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The day Taehyung realized he would die for Jimin—no hesitation, no second thoughts—was liberating.
Liberating, not terrifying or alarming, although he knows somewhere in his soul that it should’ve been. It's a grandiose thought that brings Taehyung nothing but the warmth of absolution. He’s fearless now, empty of any feeling that isn’t the devotion tethered to their allegiance. Because every time they touch, every time they kiss, it’s enough to drive a sword into their hearts. Enough for them to be strung up by their necks in front of everyone, an example made out of them. But Taehyung can’t live without Jimin’s touch, without Jimin’s kiss, and so death he no longer fears. Instead, he looks it in the eyes every day and dares it to do its worst. Some nights he begs for it to come.
“I’d find you,” Jimin had whispered one night, both wrapped up in white sheets, sinners disguised as fallen angels. His voice hugged Taehyung the way his arms did, gentle yet sure. “No matter what. I’d always find you.”
Taehyung never had much regard for his life, not before he met Jimin, and he knows that sounds—sounds pitiful at best, but he was born into nothingness, a lineage of servants, so nothingness he became. And it’s strange because Jimin looks at him like he’s made of pressed diamonds, like he’s the rarest, most precious thing on this Earth. Jimin, despite being the one of royal bloodline, despite being a prince, bows down to him like he’s a god, worships him like Taehyung wears a crown instead.
Jimin promises him unconditional love, here and in the afterlife. Swears to Taehyung that their bond is too strong to be bound by just one dimension. Leaving this world simply means being born in a new one and finding each other again and again.
Why fear death if it only bears endless life?
✧
The new year had only taken its first breath, a few sunrises after Taehyung’s nineteenth birthday, when their village was raided, and he was taken from his home.
On the other side of the dividing wall, tucked away quietly behind the thickness of the trees, Taehyung had only heard about the ongoing war then. He wasn’t used to the stampede of horses that carried danger on their backs, or the heat of the fire as it melted away the life he once knew, or the pools of blood that still stain him to this day. When he closes his eyes, he can still hear his mother screaming, begging, “Take me, not him! Take me! Take me!” as they were both dragged out onto the dirt like rag dolls. Taehyung remembers the men laughing, a cruel sound to pair with the desperate shrills of Taehyung’s neighbors and the collapsing of homes. One of them asked with a nasty grip in her hair, “Does this bitch ever shut up?” just seconds before the other stepped forward and slit her throat, more blood. More blood. He huffed dryly, “Now she does.”
✧
Hands tied, Taehyung and nearly a dozen of other omegas were brought to the shore, a stretch of land that kisses the ocean, ruled by King Park.
There isn’t much Taehyung remembers from that day. He can recall how salty the air was, the flavor of it melting into his tongue and making him scrunch up his nose. He remembers the way the debris in the air made everything white, like fog but thicker, surely ashes of people Taehyung knew and cared for settling into his lungs with each shaky inhale. And he remembers wondering if his mother was watching over him now, surely pure enough to make it to heaven. Sorry mom, Taehyung remembers thinking as he and the others were tugged by their rope like cattle, escorted into a shed that smelled of horse manure. Sorry for whatever you’re about to see. Please look away.
✧
“Stand up straight. Show respect.”
The guards were never nice. Rough with the way they positioned everyone, shoulder to shoulder, like items to be sold. In line, their ropes were knotted together, the last unifying gesture Taehyung would feel for a long time. And Taehyung knew the two omegas on either side of him—Yujun, a few years older than Taehyung, the older brother of his friend, Bamseok, a beta; and Iseul, a mother of three from around the way, Taehyung would hear her singing when he passed by her home. The three of them were acquaintances at best, but in that moment they were family as they linked their pinkies.
“The prince is coming,” Taehyung remembers someone saying. The only context, the only warning allotted for whatever was about to happen. Taehyung kept his head down, couldn’t bear to look at the man whose father just had his mother killed and his life destroyed.
But then—
“That one.”
A voice too soft for a prince spoke and somehow Taehyung knew, he just knew.
Rough hands again, this time detaching Taehyung from the only people he still knew in this world. He thought about screaming, thought about fighting, but something in him had already accepted his fate.
If he had known then what he knows now, he would’ve looked Jimin in the eyes. Because when he thinks back on that moment, while he lies on Jimin’s chest and listens to him breathe, gentle fingers massaging at his scalp, he thinks: you chose me, but I chose you too.
✧
Jimin’s father is an angry man who craves to be feared the way others crave air in their lungs. He’s a powerful king with too much control, with too much weight to throw around, and he abuses that leverage tirelessly. With apathy swimming in his pupils and the blood of the innocent staining his crooked smile, he orchestrates terror and chaos both inside and outside of his kingdom.
The servants aren’t supposed to speak unless spoken to, but that’s fine, because Taehyung prefers to keep his head down and observe. One of the first things Taehyung figured out for sure was that Jimin wasn’t anything like his father—he wasn’t malicious, didn’t get off on ripping families apart. Instead, what Taehyung learned about was Jimin’s mask. The one he slips on whenever he’s in his father’s presence. It paints him as something almost as heartless and empty as his father. An alpha prepared to take the throne one day and bring honor to it, who has surely developed the acquired taste for blood it takes to rule.
Further observation made it clear that the King was as aware of Jimin’s mask as Taehyung was. Their relationship was tumultuous; thunder and lightning and storm clouds. A constant push and pull of King Park holding it so bluntly in his eyes that Jimin isn’t good enough, and Jimin helplessly, desperately trying to prove that he was. Even if he hated the person he had to be to do it.
Taehyung remembers the first night in smudges. Remembers being dragged along with his hands tied behind his back again and a gag in his mouth, legs caught somewhere between stuttering to keep up and knees deadlocking on instinct to keep from going any further. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t strong enough to stop moving if he tried.
A guard with a ruthless grip on his bicep escorted him down the twists and turns of the estate, through the halls, and then pushed him to his knees in front of—well, everyone. Jimin and his brother and the King and the Queen. Behind them was a wall of guards with their eyes dead and their weapons breathing.
And while Taehyung didn’t realize what was happening at the moment, hindsight has perfect vision.
