out.
Confusing, these tangents, aren’t they? It’s where your mind, and probably
Jungkook’s, slowly unwind until found drowning in the thoughts. And all the
times Jungkook’s found himself to be drowning in the King, submerged in a
purgatory of his scent, his touch, his intoxicating presence alone. The boy
just hiccups on his crying though, chokes up on the snot in his throat or the
thoughts like a brick within his head. He sniffles with the irritating stuff
you get in the nostrils when crying.
“This place is sick,” he manages to say. You shake your head, going to cradle
his flushed face in your palms. He’s hot, like he’s got a fever, but you don’t
mention it now. It may just be the crying, some people heat up when they cry,
it’s nothing to worry about if it doesn’t last. 
“That’s nothing to think about, no need to worry,” you say, voice trying at
being soothing, but always harsher than intended. 
“I thought I could handle it, I should be able to! This, all this, it’s what I
deserve. I don’t know… I thought I’d handle it well, like Yoongi hyung does,”
Jungkook mumbles into the creases of your palm. His snot trails down his face
and onto your skin. “Yoongi handles everything like it doesn’t get at him.”

“Like what?” You ask this to distract him, you really don’t bother yourself for
caring much about anyone these days. Jungkook’s worn himself a special place in
your heart, a place where you might care just a bit, bit more. 
“I tried asking him how he managed and he didn’t even care to try and answer,
not for a moment. He wasn’t even interested in helping me.”

“He’s too old and tired to help,” you answer. You bite your tongue, scared of
leading Jungkook on to asking more questions. 

Jungkook blinks, perplexed with the answer you’ve given. He still isn’t used to
excuses, which come up a lot when you’re older. Jungkook’s just a bit of ‘an
older,’ but not entirely, he’s still adjusting. When you’re a kid you don’t
want excuses, you want answers, that’s why you sit around all day asking ‘but
why?’ Because in the little kid world it’s always going to be a fair, logical
answer. But as ‘an older,’ you come to understand the moment in life when
corruption floods everyone’s brains and blood and eyesight, when greed is
introduced to them. Jungkook still looks for something that isn’t an excuse,
because he sees that there should be something there, behind that glass wall of
impossibility, when really there’s nothing to offer him. 
He distracts himself now, you don’t have to do that job anymore. It’s as if
Jungkook doesn’t want to go looking for the truth in your throat, just wants
your excuse to be reality. He asks a sidetracking question: “And he’s been here
for a long time, hasn’t he?”
For an odd reason you’re both still talking about Yoongi, as if he’s
interesting, while in reality, he’s a worn old man with bad breath and bad
luck. 
“Around nine years, so yes, quite long.”
“See! Yes exactly, nine years and it hasn’t gotten to him at all like it has to
me in my first few months.” 
At least he’s admitting it. The only difference to him and Yoongi is that he’s
admitted to it, while Yoongi has gone along with a facade that fools only the
new kids like Jungkook. You’re sour with the truths within the layers of your
dress.
You turn to look completely at Jungkook now, you eye him carefully, slowly
shaking your head as he watches you. “Yoongi hyung can put up a good
front, that’s what he’s learned Jungkook, it’s what we’ve all learned. And you
will too.”
“I wanna be okay with this all like Yoongi hyung is, I wanna be strong and
okay.”
You hate how he ignores you but it’s reasonable, it’s what you’d do in his
situation, it’s what you had done. An older maid had sat you down and said the
same things and you’d tried to convince yourself of the opposite, or at least
try to find the loop holes that were never there. 
You try to explain it all further, you open your mouth to make things clear but
the sound that comes out is raspy, or too soft, or Jungkook interrupts and he
gets in the way of the words like he’s jumped and stomped all over them until
they’re smushed and you get distracted and the thought floats off.
What was it that you were going to say? What exactly?
Something, something, something important it must have been, you’re sure.
;
;
The rain leaves a must behind, one that lingers in the soggy hanging clothes
across the clotheslines. Yoongi is like that too. He lingers, a sickly essence
left behind, like the mold that spreads over a peasant’s piece of bread for
supper. 
Jimin scrubbed himself of Yoongi. Scrubbed it all away. The elder hadn’t even
touched him, just spoke close enough that his breath ghosted across Jimin’s
skin and began to itch and burn.
“You know, that Jungkook- the new kid- he’d be grateful for my attention,”
Yoongi had snickered, licking his sour lips. Jimin’s face had curdled.
“Don’t flatter yourself, old man,” Jimin said, shaking his head.
“What? If you’d seen the way he had looked at me just yesterday! You’d agree
then!” 
“Really Yoongi,” Jimin had sighed, standing from their place on a courtyard
bench, the old wood giving way, “If anything, he had just been frightened by
that angry scowl you always hold.”
That day, the one after Jungkook’s arrival, Yoongi had been in a rare, pleasant
mood. Jimin had taken advantage of it to sit with the old man for a while, in
his break from watering the overwatered hydrangeas. 
The hydrangeas were drowning anyways, the soggy ground begun to cave in, a hole
to a new world to which Yoongi and Jimin could escape. The roots would hang
overhead and they’d bump into them, and it’d smell of that rotting wood smell
that collects when the earth meets musty air, but it’d be an escape
nonetheless. Fantasies of course, the kind that come when Jimin finds himself
breathing in just a bit too much of a flower’s pungent odor mixed with the
rotten rain, making his head go all light and spinny. He would start to imagine
things then, when his lungs pollute, of him and Yoongi, of the clouds one day
clearing, and the grass dry- but not deadly dry when there’s a drought. Just
them, splayed over hills of rich, green grass sprouting daisies, and the rays
of sun on their skin, electrifying.
“I’m not always so angry, please, spare me a chance for once. Besides, you
should’ve seen me before coming to work here, the King is the one who really
ruined me.” 
Yoongi had bitten his lip in thought, fingers grazing over his own knees and
tucking them closely together. Jimin watched his subtle movements of
anxiousness, the elder had tried to disguise them as the uneasiness that comes
from lack of sleep- otherwise known as insomnia, which Yoongi had lied about
having for 3 some odd years. Yoongi was a lot healthier than what he’s told
everyone, the one illness he does suffer is Hypochondria, to which it it
chronic within him. In reality, no he doesn’t suffer insomnia, nor any kind of
phobia, there’s no cancer in his lung, never was any of him amputated, even
when the horse had stomped on his foot, all he was left with was a bandage
around a broken toe. And no, he hadn’t gone blind at one point of his life.
Yoongi is a liar, a good one at that, or at least he just does it a lot, which
can be disguised as being good at it. 
He’s more nervous than he lets up to be, Jimin never fully knew what about
exactly, but around the Kingdom you could always easily conclude it was
something to do with the King himself. 
“And the King will soil this ol’ lad too! As he had done to me and you when we
were young and new here too!” Jimin had exclaimed with a laugh, picking up his
watering can once again and standing. But Yoongi’s light expression had shifted
with the sentence, his eyes had changed to daggers, sharp at the edges and
dark. He’d always been one for a good glare, drawing his lips in real tight,
furrowing his brow. Really, he was just a whiner with a mean face.
Yoongi had stood up abruptly, “Please excuse me,” he had said, while walking
back to his tower. He held his two fists clenched, and one released horse feed
haphazardly on his way away, the feed catching in the wind and creating an odd
spectacle in the bare field. The horse who responded to the scene first was the
one who had injured Yoongi’s toe; black mostly, with a white marking across his
front leg. If you knew what had happened you could just about pretend the limp
Yoongi had from it was still present. 
Jimin watched him go, struck by the sheer level of distaste Yoongi held in only
his walking pace alone. Somehow Yoongi both concealed his feelings wonderfully,
or cast them around himself like a sheen of mist that you’d have to squint
through to catch a glimpse of the real him. There was no in between with him,
his anger would either be in the gaps of his teeth, the spaces between his
fingers, or it’d bubble under every word he spoke, spill over every gaze he’d
cast.
Yoongi left that musty scent of rain behind to linger, just as his presence
would. An ambiance of poorly composed music and the lust for reconciliation,
those feelings would haunt in his absence. A hovering sensation of his
sufferings, and yet unrecognizable to Yoongi specifically. Musty, he was. Old
and forgotten but lingering in the cracks of wrinkles on cheeks, or the cracks
in floorboards. For someone who hated the rain he was awfully similar to it. Or
maybe it was what slowly crafted him into being the kind of man he is. What was
left of him? After the rain had devoured his every atom? The scent of wilting
youth and ratty hair. Dust. Flat, stiff mattresses with balled up bundles of
moth eaten linens.
Jimin rubbed his nose of the overpowering smell. Jimin wiped Yoongi away.
*****   *****
***** ; *****
*****
; *****
 
***** Betrayal of the King *****
Act Two- Betrayal of the King
 
;
 
The few weeks that then go by feel as if they pass in what feels like a slow
blink; one that takes in the surrounding, is satisfied with the sight, the eyes
begin to burn, and the person blinks. Something like that. The weeks exist,
they live and breathe and devour their fill. They are present. And then it’s
done, quickly, over in a huff to the cold air that you can watch float away
from your lips and dissipate to float amongst the rest of the world. The weeks
were simple, contained, not worth mentioning- as many gazes and blinks tend to
be, that pass by in under just the span of a minute. Nothing worth noting,
nothing worth a story when you’re old and fading and your grandchildren sit
bored with elbows on the table. Nothing of that sort; forgettable, unneeded.
;
You’re still scalding your tongue on hot coffee, indignant over certains,
agitated over the ands. A list is formed in your head of all the things that
toy with you, all the itches at the back of your head, all the irritations that
brew in your tea. Maybe it’s the heartburn, that is gone when you fall asleep,
awakens when you do. Jungkook pricks at your mind ceaselessly, endlessly. And
you hate him for it, of course you do, Jungkook is like the weeds that grow in
your garden, with the prickly stems that attach to your skirt. He’s a tick, an
infection, the carriage when a wheel get’s loose and stalls you on your way to
town on business. You bite your lip over him, you touch yourself over him, you
find yourself whaling into your apron and pulling at the strands of your hair
nervously until it becomes a thinner ponytail. Jungkook is a nuisance, he’s all
old paper and the things you keep around for the memories and yet don’t bother
the time in remembering. In the weeks that pass, you bother once and awhile to
remember, just to say you did. To claim something for yourself, though no one
lifts an eye or even listens.
Yoongi recovers his illness, turns it over, buries it under the soles of his
horrid shoes. He’d been bedridden for a few weeks- coughing the rain, breathing
the rain, and coughing it back up again- once recovered he was left with a mild
cold; since he was Min Yoongi, he’d found himself incapacitated because of it.
He’d whined and complained, he’d squint against the sun at certain times of the
day when it’d angle itself just right to blare him in the eye. He’d relied on
Jimin hand and foot, Jimin had given in to his frequent demands for things, no
matter how extravagant the requests. Jimin would manage the disposal of a bowl
full of the coughed up spew, bringing it back fresh. He’d change Yoongi’s socks
because the elder had quite gingerly declared that after a few days of the same
ones, his toes would get sick of the familiar feeling of the wool, become
claustrophobic, until given a new pair to memorize the pattern of stitching. It
was, of course, an extravagant dealing of his sickness, he’d have been fine
alone. But Jimin was insistent on helping, once asked by one of the staff if
he’d like a break from it, he had quite harshly explained it was what he was
needed for, and therefore his purpose. If Yoongi needed Jimin then Jimin would
gladly change the socks of the old man dying in his stiff bed; even if that
‘dying,’ which is what Yoongi called the illness, was just a few coughs that
landed him a cold. 
Jungkook learns over the time that hickeys can’t be scrubbed off just as dirt
and memories can. See, with hickeys it takes time to heal them away and gone,
but that is exactly what the King couldn’t give him: time. It was a constantly
repeating cycle of how much time Jungkook lacked. He’d wake in the morning with
fresh hickeys from the night before, but let’s say he wasn’t bothered again
that night, then they’d begin to fade the next day, and by the third they could
pass off as skin discolorations or blemishes. But the King found Jungkook’s
lure maybe just a bit too alluring, every night he’d be hungry for a new
position to try out, a new name he’d like to be called. It seemed as if the
King expected that each day Jungkook would gain a new flavor, a new appendage
to play with, but to Jungkook, he was the same body that was fucked the night
before. The enthrall the King held for him was perplexing. On the days Jungkook
was granted a bath, obviously a cold one but a bath none the less, he scrubbed
at the grit he’d collected from the kitchen, the dirts in the hairs of his legs
from the garden, dust from cleaning under rugs, and so on. He scrubbed the
imperfections of his features, the dips of his hipbones of hunger, and memories
he’d prefer as distant, faded dreams he could pass off as fantasy. But what
stayed with him, clung to him always, like new moles he’d always have from now
on, were the hickeys. The dark ones, the purples, the blues, or some kind of
deluded gray with swimming yellow specks. They swirl like musty clouds, or when
the luxury cream is poured to coffee. They remain always, forever, and Jungkook
yearned to strip off his dirty skin, scrape those damned hickeys off so
he’d feel just a bit more clean. All Jungkook could manage were rug burns that
only splotched his skin further. 
Jimin pines for something more than the taste of raw, meaty flesh as his eyes
wrinkle in effort to devour that one last piece of youth he craves so
dearly. Jimin now rolls on his own stupidity, like a lazy old woman who has too
much money in her husband’s slacks and can’t seem to find a reason to get out
of bed anymore; he just lays across the bumps and wrinkles of the King’s
remembered touches on his skin, the ones from perhaps last night, or the ones
from a week before. Jimin has learned that the King has better things to do
than him, and with the whispers he found himself ease dropping on, there’s a
new interest to the King that trumps his previous. It’s said that Jimin’s grown
undesirable in his aging, that the King has grown sick of his gained weight and
papery skin. He says it’s too breakable, that if he loves the servant too much
the boy might just tare. That’s an excuse though, everyone knows it. They know
that Jungkook is the focus to the King now, the one who sees him out on late
nights after the grand parties, the one who’s ravished with the King’s desires.
Jimin yearns for the King, who brings jealousy to his stomach, turning it,
gnawing at his innards. He’s desperate, needy, thinking of the King, thinking
of how Jungkook is now the one with his legs spread. He doesn’t despise the
two- well maybe he despises Jungkook. He craves what’s been taken from him, the
King, no matter who took him though.
What may not be clear, or understood completely, is that of course Jimin
doesn’t particularly enjoy the King’s use of his body. No, it’s never been
about that with the King, or any of his numerous affairs. It’s something beyond
the preliminary, a layer below the surface. When one is taken by the King- this
is fancy way of saying fucked- it’s that they can get a taste, a glimpse, of
the power he holds. The graze of his weathered fingers is tasting what only
royals have, even if for just a moment, a second, the blink of an eye. This
raw, unfiltered, mere glance at something a commoner could never imagine. It’s
sweet, warm, all too addicting, and of course far better than any orgasm Jimin
could remember. Once one could latch on to that moment of pure power, it’s hard
to let go of, you go mad with the thoughts of getting it back.
Jimin is left with only his head to imagine, and his hands to want. He sits
bitterly thinking of Jungkook, who glances at power without an appreciation,
like Jimin had so casually done before. Jungkook’s eyes just skim what any
peasant would gawk at. When you have it it means nothing- only now does Jimin
understand that when it’s taken does he crave it so fervently.
;
;
When Yoongi finally steps onto the horse training field after his sickness of
nearly a month, his toes feel unusually cold against the moist ground and
through his thin shoes. Jimin stares at him, he’d helped him out of bed onto
weak legs, and brought him down the winding staircase. He now stands gazing at
him from afar, arms folded against his chest, lips chapped against the frigid
winds. Min Yoongi’s hair has turned from gray, back to black in his recovery-
while Jimin’s has grown from the old dye and now is mostly black as well. 
“How’re you feeling Yoongi?” Jimin calls, voice small but clear enough for
Yoongi to hear him.
 He doesn’t fidget in his stance to answer, “I feel alright.”
“Good then!” Feet approach rapidly and Jimin seems to glide over the grass in a
skipping step to stand close by Yoongi. “Is it time I return to the kitchen, or
do you need me any longer?”
“I’ll be fine, if I need you I’ll have a nurse call you out.” 
Jimin nods, eying him cautiously. He turns away then, but his feet get stuck in
the mud, and his fingers are itchy in the cold. When he looks back, Yoongi’s
hair is floppy on his head, he wears an oversized jacket that hangs over his
shoulders, making him look small. Yoongi’s eyes blink, and look up to watch
Jimin too. 
“You don’t understand, do you?!” Jimin suddenly shouts, his breath is evident
in the air, his teeth dragging against each other. His voice is a crack of
lighting against the cloudy atmosphere. “You don’t understand anything about
how anyone feels for you!”

Yoongi is expressionless still, if there is any movement in him it’s the
grinding of his shoe’s toe into the soil. “Jimin, go on back to the castle.” He
says this early, trying to hold his face still, trying to keep from shivering. 
“No! I won’t go anywhere until you understand!”

“Jimin, there’re meals to prepare, the King probably wants a coffee. Go on now,
leave me.”
Jimin’s eyes clench, his mouth squeezes and his neck tucks, tears run down his
cheeks and puddle in the collar of his blouse. “Yoongi, I-”
“Jimin, leave me. This isn’t good for you, you have to go.”
The younger shrieks then, his mouth agape and his voice spreading across the
open field of dew drops, the icicles that crackle against the
grass. “What isn’t good for me?! There are so many horrible things here that
aren’t good for me, and now you’re denying me of just one more of them! I’m
ruined already Yoongi, you know that! There isn’t anything left for you to save
of me.”
Yoongi shakes his head, to clear his mind, as if his thoughts will whip from
his head onto the grass, where he doesn’t have to worry over them anymore.
“You’re not making sense, Jimin.”
“You’re not making sense Yoongi, none of this has ever made any kind of sense.
B-but that doesn’t mean-”
“Stop, Jimin, all you’re doing is confusing yourself. Leave me, go on, let me
recover from the sickness.”
Jimin staggers, he takes a step back and he’s wobbling with overflowing tears
and a snotty nose. His whales get caught with the stuff from his nose that
goes into his mouth. But his feet get stuck in one of the many gofer holes, he
twists, he tries to grab onto the air, before falling into the muddy dirt.
Yoongi watches from a distance, the younger boy who cries and squirms himself
more dirty on the ground, all he manages is to get more wedged into the soil in
his attempts at freeing himself.
“H-hyung, please!” Jimin’s voice is bubbled in tears and hiccups. His hands
reach out, fingers grabby for the elder who watches with eyes of narrowed
slits. Jimin cries harder in the older’s absence, kicking at the ground for
some leverage. He’s hopeless, a mess of salty tears and the snot that’s run
down his puffy lips to the curve of his chin. Overtaken with the emotions he’s
been so perfectly stomping on, they spill from him as if a tea kettle, far past
the point of boiling. 
“DO YOU WANT THE TRUTH YOONGI?!” Jimin now screams, urgently, in a blubbery
voice that seems to be made of rubber. Yoongi takes his first step closer, then
another, picking up a slow pace towards where the younger had fell. Jimin
watches him with narrowed eyes and a deep pout. 
“What truth, Jimin?” Yoongi calmly asks in return. 
“You’re a messy slob!” Jimin bellows, shuttering in the wind that picks up,
“You complain about everything, and yet you’re somehow a legend around the
Kingdom for only how foolish you had been as a child. You’re disgusting with
your arrogance and how particular you are. You’re selfish, shallow, you’re a
cold, bitter old man that doesn’t know the difference between weeds to roses.
And I hate you for all of that! I hate you with every part of my being, all the
toes on my feet, all the hairs on my head!”
Yoongi watches him break, into messy pieces and shards of his porcelain skin.
He has to admit it to himself, he’d seen the cracks breaking across Jimin’s
skin, it’d only take so long before he shattered in exactly the way he does
now. Yoongi watches the younger wilt, it seems, the petals of him falling to
the ground where his feet are stuck. The irises of his eyes flicker, and his
chubby fingers dig into the dirt hopelessly. Yoongi lowers himself to sit by
the boy, not next to him, but by his feet. Yoongi is kneeled, and Jimin looks
back at him. 
“Shut up Jimin. I know that isn’t how you feel for me, I know you love me, or
hold some level of adoration behind your anger, because it’s always been like
that with us. Stop crying over it all and stand up.” 
Jimin blinks slowly, Yoongi can just about pick up on his audible gulp. Yoongi
extends his hand out to him, Jimin grabs it slowly, his muddy hands making the
elder’s hands dirty too. Their eyes are level with each other, feet a few paces
apart but it feels as if they’re close. Jimin tries at whipping away his tears,
using his clean wrists. The pinkness of his face is undeniable though.
“Go now,” Yoongi says, calmly, in a whisper that barely reaches Jimin. But the
younger hears, he dips his head defeatedly. 
“I really don’t love you Yoongi, why would I ever? You don’t know the first
thing about me.”
“Go on,” Yoongi says again, only just a bit harsher than before. “Stop getting
things all tied into knots when it could be a lot simpler.”
“I’m sure it could be simpler,” Jimin snorts harshly, pulling snot back into
his nose that was lingering at the edge of falling, “But do you want it to
be?” 
Yoongi bitterly frowns back at him. “Would you just let it be and go back to
the kitchen? I’m sure the King is famished from waiting.”
“The King probably is.” Jimin is stubborn, standing there, retorting back so
stiffly.
“I’m sure he is.”
”But I’ll go, if that’s what you really want,” Jimin says then. His expression
softening just ever so slightly, he won’t let himself give in though, he isn’t
backing away from the fight. 
”Thank you,” Yoongi mumbles back, his shoulders beginning to slouch again. He
watches Jimin turn and walk off, regret tingling his veins. 

