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All Christian wanted was to make enough money to return home to Australia and help his mother retire early. Instead, he becomes entangled with some dangerous men who completely turn his life upside down. And at the center of it all is you.
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❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!
even if you have not been reading the POV chapters, i highly recommend reading this one because it is going to set up the remaining chapters and make Christian more of a 3-dimensional character.
🗡️ warnings: mafia shit (talk of receiving, packaging and shipping drugs; use of cocaine; torture involving being tied to a chair for a long time and some eyeball gore; a bit of piss, shit, and vomit; recovering from wounds;) semi-explicit smut (blowjobs; mentions of sex; begging) angst (homophobic remarks; grooming; lying; infidelity - but not between yoongi/namjoon and mc; mental and emotional anguish; not everyone is in their right minds at all times; )
🗡️ notes: hello, friends! i am once again crawling out of a long hiatus. the woman in the header is Sunmi, my queen. but THE MC IS IN THIS CHAPTER!!! with you/your pronouns used. and there are a lot of fun callbacks from chapter 1, as well as some other chapters. the next normal chapter is nearly finished and will be coming soon. please don't skip this one, though. it provides a little extra context that i think will make the upcoming chapters a little more meaningful!!! also please take the warnings seriously! this one gets a bit gnarly!!! (siri play katseye) also!!! this chapter does contain infidelity, which i know a lot of folks hate, but please read with an open mind!!! it does NOT take place between Yoongi/Namjoon and the mc which is why it's not listed in the main fic warnings (i don't want to give new readers the wrong idea since this is the only chapter we see it in).
🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin
🗡️ posted may 2026 | read on ao3
*
The clouds that hang over are thick and dark grey, heavy with moisture that has not yet broken through as rain, but that has permeated the air, making it damp and sticky. An omen. A sign that all of this is a mistake and that Christian needs to turn back and return to his leaking, roach-infested, semi-basement flat, and come up with a new plan. Or, maybe he is just feeling paranoid.
Taking cover under an awning in front of a convenience store, Christian watches and waits. A large black door across the street is going to open at any moment, and he will be given the signal to approach and enter. With each second that passes, his pulse becomes heavier, less steady. He feels dizzy with an anticipation that borders on fear, which he attempts to quell with nicotine, but each time he reaches up for the cigarette that is clenched between his teeth, the tremble in his hand practically causes him to punch himself in the face.
After what feels like an hour— approximately six minutes, realistically— the large door swings open and a man walks out. The man wears a black satin shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest and tucked into fitted black slacks. His hair is light brown and short, styled in a wave over his forehead. Rather than signal, or even so much as look in Christian's direction, he allows the door to slam closed, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a metal cigarette case. Christian watches intently as the case springs open and the man chooses what appears to be a hand-rolled cigarette. He places it between his lips and pulls out a gold Zippo lighter that he rolls against the thigh of his slacks to simultaneously open and ignite it in a quick, practiced motion that looks like something out of a movie.
Christian knows it is rude to stare, but something tells him that this man is putting on this performance for him. Any moment now, he is going to look up and make eye contact and then nod or wave or something, and that will be Christian's cue to follow him. Perhaps the man is building anticipation, or testing to see whether Christian is rude enough to make the first move.
The man tilts his head back as soon as the cigarette is lit and takes in a deep, slow inhale. Christian takes in a deep, slow inhale on his own cigarette, filling his lungs with smoke until they burn. He practically gags on the need to breathe and huffs out a plume of smoke that pours from his mouth and nose. It is sharp and stings his eyes, nearly causes him to cough, and he does his best to hold the urge in and keep his cool, only letting out semi-silent coughs behind his closed lips, through his nose.
When his gaze finds the man across the street, he realizes that the man is standing with both hands in his pockets, staring straight at him, cigarette cradled between his lips. Christian freezes. Was he wrong to assume this would be the man who gives him a signal? The way the man stares at him is not at all welcoming, and Christian second-guesses this entire situation. Should he turn back and run, pretend this was all a coincidence, and hope the man doesn't fire a bullet into the back of his skull? His hands stretch open and squeeze closed at his sides as anxiety courses through him.
Before he can get his bearings and figure out what to do, two large hands settle onto his shoulders, causing Christian to practically jump out of his skin.
"This way," a deep voice says from his right as the man to his left shoves him forward.
Christian's body does not quite get the memo, and so he stumbles. This causes the man to his left to snicker and shove harder. The three of them walk toward the man with the cigarette, and as he comes into clearer view, Christian begins to catch glimpses of this man's wealth and status. Gold drapes around his neck, diamonds glimmer in his ears and on his hands, and as he reaches up to remove the cigarette from between his lips, Christian is mesmerized by the gold diamond-encrusted timepiece on his wrist. On the large swatch of visible tan skin is ink that peeks through, showing off what looks like scales on the body of a dragon. Christian is not well-versed in local gangsters, but he knows enough to know that a dragon tattoo in this part of town, on a man dripping in expensive jewelry, with eyes that pierce into his soul so sharply, likely means trouble. The man stands tall and slightly turns to reach for the door, revealing the long black handle of a hwando, and Christian would laugh if this situation weren't so fucking scary. What type of man is strapped with a sword rather than a gun?