“You picked—him?”
The king, as always, was displeased. Judgmental. If Taehyung was looking, he's sure the King’s exhale pushed smoke out of his nostrils. The silence was thick, uncomfortable. Taehyung could feel everyone looking at him. His skin felt damp and no longer his own, itching under the gaze of so many eyes.
If Jimin responded to his father’s comment, Taehyung didn't hear it. It was difficult to hear anything over the arrhythmic kicking of his heart. It didn’t help that the smell in the room was overwhelming. Rancid, too many new scents mixing together; the overlapping alpha stench of the King—polluted air, like black smoke—and Jimin, a balanced kind of acidic scent, bitter yet bright, like aged red wine. Taehyung remembers focusing on Jimin’s scent, telling himself at the time it was simply the easier of the two to tolerate. And while that was true to an extent, looking back, Taehyung can name other reasons he did that.
“Lift the head. Lemme at least see ‘em.”
Taehyung could’ve lifted his own head, was about to, but a hand was in his hair before he could register it, yanking him upright. He hissed at the pain, neck straining from being stretched too far. The hand tightened, forcing him front-facing. And while his chin was addressing the King head-on, his eyes still weren’t. Taehyung found a crack in the ground and stared. It felt safer that way. Instincts telling him over and over to not look a posturing alpha in the eye, reminding himself that it only provokes.
“Hm,” the King huffed wetly. Taehyung could feel himself being studied. Slow eyes traced over his face like fingertips; he felt them on his cheeks, on his eyelashes, on his lips. “Pretty enough, huh.”
Taehyung’s heart picked up speed, something in the comment triggering his fight or flight. He wanted to put his head back down, wanted to curl into himself, but he couldn’t. So he stayed there on his aching knees, a headache setting in from where his hair was being pulled, eyes watering. He tried self-soothing, tried telling himself it was from pain and not fear.
Still, when Taehyung looks back, there’s a chunk of time that’s missing. It must be. Because the next thing he remembers clearly is the King making a remark about Jimin breaking Taehyung in and then, as Taehyung was being dragged away, he heard the King saying, “Didn’t think I had to tell you, Jimin—only female omegas from now on.”
✧
(Something else Taehyung learned quickly: Jimin has no interest in female omegas. Or female betas. Or female alphas. And that, Taehyung will come to realize, is something his father will pretend not to know but loathe anyway.
Jimin never stood a chance to be the son he wanted.)
✧
When they were alone, the first thing Jimin said was, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
And maybe it was because somewhere deep inside of Taehyung he knew Jimin was being truthful, that it was then that Taehyung began to fight. Like a test. Jimin reached forward to untie him, but Taehyung backed away, growled like he was bigger and more capable than he actually was.
Looking back, Taehyung thinks Jimin must’ve thought he was cute. An omega versus an alpha is never a fair fight, and yet there Taehyung was, bound and gagged and angry. Whenever Jimin got closer, hands out cautiously, proclaiming innocence, Taehyung would move backward and growl again. They did this two, three more times before Taehyung’s back was pressed against the wall and he had nowhere else to go.
“I’m not—‘m not gonna hurt you,” Jimin had said again. He sighed and then held his hand out. Taehyung thinks he would’ve bitten it if his mouth was free. And maybe Jimin sensed that because the next thing he said was, “If I take out the gag, are you gonna be okay?”
I’ll be fine. Can’t say the same for your fingers, Taehyung remembers thinking.
Their situation was terrible—Taehyung’s, at least—and Taehyung never felt more out of his mind or broken than he did that first night. And while he had every reason in the world to hate Jimin, to hate him by pure association for what his father did, there was no room in Taehyung’s mind that night for hatred. All he could think of was his mother and how he’ll never see her again and how unfair that was. All he could think about was how much he missed her already, and the reality that he’ll never stop missing her.
Taehyung hadn’t realized he was panicking until Jimin told him, until it was jarringly apparent that he was trying to calm him down.
“Hey, hey—it’s—‘m not gonna touch you long, promise, just gonna help you sit down,” he remembers Jimin rushing to say. And staying true to his word, despite Taehyung fighting and yanking his arm and yelling into the gag, he helped Taehyung sit on the floor and then took two steps back.
And then there Taehyung was, nothing more than a ball on the floor, snot and spit and tears on his face, crying and coughing, the gag restricting his air and making his chest hurt. It was dark in Jimin’s chambers, and the ground was cold. For a while, Jimin hovered over him, and Taehyung’s mind was too cluttered to even register that as a threat. It wasn’t, because Jimin was telling the truth, he wouldn’t hurt him that night or any other night, but Taehyung didn’t know that for sure then.
“What can I do?” Taehyung remembers Jimin whispering, maybe to Taehyung, maybe to himself. Didn’t matter, because Taehyung’s only response was to keep crying. He cried so hard everything drowned in his vision, cried so hard his headache blossomed into a migraine, cried so hard he felt lightheaded and nauseous.
He didn’t register Jimin lowering himself down on the ground next to him, uncaring if his expensive fabrics got dirty. And after a nondescript amount of time, hours maybe, years, Taehyung didn’t register falling asleep either. Must’ve worn himself out, body and mind giving up and welcoming the darkness.
When he woke hours later, his hands and mouth were free, and there was a blanket draped over him. Jimin was asleep just an arm’s reach away, sitting crouched against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. He looked small like that, harmless. Not very princely nor very alpha of him to sleep on the floor next to his captive, but very… Jimin of him.
✧
Looking back now, Taehyung is able to point his finger and say there, that’s when I started loving you.
If only everything else in life were that simple.
✧
It’s always been too easy for Taehyung to trick his brain into believing that Jimin’s love has its roots grounded in pity. That Jimin loved him out of obligation to right a wrong, to compensate for his father’s actions. An insidious thought that paints Taehyung’s reality an ugly color and makes him want to pull away from Jimin’s touch, a grandstand of self-preservation. Because it’s a shame, isn’t it? Tragic. Poor little omega, a mother slaughtered, unclaimed by a father, packless. And now—dragged from his home and thrown at Jimin’s feet. A stray.