;
;
Only two days later does Jimin return to Yoongi’s tower, pounding fists into
his door until the elder finally opens it. Yoongi is met with furious eyes,
that shoot over his features nearly blindingly, like he’s capturing bits of
Yoongi before he’s gone. 
“You told me to leave, and I did Yoongi! For you, I left! But I won’t again,
you can’t get rid of me like that! I just won’t settle for it.”
The elder makes sure to glare back at him, but his arm stays out, holding open
the door. Jimin glances between Yoongi and the still open door, before barging
in. Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop him, just watches as if the younger
were an animal in the zoo that you could observe while still separated by a
wall of glass. 
“Don’t ignore me, old man!” Jimin barks, his teeth snapping and pudgy cheeks
flushing. 
“Stop yelling already!” Yoongi is a hypocrite, saying that as he yells back. He
takes a breath while Jimin watches him, “Just please stop yelling.”
“Fine. But I’m not leaving.”
“I didn’t say you had to.”
Jimin huffs, “Stop being like this, all non-confrontational. I’m here to start
a fight with you, Yoongi.”
“Over what?”

Jimin stutters at that, stopping, his mouth frozen in its place. “I-”
“See, this is what I mean. You just want to rile me up, with those stupid
little things that you keep saying since you helped me get out of my sickness.
I’m starting to think you’ve caught something! That’s messing with your brain,
making you think you have to love me, instead of the King!”

“It’s not like that, you said it yourself, that it’s always been clear.”

“I don’t know what I said anymore, Jimin! I don’t know what any of this is
anymore! You’re spouting nonsense at me and my lungs are filling up with the
words and I can’t just decide if I should take it all to heart yet! It’s all in
my lungs, clogging me up like the pneumonia did. What should I even do Jimin?!”
Jimin anxiously bites his lip, worrying away at the soft flesh. He’s stood
still, arms tangled up in each other against his chest. “I’m sorry, Yoongi, I-”
The elder is on his words before he can finish though, pouncing, voice rougher
and picking up its pace. “It’s the new kid, isn’t it.”
“Wait-”
“No, it is, you’ve been difference since he showed up. That Jungkook, isn’t it,
you’re jealous of his stealing the attention of the King. God Jimin, just when
I thought you’ve become less greedy, I work it out to see you’re even more than
before! Honestly, what a fool you’ve lead me on to be!”
“Yoongi, I don’t know what you’re talking about, please, just hear me out, I
can explain, please!”
“You’re such a dirty, needy little thing,” the elder growls, his voice in waves
of angst. “You’ve always been the one that clings onto whatever has power-
 whoever. You’re hungry for that rich, greedy power and such a little,
disgusting addict for the slightest graze of it. The King doesn’t give you
anything worth your while besides that! Everyone knows that’s what we become
addicted to, we hate how he touches us, we don’t want anything to do with his
filthy hands and that god awful cock of his, but when it comes to that power he
has! The stuff only a King could trail from off his finger tips onto
you, that’s what we do it for! That’s what we lay ourselves down for, spread
our legs for, what we strive to understand for even the faintest moments that
go past in a faded glimmer. And you’re the slut that would keep coming back for
of it, that’s what made you his favorite, nothing over your looks. It was your
inner need, the drive, for what only he could give you.”

Yoongi is close to Jimin now, so that his eyes are black pools that look into
Jimin’s, and his angered breath- scented of foul morning and old rice- can be
smelt. Yoongi’s voice cuts out, so silence is left in the wake of his words,
Jimin is quiet in return, taking them in to settle within his own lungs.
“You’re just crazy with the withdrawals, you’re saying things in the haze of-
of your deprivation. You don’t love me! You never have and that’s clear. You
volunteered to take care of me because you wanted to find someone else to fill
that void of the King, trying to convince yourself to love me so you could
distract yourself.” 
Yoongi’s eyes burn, he lets himself be quiet for a moment, to let Jimin’s
whimper be audible between them. “I can’t satisfy you, if that’s what you want.
I could never be for you, what the King is.”

“What if I don’t want him anymore? Let Jungkook go on and have him, let the
dirty maids ride his cock for all I care! What if I’ve lost track
of… everything? And all that I want now... is you?”

“I’d say you’ve gone mad, that’s what.”
Jimin shutters, blinking messily and his body inching closer to that of the
elder’s. 
“Maybe it’s all the pigs blood you eat, something bad in it,” Yoongi says. He
still says it bitterly, but it’s quieter now, his words let to coast along his
breath.
Jimin scrunches his nose, reaching out to push against Yoongi’s chest. He gives
only a little shove against Yoongi, so that the elder is thrown off his step. 
“Don’t be so sour, hyung,” Jimin says, voice lighter than before. Jimin smiles,
drearily, as if he’s wound himself into a dream. He dances his way across the
creaking floor boards, grazing his finger tips along Yoongi’s chest to slide
along the curve of his neck. Leaning closer, his fingers tightening their grip,
Jimin holds Yoongi’s head in place as his breathing falters.
“The proximity is intoxicating, isn’t it?” he says, alluring, while his words
are nearly flat. “People always say that I’m intoxicating.”
“Get off me Jimin.”
“Why? What’s the matter? Worried I’m tainted or something? Stop being prissy,
old man.”
The black haired boy only rolls his eyes, “Nothing of this is alluring at all,
if that’s what you think it is. Thinking you can boss me around, fool me with
your games. Get your hands off.”
Jimin follows orders, pouting, unwinding his fingers from where they had coiled
completely around Yoongi. The elder’s hand grabs at Jimin’s head and entangles
within his locks.
“Tainted? You act as if that’s a strange accusation of you, Jimin! Just look at
yourself,” Yoongi’s other hand goes to hold onto Jimin’s chin, shaking it with
his words, until he lets go of the younger with a flick of his wrist. “Hickeys
are still left over from the King, and you act like I’m blind to them?” Yoongi
laughs at his own words, a deep throated laugh that resides in the pit of his
stomach.
“Where’s all this confidence come from?” Jimin asks, light headed with the
closeness of their lips now, the dominance Yoongi asserts within the gnarls of
his voice. 
Without an answer Yoongi leans forward and hastily connects their lips. It’s in
a rush of adrenaline and an undeniable inclination. Heat lights between them,
the taste of Yoongi- bitter, so impossibly bitter and horrid- in contrast with
Jimin’s sweet taste. Jimin is everything small and sweet against Yoongi’s sharp
and pungent form, that leans always closer for further contact. Their arms
don’t entangle, as Jimin’s read that they should in his romance books for their
kiss scenes. Both their hands stay to dangle in the air apart from each other,
while their mouths smash together for more. 
It’s hungry, as if it’s all too much at once and Yoongi can’t take in enough
for his fill. Immediately, he goes to bite at Jimin’s lower lip. Jimin whines
into the kiss, but it’s really a kiss less of their lips actually touching,
more of Yoongi chewing into him, devouring. The softness to Jimin’s lips are
ruined, mulled over until he can taste the copper of blood on his tongue. They
share the taste of Jimin’s injury between them, in the glimpses of when Jimin
opens his eyes, he can see red staining the elder’s chin. Yoongi is smiling
slightly against Jimin, that is as well what Jimin can observe of him, his
teeth turning pink with the blood. Yoongi tilts his head in for more, pushing
dementedly against Jimin’s touch, always pushing to capture just a fragment
more, just a glimpse of Jimin’s youth. He eats up everything Jimin has to
offer, Jimin can feel himself be throughly consumed in the old man’s
overpowering scent and control over him. Jimin isn’t pressed against anything
in the small, stagnant room, and yet he feels suffocated by the air at one side
of him, Yoongi at the other. Yoongi is folding his lips and tongue into every
crevice of the younger’s mouth, though from his lips he doesn’t draw himself to
maybe Jimin’s neck or collar bones. All he does is spend time on what hasn’t
been marked by the King. 
It’s obvious what Yoongi is doing, Jimin knows what this is, the marking up of
his lush lips, though avoiding any other bit of his form. It’s sick really,
rude and deprived, but Jimin is lost within the tangles and dreads of the
King’s deceit, with Yoongi’s it feels at least less strong in comparison. 
Yoongi pulls away then, when Jimin gets just a bit too close for his liking.
He’s impressed with himself, that’s clear, but no other look of arousal or
interest is in his eyes. Jimin watches him carefully, letting the silence
overtake them both, their bodies leaning away and the pain flooding into
Jimin’s senses. He lets out a sharp exclamation before he can control it, the
tearing feeling of his mouth unavoidable though. Tears brim his eyes as he
brings a tentative finger up to graze his injured flesh. He’s close to saying
something, of how it hurts, or that Yoongi should explain himself for doing
such a thing to him. 
“You have to leave Jimin,” Yoongi says, rushed. 

“Why?! You just-”
Jimin wants to collapse, in the words he wants to let out, or the pushing
feeling within his body to wrap himself within Yoongi’s arms seeking comfort
from who’d just hurt him. He’s hurt, that Yoongi would be so rough with him in
such mannerisms that mirror the King’s so closely. It’s as if Yoongi is in it
to prove that he can do better than the King. 
Yoongi’s eyes are expressionless, and he licks his lips of any of Jimin’s blood
left over. “This isn’t how I want things to properly go about, I want it
different than this.”
“How different do you expect it to be?! It’s us! How much better could we be?!”
Yoongi narrows his eyes, “I don’t want to be kissing you with these thoughts I
have! Of my anger, resentment, my hatred. And… anyways- it’s too early for
this.”
“Early in the morning?”

“Don’t be stupid with me, no, this early after… one of your nights with the
King, when the marks are strong and your scent is polluted.”

Jimin huffs, his forehead scrunching, “Yoongi, you can’t avoid him. He’s still
frequent enough with me, it’s unpredictable. I can’t help if he wants-”
“I know, I know!” Yoongi tries bringing down the harshness of his voice. “It
just can’t be now.”
“I said when I came in here that I wouldn’t let you make me leave again,
I said that, and I want to stick by it.”
“Fine, don’t let me make you leave. How about you leave on your own,
knowing this isn’t right!” The black haired boy motions between the two of
them, his movements rash. “It’s not the time for any of this. I don’t know when
it will be but… you and me, and all the complicated shit and comes along with
us- you know it’s too fucking confusing, it isn’t good for you to be around me
like this, Jimin.”
Jimin whimpers, he tries to muffle it into the collar of his jacket but it does
no good. He just takes in every harsh words that’s spouted from Yoongi’s mouth
and swallows it down.
“Leave, and you can take all the credit for deciding to do so… as your own
fucking choice.”
The younger cowards under the elder’s deep words that stab at him, he fights
off the petty tears that want to run down his cheeks. The cold bites at his
open wounds, but licking his lips only douses them in pain. He staggers back-
away from the older who stands still- and to the door. His feet wobble, as if
he were the one with the limp. 
“Just get out! Get out before I let you believe I’m good for you.”
Yoongi’s voice shifts rapidly, going from that dark, shouting anger to a
pleading, high pitched desperation. Like, if Jimin was there a second more he’d
snap and take all his previous words back. He quiets himself then, as if
someone shut off his volume right after the last breath of syllables escaped.
Dead silence, with messy hair and teared up eyes and feet that wander about
their ankles, waiting to curl in on themselves.
Jimin is gone then, he doesn’t slam the door behind him, if anything he leaves
so quietly the door is left ajar. He’s down the stairwell, dewy rain on the
stone steps, the sprinkling picking up to a full downpour that drenches him.
His feet pitter pattering, and he’s running away across the muddy field. He’s
stumbling in the holes and the biting wind with the harsh, acid rain is at his
lips that begin to scab over. 
All he can hope is that the soggy grass will lead him to the warmth of the
King. That the King will kiss down the front of Jimin’s stomach, leaving the
faint glimpse of his wealth behind for Jimin to entangle himself within as
ecstasy consumes him. And that he won’t find himself being berried alive under
the Ostrich Fern patch; he knows it’s where all the overused and old servants
inevitably go when the King has grown tired of loving them. 
;
;
In the late evening of the same day, the King is in a heated conversation with
Jungkook, when Jimin comes in with a platter of biscuits and treats. The King
doesn’t take note of his presence, his voice deep and harsh as he goes on.
Jungkook’s eyes are wide, taking in every word, he holds a poise of fear that’s
entwined within this deep sense of intrigue. Jimin recognizes that kind of
posture, it’s what he’s like when talked down by the King. When the older man
will lean over him and tell him the food was stale or the muffins were dry, and
his eyes flare up, and maybe his palm will come down to Jimin’s wrist and
squeeze to gather up even more of Jimin’s attention. And Jimin would be frozen,
a helpless victim to overwhelming control. The King in his big robes that drape
his wide shoulders, maybe a hood on to shade his features, and the tight lips
that are cracked with all the alcohol he drinks that sizzle away at the skin. 
Familiar, almost welcoming.
Jimin stands there for a moment, slowing sliding the tray of goodies onto the
King’s coffee table behind where he sits and rants. The boy just watches them,
breathing in little puffs of the heated air. Jungkook must’ve spilt something
on the sheets, the King keeps pointing to the duvet, though Jimin can’t exactly
see what could be on it from this angle. Jungkook cowards, but keeps up with
nodding and nervous biting at his lower lip. Jimin knows the younger is aware
of him there, watching him get wrecked, but his eyes don’t twitch even for a
second to look at Jimin.
“And next time?”

“I don’t wobble,” Jungkook fills in as the answer.
“You don’t get sidetracked,” The King bellows, pushing Jungkook’s shoulder back
with a huff. Jimin almost gasps at the aggressiveness, but he knows he’s been
treated like that too. In the moment, with the King’s attention only on
you, you’re so worked up it hardly means a thing anymore. You’ll just sit there
and take it and a spark in your eye lights up, nearly begging for more. 
“Y-you were t-touching me, your highness, I wasn’t-”
The kid’s got guts, Jimin gives him that. No one talks back to the King, they
become transfixed with his words, even just the sound of his deep voice, it’s
like any thoughts of retaliation will come up and sizzle away almost
immediately. 
“Don’t you dare be so disrespectful to your King!” The King shouts, grabbing
Jungkook’s arm and easily tossing him onto the bed. The King crawls along his
body, sitting on his lap, effectively holding the smaller boy down. Jungkook’s
eyes are alight with this coursing, surging cross of both hate and lust. The
utter control the other man has of him is conflicting and Jungkook yelps
helplessly. 
“Talking back?! Who do you think you are, you peasant slut!” 
Jimin backs himself up against the far wall, his cheeks flaring with heat, with
his own submission to the King and also a strange sense of pity to the younger,
black haired boy, who has his body pinned down, the King’s hot breath in his
ear and his hair tugged at by the roots. Though Jimin still holds resentment to
the younger, the perspective of being on the outside of all this, of what he’d
take as normal from the King if it were him who lay on the bed, it twists his
mind around.
“I am your King! Hell, I am your God!” The King now screams, holding Jungkook’s
head still as he says this straight into the other’s ear. Jungkook whimpers but
doesn’t move away. Jimin’s eyes are blown wide, seeing the boy be torn apart.
Jungkook’s voice cracks in a whimper as the King begins with stripping away his
clothes, the King’s gray streaked hair falling over his eyes. The King mumbles
something in a smooth, even tone, arms flexed and lips grazing over the
younger’s forehead, “Even if a God is wrong, there will never be anyone to ever
say he is. Not you, and not any other slut in this damn castle.”
Jimin runs then, out of that damned room, and he swears he can feel Jungkook’s
eyes follow him out, swears he can feel the essence of the younger boy at his
shoulder once the door is finally slammed. Jimin knows he’s mad with adrenaline
and fear and bubbling confusion, but he swears, he honest to god believes, he
can hear Jungkook scream ‘help’ right into his ear, in the same way the King
had screamed into Jungkook’s.
And he whispers back, faintly, in a voice that doesn’t sound like it’s his own,
with breathes uneven and shaking, “I’m so sorry.”
Jimin’s chest heaves with his breathlessness as his back is pressed to the
door; he’s frozen, he’s petrified. Jungkook makes a hauntingly load moan, one
that could be mistaken for a cry, that shakes the wall, taring Jimin from it,
as his eyes dart about the sight of the excellently carved wood. It’s like this
is all a horrid nightmare he keeps feeling he’s on the verge of being woken
from, but every time he tries at surfacing, another noise comes from Jungkook,
or another shooting memory of himself being the one on that bed comes back,
boiling his mind. 
Min Yoongi was right, he’s always been a needy thing, but seeing Jungkook not
falling for the King’s charms is something else entirely. He sees his own
weakness, how he’d give in, letting himself be taken. 
Jimin is sick to his stomach, he manages making it out one of the back doors
before collapsing to the ground and heaving up stomach acid. His knees are wet
in the dirt and he’s found himself squishing his freshly planted Ostrich Ferns.
Wiping at his mouth, he doesn’t move off of them, just looks at their stomped-
on stems and wilted little petals. 
“I’m so sorry, god, you don’t even know how sorry I am.” He’s crying, crying
hard, far more than he wants to be right now. His hands are on his knees,
digging into the fabric of his grass stained trousers. Jimin’s shoulders just
heave with his balling, with his tears watering the dead flowers he’s kneeling
on. “I’ve been so awfully foolish and I’ve made myself dirty with ignorance. I
just wish-”
His words break off with a rattling sob. He shakes his head hopelessly, trying
to shake off the regret of it all. “I’ve been sick with jealousy- or desire-
pent up anger, perhaps! Marched myself around being so foolish, I couldn’t even
see it, when Yoongi did.”
Now he’s more just rambling to himself, and the tears don’t subside, if
anything they pour over his edges more rapidly, until he’s a snot covered
mess. “Yoongi has always known how stupid we can be for the King, and I was
stupid trying to be with him out of jealousy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
Yoongi. I’m such a fool, you shouldn’t have to deal with me.”
It’s not like one of those scenes in the old romantic novels that Jimin skims
over in the library, where Jimin would look up from the muddled flowers to see
Yoongi there, staring down at him, ready to hug away his worries and tell him
he loves him. It’s not like that at all. Jimin glances up, no one is there,
only the sky of twisting gray clouds that mingle and doddle along all day.
Jimin is red and puffy in the face and his knees are aching in the effort of
leaning on them, freezing up in the cold. 
It’s more like one of the scenes in the sad novels, the ones Jimin more
frequently tries avoiding; though of course some of the romances drift into the
sad kind of book, and some of the sad books drift into romance- so Jimin’s had
his fair share of both. He’s sat in the frigid air, that’s always winter and
always has the smell of the soiled rain, and he’s trying to escape his endless
cycling of thoughts and what he’s left with are his fading bruises, the taste
of Yoongi on his tongue from their morning affair, and the echo of Jungkook’s
screaming he swears he can still hear through all the walls. It’s haunting
really, as if he saw someone killed. 
The birds that are chirping off in the distance… right now it’s as if they’re
screaming right into Jimin’s ear, with the King’s sickening voice- no longer
something that holds power, but something of sickening repulsion. 
;
;
You walk quickly down the corridors, following the sounds of urgent screams.
When the voice picks up in pitch, you turn a corner and find yourself at the
source of the noise. You don’t pause before opening the bathroom door, where
Jungkook is folded in the tub. His eyes are blown impossibly wide with pain,
his body shaking in the cold, his body stripped down with his clothes in a pile
on the tiles. He doesn’t stop screaming when he sees you, maybe he even picks
up in volume. 
“I’m not going to hurt you Jungkook!” You say, scrambling to get closer to him.
He thrashes his arm out suddenly, hitting your arm away from getting too close
to him. You’re stunned in place, but don’t back away. His voice is deafening,
graveling in his throat’s obvious soreness. He’s been screaming for 10 some odd
minutes now, the many servants sending complaints to you to check it out. 
Jungkook isn’t crying, his eyes are bloodshot, driven wild with something
beyond fear or rage. Something like deep, adrenalized agony. 
“Jungkook, I can’t ever help you if you keep screaming like that. All you’re
doing is hurting yourself, please, stop.” Your voice is nearly inaudible
against his dominating one, your shaken up by his animalistic tone, in how he
doesn’t cease, doesnt’t hesitate for a moment in your presence, just blindly
continues. His eyes are trained to nothing particular in front of him, his
pupils almost seem to shake. 
“Jungkook-” you reach out, arm shaking as you approach him. He doesn’t stop you
this time, letting you grab hold of his shoulder and squeeze it. “Please, what
is it?”
“It’s-” His voice is broken, a croak from the rawness of his throat by now. His
eyes don’t blink, they water and look to be stinging, red and strained. His
mouth has been gnawed at, you’re not sure if he’s done that to himself but you
watch his front teeth bite into it more; the indentations are frightening, how
he doesn’t flinch when the raw flesh is chewed at.
“You’ve always confided in me, please, just tell me, it’s okay-”
“It’s the anniversary of her death. Today is…” he shakes his head, his glance
dropping to his bare feet in the tub. “It’s been a year since she died.” 
“Who…?” you barely manage asking before he shrieks again. It isn’t a continuous
yell like before, more of a drawn out gasp of noise, guttural at the edges with
a broken deepness. His mouth is shuttering, head bobbing ever so slightly. It
looks as if every bit of him is gone, draining out from his ears, down the
slopes of his arms, to lay along his feet before slipping down the drain. 
“What they said about this place was right, the time really does slip by
without real notice. I’ve been here, what, 7 months already? I feel like it’s
been seconds since she was pronounced dead on that damn slab that was dare
called a hospital bed. Not even a cot that they could give her, no
damn respect!” Jungkook balls his fists together, arms clenching, and you draw
away your hand from touching him any longer. He’s shivering, but his skin
lights up as if he’s breaking a fever. “7 months! And I can’t get over it, I’m
so god damn weak.”
“Please, Jungkook, who?”

