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Yoongi owned this place, the mansion at the top of the hill far away from the busy cities center. Yoongi owned every single centimeter in this palace, every person that lived in it, every single one of the voices that hushed through the hallways when nobody was in them, the specks of moonlight that fell through his windows at night, he owned everything, it was his. Even if he didn’t want it, it was his, all his. The maids, the butlers, his toys, everything belonged to him.
Jimin belonged to him.
He had bought him when he was barely 15, Yoongi had been 17. The house had been his then too, his parents had died, choked on their own blood with a knife at their feet, skin now stitched together after it had been separated from their body. Nobody knows who or what had murdered them but Yoongi didn’t find it in himself to care, this was his now. His home, his palace.
Jimin had been a prostitute, a slut, a whore, broken and shattered and used and so, so beautiful. Yoongi had wasted a fortune on his slut, and Jimin had never spoken a word to him, never dared to open his mouth before his master when he wasn’t asked to speak, when he didn’t know what his master wanted to hear. The scars around his neck that would never heal, his collar, would forever tie him to Yoongi, he belonged to him.
Yoongi sat in his chair, it was his, nobody was allowed to sit there, sit anywhere really, everything belonged to Yoongi and he wouldn’t share. When he spread his legs a bit Jimin came between them, an old practice, one of the first lessons he’d learned back then when he would still cry and try to breathe, when he would still struggle and plead for mercy. How foolish he’d been.
Jimin worked fast and diligently, like Yoongi had come to like him to be, thick lips wrapped tightly around Yoongis cock, hands flat on the ground between his own legs, eyes closed and jaw relaxed as he simply bobbed for as long as Yoongi would let him before his hair was pulled and he was simply shoved down on his member, forced to choke, to struggle and tear as Yoongi ruthlessly fucked his mouth. Jimin had stopped fighting for it, if Yoongi wanted him to faint and die it would happen.
“Who is in Control?!”
Yoongi groaned as he came all over Jimins face, the younger looking up with sorrow but love in his eyes as he answered. Jimin loved Yoongi, he was horrible, cruel, sadistic and moody, he would hurt him for no reason and ignore his presence around the house if not for sexual favors, would watch him get fucked and raped by rich party guests from the city, by the staff and personnel, would ignore his screams and cries for rest, for breath, for life, but Jimin loved him. He hated his ways, but he loved him. So he always lied for him.
“You, Master”
The response earned him a hard slap, cheek red as he fell to the ground sideways, Yoongis eyes tinted red before he turned to walk away. Yoongi hated lies, but he hated the truth even more, he hated that Jimin knew the truth, that it existed. He hated that he wished for Jimin to continue lying to him, for him, with him.
Jimin found himself tied to the bed the same evening, blindfolded and gagged, unable to utter a sound or struggle, open to use for everyone to see, trembling and crying, trying to cry out with every new slash of pain on his skin. Yoongi was whipping him, Jimin didn’t know why, doubted that there was an actual reason, but he bared with it. It didn’t hurt as much as it had done on the first day, when he had stupidly spoken out of order and Yoongi had given him deep scars, drops of blood running along his chest and thighs. He’d plead and begged, ‘Please stop, you’re scaring me!’ He can remember himself saying, as if that would have done anything for him.
‘Goddamn right, you should be scared of me!’
Had been Yoongis answer back then and Jimin will never forget. He could never quite bring himself to be scared of Yoongi, not even when he’d been choked with the whip, clawing at Yoongis hands, trying to move the leather away from his skin until he had fallen under, unconscious and limp and Yoongi had found it in himself to move away before letting his butlers have their way with his sleeping slut. Now that Jimin knew the truth he can’t be scared, he only feels pity. He would take Yoongis place any day, free him of the voices that had turned him mad and into the monster many feared him for now.
“Who is in Control?!”
Jimin couldn’t answer, even if he wanted to. It would be another lie to soothe Yoongi but the lashes only got harder, hurt more even without it. It hurt, but Jimin was beyond struggling more than his body would naturally, he didn’t fear, only loved and pitied his poor master, a vessel for every evil in this world.
Jimin had been 17 when he found Yoongi in one of the empty rooms, crying, screaming, throwing and kicking the furniture and books around, crashing the window and ripping open the mattress.
“Where are you?! What are you?!”
The screams of a madman came from that room for an entire night and Jimin watched, with tears in his eyes, his master fall to the ground in tears and weeps of mercy, begging to be released from this curse, allowed to leave the prison disguised as a palace.
“Who is in Control…?”
He’d wept quietly, curled together on the hard, cold wooden floor as Jimin listened, a reply echoing in the empty hallways
The demons inside you that killed your parents