Interestingly enough, Jimin has always treated Taehyung like he was the one doing the favor. Like Taehyung provides him an escape he never thought possible. Like Taehyung is a breath of the cleanest air his lungs have ever tasted.
In public, around Jimin’s father and anyone else who might watch too closely, the two of them fall into their respective roles. Jimin, at the top, heir to the throne, walking with his shoulders high and his eyes narrowed. Taehyung, at the bottom, overlooked and invisible, head down and jaw clenched. But alone, behind the heavy door of Jimin’s room or tucked away in their hiding spot, they were always on level playing fields. Lovesick and desperate, they strip each other of their layers—Jimin’s expensive fabrics contrasting with Taehyung’s cheap rags—pulling and pulling until they’re nothing more than two hearts whose sole purpose is to beat for one another.
Jimin tells Taehyung he loves him for him, fights off the demons in Taehyung’s mind that threaten to pull them apart. And when it’s just the two of them, everything else choked off and forgotten, it’s effortless to believe him. Taehyung wants to believe him. Because Jimin kisses Taehyung like he’s precious, like Jimin’s never been inclined to tenderness until he discovered the way Taehyung’s mouth fits with his own, or how gentle his hands can caress his skull, his heart.
Jimin’s hands are bloody and cracked, his teeth and fingernails are too sharp, but Taehyung’s never felt safer than when he's in his arms.
✧
“I’m tainted,” Jimin’s heart whispers to Taehyung’s, bottom lip trembling as his fingers ghost over Taehyung’s skin. “Be careful, my love.”
Taehyung lies still, bare stomach rising and falling slowly, studying Jimin’s face in the powdered moonlight. Taehyung sees guilt and forewarning in his beautiful eyes, because Jimin is his father’s seed if he’s nothing else. Taehyung knows he’s scared he’ll bloom into poison ivy, terrified his petals will coat in something toxic and drag too roughly across Taehyung’s innocent skin, mixing into his blood. Jimin’s biggest fear is that the darkness that lives in him will nest inside of Taehyung too, stripping him of a purity Jimin swears he deserves to keep.
Taehyung reaches out, curves his hand under Jimin’s chin to demand his attention. Their eyes meet and it’s breathtaking, always breathtaking. “So contaminate me,” Taehyung’s heart whispers back.
And when they kiss, it’s venom meeting venom.
✧
The first time they touched—really touched—Jimin was angry, always so angry back then but this time was different, a destructive type of rage, and Taehyung had to beg for it.
Because he barely recognized this Jimin, was unfamiliar with his raised voice and his furrowed eyebrows and his curled top lip. A snarl, Jimin was snarling, a livid wolf as he paced his bedroom, teeth bared and all, as if he were grandstanding against an enemy. He knocked things down. He hit the wall and his bedpost. He spat out mumbled remarks and rebuttals meant for his father, things he couldn’t or wouldn’t say during their argument now haunting him. Taehyung knew he was going to drown if he didn’t pull him out of those waters.
Jimin breathes best when his lips are connected to Taehyung’s, that was obvious by now. In the early stages of their relationship, only daring to steal slow kisses or linked fingers before anyone took note of either of them gone. And in those moments Jimin was free of his father, free of everything, a burden lifted.
Taehyung wanted that version of Jimin to come back, needed him to, before this Jimin hurt himself. He was spiraling out of control, in desperate need of an anchor, so Taehyung grabbed him the way a tiger would claw a fish out of the sea, sharp and unexpected, and kissed him passionately.
“Please,” Taehyung had said, fighting against Jimin’s pull. Their lips met sloppily, the uncoordinated knocking of teeth, because Jimin was frustrated and Taehyung was desperate. Taehyung’s fingers hooked into the curve of Jimin’s jaw, holding them together like the only way either of them could get air was from each other's lungs. “Please, my love, just—please, please.”
It was the first time Jimin let Taehyung overpower him. For just a second, a moment of surrender. Jimin’s legs stumbled backward when Taehyung pushed, leaving his jaw slack so Taehyung's tongue could coax something gentler out of him. And when Jimin’s back hit the wall, Taehyung pressed his whole body against him, flattened them into one, and kissed and kissed and kissed.
Looking back, Taehyung thinks he wanted to consume Jimin’s rage. Wanted to taste a fire that could never burn him and live to tell the tale. And when Jimin’s hand curled around Taehyung’s throat, he smiled. He welcomed it because that meant Jimin’s focus had shifted back to him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. Strategic or selfish, he wasn’t sure then and he’s not sure now.
“We should stop,” Jimin had said, panting into Taehyung’s mouth. They had kissed until their lips began to swell and their scents had mixed.
Jimin's body suggested the opposite. Rough, greedy hands on Taehyung’s ass, squeezing, pulling him in, and the other still tucked under his jaw, a steady, dizzying pressure. Taehyung could feel Jimin growing hard, the curve of it heavy and tempting against his thigh even beneath his thick fabrics, and something about that awakened a part of Taehyung he had only heard lived inside of him.
His wolf—his omega in its rarest form yet—craved Jimin in a way Taehyung never knew he could crave anything or anyone, like he’d die if he didn’t have Jimin. It felt like the only way to make this right. And Jimin must’ve felt it too. The shift in him was apparent, something new and intrigued glazing his eyes and stuttering his breath.
And although Taehyung hadn’t spoken, Jimin’s gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth, from his eyes to his mouth, checking, before he asked on a weighted exhale, “You sure?” and that question felt redundant and obsolete because Taehyung had never felt more ready for anything in his short life.
“Please,” Taehyung had said again, had begged again, the only thing his brain remembered how to say, and he hoped it was enough.
But Taehyung hadn’t given Jimin time to think. He pulled at Jimin’s wrist and guided his hand from his ass to his front, and then inside, beneath his pants, Jimin’s warm hand meeting Taehyung’s warmer skin. And just that, just Jimin’s hesitant touch, had Taehyung sighing into Jimin’s neck in pleasure.
The two of them melted, liquefying, until they were two puddles on the floor, messing Jimin’s fur rug. Taehyung welcomed Jimin between his legs, let Jimin kiss him like he was searching for something. And Taehyung dislodged his jaw and broke open his chest to let Jimin have anything he wanted. His body, his heart, his soul.