“Why does it matter who she was?! She’s dead anyways, and they all kept telling
me it’s not worth remembering over, if she’s gone she’s gone, what’s the time
worth if spent thinking about her? I was furious, I threw myself against walls.
When something is gone it still deserves to be remembered, even if it isn’t
there anymore! They never understood!”
He’s screaming the words out in urgent sparks that sizzle at his lips and let
smoke hover the air. You watch him, feeling your own tears at the corners of
your eyes. His voice is shaking, like he’s hungered over the pain he feels. The
walls seem to collapse around his voice, giving in to the rage he pours over
himself and the tiled floor.
“Who was she?” He repeats the question fervently, “I really can’t say for sure
anymore. She was here and then she left and I was told on repeat, every damn
night, ‘don’t worry over someone who can’t worry over you anymore.’ But god,
she deserved the worrying, and the fretting, and the remembering. And I’ve been
here for 7 months already and I swear, every god damn time the King touches me
I’m just lying there remembering myself to a sickness that kills me.”
Blood pools on his bottom lip from the biting, he doesn’t seem to notice it
though, as some goes into his mouth, some slowly drips down his chin. You’re
breathless and can’t seem to find a word to use in response. 
“Part of it are the beds here, I think, like when the King lies me down on one
of them I get to thinking of her again, on that god awful slab of rock. The
sheets feel good over my skin and I’m so anguished by my remorse.”
“I don’t know what happened… but I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” you say,
softly, fingers itching to touch him again. His eyes slowly raise, looking at
you for the first time, as a look of pure hatred crosses the hairs of his brow,
the wrinkles of his cheek.
“It was. It was my fault.”

“Jungkook-”
He shakes his head vigorously, his fists pounding into the sides of the tub, “I
needed her so much I worked her to death! My own grandmother, I loved her until
my heart ached, and I made her do my chores in the garden until her back broke!
Her knees were weak and I knew that but I was bratty with my ignorance, I was
sick with indignation, only the perspective a child could have! I would
complain and whine and every time I did, I only added bricks to her back for
her to carry along. I wore her knees down, and her feet, and her shoulder
blades. And then her spine got twisted up. I broke her in two. And she died on
the slab in the hospital, and you know what was the last thing she said to me?”
“What?”
“’Take care of the family, when I can’t.’” 
Jungkook is blinking now, only to blink away the rushing tears that are
blinding him. He’s rocking slightly, and his fists are pounding into the tub’s
sides until you see his knuckles begin to bruise. 
“Jungkook, stop this, stop hurting yourself like this.” You can’t find anything
to say on the subject of his grandmother, you toy with a strand of your hair
and tap your feet in anxiousness. 
“I hurt her! I killed her! I deserve everything I get and yet I hate how I’m
sorry for myself when the King touches me! I should bow to him in pure
gratitude that he even lays a finger on me without disgust. I should serve him
until I grow old and he doesn’t want me anymore, then let him get rid of me to
under the flowers where he berries the old staff. It’s what I deserve, for
ruining her, for destroying every last piece of her there was.”
Jungkook throws back his head, resting it on the back of the tub, his throat
exposed until his fingers come up to claw down the expanse of his skin. You
watch as red patches of irritation sprout from his skin, his fingernails never
relenting until you finally pull his hands away from himself. He doesn’t try to
retaliate, just stares ahead blankly as his wrists are limp in your hold.
“I can remember when I saw her ashes, my mother sprinkled them over the garden
and I couldn’t help but think that that damned garden was what really killed
her. Where she’d garden from morning until dusk for me. Those damned tomatoes
she’d break her back over, which I was too lazy to manage instead. I just
watched the ashes spread over the soggy grass and I held back my tears. My
mother had turned to me when she walked back inside the cottage, brushing off
her dirtied hands onto her apron. She said, ‘Jungkook, don’t fret over it, she
was old anyway.’ It was like she knew I was guilty of her death, that I’d
worked the old lady sick. And she so easily forgave me! I couldn’t get over
those words, how easily she’d said them.”
You watch Jungkook, his eyes wide and dark, the marks from the King on his
collar bones that seem to spread across the entirety of his skin the more he
speaks. You can see the King’s pollution and use of the younger’s body, how
easily the old man ruins people with his oily flesh. You don’t say a word
though, of his grandma, of the King, of anything, too scared of angering him or
interrupting his monologue of rambling. 
“My grief resides deep within me on the normal days that I tern over without a
thought nor second glance, but today it’s as if every piece of me is made of
that mourning.” Jungkook lets his eyes seem to slack, and his pupil dazedly
roll to look at you. “I can’t escape myself, I can’t escape the memory of her
death- as I’m every bit of what killed her.”
“Don’t be stupid Jungkook… you know that isn’t true.” You say this with layers
of doubt to the words, and a sickly uneasiness in lying straight to his face. 
He lets the smallest graze of a smile cross his lips; you can tell he’s
wrecked, in every sense of the word, in his overturned hair, in the staleness
to his expression, the cracks of his cheeks where the tears have dried in long
slashes across his face. “I’m a murderer who’s killed only one, but I swear, it
feels I killed myself when I killed her.”
;
;
Jimin ties his apron around his waist, closing his eyes slowly as his fingers
work over the raw meat on their own. He’s done this enough times to know how it
works, he simply slides his hand through neck cavity that’s already been
opened, grabbing the heart and pulling it back out. When he opens his eyes to
look at the piece of meat in his hand, someone clears their throat. Jimin looks
up to see Jungkook watching him, not much of an expression to his features, if
anything, he only holds slight remorse in his eyes. 
“I know what you do with the hearts, Jimin,” the younger says, his voice
trailing along with no direction. Jimin hesitates, trying to say something
before the other continues. “I’m sorry… that doesn’t even matter to me!” The
kid laughs, his head shaking as his words drift, “It’s not why I’m here.”
Jimin lets out a breath, nodding, ducking his head slightly from the boy’s
staring at him. “W-What are you here for then?”
“I heard you’re close with Min Yoongi,” Jungkook starts, but Jimin’s head
quickly snaps up before he can continue. 
“Who said this?” Jimin’s voice is alarmed beyond disguise, mouth open and eyes
wide as they search over any bit they can collect of Jungkook’s face. 
“I don’t know… some staff members I suppose? Anyways, I’ve needed to ask a
question of Yoongi for a while now, but you’re probably aware that he’s a hard
person to get at, so I was wondering if you may have the answer? Or could pass
on the question to him.” Jungkook chuckles, maybe to lighten the mood of his
question, but it’s a dry laugh with nothing behind it. 
Jimin stares at him blankly, his mind racing with thoughts. “What… what’s the
question?”
Jungkook’s expression lightens up a bit, the peeking sun through the kitchen
windows catching in his eyes.
“How did he survive the rain out there? He’s a legend for it, people say that
around here, that he lived in it for so long before coming here? How’d he do
it?”
The childish tone to Jungkook’s voice in the question only puts Jimin off more,
he gnaws his thick bottom lip that’s been healing since Yoongi’s abuse of it
three days ago. He leans his hip to the counter. 
“Jungkoook, I-” he sighs, trying to calm his breathing, “That’s a really hard
question to answer.”

“Why?! Why does everyone around here act like there’s this whole big thing
around Yoongi and how he survived the rain?! Is it supernatural, is it evil, is
he a god of some kind?”

Jimin laughs lightly, shaking his head and trying to end the conversation
there. “No, no, don’t be silly, nothing of Yoongi is any bit super natural nor
evil! And to say Yoongi could be a god?!” Jimin mumbles off, his smile
collapsing, “…no, of course not, what a silly thing to say.” 
The younger gives an agitated groan, his jaw clenching, eyes flicking over
Jimin’s form. He looks at the elder as if he’s trying to take in all the dents
and folds to Jimin’s skin, like they have the answers he wants. “How’d he do it
then?” He snaps in a raised voice. Jungkook regains his full height from the
previous slouch he had held. “How did he survive those conditions, how does he
deal with all of this, now?!”
The younger is working Jimin up, he knows it, the elder is easily affected by
this kind of anger, the voice raised and urgent. Jimin is huffing and his eyes
sparkle with the tease of tears. 
“What’s his secret Jimin? You should know this! Aren’t you two lovers?!”
Jimin bursts, letting out a sudden, jolting scream and swipes his hand across
the counter of knives and spices. His palm is slightly cut but he doesn’t stop
to whine over it. Jimin is crying, falling to his knees and Jungkook watches
him fall apart. 
“I DON’T KNOW! No one knows! They all believe different things about him, they
all tell different tall tales. None of it’s true, anything you’ve heard is a
lie. Yet, no one knows what’s true- other than Yoongi! Yoongi came here and he
told the King his secrets and no one else knows a damn thing! Not me,
not anyone! So stop bothering us Jungkook, stop medaling where you don’t
belong! Some things just belong unknown and Yoongi wants them to be that way,
so they will!” Jimin is sobbing, wiping his face all over his apron, his
shoulders shaking as Jungkook watches him. “Please, just leave us be.”
Jungkook nearly hisses, his eyes full of rage when Jimin looks up at him. “You
can say that to me? After you just watched me be torn apart by the King, after
you left me there to be tortured and fondled and used? You can say all this
shit to me, and tell me to leave you alone, when you won’t do the same for me?”
Jungkook asks through grinding teeth. He lets out a huff and stands silently.
Jimin watches him from the floor, mournful, sorry, but his heart collapsing
with his own pity for himself. 
“I’m sorry Jungkook, I just can’t answer for Yoongi on his behalf, it’s not my
place-”
Jungkook leans down, his eyes trained dead on Jimin. “You can’t speak for him
because you’re just too dumb to, all you know is how to be a dirty, old slut.
You get off on watching me get raped, wishing you were the one on that bed.
That’s all you understand. Being just a toy at the King’s expense.”
Jungkook stands up straight then, walking away from Jimin, who breaks into
another fit of sobbing tears.
“Jungkook!” he screams, his voice picking up in rage. Jimin forces himself to
stand, and while he’s still crying, he tries to put on his best strong voice.
Jungkook does stop, turning back to look at him. He gives a small raise of his
eyebrow, that’s tantalizing, something of a look that a cat would give its
imminent pray.
“What?”

Jimin audibly swallows, “Don’t go around saying such things! I don’t want to
see you get hurt, I- I was broken when I saw you like that with the King. Of
course, I’m at a battle against my feelings for the King, but I knew you were
hurting and I wished I could have saved you. Don’t be so stupid and selfish,
you know that if I’d had tried to do anything against the King’s intentions I’d
be executed without question, without a flinch of hesitation. Don’t be
so petty, Jungkook, it’s just common sense that I couldn’t stand a chance
against him at saving you. I wanted to save you though,
just... please understand that.”
Jungkook watches him, his eyes looking over Jimin almost desperately now,
loosing all fragments of his previous aggression. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 
Jimin shakes his head, a soft look coming to his face, his eyes blossoming but
his lips wilting. “Don’t. I know what this place can do to people, you’re just
another victim to the King’s harmful charms.”
“Really, for what I said back there, I’m sorry.” 
Jimin reaches up and snakes his fingers through a bit of Jungkook’s hair, eyes
distracted from Jungkook’s and instead glossing over the black strands of his
hair, watching his fingers go through its thickness. 
“Yoongi and me are… well. I’m the person who saw my feelings for him as a cover
for my jealousy of you and the King, and he’s never felt a thing for me at all.
He kissed me, but I think out of fear. And I kissed him back for what I labeled
as jealousy, that I now see as what could have been something else,” Jimin
says, his voice light, moving through the sentences effortlessly, dancing along
the bumps of his voice. 
Jungkook just watches him speak. “What kind of something else?”
“Love perhaps, all the confusing stuff that goes along with it,” Jimin says,
his eyes moving back to look at Jungkook, turning to slits as he laughs, his
head tipping back a bit. “But I don’t really know. I’ve never really been in
love before. From the books I’ve read, me and Yoongi seem to be something along
the sidelines of what love is.”
The younger nods, his stance slowly relaxing. Jimin’s fingers slowly fall from
Jungkook’s hair. 
“Me and Yoongi are like one of those projects an old man stalls away for the
weekends, beautiful and raw, just waiting for improvements,” Jimin finds
himself mumbling along. “It’s a silly thing to say, I know…”
Jungkook doesn’t laugh though, saying,“You should… talk to him.”
He tilts his head and gets closer to Jimin’s. Jimin looks at him with
surprise. 
“Yoongi doesn’t talk.”
Jungkook laughs, “Maybe he can listen then.”
The older takes a step back from the younger, eyes wide. “I have to cook, I
have lunch to make for the King and a dinner to get started on.”
Jungkook is frozen for a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course. Um… but maybe
take me up on the advice?”
“I’ll think over it,” Jimin says quickly, heart pounding from their previous
closeness. “Please go now Jungkook.”
The younger nods, taking a step back before turning completely. 
“But, if you could ever perhaps… bring up my question to Yoongi..?” he says
over his back, just the portrait of his face that Jimin can watch move with his
words. 
“We’ll see.”
Jungkook leaves then, through the wide doors of the room. 
Anxiously, in Jungkook’s absence, Jimin taps his fingers then cracks them
against the counter. He looks down to the silverware on the floor, the heart on
the counter, his mind mulling over decisions, digging itself into holes. He
finally he slides the organ across the counter, watching it fall into the trash
bin. Jimin lets his blemishes consume him until he’s suffocating in the open
air. He lets himself be overtaken by the mere thought of Min Yoongi. 
;
;
And here Jimin is once again, stood in front of Yoongi’s battered, old tower
door. Evening is across the the tour, the colors of the sunset along the bricks
and wood panels. Jimin barely even knocks before Yoongi opens the door for him,
giving a halted glance at seeing the younger there. He quickly invites him in
without a second thought, to which Jimin takes up his offer and walks inside.
There’s a record that’s playing in the background, on Yoongi’s small little
night stand by his cot, with its horn speaker flared, rusty, dulling the sound
of soft piano. 
“I’m here because-”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Yoongi says back, his gaze not on Jimin,
on anything but. 
“Why not?” Jimin asks. “And what’s to say I was going to explain anything?”
“I just don’t want to hear it, whatever it is.”
The younger sighs while pacing the room. “I swear, you’re the hardest person to
talk to sometimes, you never like someone to just get to the point. Come out
and say things for how they are! You avoid confrontation-”
“Jimin.”
“Stop interrupting me!”
“Jimin, really… you don’t have to explain anything for me.”
“Some things are worth explaining! Getting to the point of, just having it out
there,” Jimin snaps back. “Why can’t I ever say what needs to be said-”
“You’re impossible.”
The younger gives a half hearted smile, flashing his teeth. “I’m here because…
I realized some things. I got over my foolish jealousy, I outgrew the King. I’m
free to do what you like, be yours if you want me to be.”

“Grown up, have you? Finally understand what a cold hearted lunatic he is?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, “I thought… I thought you’d like to at least know.”
Yoongi sighs, “Jimin, listen.” His voice drips like the putrid rain that
clashes against the tower now. “I know you’d like to drop him now, now that you
know what he is. But you’ll still be his to use when he wants to, there’s no
escaping that. And I can’t be the one who bandages you up every night.”
Jimin closes in on him, intoxicating to Yoongi, who is stiff and overtaken by
the younger. “I’m not asking you to do any of that hyung…”
“What do you want then?” Yoongi stutters breathlessly, his mind fogging up, his
eyes fluttering. He isn’t one to be weak with just someone else’s smell, but it
must be the molded wood and the rain’s sourness that’s getting to his head.
He’s flooded in lust, swarmed by the listless tone of Jimin’s voice that drawls
along. 
“I want you; you while we don’t think of the King, or the horses in their
stables below, or that kid Jungkook who’s always crying about something. I want
you, without the rest of everything else on our minds.”
“That’s a hard thing to ask for, Jimin,” Yoongi mumbles along, hazy in
desperation, beaten by his own cravings. “I don’t know if it works like that…”
“Maybe it will for us, for just this moment, just this once.” 
The elder nods, his mouth open in a quiet breath, his eyes skating over the
younger’s gaze. He’s shuttering in the cold, and the heat from his core that
clashes with it at the outside of his skin. Jimin smiles, lips so slowly
nearing the other’s, while he seems yet so far. 
Fear cascades over Yoongi’s form, anxiousness at his fingers where they itch to
reach up and touch Jimin. It’s something of a feeling of not just pure need,
but adrenalized urgency, if he doesn’t get even the slightest glimpse of
Jimin’s touch within the minute he’ll collapse, he’ll perish with starvation,
perhaps the pneumonia he swears he still carries within his lung, maybe the
insomnia he convinces himself he suffers. He’ll be ruined if his damn fingers
don’t go up to grab at Jimin’s hair, or delicately drip down the curve of his
cheekbone. Yoongi, the stale Yoongi who snaps in a voice of bitter coffee and
stands uneven with his mangled toe, he’s weak in the heart and soft at the
knobs of his knees for Park Jimin- who looks at him with the fear of getting
just too close, that it’ll all become too real. 
He’s hesitating, Yoongi can tell, as his lips mingle along Yoongi’s skin, at
the side of his mouth, along his jaw. Their breathing is heightened with the
fear that resides in both of them, the moment drawn out, their eyes delirious,
not open completely, nor closed. It’s a purgatory they hold between themselves,
an in between state that neither can force themselves to breach. Jimin’s lips
are wet, still aching with the bites Yoongi left, and they lace over each other
as he lazily marks the underside of Yoongi’s chin, before it curves into his
neck. The elder gasps with the slow, meek touches Jimin dulls out, his
attention on watching the top of Jimin’s head of silky hair, clean with his
youth, locks rolling over each other in a daze. 
“Jimin…” Yoongi mumbles into the air of static piano and the harshness of cold.
Jimin leans away from him, taking away his lips that are chapped and red. 
“Huh?”