Sword man pauses, sizes Christian up, and nods to the man to Christian's right, then he opens the large black door and walks inside. The men who flank Christian hold him still, gripping onto his shoulders until the door swings closed in a sound that is heavy and final.
"Against the wall," one of the men barks as Christian is shoved forward. He turns his head in time for his cheek to be pressed into the cold, porous brick, and he bites into his cigarette to keep it from falling, causing loose tobacco to sting his tongue and make his mouth water. The men frisk him right here, out in the open, and Christian closes his eyes as his arms are lifted above his head and his palms dig into the brick.
This is humiliating, and Christian blocks out the thought that strangers on the street, in the convenience store, and in the apartment buildings are watching this take place. The men are rough with him, yanking on his trousers and digging into his pockets. His cigarettes and lighter are pulled out and then shoved back in, as are his phone and wallet. When one hand slides up his inner thigh and fingers dig near his balls, Christian jolts and practically yelps. Suddenly, he is pissed off. He wants to tell the man to watch his fucking fingers, but he doesn't feel like eating a knuckle sandwich, and so he bites harder into the cigarette, which burns dangerously close to his lips.
"All clear, pretty boy," one of the men sing-songs, then the hands yank Christian off the wall. He spits his still-burning cigarette butt onto the ground as he is turned and shoved toward the door, which one of the men opens. Briefly, he feels guilty for littering.
The entryway is dark, and Christian's eyes fail to adjust. As he is shoved forward, onto a carpet that feels like velvet and catches on the rubber soles of his boots, he tries his best not to stumble. What the fuck was he thinking? What has he gotten himself into? This has to be, without fail, the most idiotic situation he has ever found himself in. But returning to his mother at her beautiful home in coastal Australia would bring him too much shame. He cannot admit that his dream to become an idol was an abject failure and that all he has been able to land are dead-end jobs that barely make rent. He cannot return to her with his tail between his legs after all she has sacrificed to raise him on her own.
They seem to be traversing through a dark hallway, and as it opens up into a large, dimly lit room, Christian blinks rapidly, attempting to adjust to the scene before him. On a large ornate red couch is a man sitting with his legs spread wide. Draped across his lap is a woman with long, straight black hair, and she leans into him, palm splayed over his chest with long, blood-red nails digging into his black satin shirt. The white satin adorning her body could hardly be called a dress. The back dips low, the straps are spaghetti thin, and the skirt rides so high that Christian can glimpse red panties peeking out between her thighs.
The pair seems to be conspiring, giggling with their lips a centimeter from each other, and as Christian and the other men enter the room, neither of them stops their private conversation. The sword man takes a seat beside the two and leans close, pressing a hand against the other man's knee while whispering to the woman. The pair continues to chatter for another moment as sword man stays perched on the edge of the couch, before the woman presses her lips to the other man's cheek and slowly gets up. She sashays out of the room, never so much as glancing in Christian's direction. Again, he would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but the gun holstered under the new man's arm keeps his lips from twitching out of their grimace. Either these men are extremely deadly, or they put on one hell of a performance to creep out newcomers.
"Barom," the new man says in a voice so deep and rough that Christian barely hears it.
Barom is Christian's Korean name. He lifts his gaze and he meets the man's eyes, then he drops his head into a bow.
The man says, "Come," and Christian lifts his head once more, watching as the two men stand from the couch. The one with the gun rubs his palms against his slacks and rolls his neck, then walks past the couch and deeper into the room before disappearing. Sword man follows, and then Christian is shoved in their direction. He stumbles forward, unconcerned that he has no clue where the men disappear to behind the large velvet curtain ahead, as the hands on his shoulders guide him. A tattooed hand adorned with gold rings and a gold timepiece reaches forward to part the curtain, and Christian continues ahead. Everything is red. Red lighting, red curtains, red carpeting, red upholstery. When Christian is led into a smaller room with a red couch and three red leather chairs, he is steered toward the middle-most chair, and he sits. The men who guided him take the chairs to his left and right, and gun man sits in the center of the large couch while sword man stands behind him with his hands clasped at his stomach.
"You can call me Min," the man on the couch says, and Christian is somewhat taken aback. This man is the Min Yoongi?
Min sits at the edge of the couch, leaning forward. On the table before him is a pile of white powder, some of which has already been organized into neat lines, and Min leans forward, using a short metal straw to snort a line of the powder into his nose. As he lifts his head, he closes his eyes and sighs with a smile. This man is handsome in a delicate way, with hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. He wears a thick gold Cuban chain around his neck, and the various rings on his knuckles shimmer in the red lights, bulbous enough to leave a nasty mark if those hands were to meet flesh.
"N-nice to meet you, Min-ssi," Christian says, head still bowed but eyes looking ahead.