Jimin’s body thrummed with residual anger, Taehyung heard it each time his heart pumped, but he welcomed that too. Whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” as Jimin’s teeth scraped his bottom lip, as Jimin’s hands held his hips a little too hard, as his fingers thrusted inside a little too rough. Taehyung’s mind felt submerged in ecstasy, numb yet buzzing, blissed out and happily overwhelmed.
And Jimin had him on the floor just like that. Slipped two, then three fingers inside just to pull them back out—coated in slick and glistening even in the dimmed light—and drag them on his tongue. Just so Taehyung could understand firsthand when he told him through his teeth, “Taste so fuckin’ good,” between sloppy kisses, licking the flavor into Taehyung’s mouth. He kept Taehyung on his back, one knee pressed to his chest, when he sank into him in one thrust, both of them moaning. Jimin bottomed out and Taehyung remembers the fullness of it, a tingling kind of stretch, intoxicating and addicting. Any pain Taehyung felt was minimal, and it paled in comparison to the pleasure, because Jimin fucked him like he waited his whole life to do it, calculated strokes that left Taehyung’s back arching off the fur and punched the air out of his lungs. He let Jimin work through his anger, encouraged him to snap his hips harder and harder, placed Jimin’s hand around his neck again and told him to squeeze, because it was okay, because Taehyung trusted him.
Jimin loses control the way a tornado would when contained in the palm of a hand—calculated, minimal damage. Because even when his sounds became darker, became primal, Taehyung never felt like he was losing a grip on himself. Even when Jimin sucked marks onto his shoulder, his chest. Even when Jimin had to grip the carpet for leverage, driving his body into Taehyung’s so hard they both woke up with rug burns. Even then, even then, all Taehyung could think was I trust you.
✧
Jimin pulled away from Taehyung when he finally whispered it, pushed himself to the other side of the bed, only the bedsheet connecting them, and that made Taehyung’s heart sink until it met his stomach.
It was late and Taehyung wasn’t supposed to be there, was never supposed to be there, especially this time of night, but Jimin swore his guard was trustworthy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin yell-whispered, but it sounded like how didn’t I know? There was self-blame in his tone, guilt already swimming in his eyes, burning the way the tamed flames were in the fireplace across the room. His eyes begged Taehyung for an answer.
Taehyung didn’t have one. Well—he did, he had an answer, but he knew Jimin didn’t want to hear it.
It was Jimin who spoke again, though. Said, “How could you not tell me you’ve never—”
—been with anyone before.
His voice broke, stopped there, leaving the rest of his sentence lingering in the air.
Their relationship had snowballed quickly, was nothing and then was something seemingly overnight, Taehyung barely had time to process it was happening at all. Jimin was kind to him when he shouldn’t have been, Taehyung trusted him when he shouldn’t have. They both opened themselves up stupidly, like growing closer would somehow be okay, like it was allowed and Jimin’s father would approve. And they could blame it on being young, both just nineteen, but it was something else. They’ve always been drawn to one another, logic and consequence aside.
And then, Jimin again, pain and guilt seeping into his voice, “Taehyung, I could’ve hurt you.”
Taehyung could see Jimin replaying it in his head. How roughly he took Taehyung on the carpet, all instinct and anger, holding his body in ways he assumed it was accustomed to, touching him like he had a clue what would come next. Jimin looks disgusted with himself, and Taehyung hates that. Hates that because he did nothing wrong.
“But you didn’t,” Taehyung said. “You wouldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t.”
Taehyung held his hand out, a tiny part of him scared that Jimin wouldn’t take it. A second later, their fingers were laced and Taehyung felt whole again. Jimin pulled him in, arms holding him like he’ll break him if he squeezes too hard.
“Just wish I would’ve known,” Jimin had said, voice soft and slow. “I would’ve been—I dunno, gentler, more careful. I would’ve gone slower. Wouldn’t have let myself be angry, or—”
Taehyung kissed him to shut him up.
“It was perfect,” Taehyung whispered against his lips, hoping Jimin could tell he was being truthful. "Promise."
Jimin hadn’t answered, just brought them back down to the mattress. He let Taehyung lay on his chest, his fingers tangling in Taehyung’s hair.
✧
The next time they made love, it was just that, making love, and Taehyung knew it was Jimin’s attempt at an apology—a do-over.
On the bed this time, slow and gentle, but still just as breathtaking. Jimin’s body was a wave, fluid and rhythmic. He kissed Taehyung through his first orgasm, and then his second, whispering I got you and there you go and you okay? as Taehyung shook under him, trying hard to find his breath, to push past the fogginess in his brain to meet Jimin’s careful gaze.
Taehyung was okay the first time, on the rug, and he was okay then too, sinking slowly into Jimin’s mattress, but he knew Jimin needed to hear it, needed to hear him say it. So he wrapped his legs around the small of Jimin’s back, kept him close as he promised, “Always okay with you.”
Jimin kissed him again, a sound pushed out of his lungs that definitely meant thank you.
✧
They fell in love the way dominos do.
A careless flick of a finger and then the drop that accompanies the loss of equilibrium, something small tipping the scale into something bigger than itself, unstoppable once it starts, a predetermined pattern aligning perfectly with predetermined destiny.
That’s what Jimin says they are—destined. He has a way of bending reality, making it sweeter and more palatable for Taehyung to hold on his tongue before he swallows. For Taehyung, he finds silver linings again and again on even the darkest clouds.
“I was meant to have you,” Jimin whispers into Taehyung’s mouth. He holds both sides of Taehyung’s face, keeping him in place, making them one. They both have their eyes closed. Jimin inhales the air Taehyung exhales and adds, “And you were meant to have me.”
As far as Jimin is concerned, the two of them were as helpless in all of this as the first domino in the sequence.
✧
It didn’t take long before Jimin’s father became suspicious of them. He scrunched his nose up like he smelled something rancid whenever Taehyung was near. Eyes narrowed and daggered, threatening, and Taehyung knew he pretended not to smell him on his son too often nowadays.