“You can kiss me, you can kiss me now, I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Jimin smiles, pressing their bodies together in a slow hug that encompasses all
of Yoongi in Jimin. “What’s to say I wasn’t going to?”
“I’m inpatient, I don’t have the time to wait around for these kinds of things,
it can be now, while the record still has music left to play.”
Jimin grazes their lips together, Yoongi frozen with the shards of ice that
seem to splinter his veins with the touch. They’ve kissed before, but it was
fueled with aggression and the notion that Yoongi had something to prove. This,
with Jimin just barely touching him, daring at leaning away, it’s something of
an entirely different spectrum. A lightyear from what it’d been before, of rush
and and messiness, now it’s elegance and the silk of Jimin’s skin. 
Jimin’s eyelashes flutter, his breath cutting out. “Kiss me back, hyung,” he
says, into Yoongi’s open mouth, his top lip rubbing against Yoongi’s bottom.
It’s as if they’re both stood at the edge of the universe, and it just takes
one of them to decide when they jump into the stars. Inevitable, unavoidable,
at the tips of their eager tongues. The elder reaches out, his arms grabbing at
the back of Jimin’s neck, the other at Jimin’s wrist. He pushes the younger
against him, bringing their mouths together, his lips taking in Jimin’s. The
younger is gasping into the embrace, as Yoongi’s fingers curl into his thick
hair, and his palm squeezes his wrist tightly. It’s of clashing flavors and
harmonized little gasps that escape them, the quiet trickle of rain with the
boom of thunder. Taking them into the hilt, until nothing is left of them both,
with Yoongi’s flushed cheeks and darting tongue, with Jimin’s feet that are
between Yoongi’s and his tilted head. 
They don’t dare split apart, not for a second to regain breath or change the
angle of their mouths. They let their noses push together in the kiss, they let
themselves become dreamy in the head with lack of oxygen. It’s intoxicating,
with the frantic movements of their tongues over each other, the push of their
chests in neediness. All too much, sickening in its pleasure, drowsy in its
perfection. Jimin is scared he’ll lose it all if he breaks away, Yoongi is lost
in the taste of Jimin who must have eaten strawberries before coming to his
tower. 
“I need to breathe,” Jimin gasps into Yoongi’s mouth, the elder’s fingers now
tangled in his hair, pulling at it unforgivingly. “I’m so weak.”
Yoongi pushes him away, off of his mouth with a loud intake of breath. “God,
you’re so good Jimin, so-”
They’re touching again, Jimin overpowering him, his hand now holding on to
Yoongi’s cheek to keep him in place, his other wrapped around the elder’s
waist. Fear is in his fingers, the skin along his eyes, Jimin not daring to let
go of any piece he has of Yoongi, or else everything will fall apart. The kiss
is consuming, overpowering, with the swirl of them together like ocean waves
that clash in a storm. 
Yoongi lets the record keep spinning after it’s turned just to crackling static
in the background- too distracted to mind it really. He lets it turn on and
on until the world seems to run out.
;
;
From the tower, across the field and to one of the main castle doors, Jungkook
is stood under a small covering from the rain that picks up. It had been
previously a gentle sprinkle, but now as he holds a tray of mid day snacks, he
must shield them from the heavy mist that gathers around the enclosed area.
He’s waiting for you, as he has many times before, you at the opposite end of
the building, piling the layers of your dress into your arms before beginning
to skim over the grass as rain throughly douses you. When you reach him, he
gives a small bow of his head. 
“Hi,” he greets, a smile gracing his lips. 
You don’t respond immediately, only giving a smile in return. 
“Shall we go inside?” he asks.
You hesitate, “Not just yet… please.”
Jungkook nods, his arm not yet growing sore holding the tray so
carefully. “Okay.”
Eyes darting about, you’re nervous, feet with heels together and fingers
gripping to your dress needlessly. Jungkook catches your uneasiness, his head
dipping slightly to a tilt. “What is it?”
“Nothing!” You brush him off, a light laugh following. He’s perplexed by you,
his brows furrowing. 
“Y/n, really-”
But you grab onto him before he can finish. The tray of neatly made snacks for
the King is dropped when your lips push against his suddenly. Jungkook is
surprised, eyes wide as your fingers entangle within his hair, but finally he
responds, meeting your lips with his. The kiss is quick, with your tongues
meeting in a haze of bewilderment and your fingers digging into his scalp.
Jungkook is sensitive to the attention you give, and easy to push up against
the side of the brick wall, your arms over his shoulders and his hands not
knowing where to go until the kiss is already over.
The biscuits go soggy on the ground, rained on and throughly ruined by the
mud. 
;
;
Jimin finds himself on the bed, their mouths not breaking for a second when
Yoongi climbs to straddle his hips. They’re flushed and sore with kissing,
grabbing frantically now at anything they can touch of each other. Jimin’s
moaning into the elder’s mouth above him, being pushed into the duvet each time
their mouths gape for breath, Yoongi assuming a new angle. The younger’s hair
splayed across the pillow, and his hips bucking up to meet Yoongi’s without
restraining himself. His hyung’s fingers curl his hair, spill down his chest
with a harshness that leaves trails of red behind. His fingernails drag against
the other’s shirt fabric, until Jimin worries it’ll tear. 
It’s maddening, the tension that grows as the minutes pass of their harsh
contact. Jimin swears he can feel a fire light up at every bit of him that the
other is touching, with Yoongi grinding his hips incessantly onto Jimin’s, a
spark of passion is alight. Every time they’ve bickered before, every time
they’d made eye contact across the way, just makes now all the more fueled in
passion. 
Yoongi sits up fully, finally splitting their lips, wiggling out of his loose
blouse. His skin is milky white, soft and supple, while rippled with faint
scars. Jimin’s fingers reach out to trace the marks, questioning in his touch,
the cold skin of the elder against his. 
“Living on the streets can get you a few marks,” he mumbles, his fingers then
clutching to the hem of Jimin’s shirt, lifting it off of him.
Jimin whines when Yoongi doesn’t bring his mouth back to his, instead gazing at
the heated skin of Jimin’s chest. It’s splotchy with how flushed he is, patches
of blush at his hip bone which juts out, at his neck leading down to his red
shoulders and collar bone. Every inch of him is mapped out when Yoongi’s
fingers trail down his front, delicate now, yet with so much residing avidity
behind the touch. The younger moans at the slightest graze from the elder,
passing his heart that thuds, down his soft stomach to his navel. Yoongi
flattens his palm at his abdomen, picking up the movement of his hips, rolling
them in a deliberate pattern to the background static emitting from the record
player; it begins to ruin itself in overuse, until it scratches, more than the
humming of gravely nothingness. 
Finally, Yoongi leans down once again, but not to give Jimin the kiss he so
hungrily is moaning for. The black haired man instead connects his lips to
Jimin’s collar bone, sucking onto it harshly. The younger gasps, his fingers
going to grab at Yoongi’s hair, tugging at the locks, digging into the
elder until the only thing on his mind is Jimin Jimin Jimin. It’s all there is
anymore, just the boy beneath him who’s squirming under his weight, under the
sensitivity of his bare skin that’s under the torment of Yoongi’s swirling
tongue, his unrelenting kisses that lead him down the younger’s chest. 
They don’t say things to each other, they’re past the complements and the
adorations, it’s just the sultry gaze of Jimin watching Yoongi and Yoongi
drowning within his own prurience. The heat is stifling, the pants that confine
both of them to struggle against the urges. Wanton moans from Jimin that peak
when his voice breaks off and showers Yoongi in its fragments. 
“Ah, Yoongi, more..” Jimin moans, hands pushing Yoongi’s head lower so his
mouth would hover over the tented crotch of his pants. Yoongi smiles wickedly
at the hasty action, glancing up at Jimin with a glimpse of his own lust to
touch more of Jimin that’d he’d usually keep hidden. Jimin is adrenalized with
the daring glance that Yoongi shoots him, of that pure want, that not only does
Jimin want Yoongi to touch him, but that Yoongi wants to touch him as well.
It’s something neither of them are used to with both of them only having been
with the King. Reciprocated lust, a foreign entity, of Yoongi licking his lips
before ducking his head to fondle at Jimin’s clothed heat. Jimin shoots his
head back with the feeling, the thin fabric protecting him turning wet with
Yoongi’s spit working over the bulge and the precum that leaks from his
arousal. 
The younger is squirming, gasps leak every time he opens his mouth, his thick
fingers tangle into knots in Yoongi’s hair, moving his head in the circles
against his crotch that he wants, the speed of Yoongi’s mouth working against
him taunting and never enough, yet addicting. It’s as if what he is deprived of
is what gives him the most pleasure, at the tip of JImin’s tongue he can taste
all of what Yoongi could give him if commanded to do so, and yet he lets the
temptation sizzle in his veins and destroy him to the core. 
“You’re so erotic,” Yoongi says in a mumbled tone, deep at its edges but ruined
in a whole. Yoongi’s fingers are on Jimin’s thighs, squeezing and pressing in.
He’s kneading into them with his fingernails, driving Jimin to madness in the
shoots of pain they give him, up his spine in a wave of torture that clashes
his euphoria so perfectly. It’s nearly impossible for him to restrain his hips
now, Yoongi’s form now crouched around his legs. 
“More..” Jimin whines, dragging his own fingernails against the back of
Yoongi’s neck, watching the red marks quickly show up on his pale skin, a
shuttering moan escaping Yoongi with the pain. In a rash movement, the elder
hooks his fingers into the hem of Jimin’s pants and yanks them easily down his
legs until they’re off and tossed to the floor. Yoongi smiles evilly up at
Jimin’s surprised expression, then returns his attention to Jimin’s arousal
that strain’s against his loose underwear. 
“You want me to touch you? With my hands.. mouth?” Yoongi asks, fumbling his
words and smiling loosely at the flushed boy with the pouting lips. 
“Y-yes,” he says in return, wiggling his hips as a further
invitation. “That’s all I want..”
The words are softer than intended, Yoongi can hear the tenderness of them but
tries to ignore it. Jimin flinches at his show of affection, taking back the
tone, the words, the plain thought of something more than pure thirst. Yoongi
lets him off for the mistake, going back to where the boy wants him, but it’s
hard for him to push the sound of Jimin’s voice from his head. It’s a
manageable feat though, soon enough Yoongi’s mouth is back on Jimin, the fabric
that’s still constricting him is throughly soaked in saliva and the precum that
weeps from Jimin’s cock. 
Yoongi laces his fingers in the waistband of the underwear, finally pulling
them down. It’s sweet relief, if only for a second, then Jimin’s sensitive skin
is faced with the bitter cold. Jimin lets out a soft shriek in surprise, as
Yoongi only offers his lustful eyes to gaze over his form. 
“’S cold, Yoongi,” Jimin says in a whine, voice catching a lisp with its own
urgency. The younger’s thighs clench with the feeling, as Yoongi clicks his
tongue before letting out a hot breath over the head of Jimin’s flushed cock.
The boy moans at that, hands clenching in the sheets and head tilting away with
the feeling. Yoongi is proud of the reaction he elicits, breathing hotly over
the slit a few more times until his mouth is formed in a perfect ‘o’ around the
head. All he’d have to do is close his lips around it to be touching Jimin once
again- which he hungrily anticipates. 
“Please, Yoongi, just touch me more..”
Skipping more of his teasing, the devious plans to rile Jimin up even further,
Yoongi compliantly does as told, dipping his mouth to close his lips around the
head. Jimin mewls with the touch, the sudden heat that surrounds him in such a
foreign way, that smothers everything else around him- the itchy sheets at his
back, or the cold along his scalp- only Yoongi on him is what he can process as
real, only the heat that is sending light along his limbs. His brows furrow
with the sensation, the overriding control that pleasure can take over all
else. His mind buzzing, sizzling over until throughly burned to the curves of
his skull. Yoongi is going about licking at his slit, lapping at the leaking
precum with a certain vigilance that’s come about him in the heated moment.
Jimin is to surrender to his will, the hand that ghosts along the vein of his
cock, then fingers come to thread around his base and begin at squeezing and
pumping him. 
“Agh, mm, Y-Yoongi,” Jimin gasps, his moans taking on a forlorn pitch, that
gasps and calls out only to echo with no response other than the wet sounds of
slurping and the rain tapping. Jimin seizes with the shoots of pleasure Yoongi
sends, the strings hands wrapped around him and providing such a beautiful kind
of horrid pressure that forbids him to come while also making him want it to
last longer. 
The elder finally dips his mouth a bit lower, his lips along the sensitive skin
that’s flushed and sensitive. Jimin has a short cock, but Yoongi loves teasing,
so he only fits half into his mouth before pulling back up and repeating. Jimin
is a mess, of matted hair and a mouth that drools down his cheek. The
sensations are new, taking hold of all it can have of him and consuming. The
boy is utterly lost, under the weight of Yoongi’s hot, wet mouth wrapped so
deliciously around his length, the moans that clog his throat. 
“You’re driving me crazy, hyung,” Jimin says, in that lost kind of voice, that
lingers somewhere along the heavens and hasn’t yet drifted down to earth.
Yoongi dizzily smiles, his eyes clouded and his mouth shiny with spit and
precum. He’s just as lost as Jimin, in the sounds that keep dribbling from the
younger’s mouth, the taste of him, the ideas that flood his mind of all the
other ways he could get those sounds out of Jimin. He leans over the boy,
kissing him languidly, Jimin’s nose scrunching with the taste of himself on his
tongue, but Yoongi diluting it with his own allure. 
“Take me all in Yoongi, I need to feel you all the way around me..” Jimin says
into the other’s lips, his eyelashes at the curves of his cheeks, his hair
along his eyebrows, stuck with sweat. Yooongi quirks his head, a small chuckle
from him, before ducking back down to the younger’s crotch, his tongue out and
running along his bottom lip with temptation that latches at Jimin’s spine and
curls it. Yoongi twirls his tongue along the slit once again, flicking it as if
he has no interest in touching it more. Though, only moments later does he dip
his head down and his mouth is wrapped fully around Jimin’s cock and his nose
along the soft strands of the boy’s pubic hair. He manages to hold himself
there, his eyes beading with tears as he forces himself to swallow around the
heavy length, Jimin wild in the sheets, holding down his hips from bucking,
moaning until he’s screaming. 
Yoongi pulls up then, running his tongue along the length while he does, and he
stays poised above the head, watching Jimin as his arms clench along the duvet.
The younger is shaking slightly, the veins of his arms unfurling, pink at every
piece of him. 
“Gon-” and he’s lost before he can finish the word, his pearly white cum
shooting from his cock with the word breaking into a harsh moan. Yoongi
flattens his tongue along the head to collect the cum, the taste harsh, but
taking it in as if grateful. Jimin opens his eyes to watch him, slight tears in
them that make them glassy. His breathing is out of pace. The elder is playing
his mind, the inner workings of him, he’s sensitive and soft in this after-
orgasm state, while Yoongi pursues his cock further. Lapping at it, sucking the
slit to get the last drops out of him. Painful, yes, but Jimin can’t seem to
get just quite enough of the black haired boy. 
He smiles then, “You’re too much, Yoongi,” he says. 
The other smiles back, but doesn’t say anything. He kisses up the smaller’s
chest, grazing his lips, dragging them in laziness. Shivers still cascade
Jimin’s skin to tingle under the layers, but now he’s calmed and words sit in
his mouth rather than moans. 
“Do you think I could have some fun now?” Yoongi asks, giving Jimin’s soft
cheek a small kiss. 
“Wasn’t all that enough?” he retorts. 
Yoongi’s laughing, his hips grinding down onto Jimin’s thigh and his mouth
nuzzled somewhere in the crook of the younger’s neck. “Not nearly enough.”
Jimin kisses back, Yoongi’s cheek, neck, up to his hair that’s ruffled from his
fingers grabbing at it before. “I can do something about that then..”
The elder smirks at him, a cheeky smile on his lips and his eyes
fluttering. “What’s that?”
“You should fuck my thighs,” he mumbles, seductively so, but soft with his
growing tiredness. Yoongi is taken aback, batting an eye and curiousness to his
expression. “I don’t want you inside just yet..”
“I like it,” Yoongi says, rutting against Jimin’s leg still, his mouth open and
wet, drooling onto the other’s cheek. “You smell so sweet, Jimin… you’re so
soft.”
Jimin giggles, pushing at Yoongi’s chest a bit with his laughter. “Really,
Yoongi, you’re too much.”
“It’s true,” the elder says, his rough hands taking a hold on Jimin’s legs and
pulling them up off the bed. His palms are around the backs of Jimin’s knees,
pushing the chubby thighs together, while dangling the younger’s calfs over his
shoulders. “So fucking hot Jiminine..” Yoongi groans as his fingers run down
the expanse of Jimin’s bare skin. 
Jimin lets out a clipped moan, wishing he wasn’t so responsive to such slight
touches, but still his arousal boiling, perking up his cock to grow harder
again. Yoongi’s fingers dig into the soft, sensitive flesh sparingly, his hips
circling the air before he lines up his cock with the tight hold he has of
Jimin’s pressed thighs. Jimin watches from around his legs, his thick lips
spread with a gasp when Yoongi pushes his tip through the tightness and lets
his precum wet Jimin’s skin. 
“Ah-h, so good, you’re doing so good,” Yoongi praises, the words slipping
easily, his head loose on his shoulders, neck flexing with a sharp swallow.
Jimin whines, bucking his hips for the elder to move further. Yoongi gradually
pushes his hips more, so that the base of his cock is wrapped within the tight
heat of Jimin’s skin, as well as his flushed tip. Jimin’s thighs are wide
enough to squeeze the entirety of Yoongi’s length, his gratefulness for that is
shown with how unbearably flushed he becomes, skin once a pale milky tone, now
flourished with the arousal tinted of a soft pink. Jimin’s body fits so
perfectly with the elder’s, the black haired boy falls victim to his own
consuming carnality. 
The heat of arousal lights up every bit of Yoongi, not only his throbbing cock,
but the walls of his mind, along the curve of his jaw, sizzles along the veins
of his hands and to the bones of his toes. He’s never felt as if he’s been lit
from within with such a sensation, the intense sexual drive he’d only imagine a
teenager could have, the lust for the person below tangled in the sheets to the
point of intoxication. His mind erases itself, of all memories, all thoughts, a
certain airiness to him that he believes could only pass through someone with
the onslaught of death. It’s almost dreadful, all of it, how unbearably perfect
it is; he knows he’ll want more of it when he’s done. An addict for Jimin, the
boy’s skin against his, the way he smells of the garden and a warmth Yoongi is
unfamiliar. He’s almost sick with himself, for being such a victim to desire,
so easily manipulable when handed the slightest graze of affection. 
Yet, he carries on, weak for Jimin, in every sense one could be weak for
someone else. His hips pull back from the heat, dragging the sensitive length
of his cock along Jimin’s inner thighs. When only the head of cock is between
Jimin’s skin, he thrusts his hips back, the friction that drives pleasure to
ricochet through Yoongi’s limbs is nearly to the point of pain. He lets out a
thick groan, something that riles Jimin so his hair stands up on the back of
his neck and his own whine is let out. Their voices clash the silence, words
unreachable, or incomprehensible, as Yoongi finds a pace to his thrusts and
steadily slides in and out of the warmth Jimin provides. 
“Mm,” Jimin sighs into the silence between them, which mingles- easily so, led
on and allowed. They don’t fill the quiet with needless words that are said in
their movements already- the tender touches of Yoongi’s fingertips that cling
desperately to any bit of Jimin which he can hold to, the encouraging little
bounces of Jimin’s hips with the movement of the elder- it’s all there, in
plain sight, beyond the need for words or syllables or even mere sound. They
both know that too, it’s why they allow themselves the silence that’s between
their frequent exclamations, let it in instead of pushing it away. 
Yoongi is jerky in his movements now, his speed jarring and Jimin’s thighs only
getting hotter with their friction. He becomes erratic with his thrusts
quickly, the pleasure boiling in him from the start, the tension coiling around
the base of his cock. He isn’t used to this kind of feeling, the
intensity conspicuous.
“God, Jiminie-” Yoongi cuts off, when he feels the tendons of this thighs light
up in euphoria. Heat flares rapidly up his spine, his pleasure jolting, causing
his thighs to clench and his stomach to tighten with an orgasm that reeks havoc
through his body. He feels as if bone marrow drains from his bones, or his
lungs collapse of their air. All his mind or mouth can process is Jimin,
gasping the name, mulling over the syllables, his heart beating the word over
and over. His blood pumps to Jimin, his mind races with Jimin, his toes curl to
Jimin. The younger boy beneath him rolls his hips, clenching his thighs down on
Yoongi’s cock which jerks with his release. The white cum dribbles from his tip
down the front of Jimin’s thighs to pool at the boy’s little cock. With the few
last sparks of the orgasm, Yoongi’s eyes finally open with sweat trailing the
expanse of his face, down the ridges of his cheekbone and to drip from his soft
chin. 
“You’re such a horny little thing..” Jimin mumbles with a soft laugh. Yoongi
smiles back, slowly sliding from between Jimin’s thighs as his cock looses its
hardness. Jimin lowers his legs then, watching with adorning eyes as Yoongi
lets out a deep sigh, before collapsing on the small bit of the bed left next
to Jimin. Jimin wraps his arms around Yoongi’s waist, narrow, still breathing a
bit heavily. 
The younger just stares, his eyes soft and lips parted, Yoongi lets himself
just stare back. The elder’s fingers come up to graze Jimin’s chin, his own
mouth pursing as he watches his fingers curl the cute chin of the younger. 
“The rascals with the big hair, the ones from the town out there, what do they
call them?” Jimin asks then, scaring off the silence that had gathered. 
“Little legs, and their accomplices of knobby knees,” Yoongi says, laughing
until his eyes split and his gums show. 
Jimin laughs as well, “I hear their voices outside sometimes, over the wall and
across the woods; of course, that’s only when they get really loud for brawls
or festivals they must have. I remember those, sometimes I pretend I don’t. ”
Yoongi quirks a brow, huffing, “I haven’t heard them.”
Jimin shakes his head ever so slightly, “Ahh, it’s nonsense anyways, if I hear
them or if I don’t. Maybe I don’t hear them, maybe they’re just my memories so
I can have something to imagine going home to. Never mind, sorry hyung.”
“It’s probably the orgasm from before, making you go mad in the head,” Yoongi
reassures, his voice dipping down to a gentler tone. 
“I suppose..” Jimin drawls, “But you’re the one calling them knobby kneed, what
a stilly thing to call someone! You must be mad too!” 
Jimin taps Yoongi’s button nose with a giggle.
Yoongi just smiles back at the younger, shrugging his shoulders. “Everyone here
is some kind of mad, don’t you think?”
;
They don’t fall asleep. They lay on the bed watching each other’s eyelashes
flutter, and listen to the rain become fainter and fainter, until there’s
nothing but the record that crackles on. It’s mindless drifting, with their
thoughts up in the rafters of the tour, and their bodies only vessels. Maybe
the first night of peace they both can hold to, and while the peace mingles,
they both know it slowly slips past with each breath they exhale into the night
air.
;
;
Your fingers gently go over where Jungkook had kissed you yesterday. He had
pulled away, his eyes growing wide with what he’d just done, and he ran far
into the field, until you couldn’t hardly see him any longer through the sheets
of poring rain. You had stood there shocked, tongue running over your lips with
the fading sensation of when his were against yours. You had quickly gone to
the kitchen and gotten the King replacements for his soiled food. 
Now, you’re sat in your corridors, on your cot, fingers falling from your lips
to doddle along the edges of the sheets. Your heart beats at an odd pacing, and
your eyes blur the edges of your vision. Every passing minute is spent thinking
of Jungkook, how he had pulled you close, and how he’d been gentle but soon
grown ravenous. You haven’t seen him since then, but you’ve heard him walking
down the halls to the King’s room where he was requested. You had sat idle on
your stiff sheets, in the same place you sit now, suffering through the faint
echoes of their fucking from the King’s main room, not too far away from
yours. 
You don’t pity yourself, nor feel unaffected. It’s that you’re numb to it all,
because you should expect this. The King will still carry on with his needs, if
you fall in love or not. 
;
;
Jimin’s fingers wander the walls after him, following the drifting steps he
takes, as his sides graze the timber panels. The sconces haunt the walls, but
fail at providing much light to the long hall, far not enough for Jimin’s
figure to be much more than a shadow. There’s a soft trickle of music playing
from another room’s open door, to which he sways to, and his eyes fade from
reality to dream. He’s dressed in his apron, wandering from the kitchen to his
corders. Yoongi shadows Jimin’s movements behind him, his hair covering over
his expression, as his hips follow the pattern of the younger’s. It’s been
months since Yoongi has walked these halls this slowly, without a pace to keep
that demands him somewhere quickly. He would usually spare himself the
lingering. Now though, he lingers, hovers the sparse walls with mold decaying
its seams. 
“Yoongi-ah,” Jimin calls for him, the light voice echoing the walls of his
subconscious, until he’s brought back to walk the matted carpet, with gravity
weighing at his shoulders and his limp evident once again. 
“Mm,” he answers. 
“I want to show you my room… you’ve never been inside, have you?”

“Never,” Yoongi answers. 
Jimin’s feet begin to pitter patter the carpet quicker, as if each step he
takes is another rain drop to douse and pattern the ground. Yoongi starts up a
small jog after the boy ahead, his smile growing to daisies that wind their
stems along his cheeks, wrinkling his face with the effort, his eyes slanting
further with each giggle Jimin lets cascade the corridors. 
“You’re beautiful Jimin!” Yoongi ends up screaming, at the highest pitch he can
reach, until the vocal chords of his voice reach the high up rafters that
scream back at him. Jimin turns his head, as feet go from running to skipping,
his eyes are soft, eyes that swell wings that fly off his face to flock
Yoongi’s. 
“You’re a mad old man, Yoongi!” Jimin screams back, with amusement that adds a
curl to his voice, letting the soft tones catch wind and dissipate. 
The world seems to end when they reach the last door of the hallway. They stand
beside each other in front of it, Yoongi glances to Jimin, looking at the
younger’s profile that sprouts the wrinkles he’d been hiding before. “Is this
your door?” he asks. 
“It is. Though right now, I barely feel I recognize it.”
“How so?”
Jimin shakes his head, a puzzled expression to his mouth, which his teeth bite
at. “I can’t say… it just doesn’t feel I belong to it anymore, that’s all.”
“How about you open the door?” Yoongi suggests, after letting a silence soak
them throughly. 
Jimin does, his fingers clutching to the handle, twisting it with a creak that
follows. Jimin steps in first, scanning the room as if he were unfamiliar with
it. Yoongi cautiously steps in as well, watching the little looks that cross
Jimin’s face. 
“I’ve lived here for years…” Jimin says, finally turning back to look at Yoongi
fully, “I can’t believe it’s been years and I no longer feel it’s mine.”
Yoongi doesn’t answer him, his words would be minuscule in comparison. He
clutches onto Jimin’s narrow shoulders and brings him close, so that they hold
each other in the middle of the barren room.
“What do you suppose this means?” Jimin says, muffled, into Yoongi’s shirt. 
“It means exactly what you said Jimin, maybe you no longer belong here.”
Yoongi kisses Jimin’s forehead, pulling away to look over his face that’s taken
on the previous expression of happiness. “Don’t worry about it all,” Yoongi
says. “Sometimes it’s just not worth the worrying.”
;
;
They’re on Jimin’s cot, with the blankets spread around their forms, the cold
still nagging but tolerable against the heat that coils their veins. Late
afternoon once again, the sun dipping over the horizon, through the one window
of the room, and the rain all but leftover dew drops now, the storm clouds
dissipating. 
Jimin moans deeply, and within the noise, he manages a few words to crack.“I
want to do it for real this time,” he says, taking a lingering breath.
Yoongi is under him, circling his jagged hips as the curve of Jimin’s ass rubs
against his cock. 
“You’re ready for that?” Yoongi asks, his eyes closed, his fingers dipping into
the soft flesh of Jimin’s thighs, that are across either side of his chest. 
“I’m ready,” Jimin says, skillfully dragging his ass along Yoongi’s length to
drive the elder impatient. 
The elder’s fingers drag from Jimin’s thighs to the swells of his ass, the pads
of his fingers itching closer to where Jimin wants him. The younger’s back
arches to stick his ass closer to Yoongi’s fingers, which tease endlessly. 
“Hyung..” Jimin whines, Yoongi’s first finger circling his entrance, slicked in
some grease Jimin had stollen from the kitchen pantry, along with his
saliva. “We don’t have the night like last time, I have a dinner to prepare..”
“We could have the entire night, morning, and day if we wanted them..” Yoongi
says laughing, his head lifting from the pillow to kiss along Jimin’s arm to
wrist. 
“Just please hurry up,” Jimin begs now, “If not for the King, then for how
impatient I am to have you fuck me, Yoongi.”
;
;
Jungkook lounges the time, lying in the messed up sheets of the King’s grand
bed. He douses himself in his own pity, and splays himself across the cold
surface of the old man’s wrinkled satin sheets. There are faint noises not too
far off, of broken, chipped whimpers and a deep voice. At first the boy doesn’t
offer too much of a reaction to the noises, just shutting his eyes and holding
his legs close together. But a thought does cross his mind after a few minutes
pass, the whimpers picking up in frequency and volume. He lifts his head of
matted hair, slick with sweat from the King’s previous session with him, when
his head had been slammed against the pillow from the King’s hand behind
him. He knows the noises can’t be from the King and another staff, the King had
left him, the old man tired and used as well, heading to his main chamber for
business in the opposite direction. He’d left, telling Jungkook to clean
himself up. It couldn’t be him, the deep voice his. Someone else instead, with
another voice, higher and weaker, who shouts out, “Hyung!”
The boy sits up, clutching to the blankets that cover over his bare form.
Jungkook lets the silence of the room fully fall, until only the dust coasting
the air is the noise he lets break his focus. Then there’s a moan, a dull shout
that’s muddled between the walls that separates him from the source. He stays
hushed, trying to recognize the tones to their voices, that arise repeatedly. 
“Ah-h, hyung, you can go deeper? I promise I’m o-okay,” the higher voice says,
followed by a deep groan of approval as the other must have accommodated his
request well. 
“You’re doing well Jiminie,” the deeper voice says, to which Jungkook tilts his
head. His body instantly wants to stand from the bed, his limbs springing from
the sheets with a nervous flush going across him. The urge to hear them better,
see them, touch their skin… Jungkook is flooded with the adrenaline of his
sudden lust. 
It’s Yoongi, isn’t it, Jimin is with Yoongi.
The thought does cross his mind, and he grows more frantic thinking of them
together. He throws off a leg from the bed, feeling his foot around the chilled
flooring until he can find his slipper. Another leg, slipper, and he’s standing
fully upright. The noises continue, followed by a soft creaking of bed springs.
Jungkook is flushed in just listening to them, his eyes wide and mouth agape.
He lets himself take small steps across the room, the patting of his feet on
the ground light, as if they were to hear him amidst their own noises. They’re
probably enveloped in each other, Jungkook thinks, as he takes careful steps to
the room’s door, probably going light headed with each other’s scents.
His steps pick up pace, his jealously reaching its brim. He doesn’t mind the
sound of the door slamming behind him, as he rushes the hallway, his walking
slowly molding into a slow jog. Entitlement courses his veins, the stomach
twisting sensation of possessiveness. He takes a sharp tern, the breathy moans
coming closer to him, as if he’d turned up their volume to its peak. He stops
at the final door of the corridor, his breathing in rasping gulps. He stands
poised in front of the door, and through the hollow wood, there are creaking
bed springs, and heavy moans. 
“Ah-h, Yoongi hyung!” Jimin shouts, a sharp whine following. Jungkook is stiff,
staring at the blank door in front of him, as a trail of sweat beads at his
forehead and trails down the side of his face. Yoongi and Jimin, it should have
been expected, he did expect it. But he shouldn’t be so taken aback by them
being together. It’s nothing. Nothing of the unordinary, nor unreasonable.
Jungkook had seen how Jimin looked at Yoongi, how Yoongi had only really spoken
to Jimin. And yet, Jungkook feels as if a small dosage of poison has been shot
into his bloodstream, and each second makes his bones grow weaker until he
swears, he earnestly believes, that he’s dissolved. 
;
;
Jimin rides Yoongi’s cock with steady bounces that cause his thighs to clench
in rivets of pulsing flesh. His hands planted to Yoongi’s pale, sleek chest,
and his hair bouncing with him. Yoongi urges him on, hands across his ass and
moving him this way and that, to have them both moaning until they slip past
consciousness. 
A faint tapping is heard through the walls, of someone running and then falling
silent as quickly as the noise had begun. Neither of them mind it though, too
far gone by now to worry over people hearing them or reporting them to the
higher ups. It’s only them in the world anymore, the only ones to float the
universe held close to each other. They’re all they have to worry over now, not
the King and his breath of mold, nor the over watered flowers that sway the
storm away.
;
;
Jungkook still stays poised in his place, they’re shifting in the room behind
that damn door, and then the creaking begins again. Jungkook doesn’t let
himself move, doesn’t dare, just pauses there, as the noises never falter, nor
hesitate in pitch. And after he lets another moment pass, when they don’t seem
close to stopping, and Jungkook grows ill with his heart beating the way it
does, he takes a step back. His feet feel as if they’re made of putty, and his
shoulders feel weighed down, and he wanders away the way he came.
;
;
Yoongi’s fingers rake over Jimin’s tensing back, his shoulder blades jutting
out with each thrust of Yoongi behind him. Jimin’s cheek is pressed into the
pillow, his back arching and round ass on display for the elder. He’s being
fucked dizzy, with spit dribbling from his lips and a sharp whine from each
jolt of pleasure Yoongi bucks into him. The elder fucks relentlessly, and rolls
his hips skillfully into the other, Jimin clenching around his length. The
elder goes rough into him, the pace he sets rapid, and Jimin moves his hips
back to match the movement. Jimin’s moans are muffled into the covers, but he’s
say something of Yoongi, of how good it feels, of how good Yoongi is. 
Yoongi keeps one palm over Jimin’s ass, holding it stiffly, the other follows
the curve of Jimin’s spine to grab his hand from the duvet. He isn’t so rough
in curling his fingers between Jimin’s, pulling their hands up to hold Jimin’s
arm extended behind him at his tailbone. A shiver trails the expanse of Jimin’s
bare form, his skin glazing with sweat, and his hand squeezing back on
Yoongi’s. He can feel his body tensing with that rise of pleasure that bides
its time behind his skin, so close to flooding him. 
“Touch me Yoongi, I’m close,” Jimin says, his free hand clenching the pillow,
and nearly all his body pressed into the sheets now, only his ass off the bed
for Yoongi to continue fucking. Yoongi’s hand, that was on his ass, slides
along the side of his hips and wraps around his waist, until his palm makes
contact with the younger’s leaking cock that humps the sheets dryly. He pumps
Jimin’s length to the uneven pace he’s set, the heat between them, the
friction, nearly scalding.
Jimin’s body jerks with his orgasm that passes over him unexpectedly, his body
a mess he can’t control, his moans reaching an entirely new pitch. Yoongi’s
fingers circle over Jimin’s slit, slick with his cum and using it to lubricate
his cock as Yoongi pumps him until he’s wiggling with overstimulation. 
“Gonna cum too..” Yoongi says, his voice deep, but washed out by how out of
breath he is. Sparks light up, crackling his hair until it burns to a crisp
atop his head. Yoongi thrusts into Jimin one last time, berrying himself deep
into the other as his cock twitches with his release, a deep sigh from him as
Jimin goes completely lax against the sheets, letting Yoongi use his body to
milk his release. Yoongi finally pulls out when his cock starts going flaccid,
his limbs are weak and shaky, as he lets himself collapse to the sheets beside
Jimin, who hasn’t turned himself over yet. Yoongi wraps his arms around Jimin’s
barrel chest, curling himself into a ball behind the younger, his nose nuzzled
into the crook of Jimin’s neck. 
“I have pity for those who question the sky. It will clear up some day,” Yoongi
says, and Jimin turns over to look at him. A smile breaks the younger’s
features. 
“You say the weirdest things after sex, hyung.”
Yoongi smiles back, but maybe a bit more seriously, pulling Jimin only closer
to his chest. “Maybe it’s the only time those kinds of things can be said.”
They blink their eyes wearily, letting sleep not yet fall on them, just a
melancholy of exhaustion; Jimin sees in blurs, Yoongi sees in shades of
devotion.
;
;
You lay on your bed, with your dress falling down your legs as you slowly sway
them in the middle of the air. Your door is open, as if you expect someone to
be walking through the frame sometime soon. You have music on, that skims over
your body, the soft curves of your hips through the outline of your dress. It’s
mostly just piano that plays, simple chords that go together well, like a
couple walking cobblestone hand in hand; but rarely a voice drifts into the
song, in a tone of a lullaby. At first it seems the music is meant for a child,
though you don’t do anything to turn it off, but then you manage to hear the
lyrics. She sings in a sweet, innocent voice, but the lyrics are sickly,
seductive, and sultry. 
You close your eyes, the woman’s voice drops to a deeper gradient. 
 