And so it was no coincidence that within a few months, an announcement scurried through the kingdom like wildfire that Jimin was promised to be married by the new year. A female beta; a princess. Daughter of King Yun, an influential and respected ally. Their joined bloodline, soldiers, and weapons all but secured a victory in the war, but Taehyung knew this was about winning a very specific, very personal battle.
✧
Taehyung didn’t know what he was feeling.
He didn’t have a name for this burning in his veins, in his brain, in his heart. It made him hot, overheated and dizzy; nearly impossible to think straight. Too many racing thoughts. Worse off, he had to remind his lungs to do their job, to inhale and exhale in some semblance of a sufficient pattern. When they did, they took in and pushed out unsteady breaths until the ache in his chest became familiar.
Taehyung’s extremities became numb and foreign to his body. He couldn’t get the signals from his brain to his feet properly, or to his fingers. Overwhelmed, he couldn’t really register anything from the knee down, or the neck up. The only thing he could feel was his heart and the way it was being clawed open. King Park’s nails were jagged, made to maim—to kill.
“It’s not fair!” Taehyung had yelled with tears in his eyes, admittedly like a child not getting their way. But he didn’t care, he didn’t care because he wasn’t getting his way. His hand smacked Jimin’s chest and then gripped, pulling him in. Jimin went without any resistance, face downturned and eyes sad.
Jimin tried to soothe him, but honestly, what could he say? The arranged marriage was a done deal. By this time next year, Jimin would have a wife and Taehyung would have—
“We’ll figure it out,” Jimin had said. Voice calm, slow.
And Taehyung, inconsolable: “He knows. He did this because he knows!”
What easier way is there to ensure your alpha prince son doesn’t taint your bloodline by losing track of priorities and mating with an omega servant? The male omega servant you wanted him to stay away from—because the omega is from enemy territory, because it’d be shameful to link lineages with someone like him, because he became property not potential the second he was brought through the dividing wall. The one who makes you sick when you think about what he and your son do to each other. What easier way than to promise your son to an ally with a pretty beta daughter and honor running through their family tree like water?
“We’ll figure it out,” Jimin repeated. A broken record. Even then, Taehyung could see something in him growing cold. His heart. Or, at least, the part of his heart designated for his father. But that didn’t scare Taehyung to see Jimin shed old skin in front of his eyes, forced by his father’s hand to become someone new. No, it made him think good, fight for us.
Truthfully, it didn’t matter what Jimin responded with. Taehyung remained in near-hysterics, face reddened and dampened with tears, hands shaking, heart bleeding.
Jimin hugged him as Taehyung sobbed into his neck, “He can’t do that! He can’t! You’re—”
—mine, Jimin. You’re mine.
It was the most selfish thing Taehyung had ever almost said. He knew that, even in the moment, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it. Taehyung had never felt entitled to anything before, never felt so sure in his heart that something was his than he did in that moment. Because Taehyung was at the bottom of the social food chain, he didn’t own any property or have any money, but he knew for sure, more than he knew anything else, that Jimin was his. His heart, his soul, his love, all of it belonged to Taehyung. And now—and now Jimin’s father had plans to take him away, to keep them apart.
“We have options, time,” Jimin spoke slowly into Taehyung’s ear, “We just have to be smart, okay? Gotta be calm. Gotta be calm so we can… make a plan.” He allotted his words time to sink into Taehyung’s brain and register. And when they did, Taehyung lifted his head and stared at Jimin with wide, bloodshot eyes.
“A plan?” Taehyung asked back. His voice was small and broken, they both barely heard it.
“A plan.”
Jimin’s gaze remained steady and sure. The composure of a king already, Taehyung remembers thinking. He didn’t look like a nineteen-year-old who had just declared war on his own father.
✧
By nature, Jimin was strategic, patient, and methodical. He was a perfectionist in everything he set out to learn, because the end-goal was always to master it, to be the best. This applied to revolting against his father.
Taehyung contrasted near-perfectly with Jimin. Impulsive, a hair-trigger, a bit chaotic. Not necessarily in his actions, but in his thinking.
They were on a timer, sand pouring mercilessly in the hourglass. It made him agitated and jumpy.
“When?” he’d whisper impatiently into Jimin’s soft skin. And Jimin would hold him close, squeeze him while he promised, “Soon.”
Their plan had settled on running away together, disappearing. And while Taehyung was ready to go the second the seed was planted in their heads, Jimin spent time weighing the pros and cons, mentally mapping out the route, deciding on the right time.
As the months went by he kept promising soon, soon, soon.
✧
Jimin told Taehyung he’d burn the world to ash if that was what he had to do to keep them together. Taehyung felt inclined to believe him. In fact, he could swear the new twist to Jimin’s scent was gasoline.
✧
Loving Jimin was like smiling with a sword to his throat—foolish and cocky, yet… exhilarating.
✧
There was no such thing as special treatment from King Park, only the misfortune of having a target on one’s back. Taehyung felt the sharpened point of the King’s bow and arrow aimed at him at all times—even when he was covered by trees and houses—as he walked through the capital, while he ate, while he slept.
Guards scattered the land, men with weapons as long as Taehyung, fingers at the ready to spring into action and take down any enemy. But he did not feel safe. He wasn’t stupid. He knew they were nothing more than extra eyes for the King, watching his every move and reporting back when he was unaccounted for. It was becoming nearly impossible for Taehyung and Jimin to see each other, and they both knew that was the intent.
Without warning, Taehyung’s tasks shifted. “No, outside,” he was told by a guard one morning. And with a shove to his shoulder, he was passed along to another guard who met him in the field. “You report here now every morning.”
Taehyung was assigned the grunt work; plucked out of the palace and thrown into the yard, in the mud, rain or shine. Taehyung spent most of his time with the animals, picking up after them, ridding of their waste by hand, scrubbing them clean. The animals were shown more respect than he was, and that was the message King Park was trying to send. You’re worth less than a pig.
It wasn’t long until Taehyung became accustomed to the scent of manure in his nose and the feeling of dirt under his nails.
✧
“Are you dumb?” The King’s words were wet with wine and taunting. Taehyung stood one step back and to the left, mindful to keep a respectful distance despite the disrespect in which he was spoken to. A pause followed, the held breath of the dinner’s attendees as all eyes fell on the two of them, and then—“Speak!”
It took all of Taehyung’s self-control not to cut his eye to steal a glance at Jimin, who was sitting too many chairs away, gold-tipped chopsticks limp in his hand. Taehyung’s nostrils flared when he took in a calming breath, the natural urge to defend himself being suppressed over and over. His heart was racing; so much so he wouldn’t have been surprised if the Queen could see it from the other end of the dinner table.
When Taehyung had been pulled from his field work before sunset, he had wondered what it was about. He’d been told the King had requested him specifically to tend to that night’s dinner. And at first, Taehyung hadn’t been able to pinpoint why, because the King’s disdain for him was apparent, but soon into the event, it became clear. Taehyung was there to be humiliated in a space in which Jimin had to watch, but had no authority or power to stop it.
Taehyung only spoke because he had to, because not answering bore worse consequences. Through his teeth, he said, “No, sir.”
“No?” The laugh that accompanied the response was cruel and threatening, an indicator of a blood-hungry alpha losing his patience; no humor in it at all. “Because only an imbecile can’t tell the difference between red wine and white.”
Taehyung knew the difference between red wine and white wine. Taehyung also knew the King asked for a refill of red, which he’d been guzzling all night. But when Taehyung approached with red, the King flipped and started yelling, insisting that he requested white instead. Taehyung would’ve been flustered, would’ve frantically combed his memory for the exact moment he might’ve misheard his orders, but he knew he was right.
Right in the way he was when he delivered the King venison but he claimed he requested steak. Taehyung had to take it back. Right like the way he was when he set the table with the utensils on the right, as they always were, but was told to redo it with them on the left. On par with how the King had sent Taehyung back and forth to the kitchen all night, correcting things that did not need correction, nitpicking everything he did. Aligned perfectly with the intentionally spilled wine that stained the table and made the floor sticky, tipped over by the King intentionally, and then he growled for Taehyung to be more careful, to clean it all up, and then to return with a refill of his red.
His red.
“White, omega,” the King huffed, refusing to waste the energy to even turn his neck to look Taehyung in the eyes while he demeaned him.
Taehyung swallowed his pride. He had to.
“Yes, sir.”
He had walked away quietly, slowing his stride down by a millisecond to spend just that amount of time behind Jimin when he passed, to take a moment’s bask in his scent, in his closeness. He’d hoped Jimin would look at him as he passed, but he didn’t. Taehyung understood why, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
✧
Taehyung returned with white wine.
King Park smacked it from his hand, spitting as he yelled that he told him red. All the guests at the dinner table jumped at the altercation, tension rising. Jimin stood, the faintest of growls falling from his lips to Taehyung’s ears.
“Clean this fucking mess up,” the King ordered, pure disgust in his voice. Taehyung felt the King look at him, a slow kind of once-over, from head to toe twice. He clenched his jaw and said, “And when you’re done, go upstairs and draw my bath. You can’t possibly fuck that up.”
“Father.”
The first time Jimin spoke all night. The fire in his words matched the King’s. Taehyung’s heart kicked in his chest. Despite Jimin’s outburst, the King ignored him, didn’t respond at all as he excused himself from the table and walked out.
✧
Namjoon, Jimin’s personal guard, was sent to escort Taehyung across the palace to Jimin’s bedroom once he was dismissed by the King, but Taehyung’s cheekbone stung from where he was struck no more than fifteen minutes ago, fresh tears in his eyes that he couldn’t make go away, so he was hesitant. He didn’t want Jimin to see, didn’t want him to worry or do anything rash.
It was useless the way Taehyung tried to keep that side of his face angled away once he was back in Jimin’s sight, back in his arms. He was never able to hide anything from Jimin anyway.
“Wha—wait, what is that?” Jimin saw it right away, eyes going wide, and Taehyung saw the expression on Jimin’s face go from confused to surprised to livid. He was livid but managed to keep his hands gentle as they hovered over Taehyung’s pretty face, fingers twitching, scared to touch and somehow make it worse. Taehyung was sure the skin had already started to deepen in color, the evidence of what had happened unmistakable.
“Nothing,” Taehyung supplied quickly, although it was clearly something. It hurt to talk, hurt to move his face. He tried to pull away, but couldn’t. Jimin was already examining him with something close to horror etched into every centimeter of his face, thumbs careful where they held him steady.
“Did he—” he couldn’t get the words out; they choked him. “Baby, did he fuckin’ hit you?”
Taehyung didn’t answer. There was no need to. He didn’t need to tell the story. Not now, because details would only make it worse. So Taehyung kept it to himself for now and didn’t open his mouth to speak. He let his eyes do the talking instead. They found Jimin’s and begged him don’t, don’t, don’t, because Jimin was trying to pull away, trying to charge the door.
Jimin had given in easily. He panted like he’d just run a great distance, tears of anger and momentary defeat in his eyes, but he cradled Taehyung in his arms like he was made of something fragile. Taehyung had let himself sink into Jimin’s embrace, let himself be held together by Jimin’s arms squeezing him.
“Stay with me tonight,” Jimin had whispered into Taehyung’s ear after a long stretch of silence. Taehyung felt him contemplating the offer long before it finally dripped from his lips.
“What about your father?” Taehyung asked. Asked because he had to.
Jimin thought about that for a moment, then two. Taehyung held his breath.
“I don’t care about my father.”
Taehyung let himself be pulled onto Jimin’s bed where he stayed until Namjoon escorted him out a few breaths ahead of first light, tight-lipped and swift, before anyone else saw.
✧
If Taehyung was to look back, he’d pinpoint that night as the turning point.
Nothing was ever quite the same.
✧
Taehyung’s bruise healed over time. All the while, Jimin’s heart grew irreversibly broken.
✧
The sky was cluttered with clouds, gray and dreary. That’s what Taehyung remembers about the day they locked Jimin away. It was horrible, Taehyung had to find out from the buzz of the other servants the way he did when he learned of the King promising Jimin’s hand in marriage. Amplified whispers behind closed doors that flooded the capital like smoke, singeing everyone’s lungs.