     Theres a love blooming there 
     I can see it from here 
     The love is to the sky 
     Their eyes don’t seem to lie 
     There’s a love, blooming there 
     in the sad, musty air 
     Their fingers lock and slide 
     down the cliff, to their demise 
Though you don’t bother yourself to wonder who sang this, or put much thought
into what she’s singing about, you do still furrow your brow, drop your legs
from their swimming the air. You do still get up from the bed and turn it off.
But you manage to convince yourself you don’t mind the lyrics, nor the sky you
glance out at from your window, that’s dreary and splotchy with clouds. 
You think of yourself to not be the type to wonder over things, get caught up
on things, but lately you’ve seemed to be deceiving yourself of that. With your
worrying and wondering over Jungkook, and your wondering wondering over the
feeling of want in your chest. And now, this song, the one that could’ve been
easily sang by the sultry singer lady you see perform for the King’s galas and
dances. You don’t worry over the song, not for even a second, and not the boy
with stars in his eyes and a scar on his cheek either. 
Those kinds of things to wonder over are mundane waists of time. So you go back
to lying on your bed, kicking your feet in an endless battle against the putrid
air, and wondering over the stupid things to wonder over. 
;
;
“We have places to be..” Jimin mumbles, into Yoongi’s arm that he sleeps on.
He’s stuck in that restless sort of sleep, and can’t seem to find himself awake
nor actually dreaming. “I have to get dinner ready for the King..”
Yoongi is already all the way asleep, and his eyes barely flicker to register
Jimin’s words. They’ve found themselves huddled under Jimin’s blankets, close
so that each other’s body heats are too comfortable to want to leave. 
“Don’t leave.”
Yoongi says this matter-of-factly, as if there is nothing left for questioning
after the statement. Jimin waits for the elder to say more, but Yoongi never
does. So Jimin pretends to keep waiting forever, letting his eyes close, and
his sleep overtake. Waiting for a reply, until dreams swarmed his conscience. 
;
;
Jimin is woken from his sleep bye repeatedly harsh knocks on his door. At first
Jimin raises his head from the bed with a perplexed expression, his mind not
yet able to process why anyone would want to be knocking on his door this early
in the morning. It’s dark in his room, and he can see stars in the sky by now.
He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?
And then, with him being awake for a couple more moments, he pieces the scene
together. It isn’t morning, it’s night, and he did do something wrong, he slept
with Min Yoongi. The Min Yoongi who is in his bed right now. And he didn’t get
dinner ready for the King. And the person behind that noisy door is probably
someone to inform him of these very mistakes he is aware of. 
Jimin launches himself from the bed quickly, then begins to shake Yoongi
vigorously, a cross expression taking over Yoongi’s face when he opens his eyes
to Jimin tormenting him and the harsh sounds of the knocking. They can hardly
see each other in the darkness of the room, but soon Jimin can see Yoongi’s
expression shift as he realizes their predicament as well. He scurries from the
bed and soon under it as Jimin takes nervous steps towards the door, not fully
prepared for what’s waiting for him on the other side. 
He turns the knob with bubbling anxiety that raises the hairs on his back, when
he finally opens the door he’s completely taken aback to see Jungkook staring
back at him. 
“J-Jungkook?” Jimin says, unable to hide the pure surprise in his tone, and
probably his expression. Jungkook gulps and awkwardly shifts his feet.
“I tried knocking gentler but you didn’t answer, so I figured you were asleep
or something. I’m sorry for being so loud, you were probably frightened.”
Jimin can’t find anything to say in response. All he can do is nod. 
"Don't worry, I told the other kitchen staff that you'd come down with the flu,
that you couldn't take a step without vomiting. They had said maybe you could
just stand while cooking, and I said that you'd contaminate the food and surely
get the King sick enough he could die. They believed me then, so you won't get
into any kind of trouble. Maybe just stick around in your room for a couple
days, until it seems you've recovered?" 
Jungkook then nervously looks at Jimin, waiting for any of response the elder
could give him. Jimin takes an audible breath in, looking behind him to the
bed, with two imprints in the mattress, and then to under it where he can't
really see Yoongi, but knows is there. 
Jimin turns his head back to Jungkook, the younger’s eyes following his every
movement. "I'm assuming you know about me and Yoongi then," he says slowly.
Jungkook nods, eyeing him cautiously, as if to gage Jimin's reaction. Jimin
doesn't let too much of a response show, only biting his lip anxiously and his
eyes darting anywhere but to look at Jungkook. "You won't tell anyone, will
you?" 
From behind Jimin, Jungkook can hear Yoongi crawling out from under the bed.
Jimin catches Jungkook staring at Yoongi over his shoulder, in a certain way he
can't fully recognize, maybe a nervous adoration, a jealous lust. But then
Jungkook's focus goes back to Jimin, the look dissipating as quickly as it had
sprung. 
"No, of course not." 
"I suppose that's obvious," Jimin laughs, not that his comment was very
humorous, but more to add some kind of sound into the silence that sits so
stiffly between their two chests. "After covering for us and all..." 
Jungkook nods, sparing Jimin a smile at least, to ease the strain on the
elder's expression. "But..." Jungkook starts, his tone uneven and riddled with
a nervous breathiness, "I did have a reason- beyond being just kind- for
helping you." 
Jimin looks back again, this time to look at Yoongi, and the black haired man
stares blankly in return. 
"And what was your reason..?" Jimin so carefully manages to ask. He prays that
Jungkook won’t ask them again, about how Yoongi survived the rain, Jimin is
sure he wouldn’t be able to survive the question another time. 
"I want to...” Jungkook coughs, “I want to join you both..”
“Join us?”
“In what you do on that bed.. all those sounds you make..”
Jimin flushes a deep red, his fingers going up to cover his mouth, which holds
a small ‘o’ shape. He really can’t find many words to mind, nor sounds to
mouth, to supply any kind of reasonable response to Jungkook, who stands there
wordlessly and thoughtlessly as well. They’re blank to the eyes in expression,
and though blushes cover both of their cheeks, neither shift their feet closer,
or farther apart. Jimin can hear Yoongi from the background, which had faded to
him, but now reestablishes itself as present with him. Finally, Jimin does
shift, only to look behind him at Yoongi, who as well holds a stunned face,
looking back at Jimin and then to the youngest of them, who’s stilled himself
completely just in front of the doorway. 
The tension between the three of them is of course stifling, but beyond that,
there’s a sense of curiousness. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s the only one who feels
that twinge of interest that grows from first his mind, down to pollute his
body with the same kind of questioning need along his skin and into the deepest
parts of his being. Jungkook does grow tired of the standing, of the staring at
one another, the twitches of eyebrows raised, the flicker of a perked lip to
the idea. 
“I can go, if you’d like that hyungs,” Jungkook blurts, in a tone rushed and
breathy. 
“No,” Yoongi says, his first words in the boy’s presence, “don’t leave.”
Jimin glances at the eldest, as if trying to understand that they’re both on
the same page, then turning to Jungkook who nervously looks between them both. 
“Right, like Yoongi said, you don’t have to go. Not just yet.”
There’s an awkward tension, that’s for certain, as Jungkook furrows his
inquisitive brow, finding the words to ask if they mean what he thinks they
mean. Jimin doesn’t wait for him to ask that question though, saving him any
longer of the frozen standing and hollowed expression. Jimin takes a quick few
steps closer to the younger, and before either of them can really register the
ministrations, Jimin’s lips press against Jungkook’s. The younger is at first
taken aback, his feet wobbling and his knees caving, but as the elder presses
against him incessantly, arms supporting his waist and fingers digging into his
sides, Jungkook lets himself relax into the kiss. The kiss soon grows
exhilarating, their breathes exchanging, their skin molding together with the
tilt of Jimin’s chin to reach Jungkook’s height, the heat off the younger’s
skin that burns into the elder. 
Yoongi sits still on the bed, not daring to let himself move or even twitch,
watching the two boy’s tongues circle each other, before their mouths cave each
other in once again. He finds it nearly beautiful, the way the darkness of the
room shadows them both, in a haze of both their own shadows, but as well their
lust that doesn’t yet shine through completely. They fit well, with Jimin’s
smaller heigh, his straining neck to reach Jungkook’s mouth that devours him
throughly, the sweetness of Jimin that Yoongi can imagine on both his and the
younger’s tongue. 
They break slowly, not in a harsh movement, but slow trickles. Their making out
fades away to a brief kisses, and then a final peck, to which Jimin licks his
lips of. Slowly, the older turns, his blush there but throughly hidden in the
darkness that grows in each passing minute. Yoongi looks bak at him, holding a
bare look to his eyes, his mouth flat, and Jimin slowly grows nervous under the
eldest’s impending gaze. 
“Hyung-” he starts, but Yoongi cuts him off almost immediately. 
“Both of you, come over here.” 
The two share a glance, before Jungkook takes the first step towards Yoongi,
with Jimin trailing him to end up sitting on the other side of Yoongi, his
right taken up by Jungkook who slouches. 
“So you’re okay with what Jungkook asked for?” Jimin quietly asks. 
“As long as you are,” Yoongi replies. Jungkook just watches them both, trying
to maintain a neutral expression, but the nervousness to him shining through
clearly. 
“I am,” Jimin reassures. 
The eldest nods, “We’re waisting time then.”
Yoongi doesn’t flinch in turning from Jimin to look at Jungkook, leaning
forward until they’re just breathes apart. 
“Survive the rain? Survive here?” Yoongi asked, hushed, so Jimin can just
barely pick up on the sound of his voice, Yoongi’s words cascading the side of
Jungkook’s cheek, husky and in hot puffs of breath. 
Shiveres run down Jungkook’s spine with Yoongi’s closeness, with his questions
that reek havoc on his entire being. “Y-yes..?” he manages to mumble back, into
Yoongi’s jaw line. 
But Yoongi just kisses him as his response, leaving the question on both their
tongues, which mingle each other in their kiss. The kiss is fueled in the
lingering of Jungkook’s curiousness, in all the things Yoongi hasn’t told him.
Jimin watches them together, they fit as well as Jimin and Jungkook do,
Jungkook’s form larger than Yoongi’s but easily submitting to elder who always
incessantly presses closer, until Jungkook’s completely flat on the bed. Jimin
shuffles to sit on his knees at the end of the bed, Yoongi moving as well to
crouch over Jungkook, who lays splayed along the disheveled duvet. Yoongi
always looks his best when he’s between a boy’s legs, and he positions himself
as so, Jungkook’s thick and clenching thighs raised so as to nearly go over
Yoongi’s shoulders. 
Their lips connect once again, with now quiet whines from Jungkook that mold
into the elder’s lips. Jimin can feel his arousal growing, with each sound
that’s evoked from Jungkook’s high voice, to the wet sound of their lips on
each other’s. His cock twitches as he watches them, heat pooling in his abdomen
with the lust that is ever present, slowly scorching his nerves, then his
tendons, and burning straight to his bone. 
Yoongi’s hips slowly begin to move against Jungkook’s, their clothing just
teasing them for more friction. Jungkook lets out a shrewd moan, and Jimin can
feel his cock jump in response, raising a tent in his blouse. Jungkook’s legs
go around Yoongi’s waist, the smaller effectively caged in by the muscled
thighs that are clad in loose trousers that ride up his legs. Jungkook’s skin
up to his knee is for show, and Jimin’s eyes devour him throughly. Jungkook’s
skin is pale, maybe it’s the dark lighting that really brings them out, but he
nearly glows like the moon around Yoongi’s shadowed figure. The younger’s
fingers have wound their way up to tug at Yoongi’s hair and the back of the
elder’s neck as they continue kissing, and Jimin can just barely note the
faintest moans from Yoongi as Jungkook pulls particularly hard on his hair. 
Jimin dares bringing his hand down to massage at his small little cock through
the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt. He knows that Yoongi will be upset with him for
dirtying his clothes when the night shifts to morning and reality dawns on
them, but in the moment, Jimin’s mind is a haze of his logic battling
his needs. Soon his lust wins, and his soft palm cradles his shaft, beginning
to rub and pump it to the minuscule pace that Jungkook and Yoongi have set for
their hips to drilling thrust against each other. The whole scene is beautiful,
though maybe not poetic, but at least beautiful in all of their obscured
figures, graceful limbs that fold over and fit each other, another of Jimin,
lounged back on one hand extended, the other grazing his protruding desire. The
moment passes by in slow motion, the only thing that seems to matter any longer
are the noises from a breathless Jungkook, and the slight creaking of the cot. 
The eldest finally breaks from his and Jungkook’s little world they’d created,
turning to Jimin, his lips red from kissing and his cheeks puffy.
“I would never forgot about you baby.” Yoongi says this pulling Jimin to him,
effortlessly hiking up the blouse so it exposes Jimin’s cute little cock that’s
flushed and wet with precum along his slit. Yoongi doesn’t say anything about
how his shirt has a small stain from Jimin’s cock, he just wraps his hand
around Jimin’s length and starts stroking him. Jungkook watches them, his chest
heaving and his legs still spread with a bulge in his loose pants. 
“Why don’t you take off those horribly ugly trousers while I pay some attention
to Jiminie?” Yoongi suggests to Jungkook, a small smirk flickering along his
lips as he watches Jungkook’s expression turn from surprise to strong lust.
Jungkook does just as commanded, his eyes not falling from watching Yoongi’s
talented hand work in circles over the head of Jimin’s plump cock, and then
down his small but thick length. The youngest kicks out of his pants and
quickly flushes when both Yoongi and Jimin notice he wasn’t wearing any
underwear. Jungkook makes a move to cover his hard cock from their eyes, but
Yoongi reaches out with his free hand to stop Jungkook’s wrist from moving. 
“Do you think I don’t like your cock?” Yoongi asks, taking on a offended tone
to his bold words. Jungkook shakes his head quickly, eyes wide.
“No... it’s j-just embarrassing..”
“Don’t say that, you look fucking delicious Jungkook, don’t dare cover yourself
up, I’ll have Jiminie watching you just to make sure you don’t or you’ll be
punished.”
Jungkook takes an audible gulp before nodding his head vigorously. Yoongi nods
back, before turning to Jimin once again. He connects their lips, pressing hard
against his lover as the younger tries to kiss back sufficiently. Jimin is weak
against the elder, more dominate, and he can only mange flicking his tongue to
match Yoongi’s talented one. Yoongi somehow manages to press always closer, his
hand squeezing around the base of Jimin’s cock that causes Jimin to snap out a
sharp moan. He bucks his hips without control nor much thought, just desperate
for Yoongi to keep touching him, not deny him of the pleasure that always
builds on itself towards his orgasm. 
“No honey,” Yoongi warns, in a calm voice, that saunters Jimin’s shaking form
and sweaty skin. “I won’t be letting you cum for a long while, not until I
throughly fuck you and my own cum is dripping out of your pretty little ass can
you cum.”
Jimin moans from the elder’s words alone, nodding his head as his plump lips
part with the liquid noise. Jimin’s eyelashes flutter, drifting to a close as
Yoongi lets him fuck his hand. 
“Babe, don’t close your eyes, you have to make sure Jungkook is completely bare
and showing himself off for when I get to touching him,” Yoongi reminds Jimin,
kissing down the side of Jimin’s soft, heated skin. Jimin whines a faint ‘yes,’
his eyes opening completely again. 
He looks over Yoongi’s shoulder to see Jungkook, the boy is bare, how Yoongi
wants him, with his arms spread to showcase the muscles of his forearms, the
veins that protrude his milky skin. He really does look delicious. His skin
sleek, nearly hairless beyond the trimmed black pubic hair around his cock. His
cock is as flushed as Jimin’s, if not more, hard against his flat stomach, the
veins popping from his skin, his slit dribbling precum that trails down his
balls. His thighs clench and unclench as he watches Jimin right back, his eyes
mostly focused on Jimin’s cock getting wonderfully manhandled by Yoongi’s
garbled palm. He seems to be a complete embodiment of sensuality, up to even
his lips, which his teeth mull over and nip at, his tongue running over the
bottom.
The muscles, divots and curves that make up Jungkook’s body are nearly
flawless, flowing with each other well to give him a nearly sculpted
appearance, like one of the King’s statues on either side of the main doors of
the castle, which Jimin had only seen once on the outside of the wall.
Jungkook’s eyes hold a look beyond that of pure sex-driven lust, something of
serene bliss, a calm that Jimin hasn’t seen in him before. 
Jimin hates to admit it, or even think of it, tries to fight the thoughts that
clash the pleasure of Yoongi’s hand. It’s incessant though, the nagging words
that sit in his mind. Jimin hates to admit it but... he can see Jungkook’s
appeal to the King, why the King would favor the boy over him. He doesn’t think
too deeply of it, but it’s there. The black haired boy is everything in
appearance to convey the ultimate pureness, his eyes are wide with innocence,
and his skin is clean of blemishes from age or the harsh world. Though Jimin
had tried to cover how he’s aging, no number of organs could he have eaten to
save him from the gravity that pulls the face down, that sags the skin, even
when still in some aspect of his youth, only late twenties. Jungkook though,
effortlessly, he is everything that the elder’s envy of the youth, the
youth’s soft hair to their even softer skin. 
Jimin manges to push the King from his mind, he lets his carnal ecstasy win
over the endless thoughts that trail the expanse of his brain. 
Yoongi lets Jimin roll his hips into his cupped hand one last time before
moving back to Jungkook. Jungkook eagerly twitches when his hyung’s eyes are on
him again, his hips can barely stay to the bed without shooting up in little
bursts of his uncontrollable arousal. 
“Come over here Jiminie, I want you to show the youngest how good you taste,”
Yoongi commands, though his voice isn’t harsh, his words are stern and solid.
Jimin shuffles on his knees to do as told, nervously looking down at Jungkook’s
pretty face before swinging one leg over Jungkook’s, hovering over the boy’s
face. 
“Do you want him to suck my cock? Or eat my little hole..?” Jimin asks quietly,
covering his embarrassed face with his chubby fingers. Yoongi has positioned
himself between the boy’s legs again, this time his mouth poised by Jungkook’s
cock, trailing kisses down the boy’s taught skin of his inner thigh. 
“Whatever you’d like most Minnie,” Yoongi laxly says. His kisses turn to
sucking into Jungkook’s skin, which the younger doesn’t resist in how he would
when the King does the same. Jimin looks back down to Jungkook’s face between
his own spread legs, the devious expression in the younger’s eyes, that just
dares Jimin to try him out. Jimin somehow finds himself flushing even deeper
than before, their eyes watching each other’s for either of them to back down
on the challenge they’ve both silently proposed. 
Jimin slowly lets his tensed thighs lower him closer to Jungkook’s mouth, and
before he can even seat himself fully on Jungkook’s face the younger darts his
tongue out to lick up Jimin’s balls and up his shaft. Jimin lets out a sharp
squeak in surprise from the sudden rush of pleasure, his fingers scrambling to
find purchase on Jungkook’s hair, and when safely nestled in his locks, he tugs
tirelessly. 
Yoongi’s sucking on Jungkook’s thighs turns to little bites and nips, trailing
his teeth farther and farther until his mouth is on Jungkook’s sharp hipbone.
When there he sucks harder, only satisfied with his work when Jungkook has
purple hickeys along both his hipbones and everywhere in between them. The
boy’s thighs clench and quiver, desperate for the elder to just touch him where
he wants. 
When Yoongi’s lips finally wrap around Jungkook’s head, Jungkook’s tongue
starts to lick into Jimin’s hole. The boy’s hole is already stretched out from
Yoongi and his’ earlier session, but the feeling of the younger’s tongue
fucking into him still sends shivers up his spine. Jungkook’s talented with his
tongue, that’s obvious to Jimin as pleasure shoots along his thighs that strain
to hold his weight off of Jungkook, the boy is just nearly as good as Yoongi.
Yoongi is an expert though, sucking onto Jungkook’s sensitive head, his tongue
flicking the boy’s slit and smearing the precum in idle circles before delving
down on his length completely. Jungkook jumps with the sudden rush of euphoria,
bucking his tongue further into Jimin, which has Jimin whaling in his high
pitch. 
They’re all breathing deeply, heaving breathes as they force themselves to
endure the constant and incessant pleasure. They’re all young enough to have
strong endurances though, sweat pooling their brows and yet their hips and
mouths keep at it. Yoongi’s own hand works his cock through the pants he still
wears as he sucks Jungkook off. He grants Jungkook the feeling of his deep
growls going along the younger’s cock, they have the boy visibly convulsing
with the extra vibrations of the noise. 
“Mm, Yoongi hyung,” Jimin whines, “Can I cum?”
Yoongi harshly pulls off of Jungkook’s cock, the wet noise spreading across the
room, followed by a cute little whine from Jungkook who searches for the heat
of his hyung’s mouth. 
“No one is cuming yet, that’s not allowed. Jimin get off of Jungkook’s face and
I’ll make it so you don’t cum.” 
Jimin bats his eyelashes with a pout but he still raises a leg from over
Jungkook’s face obediently, and crawls on hands and knees to Yoongi. Yoongi
watches him with dark, lustful eyes, his brows scrunched as Jimin raises a hand
to rest on his high thigh, letting his small little hand slide between the
elder’s clenched legs. A hushed growl of warning escapes Yoongi’s pursed lips,
as he stares the pretty boy down. 
Slowly, without words, Yoongi has Jimin raise his arms to take off his blouse
entirely. When the material is off the boy’s pale skin, he rips off a good bit
of it, Jimin watching completely stunned as the valuable piece of clothing is
destroyed right in front of him. Yoongi moves towards Jimin, just a bit closer,
and wraps the material around the base of Jimin’s cock, the younger watching
with wide eyes and mouth parted. 
“This will do at stopping you from cumming until you’re allowed,” Yoongi says,
a small smirk playing at his lips. “Now turn around and show me that pretty ass
of yours baby.”
Jimin barely audibly giggles, a sound that barely peaks through his breath, his
eyes turning to crescent moons. Jimin has always been a sucker for compliments,
and Yoongi dulls out a thick amount of praise. Jimin spins on one knee to arch
his ass closer to Yoongi. The first thing he feels of the elder is the callused
expanse of his hand that slides up his back, between his raised shoulder blades
and to his neck, his fingers pressing into the sides of it, stifling Jimin’s
breath from fully passing through him, while as well using his hold on the
younger’s neck to push Jimin into the sheets so he rests on his puffy cheek. 
While one of Yoongi’s hands stays poised around Jimin’s neck, the other trails
down his back to his ass. Jimin whines with the feeling of Yooongi circling his
soft ass cheek, swaying his hips to invite the elder to touch him more. Jimin’s
mind grows faint, pleasure the only realm of reality he can fully understand
any longer. He rubs his cock against the sheets under him but the tight cloth
sufficiently cutting off an orgasm. Yoongi’s hand leaves his ass for a moment
and in the next a sharp, exhilarating pain spreads along Jimin’s skin with the
sound of the harsh spank resounding along the hallow walls of the room.
Jungkook sits up to watch the scene better, throughly intrigued with Yoongi’s
dominance and the beautiful sounds of Jimin’s muffled whines and whimpers. 
“Hit him again hyung,” Jungkook quietly comments, biting his lip with a quirked
brow. Yoongi looks up from his gaze of Jimin’s ass to look at the eager boy
before him. He smiles, his eyes crinkling, then turns his attention back to
Jimin who circles his hips for fervently for attention. 
Yoongi spanks him again, the opposite cheek this time, and there’s a slight
redness in the shape of his hand that bubbles the surface of Jimin’s skin. The
boy below him loudly whimpers, clenching his fists into the sheets, sounding
throughly and completely wrecked already. 
“How many more do you think he can take?” Yoongi asks Jungkook, as if Jimin
can’t hear them both over him. 
“Two more on each cheek, alternating.”
Yoongi nods, massaging his hand over the fading red on Jimin’s flesh, he moves
his hand to the other cheek, making Jimin shiver with the pulsing
anticipation. 
“Ahhh, Yoongi hyung, please do it again,” Jimin squeaks, sounding as if he’ll
shatter if he doesn’t have more from Yoongi right now. 
“You know you’ll get anything you from me baby,” Yoongi says, leaning down to
press a chaste kiss at the side of Jimin’s hip. He raises his hand and spanks
him again then. Jimin visibly moves up the bed from the force of Yoongi’s hand,
his plump ass cheek turning completely red as he whales into the sheets.
Jungkook scoots himself closer, grabbing onto Jimin’s head and laying it in his
lap, both of Yoongi’s hands on Jimin’s ass now. Yoongi fully leans forward,
licking at the irritated flesh, sucking on Jimin’s soft, heated skin that
stings with a horribly addicting pleasure. Yoongi manages to calm Jimin’s
breathing somewhat, the younger’s faint cries turning to moans once again. 
“Was that too much Minnie?” Yoongi mumbles into JImin’s skin, kissing it
passionately. Jimin faintly nods, whining into the skin of Jungkook’s thigh. 
“Just... just a little gentler next time, but I can handle it, please continue
hyung.”
Jungkook’s fingers comb through Jimin’s sweaty locks, then graze the sides of
his cheeks. “You’re doing wonderfully hyung,” Jungkook says to the elder who
nuzzles against the inside of his leg. Jimin’s fingers come up to grab onto the
sides of Jungkook’s thighs, digging into the supple flesh in listening to the
younger’s complement. 
Yoongi spanks the other cheek, and without sparing Jimin a moment to process
it, he’s onto the other, and then the other and then it stops all together. 
Jimin is drooling on Jungkook’s leg, and both his ass cheeks are red and
prickled with goose bumps. The moans from Jimin’s mouth run like an endless
watering can, loud and undiluted. Yoongi sits back, admiring his work as his
hands trail the expanse of Jimin’s flesh, a proud smirk on Yoongi’s mouth. 
“You did well Jiminie,” Yoongi praises with a light laugh, jokingly giving
Jimin one last light slap across his backside, the younger whining with the
ministration. 
Jungkook raises Jimin’s head from his lap, wiping his finger across the elder’s
lip to clean the spit from the side of his mouth. Jimin smiles dazedly, siting
up a bit on his sore ass and pressing closer to Jungkook, connecting their lips
into a heated but sloppy kiss of exchanged moans and spit that trails both
their chins now. The eldest sits back, watching them make out until Jimin ends
up sitting fully on Jungkook’s lap with his hands digging into the younger’s
hair and scraping down his back. Jungkook somehow becomes louder in his whines
than Jimin, pressing their bare chests together and giving desperate little
thrusts of his cock against Jimin’s. 
“I’ll help you boys out,” Yoongi mumbles, mostly to himself, as he knows
they’re too far gone to really hear him. He reaches out his hand and grabs onto
both their cocks, pressing them together. He pumps them both with the rhythm of
their frantic lips and panting moans. Yoongi’s rough hand is perfect along both
their pretty, wet cocks, their precum leaking along each other and down his
knuckle. 
When their lips finally part it’s only because Jungkook is moaning too deeply
into Jimin’s mouth to effectively kiss back. He looks down at their cocks
rubbing against each other within the hold of Yoongi’s hand and can’t seem to
process the amount of pleasure that courses his veins. 
“Y-Yoongi.. you know how you don’t want Jiminie hyung to cum yet? Can I not cum
yet either..?” he asks, voice a higher pitch and so innocent. 
Yoongi smiles back at him, stopping his hand’s movements. “Yes, Kookie, you’re
right. You can’t cum yet.”
Jungkook whimpers helplessly, his head tossing back with the effort of holding
himself back. He bites his lip with the effort he puts in, but does pull his
hand away from his aching cock and his glassy eyes watch his Hyung, tears
threatening to fall in his desperateness. 
“In fact,” Yoongi smirks, “Turn around Jungkook, face your ass towards me, and
pull Jiminie under you.”
Jungkook gulps, turning so his ass is on display for his prying hyung’s eyes.
Jiminie whines while he shuffles to lay underneath Jungkook how Yoongi wants
him. He spreads his sweat sleek thighs around Jungkook’s narrow waist, his
fingers reaching up to curl into the locks of the younger’s hair. Jungkook’s
eyes are nervous, timid, wide and shadowed, looking down at his elder, and
flinch when Yoongi trails his fingernails down his exposed back. 
“Hyung...” Jungkook moans in a frail voice, small and shaking in his sudden
shyness. Jimin and Yoongi don’t know which hyung he is referring to. Jimin’s
hand falls from Jungkook’s hair to cup his soft, round cheek. 
“Don’t be scared,” Jimin whispers, sitting up just enough for his lips to reach
Jungkook’s. Their kiss deepens, Jimin swallowing the fearful little mewls that
escape the boy that leans over him. Yoongi takes Jungkook’s distraction as the
perfect time to suck on his own finger, wetting it before he spits onto
Jungkook’s ass. Jungkook jolts in surprise with the feeling, leaning back into
the kiss as Yoongi circles his rim carefully. 
“The King doesn’t much... prep you, does he?” Jimin asks along the line of
Jungkook’s lips, keeping his voice light. He does regret his question once it’s
out, he knows the answer well enough already.
The younger’s face twists with the mention of the King, “Don’t mention him,” he
says, whimpering quietly with the sudden intrusion of Yoongi’s finger sliding
slowly into him until knuckle deep. “He isn’t good to any of us, he isn’t any
better to me than you or Yoongi hyung.”
Jimin nods, holding Jungkook still with both hands, kissing away the tears that
begin to spill, with both the torment of adjusting to Yoongi’s finger in him,
and the thought of the god awful King. 
“It’ll feel much better if you’re ready,” Jimin says, going back to kissing
Jungkook fully, “I was scared too.” 
Jungkook kisses back, maybe sloppy, but the moans he spills into Jimin are
worth it. Yoongi pumps into the younger slowly, keeping the pace so gentle
until the younger’s hips begin to pick up the pace on his own, moving with
Yoongi until he starts whining for more. 
“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says in a voice that grows deeper by each word, “you’re
doing so well. Are you ready for a second finger?”
Jungkook moans back as his answer, the noise swallowed by Jimin’s needy mouth
which devours the noises that Jungkook spares him. Yoongi wets his middle
finger, keeping his index fucking into Jungkook consistently. When he gages it
wet enough, he aligns it by Jungkook’s spread hole, pushing it in along with
the other. Jungkook breaks from his and Jimin’s kiss to let out a moan that
crescendos into nearly a scream, cracking his voice as it reaches a higher
pitch. Jimin brushes through the younger’s hair to calm the panting boy,
bringing his face down to burrow in the crook of Jimin’s neck. 
“Baby, you’re doing so good, you’re taking Yoongi’s fingers perfectly, I knew
you were going to be well behaved, my beautiful little boy,” Jimin praises into
the younger’s ear, combing over his sweaty locks. Jungkook whines, circling his
hips with Yoongi’s fingers that pick up pace once again to fuck into him harder
than before. Jimin feels the black haired boy’s hand trail down his chest,
finding Jimin’s neglected cock to pump with the rocking of his hips with
Yoongi’s thrusts. 
Jimin’s voice cracks into a moan, Jungkook’s hand though not skilled, still
firm on his length, sliding over it to send ricocheting shoots of euphoria
through Jimin. The pleasure overrides the pain when Jungkook bites into the
crook of Jimin’s neck when Yoongi adds his third finger. A sharp whimper breaks
from Jungkook’s mouth as he kisses over the new wound he’s created in Jimin’s
milky skin. Jimin smoothes over the back of Jungkook’s hair, holding the boy
even closer as the his hips move with Yoongi’s hand, malleable to the elder’s
ministrations. 
“You make me feel so good, Jungkook,” Jimin murmurs into the younger’s ear,
thrusting his little cock into the other’s palm. “’S good...”
“Hyung...” Jungkook moans, thrusting his ass back onto Yoongi’s fingers, his
hand working in tighter circles of Jimin’s cock. “Yoongi hyung, if you don’t
fuck me now, I’ll need a cock ring like Jiminie hyung to keep myself from
cumming...”
Yoongi pulls his fingers from Jungkook harshly then, a mewl following from
Jungkook in his neediness. The eldest slaps Jungkook’s ass harshly, to see the
soft skin ripple, a mild red spreading around the area. Yoongi growls at the
scene below him, reaching down to massage his cock that aches against the
confining trousers he still has on- only to his own discomfort. He quickly
pulls the pants down enough so that his leaking cock can spring from the fabric
to strain against his taught abdomen. Jungkook turns his head to look behind
himself to Yoongi, and then down to the elder’s pale cock with a flushed tip.
It’d be an understatement to say that the younger started salivating at the
sight of the elder’s member. In reality, drool pools at his tongue at the
sight, and some spills down his chin. 
“Oh baby,” Yoongi smiles, “Is it really that pretty of a cock?” 
Jungkook audibly gulps with a short nod, he wiggles his ass in anticipation, a
growing need for that cock to just fuck into him already. Yoongi gives a deep
sigh when he takes his cock into his hand, stroking it quickly only to regret
that, already feeling the tension in his thighs with the growing sensation to
cum. He takes his length fully into his palm, moving it to trail along
Jungkook’s ass. Jungkook tenses with the feeling of Yoongi’s cock against the
side of one ass cheek, moving to the other, and then sliding to where he wants
him. 
Jungkook doesn’t get what he wants though. Yoongi stops himself with the head
of his cock circling Jungkook’s rim. 
“Ahh, hyung, please fuck me now, stop teasing...” the younger whines, quite
loudly, tucking his head back to the crook of Jimin’s neck. Jungkook
is overridden with his own lust for the two elders, trying to fuck himself back
on Yoongi’s dick only to have the elder pull away from him. 
“I’ll fuck you once you prep Minnie,” Yoongi says. 
Jungkook gasps, raising his head from the protecting warmth of the elder under
him. “Prepare him for... what?”
“So you can fuck Jiminie while I’m fucking you,” Yoongi blandly states, a small
smirk crossing his lips. Jungkook’s eyes widen, looking from the eldest back
down to the boy under him. 
“You don’t have to to worry if you’ll it quite right, Jimin is still stretched
out from our earlier time together, isn’t that right baby?”
Jimin blushes, flicking his eyes away from the elders. “That’s right...”
“See Jungkook, it’ll be fine, just wet your first finger and go slow on Jiminie
like I’ve done for you.”
Jungkook slowly nods, bringing his hand- that was wrapped around Jimin’s cock-
to his mouth. He sucks his index finger first. 
“It tastes like you Jimin,” Jungkook says, removing the finger and slowly
bringing it to JImin’s hole. The older boy beneath him smiles, with a blush,
and spreads his legs farther for the younger’s convenience. Jungkook is timid,
but under the watchful eye of Yoongi behind him, and the fluttering lashes
Jimin peaks up at him through, Jungkook musters the courage to slowly push his
first finger into Jimin. 
A soft cry escapes Jimin with the intrusion, he’s only barely loose from
before, still incredibly tight around Jungkook’s finger filling him up. 
“Don’t linger too long,” Yoongi says, circling his cock around Jungkook’s hole
to remind him of the urgency. “Jimin is a needy little thing, desperate to be
filled, he can take you going a bit faster.”
To that, Jungkook starts to pump his finger in and out of Jimin, so only the
tip of his finger stays in before shoving the rest back into Jimin, eliciting
quiet little whimpers and bucks of the elder’s hips. 
“Ahh, Jungkook, another please, I need m-more..” Jimin whines, wiggling his
head around the sheets under him.
“He can take anything you give him,” Yoongi says, stroking over Jungkook’s ribs
to ease his nervousness. “Give Jimin what he wants, he’s been a good boy.”
Jungkook nods, humming quietly, teasing a second finger around Jimin’s
stretched hole, before slowly pushing it in beside the other. Jimin squeaks,
rolling his hips to push himself down on Jungkook’s fingers more. Though the
feeling is pleasurable and Jimin does seek that extra spark of euphoria, it’s
more that Jimin is desperate to impress, and if taking in more of Jungkook’s
length will impress the younger boy, or even the elder behind the boy, he
eagerly does so. Jungkook raises a brow, smirking at the elder who finds
leverage in fucking himself onto Jungkook’s fingers by planting his feet on the
bed and thrusting his hips down on the younger’s fingers until effectively
reaching his prostate. 
“See, Jungkook, our Jiminie is always a slut for being filled up.” The eldest
lightly slaps Jungkook’s ass, as maybe a reward for the younger doing so well
at pleasuring Jimin. Jungkook moans at the contact he’d been lacking, not
noticing the sudden thrust he gives of his fingers into Jimin. Jimin shrieks
with the sudden thrust that’s harder than the previous, but the sound quickly
melds into a drawn out whimper. 
“A-another,” Jimin pants. “Quickly, Jungkook, so you can get on to fucking me
already.”
Jungkook doesn’t pride himself on resisting command- but maybe that’s only for
the commands he wants to follow. He plants a hand on Jimin’s hip to keep him
steady, and the other two fingers in the elder begin to scissor slowly. Jimin’s
back arches, spreading his legs even wider to accommodate the stretch. 
“Add more spit so it won’t hurt him,” Yoongi says. Jungkook spits onto his
third finger and the two already in Jimin. 
“I don’t want this to hurt at all Jimin, I want you to feel good,” Jungkook
says assuredly, scissoring until Jimin is loose around the fingers in him.
Jimin nods in response, reaching up to bring Jungkook closer, close enough to
tease a kiss along the tip of the younger’s nose. 
“Nothing will hurt more than being without you for any longer.”
Jungkook combs through Jimin’s hair in return, leaning down to kiss the older
boy’s cheek, his soft cheek, then his button nose, next his lips, puffy with
biting at them. The kiss depends, with Jimin’s tongue twirling along
Jungkook’s. And the younger adds his third finger, Jimin’s moan only for him,
swallowed by the kiss, precious but brief. Jungkook’s thrusts quicken, Jimin
taking it with grace, his head thrown back and his moans flooding the room. 
Yoongi rubs his cock against Jungkook’s hole, pumping himself slowly with the
pace that Jungkook thrusts into Jimin. 
“Are you ready Jimin? Hyung is getting so desperately impatient,” Yoongi says,
slapping his cock on either side of Jungkook’s ass. 
“Ahh, yes I’m ready hyung, I’m sorry...”
Jungkook quickly glances behind himself to Yoongi, a question on his tongue.
Yoongi leans forward, kissing the nervous boy softly, softer than Jungkook
could ever gage Yoongi to kiss. 
“Jimin will be good to you, I know you haven’t done this before but he will go
slowly with you and I will too.”
It’s hard to see this Yoongi as the same person who had yelled at Jungkook on
the horse-training field. The sky must have cleared enough to allow the sun to
ease Yoongi of the darkness he’d held in his heart and words. Sometimes it’s
like that, Jungkook supposes, the Kingdom clouded in the angst the staff holds
to so dearly. 
Jungkook nods to Yoongi’s words, the ones his lips trail along Jungkook’s, and
he leans away to look back to Jimin beneath him. 
“You look beautiful like this Jimin,” Jungkook whispers, taking hold of his
cock in one hand and the other slowly sliding its three fingers from Jimin.
Jimin lets out a slow breath with the loss, raising his hips slightly, ready
for what he really wants from Jungkook. Though nervous, Jungkook’s cock is
still dripping with arousal and rock hard, he gradually leans closer to Jimin,
until his the tip is aligned with Jimin’s flexing hole. Jungkook holds his
breath as slowly he pushes  his cock into the elder, holding the base and his
hips poised so as not to hurt Jimin with any sudden movements. He’s antsy with
both anticipation, and his nervousness, creating the sudden pleasure that
envelopes him all the more consuming, prickling at his insides and fiery in his
tensing muscles.
“You’re doing wonderfully Jungkookie, my darling,” Jimin hums, doing his best
to relax his muscles to let the younger in until they’re skin to skin. Jungkook
shivers with the effort he puts in to holding himself back from just pounding
into Jimin, once his length is fully enveloped in the warm tightness of Jimin,
restraint seems nearly pointless. Perhaps it’d been incomprehensible to
Jungkook before, the pleasure that courses his veins now, why anyone would want
this so much. Now he understands the urge, the addiction that so easily blooms
in his head. Slowly, torturously, he pulls himself along Jimin’s walls until
only his head is still inside of Jimin, only to push back in quickly to elicit
a delicious moan from Jimin and his own whimper with the feeling along his
length. 
“I’m ready Yoongi, please fuck me,” Jungkook says. He hears Yoongi taking his
pants full off then. And there isn’t any more hesitation followed, nor really
any response from Yoongi at all- besides spitting onto his dick before casually
sliding into Jungkook’s ass. The younger’s voice cracks, with the
overstimulating pleasure of having both his cock eaten by Jimin’s tight hole,
and Yoongi’s thick cock filling him up to the brim. The eldest pushes in until
he bottoms out in the black haired boy, who throws his head back far enough so
Yoongi can pant next to his ear. 
“You’re fucking tight, Jungkook,” Yoongi growls, his already deep voice having
dropped an entire octave. 
“Is t-that bad..?” Jungkook asks quietly, leaning into Yoongi, his breath on
the elder’s cheek, and his hips pushing back on his dick.
“Honey, that is the best.”
Jimin whines from below Jungkook, urging him to continue fucking him with
little wiggles of his hips. Yoongi thrusts into Yoongi, holding the younger’s
hips and moving them to fuck into Jimin, picking up a pace to jar Jungkook
forward enough so that his hips pump into Jimin, sliding off Yoongi’s cock
enough for him to thrust into him again. The room is swarmed with their moans,
at all different octaves, Yoongi’s deep growl into Jungkook’s ear, Jungkook’s
needy moan followed by Jimin’s high pitched whine. 
Jungkook feels euphoria drowning him, his body being used in so many ways at
once that his mind can hardly process the extent of his gratification. There
wasn’t a mistake in him coming to Jimin’s corridor, not a mistake in asking to
join them, because they ease the pain that has been shadowing him since he’d
arrived at this very castle. It doesn’t disappear in his bliss, as no mourning
ever really can, but it’s eased enough for Jungkook’s mind only to repeat two
words over and over: Jimin, Yoongi, Jimin, Yoongi. He starts to think those are
the only two words he ever really has to know any longer. 
“You’re doing so good Jungkook,” Yoongi says, followed by Jimin saying, “Yes,
so well, you’re fucking me so well, baby.”
Jungkook feels a heavier wave of euphoria pass through him with the sound of
their praise. He never wants to disappoint, never wants to fail anyone after
what he’d done to his grandmother. Maybe that’s a reason he’d submitted to the
King’s needs of him. But now he feels he has a purpose beyond just submitting
and being a toy, to do well for his two hyungs, impress them, show them his
strength. 
Yoongi’s pace quickens, which then effectively quickens Jungkook’s. The sound
of skin slapping echoes the bare room, their voices an accompaniment. 
“Can I untie the cloth from Jimin’s cock?” Jungkook innocently asks while
backing himself up to fuck onto Yoongi’s cock until his soft ass cheeks press
against Yoongi’s pale, tensed abdomen. Jungkook wiggles his butt a little to
have his way. Jimin whines with Jungkook’s words, nodding into the duvet in his
need to cum. Yoongi growls harshly, slapping Jungkook’s ass and thrusting into
him suddenly to have Jungkook shudder in surprise as his prostate is attacked. 
“I know what you’re trying to do Jungkook, trying to persuade me. We only just
got started though.”
Jungkook mewls, letting his head fall to Jimin’s warm neck, latching onto it as
he lets himself get fucked viciously. He sucks at Jimin’s skin first, but
Yoongi works into him vigorously, and Jungkook slowly begins to bite. 
“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re wrecked, both of you are,” Yoongi
praises, his hands finding purchase on Jungkook’s hips. Jungkook easily lets
the elder pound him as he does, letting his limbs fall loose to be only a body
to be used. Of course, he wants to be that for Yoongi, he can’t really think of
anyone else he’d let use him like this. The thrusts from Yoongi are enough jolt
Jungkook’s hips forward to fuck into Jimin, who rolls his hips to use
Jungkook’s stomach as friction against his aching cock. 
“Fuck, Yoongi, please! I want to keep going but I feel like I’m gonna
cum.. please let me cum hyung..” Jungkook whimpers. 
Yoongi smiles, leaning down to press his chest against Jungkook’s sweaty back,
jerking his hips roughly into the younger boy’s pretty ass. 
“I’ll ask you again baby, do you need a cockring too?”
“N-no hyung,” Jungkook says, kissing along the mark his teeth have left in
Jimin’s sweet skin. “But what can I do for you to let me cum?”
There is a moment that Yoongi pauses, and then he pulls his cock out of
Jungkook completely, the younger suddenly whining with the loss, giving a
desperate little thrust into Jimin for more pleasure to return. 
“Get up Jungkook,” Yoongi says, giving Jungkook’s ass a little slap before he
leans back on the bed away from the younger two boys. Jungkook follows orders,
pulling himself out of Jimin and then sitting up, Jimin doing the same. 
“Yoongi hyung, this is absolute torture, when will you let us cum, my little
cock hurts so much,” Jimin says, adding a pout to make his words even more
pleading. 
“Let Jungkook ride you, and you can suck me off,” Yoongi answers. Jimin’s eyes
widen, looking to Jungkook who glances between them both. 
“Okay.”
Jimin lies down where he had before, this time with his legs straightened.
Jungkook shuffles over to him on his knees, black hair falling over his eyes,
making the boy look mysterious. He straddles the older’s lap quickly, and
Yoongi looking at the younger’s cock can see the urgency he has, only so he can
just cum already. Jungkook grabs onto Jimin’s cock, harshly but the elder
doesn’t have much of a reaction to the rough treatment, wanting to cum just as
bad, if not more with the cloth still around his base. With tensed thighs,
Jungkook slowly sinks onto Jimin’s short, thick cock, moaning with the feeling
of a different cock in him. Yoongi strokes himself slowly to the scene before
him, of Jimin bottoming out in Jungkook, the younger’s legs spread to either
side of Jimin’s hips, shuddering slowly before raising himself only slightly to
drop back down on the elder’s cock again. He gets faster and faster with riding
Jimin until he’s bouncing on the older boy’s cock and the bed jumps with their
movement. 
“Come over here Yoongi,” Jimin calls, in between his frequent moans.
Somewhere between Jimin and Yoongi’s second or third round their first night
together, Yoongi had let Jimin fuck him into the sheets. That had been Jimin’s
first time fucking someone, this his second. He lets Jungkook do all the work
at first, to get used to the feeling of the younger boy’s cute little ass
swallowing up his cock, but now he starts to thrust his hips up to match the
other. Their pace together is ravenous, desperate, frantic with the growing
lust that sits at their finger tips and the growing pleasure in the thighs and
stomach with the feeling of an approaching orgasm they both have to hold off
from dominating them. 
“Yoongi, please, come here,” Jimin says, now in a much higher pitch that shows
how throughly weak he is. 
Yoongi does go to him this time, lifting one knee to sit on the other side of
Jimin’s face. Yoongi pumps his cock over Jimin’s open mouth, looking behind
himself quickly to see Jungkook riding Jimin ecstatically with heavy sweat
droplets falling down his face. The youngest smiles at him through his
fluttering lashes. 
“Go on hyung, I know Jimin wants you to fuck his throat,” he says, in a teasing
manner, with a slight lilt in how he says ‘hyung.’ It’s effective though,
Jungkook getting Yoongi worked up enough not to tease either him or Jimin
anymore. Yoongi growls, turning away from the boy to look down at Jimin’s
flushed cheeks, pressing forward to watch his cock slide into Jimin’s
waiting mouth. The sight is intoxicating, nearly bringing him to cum with just
the sight, Jimin’s plush lips opened wide, his eyes fluttering closed, Yoongi’s
pale cock disappearing into the boy’s wet warmth. Jimin is overtaken in his
pleasure, with Jungkook squeezing his hole around the elder’s length as he
rides him, with the heaviness of Yoongi’s hard cock along his swirling tongue.
He moans against Yoongi’s length, the cock in his mouth twitching with the
pleasure.
“Ah, oh my god, don’t stop sucking on it like that,” Yoongi moans, one hand
holding onto Jimin’s cheek to push the boy’s mouth farther down on his cock,
and the other going behind him to Jimin’s stomach where Jungkook reaches out
and grabs onto him. Yoongi and Jungkook’s fingers intertwine on the soft skin
of Jimin’s panting chest. Jimin deep throats Yoongi’s cock, the eldest feeling
his tip rub against not the rough roof of Jimin’s throat, but the soft at the
very back. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jiminie, you’re so fucking good at this.”
Jimin moans with the praise, swallowing around the elder’s length to elicit a
harsh growl and Yoongi’s fingers raking through his hair. Jimin pushes Yoongi
off of him enough for Yoongi’s cock to leave his mouth is a tight pop sound.
Jimin takes deep throat fulls of breath, his eyes glassy when looking up at
Yoongi’s. 
“You can fuck my mouth now hyung,” he says. Yoongi lets a brief smile cross his
features, his eyes letting off a bright sparkle in the otherwise shadowed room.
The tight hold on Jimin’s hair loosens to a soft combing of his fingers through
the damp locks. 
“You’re going to do so well for me, Jiminie, I know you will.” 
Yoongi leans in once again, pressing the tip of his cock along Jimin’s soft
bottom lip, the boy drooling for just a taste of his cock. Yoongi suddenly
thrusts all the way in then, the tip of his cock brushing against the back of
Jimin’s throat as the boy quietly chokes on it before recovering as tears spill
down the sides of his cheeks. Yoongi pulls out, his fingers stroking away the
tears with a hum, and the gentleness is a contrast to how he bucks his hips
back into Jimin’s mouth again, starting a grueling pace, abusing Jimin’s
willing mouth to no end. The younger doesn’t stop him though, he just does his
best to accommodate the elder, to please Yoongi so his hyung will praise him
for his obedience. He enjoys the feeling of his mouth being played with by
someone he cares about, it’s a different kind of treatment, fucking his mouth
with reverent strokes of his hair. It’s not how the King had treated him, abuse
with no reward beyond that touch of his power you’d be honored to glimpse, to
which Jimin shudders at with disgust now. It’s all Yoongi, the harsh bucks of
his hips but the whispers of how good Jimin is doing. 
“I’m getting there Jimin, I’m gonna cum.” Yoongi can feel that fire of pleasure
build in his shaking thighs, his aching cock, up to his eyelids and cheeks that
burn with it. He can’t hold himself of it for much longer, as it overtakes
everything else around him, his conscience only aware of the euphoria, of
Jimin’s mouth, the feeling of the boy beneath him swallowing his cum and
twirling his tongue delicately along his tip not to overstimulate, but to milk
him of his orgasm. 