Did you hear? the voices gossiped, Prince Jimin’s locked up on the other side of the capital. That unused shed, in the annexed room, apparently. His father’s orders.
Taehyung remembers his heart dropping, remembers feeling nauseous. And while Taehyung didn’t dare to butt into anyone’s conversation to ask questions, his ears twitched as he listened.
The prince’s rut hit off-cycle, someone says to someone else. Stress, maybe.
And then another person, with the snicker of a schoolgirl making a joke too mature for her age: Wonder if they’ll have to bring his bride-to-be in. You know, to help.
Taehyung couldn’t listen anymore, couldn’t even if he wanted to, because he was already walking away. He didn’t have control of his body anymore. On autopilot, his legs were carrying him across the capital to that unused shed.
✧
It wasn’t tradition or common practice for alphas—especially princes—to be locked away and restrained during their rut. Ruts reduce alphas to their instincts the way heats do omegas; they make them more than a little out of their mind, make them hungry and impulsive and assertive. But it’s also known that an alpha can ride out their mating cycle alone much easier than an omega could.
This was the first time anything like this had happened, and Taehyung did not need to be a genius or a mind reader to know why. With Jimin promised to King Yun’s daughter, King Park was treading rocky waters until the marriage ceremony. And while typically it was the father of the bride’s burden to present her in a state that was suitable and desirable for the groom, instead, King Park bore that weight. He knew his son, in the impulsive chaos of his rut, could and would deliver a mating bite to the neck of the omega servant he is desperate to keep him away from.
So desperate he’d muzzle him up on the far side of the capital and leave him to endure the fevered haze of his rut all on his own, held captive like a criminal.
✧
Clearly the King didn’t anticipate Taehyung’s desperation to be fuller, deeper, and more determined than his.
✧
Jimin grunts, then growls, his teeth surely bared behind the leather; a spike in his aggression, in his frustration. With both hands bracketing Taehyung’s head, his fingers curl, dragging his fingernails roughly. And if it weren’t for the carpet he placed Taehyung on when he was calmer, when his body and mind were gentler, the unforgiving hardwood would’ve surely cracked his nail beds from the pressure. He’s sinking fast into the primal abyss of his rut.
“I know,” Taehyung murmurs his sympathy right into Jimin’s overheated skin, lips against his forehead. He cradles the back of Jimin’s head like he’s delicate, like his body isn’t all muscle—strong and solid and anything but delicate. But Taehyung handles him delicately anyway, fearlessly pinned under the alpha. He strokes the damp hair at his nape and whispers, “I know, I know.”
It’s humid in here, in this annexed room that’s more akin to a closet, small and dark. An exact opposite to the rest of the Park estate, missing the golden accents and the chandeliers and the handcrafted furniture. Different, but not unfamiliar to the two of them. They’ve spent many nights here in secret; in when the moon was highest in the sky, out before the sun took its first breath. The limited space acts like a cocoon, a personification of the bubble they live in when they’re together, shielded away from their reality. Taehyung can’t stay for long, he knows the orders are for Jimin to ride out his rut alone, and surely there are guards who will make their rounds to ensure that, but they linger in this pocket of time before he has to go.
Jimin rolls his hips hard, the friction doing nothing but teasing him in the worst way, a taste of what he’s not supposed to have when his body is craving it the most, and he makes a displeased sound—hungry and impatient.
He’s bordering on desperate when he huffs, “Off.” And Taehyung lets him tug at the tie on his pants for a moment before he covers Jimin’s hand with his own and squeezes. Softly, he reminds Jimin, “We shouldn’t…”
Taehyung's logic means nothing to Jimin right now, and he knows that. He knows that because they don’t abide by what they should or shouldn’t do even when they’re both of sound mind, not driven by their mating cycles and instincts. It’s habit for them to share lingering glances with each other from across a busy room—Jimin, from his throne beside his family, and Taehyung from the serving line; or for Taehyung’s hand to brush Jimin’s as he fills his wine glass; or for Jimin to call Taehyung to his chambers under the guise of an important order, just to reacquaint himself with the softness of his mouth, with the warmth of his body.
They’re thieves, all they do is steal time to be with each other. Taehyung wonders if the crime he’ll ultimately die for will be when he steals Jimin from King Yun’s daughter before they’re married by the new year.
“Off,” Jimin tells him again. He says it like an order, like a demand, and it’s the harshest Taehyung’s ever heard Jimin speak directly to him. But his voice is cottony behind the muzzle, all squished and displaced sounds. It comes out more like a plea, so Taehyung squeezes his hand again, trying to calm him.
“We shouldn’t,” Taehyung says again, voice so soft he barely hears himself. “You know why.”
Because they don’t have time. Because Taehyung has to go soon. Because they’ll do something stupid if he stays. Because the guards are surely coming back. Because they haven’t solidified their plan yet. Because, because, because.
It’s jarring to see Jimin this way—restrained and isolated like he’s a rabid wolf infected with an unknown disease they need to protect their kingdom from, instead of an heir to the throne experiencing something as natural and pure as breathing. He’s been stripped of his silks and velvet, left with worn cotton that hangs loosely off him and does nothing to hide his want; the material is sweat-soaked in blotches and tenting just below the waist. His breath comes in heavy exhales from his nose, eyebrows scrunched, body tense.
“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin whispers. He returns to himself in flashes, clarity washing over him like waves. He presses his body against Taehyung’s and he’s reminded of their first time, similar to this, on the floor. Taehyung’s legs open up for Jimin too easily. They always have.
“We…” Taehyung begins to repeat, but the rest of the sentence dies a horrible death on his tongue. Jimin buries his face in his neck as Taehyung’s mind drowns in flashbacks.
He sees his mother get slaughtered, sees himself being taken to King Park’s land on horseback, sees Jimin picking him over and over. This isn’t a happy story. He knows that. He knows that, but still—still his heart stutters dumbly in his chest when he revisits the first second they met. Taehyung replays their first night, how he cried himself to sleep and awoke draped with a blanket. And then, blurrier, he sees months and months and months of the two of them bleeding into one another, falling even though they shouldn’t, building an alliance strong enough to spook a king. Taehyung sees their first kiss, sees the first time Jimin had cried in front of him, sees them wrapped up in sheets together, hidden away from the world. Taehyung sees every night they tiptoed to see one another, replays every time Jimin has thrusted into him and he swore he saw god. Taehyung closes his eyes and he hears Jimin telling him that what they have is pure and honest and real—regardless of how they came to be, regardless of their status differences, regardless of who approves or disapproves of them.