“F-fuck, Jimin, fuck, that was good, ahhh.” Yoongi’s breathing is erratic and
harsh on his lungs, his body prickling with the aftereffects of the
orgasm. “You’re very good.”
Jimin smiles, his lips glossy with licking away any leftover cum. Yoongi slowly
raises his knee from beside Jimin’s head, he’s tired after the release, but
still moves himself off of Jimin to watch the two boys from the side. Jungkook
has picked up a slower pace on Jimin’s cock, less bouncing and more just
rolling his hips along the length. He’s busy on pleasuring himself, using
Jimin’s body to his advantage, but now the older has enough attention to put on
Jungkook, looking at the boy on his cock with something of lust overtaken by
adoration. 
“Yoongi says we can cum now,” Jimin says as he pants, Jungkook going harder on
his dick now that Yoongi is done taking up Jimin’s  attention. 
“Mhm, hyung, I need to cum..” Jungkook answers, his head rolling on his neck as
if his neck were made of no bones. That same tension in his joints passes
through him, how it had for Yoongi just before, and now with no more real
warning Jungkook is cumming across his and Jimin’s abdomens. He rides out his
orgasm with shuddering whimpers and moans, his hips moving frantically and
without a rhythm. He clenches and unclenches his fists that lay planted on
Jimin’s thighs. “Hyung..” is all he manages to say. 
Jungkook lets Jimin use him for just a few more minutes, thrusting his cock
into him as the younger whines with the overstimulation, but lets his hyung
continue. Jimin is whining and moaning and growling, gripping to Jungkook’s
thighs until crescent shaped impressions are left on his fair skin. 
“Will you cum for me hyung?” Jungkook asks him, circling his ass gently, to
elicit a sharp moan for the boy below him. 

Jimin nods, his eyes closed, he pulls Jungkook off of him, his hand quickly
jerking himself off and within a few second his cum spurts across the side of
Jungkook’s thigh. The younger boy whines with the feeling of Jimin cumming on
his skin, looking down at Jimin who’s flushed all over and shaking with the
force of his orgasm. The older boy is beautiful in this state, blissed out, his
skin splotched in a flush, lips parted for soft little breathes and his skin
glazed in a soft sheen of sweat. 
There’s a moment of quiet between them all, Jungkook crawling off of Jimin,
Jimin opening his eyes to look at Jungkook then Yoongi. It’s surreal, what
they’ve just done, the punishment if they were ever found out. None of them
want to feel any level of regret for it, not for the consequences or the
rules. 
And then a soft laugh breaks out, from Yoongi, his eyes crinkle until lines
break apart his face, his gums show, and at first it was light, is now
bellowing and breaking. Jimin at first is shocked, just watching him as if he’s
gone mad, but then a small smile crosses his face as well, his laugh joining
Yoongi’s, squeaking at its peak. Jungkook is las to join in, at first just wide
eyed, not picking up on what kind of joke Yoongi and Jimin shared. He now
laughs with them, his laugh melding with theirs.  
It’s not funny really, it’s the idea of what they’ve done that has them
cracking up. The controversy and ridiculousness of it all, as they lay on
sweaty, wrinkled sheets that smell of sex, with disheveled hair and naked
bodies. 
The betrayal of the King is so evident in the stagnant air that it both hangs
over them, as well as it amuses. 
“What will come of us by morning, will we go on and continue with our work like
before?” Jungkook asks. 
Jimin turns to him, their laughter dying to fade into the air, but Jimin still
smiles. He’s exhausted in his speech, wanting to just sleep the rest of the
night after his release, but he answers the lingering question anyway. 
“We have the flu, don’t we? We’ll say you’ve come down with it too, have a maid
bring us our rations, and we’ll rest here for a few days. We’ll ignore our
responsibilities of this castle, let sleep and lust overtake us.”
Yoongi is satisfied with that answer, nodding. “We’ll let our sweet,
forbidden censure be our last tie to humanity. Maybe the only escape we’ll be
able to find.”
 
***** ; *****
*****
; *****
***** Freedom from the King *****
Act Three- Freedom from the King
 
;
 
You grow tired of looking for Jungkook after 3 days of his absence. The last
you’d seen of him was the kiss, the next day he’d been about but hadn’t spoken
to you, and by the next, his disappearance. You’ve been taking extra walks in
your free time, around the castle, the courtyard, even to the horses and the
tower, though you’d seen nothing of Yoongi either. And now, after 3 days of
squinting your eyes for the boy to turn up- in the morning, mid day and
evening- you’ve given up. 
You stand in your uniform of a layered dress, though it’s grown hot and
stifling on you since the weather has suddenly become warmer in the past few
days. You’ve noticed the other staff have been ogling at the clear blue sky,
rid of any storm clouds besides the soft white ones that appear and then twirl
away with the breeze. You itch your neck, sickly damp with sweat, and prepare
the King’s pre-lunch snack. Over the years, you’ve considered poisoning him,
but the guards would kill you if you tried to escape, if the other loyal staff
hadn’t already. So you continue the preparing, delicately arranging the
garnishes at each side of the tray. And you continue your wondering over
Jungkook. 
Once you’ve deposited the tray with the King and are walking back to your dorm,
you catch sight of another server like yourself, carrying with her a tray. 
“Oh, miss, I’ve already taken care of the King’s snack, he won’t need that!”
you call out to her. She quickly turns, startled at first before offering a
pleasant smile. 
“Thank you for your concern, but this isn’t for the King.” She makes a move to
turn away from you, but you extend an arm quickly, a motion for her to wait a
moment. 
“If I may ask, who is it for?”
The server smiles with a nod, “It’s for three other staff who’ve fallen quite
ill, I’m just delivering them their daily rations in return for a good word to
the King, they’re highly respected by him, some of his favorites.”
You nod, offering her an equally gracious smile. “Do you think it’d be
permitted if I were to just say a few words to them? I think I know one of them
closely, he’s been gone for a few days now. Of course, if I wouldn’t fall ill
in just sharing air with them, that is.”
“I’m not one to make decisions for them, so I can’t say anything to stop you
miss, I’m only a server of their rations, so just come along with me.” She
laughs at that, you can’t judge if it’s an earnest laugh or to lighten the
mood, but you appreciate it filling the stiff air nonetheless. You follow her
down a few different corridors until you reach the last door of a hall. 
“Here we are,” she says, quietly, as if only meant for herself. She knocks
lightly on the door until a boy opens it: Yoongi. You peak behind her shoulder
and his to see Jungkook spread across the cot at the corner of the small room,
his eyes shut, Jimin asleep against the wall, entwined with Jungkook’s feet. 
Yoongi bows and accepts the girl’s tray, and then his eyes shift to you.
“Y/n,” he says. 
“Min Yoongi,” you answer. “Is it alright if I speak to Jungkook? For only a
moment, I swear, and then you all can return to your rest.” 
The old man stares you down, his face blank. By now the other staff has left
you to be the only one standing in the door frame, you feel small in his
presence, his intimidating lack of an expression. 
“Come in,” he says. You smile quickly to thank him as he steps to the side to
let you in. With the shut of the door after you, Jungkook’s eyes open quickly.
For a moment he doesn’t see you, only looking up at Yoongi and the meal on the
tray, with an expression of mere hunger, but as well something beyond that. And
then his eyes flick to you, standing behind the older man. Shock is in his eyes
at first, until he can control it enough to stare at you with something close
to a normal look. 
“Y/n...” he mumbles, sitting up, shifting enough to awake Jimin who’d been
actually asleep. “What’re you- aren’t you worried about getting sick?”
A series of emotions flood your system, with watching Jungkook stumble on his
words, with smelling the room of something similar to what you smell in the
King’s room, looking over their forms riddled with marks far too fresh to be
left over on all of them from the King days and days ago. The pieces fall into
place in front of you, surprising it’s taken you even that long to see it.
“You don’t have to lie to me Jungkook, I know what’s going on,” you say. It’s a
quiet realization, you don’t make much of a fuss for an over reaction to it,
just taking a harsh gulp with the thoughts that swarm your mind. Yoongi stares
at you with not much of a reaction, Jimin is startled into silence, and
Jungkook is biting his lip and his eyes dart around to find the right words
this time. You don’t let him speak just yet though. 
“You know, I love you Jungkook. I could be foolish and choose to be mad at you,
maybe for leading me on, or for me to get the wrong idea. But with all that,
I’m not mad, it’s not my place to be. I want you to be happy because I love
you, and if you don’t want me, and you’ll be happy with them, then that’s
alright. Happiness is all I’d want for you.”
Jungkook shuts his mouth with that, wide eyed and his arms hugging around his
figure. 
“We could plant daisies together sometime, and maybe not fall in love, just
plant them and talk about the sky,” Jungkook finally says. He says it
bashfully, nervously watching for your reaction. You smile, a simple smile, and
give a mild nod.
“That’d be nice. Of course, we’ll have to wait for you to properly heal up
first.” You wink and he laughs, showing off his bunny teeth and his cheeks that
crack with smile wrinkles. 
“I’ll be well soon, right hyung?” He looks to Yoongi for an answer, and the
harsh exterior of the elder shatters as he looks down at Jungkook, a warm smile
suddenly gracing his expression. 
“Yes,” he says, then turning to look back at you, warmer this time. “You won’t
have to wait hardly any longer for Jungkook, Y/n, don’t even wait and the time
will pass quicker.”
You know what he means, what he’s hinting at, that you should move on from
Jungkook, get him out of your sights. And you nod to Yoongi, a knowing look to
your eye as an answer. You know Jungkook isn’t yours, he never really was.
“I don’t think the weather will be turning foul again for a long while, so
there will be no need for me to be impatient,” you say, smiling at Yoongi, and
then turning to Jungkook before leaving. “Rest well.”
;
;
A few weeks have passed since you and Jungkook had planted the daisy seeds and
there are already sprouts dotting the soil. You had been crouched on your
knees, your dress hot under the spring sun, the ground dirtying a patch of your
dress and Jungkook had turned to you with a quirked brow. “Just cut it, so it
won’t bother you anymore,” he had said, smiling like a child. You hadn’t known
what he’d meant in the moment, giving a perplexed stare. “Cut the dress, to
your knees,” he’d answered, “Just cut it and you won’t have to worry anymore.”
You had, you’d grabbed a pair of gardening scissors and hastily cut through the
thick, ruined fabric, until the hem was jagged around your bare knees. After
doing it, you’d sat with your eyes wide and your breathing rapid. But Jungkook
had reached out and patted your shoulder gently, “If the King were to really
get upset with you for doing this, at least we know there are daisies to lay
under.”
;
;
Yoongi and Jimin are sat together in the middle of the horse-training field,
the stables far off in the distance behind them, and a distance in front there
are specks of Jungkook and Y/n tending their daisy sprouts with Jimin’s old
watering can. The field is alive now, the freshly green grass sprouting with it
small yellow and pink flowers. It’s warm as the sun shines down on their fair
skin. Before this very place had been only mud, with gloom overhead, when
they’d fought, when Yoongi was sick to the core. Now it’s as if everything is
nearly healed of the King’s treacheries.
Yoongi pulls Jimin ever closer, ignoring the freshly made hickeys at the side
of his neck opposite to him that neither he, nor Jungkook had made the previous
night. Everything is nearly healed.
Jimin sniffles.
“I forgot I had allergies,” he says, to lighten the mood, his voice carrying
with it a sparse laugh. 
“It has been a while since weather was like this,” Yoongi says back, resting
his cheek on Jimin’s soft hair, his hands tight around Jimin’s waist. “The year
when I’d been 11 was the last time I can recall it not raining with such a foul
smell, or ever so consistent.”
“What do you think caused the rain to have become so horrid, the King has been
in power much longer than that.”
Yoongi shakes his head, staring off into the distance with a light sigh. “I
suppose the townspeople let their hopelessness get to them, dragged down by
their sorrows of living poorly perhaps, or their despair with how the King
ruled over the Kingdom. Maybe all those little kids who’d go hungry, and stink
up the graveyards, made the rain turn so sickly.”
Jimin pouts, taking hold of Yoongi’s arm and tugging at the sleeve. “Don’t
speak about such sad things, Yoongi. At least it’s finally become spring
again.”
“I’m sorry to get so dark with you Jimin, I like the weather now too.”
Jimin nods, letting go of his tug on Yoongi’s sleeve and instead busying
himself twirling his fingers along Yoongi’s until the elder gets tired of him
and just grabs onto his soft hand and intwines their fingers. Jimin giggles,
pressing nearer to his hyung’s warmth. They lounge for a good while in silence,
dozing in and out of sleep, the sun scooping them up into its unfamiliar
clutches and devouring them deliciously. Jimin effectively wakes up with a
series of three sneezes in a row. 
“I didn’t miss the allergies,” he says, laughing while wiping at his red nose.
Yoongi looks down at him fondly. It’s innocent, until he sees the hickeys
scattering Jimin’s precious skin, and when he does all he can do is cradle the
head of the endlessly sniffling boy until he’s sure there’s no space between
them.
"We'll just wait it out Jimin," he says suddenly, breaking their sweet silence
that had been better with the words just lingering overhead, and not being
said. But Yoongi says them, biting his lips when he does, looking up to the sun
in hopes it’ll blind him of the sight of Jimin marked by someone else. "Wait
out this place, the walls that will surely crumble and the King who will
crumble with them. We have the time, we'll have each other to ease the
waiting.” 
Jimin nods, hoping his agreeing will end what Yoongi is saying, get the older
silent again, how it should be, with the hovering truths left to only haunt
their shoulders and their dreams. He doesn't fight the words though, only holds
himself to the elder all the more closely. 
"The King will find use with us in ways other than those ugly marks. You’ll
still cook and I'll tend the horses,” Yoongi continues. 
The younger boy nods, trying to smile with the things Yoongi says, but he feels
a cold tear slide down his cheek onto Yoongi’s shoulder. And Yoongi’s words are
so frantic and desperate for Jimin to latch onto and agree. It hurts, hearing
Yoongi break like this, and Jimin not able to stop it, only breaking too. 
"Yes, I'll cook and you’ll tend the horses, and maybe we’ll plant some flowers
over by Jungkook’s daisies." 
"We will," Yoongi answers, squeezing Jimin’s hand in his reassuringly. 
Yoongi looks up to the sky that holds a light blue color, clouds waltzing
dazedly along with the soft breeze. Jimin follows his gaze and looks up too.
"I forgot the sky was so... so pretty," Jimin says. 
"It is. Such a beautiful day to join the clouds, isn't it?" Yoongi asks, his
voice sweet but edged in a rushed, raw sadness, as if he’s being pulled away
from Jimin, as he strains to have enough of the younger for his fill. 
"And follow the breeze,” Jimin answers. One last tear falls down the opposite
cheek and into the grass. 
The younger smiles, allows himself to smile. He knows what Yoongi doesn’t, what
the King had said to him last night, as they’d laid in bed once he was
finished. That he'd lost interest in the rapidly aging boy, so therefore, had
no use for him any longer. Saying, “Spend a day with your horse trainer, he
hasn’t been of use to me for a good few years now. The weather has cleared so
you’ll both enjoy it. I’ll have my guards pick you both up by morning to have
it all carried out.”
But Jimin and Yoongi will be in the clouds by then, the sky protecting them
from any more of the King’s torment. They’ll drift over the forest as dawn
breaks and fresh dew drops can be seen at the tops of trees. They’ll hear those
faint voices from the town grow louder, until their waiting for freedom is no
longer a daydream, but an inconceivable reality. 
 
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