Jimin makes a sound. Something urgent and from his heart. Like if he had his words he’d tell Taehyung something like hurry or now. It makes Taehyung want to draw silver linings on storm clouds.
“This must hurt,” Taehyung finds himself saying. “Let’s get you out of it, huh?”
His hands shake as he fumbles with the tiny metal latch on the back of the muzzle. It’s cruel; the muzzle is connected to a thick chain that pulls taut and keeps Jimin from wandering beyond a certain point. Like a dog. Jimin is being treated worse than a dog by his father, a king, and Taehyung hates himself for even hesitating. It’s only because he knows there are consequences to what he’s about to do and his brain, the last sliver of logic in him is telling him no, but his heart—and his heart always wins, always—is telling him yes.
Jimin’s hands are busy stripping Taehyung, and this time, Taehyung doesn’t stop him. He lifts himself off the ground when Jimin tugs at his pants, keeping his focus on unlatching the muzzle. It pulls free from Jimin’s head just seconds after Taehyung’s bottom half is exposed, thighs still spread to fit Jimin’s body between them.
Taehyung runs a hand through Jimin’s hair although it’s beginning to matt to his head. He whispers, “There. Better, right? That’s better?”
But Jimin’s preoccupied. Too busy trying to fit his mouth over Taehyung’s mouth, too busy trying to fit himself into Taehyung. No time wasted, and although Taehyung’s ready enough, he’s wet enough, the first push inside still makes him hiss, air sucked in sharply through his teeth. Jimin grunts in his ear, nibbling at the lobe like he needs something to do with his mouth.
Taehyung learns quickly that there is no finesse when being fucked by an alpha in rut. Jimin is all sharp snaps of his hips and airy growls. He’s rougher than usual; that mindfulness of his strength somewhere suffocating in the back of his mind, pushed against his skull, begging for air. At the forefront is his impulse. Taehyung swears he can see Jimin’s pleasure center offering a dim light behind his hazy eyes, dictating his every move.
Jimin sits back on his heels and takes Taehyung in with his eyes, scans him like he’s seeing him for the first time. Taehyung exhales hard at the emptiness. He makes a sound he didn’t even know he could make, a guttural type of whining sound, his omega begging come back, and Jimin huffs at him, a flare of his nose to accompany, his alpha saying be patient.
Taehyung’s chest rises and falls quickly, heart nearly kicking out of his chest, but he forces himself to stay still under his alpha’s gaze. He wonders how loud it is in Jimin’s ears, if he can hear the way his air stutters in his lungs.
Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, temples pulsing. He looks at Taehyung like he could eat him alive, swallow him whole in one bite. And still, Taehyung isn’t scared. Mentally, he taunts devour me, do it.
“C’mon,” he says aloud. “‘s okay.”
An invitation to be free, to be the most natural version of himself. Even if it’s a little violent, even if it’s a little scary. Taehyung sees hesitation in Jimin’s eyes for just a second, just a split second, before his wolf takes back control, and then he’s growling something slow and low, almost like a purr, but it’s dark and hungry. His nails dig into Taehyung’s thighs.
“‘s okay,” Taehyung tells him again.
He tells him it’s okay when he makes a home between his legs, thrusting inside like he owns it, because he knows he does. Tells him it’s okay when his fingers grip his hips hard and hold him down like squirming prey even though he’s not fighting. It’s misfiring urges, Taehyung understands. Tells him it’s okay when they’re both sweaty and out of breath and their minds are fogging over. A hand comes to Taehyung’s throat, and he tells him that’s okay too, even as his pulse drums against Jimin’s palm, it’s okay. And when Jimin’s mouth finally meets the specific juncture of Taehyung’s neck and shoulder, plump lips dragging over his sensitive skin, Taehyung tells him, “Do it.”
Taehyung remembers what his mother told him when he was old enough to understand what marking meant, what it means to be mated. It’s like marriage, she said, the mixing of their scent and yours. So everyone will know you belong to them and they belong to you.
Teeth graze over Taehyung’s scent gland, daring to go a step further, wanting to bite down and claim. Jimin licks and licks, rough and with purpose, eliciting Taehyung’s scent stronger. It stings, but there’s pleasure in it too. And then, when he’s scent-drunk and panting, he opens his mouth to bite where Taehyung smells like himself the most. Something seemingly so small that bonds them for life.
But it’s not small at all. Actually, it’s life-changing. And still, still, Taehyung’s not scared. He tips his head to the side and tells Jimin that’s okay too.
✧
That was the day Taehyung realized he would die for Jimin—no second thoughts, no hesitation.
He wonders mindlessly, as his body and soul mix with Jimin’s, how quickly after word gets out that he’s stolen the prince from King Yun’s daughter that he’ll be dead. It’s a crime worthy enough to lose his head by sword, or to be shackled and dropped into the ocean, or to take his last breath with King Park’s hands around his throat.
But he also wonders if the gods show more mercy for the innocent than earth-bound creatures do. Because there is no real crime being committed here. Taehyung isn’t stealing from anyone.
How can he steal what’s always been his?
✧
If asked about it, about how the king-to-be got loose from his restraints despite all the precautions, Taehyung would say it was inevitable—destined. He’d say he had as much control over it as a domino in freefall, because the two of them have always been part of something bigger than themselves. And if that is what draws the sword back one final time to slice clean through Taehyung’s flesh, dragging him away from this life and into the next, then so be it, he’s not scared. As far as he’s concerned, dying for Jimin has always been his destiny too.
I’d find you, Jimin promises him, no matter what.
Taehyung chooses to believe him.
✧
(“Mine,” Jimin’s heart says to Taehyung’s.
It’s the easiest conversation they’ve ever had.
“Yours,” Taehyung’s heart promises back.
And there’s nothing more to say.)