"Just Min," the man says. "No honorifics needed. Unless, of course, you find yourself on your knees begging for your life.”
The request confounds Christian, but he nods. "Understood, Min."
"Although… you may call me sir, if you want to," Min adds, saying sir in English.
"Yes, sir," Christian responds in full English, automatically.
Min appears amused. "Good."
Sword man rolls his neck from side to side as Min lifts a hand, palm facing upward. Without a word, sword man pulls his cigarette case from his pocket and places it into Min's hand. Min settles back against the couch, putting his booted feet up onto the table, heels barely missing the powder that covers it, and he retrieves a cigarette and tilts his head back so that sword man can light it for him. The gesture almost feels romantic, and Min keeps his head back for several beats while sword man replaces the cigarette case and lighter in his pocket. Christian itches to taste nicotine on his tongue as the smoke begins to travel in a dancing line toward the tall, dark ceiling, and he watches as Min sits forward and takes in two long drags and puffs them out in his direction.
"I have a rather delicate assignment," Min says, "higher paying than any other position. But first we need to test your loyalty."
None of these words bode well for Christian. He nods his head.
“The boys were able to dig up some rather interesting information about you, so I know you have worked with high profile individuals in the past and are able to be discreet.”
Christian nods, nervous to imagine how much these men may already know about him. What must they think of a man who works as a bottle service host for wealthy, married older women?
“And I believe you worked in acting for a bit as a child and teen.”
Christian nods again.
“Why not act now?”
Shame courses through Christian's veins. “I, uh. I wanted to be an idol.”
Min nods and hums knowingly. “An idol. That is a lot of hard work.”
Christian nods some more, feeling like a bobble-head.
“And it is not as glamorous as it seems.”
Christian stops nodding, surprised by this statement. Sure, training is hard work, and there is no guarantee that it will result in being put into a group, but he cannot imagine what in the world could be more glamorous than being an idol on stage, performing for thousands of adoring fans.
“You become a slave to the government,” Min says with a shrug. “A slave to the music industry, to the fans who turn on you the second you say or do anything that they deem out of line.” He pauses, sits forward, and takes a deep drag off his cigarette. On the exhale, he says, “Better to be a slave for me. I am far more generous than fair-weather fans. I can put those acting skills of yours to work.”
The tone of Min's voice, the blood-red room, everything sets Christian on edge. The tremble in his hands returns.
"Have you run drugs before?" Min asks.
Christian shakes his head. "No, sir," he says in English. Then he pauses and corrects himself, "Well, I used to sling Adderall in college."
"Adderall?" Min asks, impressed. Adderall is not legally for sale in Australia, although there are plenty of legal alternatives, and Christian is under the impression that it is also illegal in Korea.
"In Australia," Christian adds.
Min nods.
"Jeongguk will train you on how to receive drugs, then how to package them, and finally how to run them," Min says, nodding to the man on Christian's left as he says the name Jeongguk. All Christian knows of the man is tattoos and gold, having never turned to look at him. He keeps his gaze ahead even now that his curiosity is piqued. "Once you have a few months under your belt and have been branded as a loyal member of the team, I may shift gears. So, for now, work hard and look forward to a potentially handsome raise."
Christian nods, nervous but excited at the prospect of a lucrative job, despite how dangerous it all seems.
"Any questions?" Min asks.
Christian shakes his head.
Min chuckles. "You have no questions about this new job, which entails handling dangerous, illegal substances?”
Christian shakes his head again.
“None, whatsoever?”
“No, sir,” Christian says. “I trust Jeon—” he pauses, forgetting the man's name.
“Jeongguk,” Min supplies.
“Jeongguk,” Christian repeats, then swallows thickly, hating the way the man's name settles on his tongue and forgoing honorifics because Min asked him not to use them. “I trust Jeongguk to tell me all that I need to know. For now, the less I know, the better.”
Min hums and nods, seemingly satisfied, and Christian is glad he is not asked to elaborate. It is not that he would be unable to keep his mouth shut; he has nobody to nark to about any of this, and he has no interest in informing the corrupt police about this operation, if it is as big as it seems. Yoongi, the man who has taken a page out of his late father's handbook and goes by his family name in public, is, after all, the only known kingpin in the city, and seemingly the most powerful man on the entire peninsula. Christian has done at least that much homework before agreeing to this idiotic meeting. Although Min's existence is a bit of a ghost in normal online spaces, Christian was able to dig on the dark web to find snippets of his life as a child and as the leader of the nation's mafia. So few photographs exist, however, that Christian always imagined this man to be much larger and more intimidating.
Christian does not wish to know more at this time because he does not wish to spiral. The less he knows now, the less likely he is to change his mind and go into hiding. After all, there is no way Christian comes out of this meeting with his heart still pumping if he chooses to turn down this job. Walking through that large black door has sealed his fate, and he knows this to be true. He has known men from previous jobs who have become employed by Min and his gang, and the only one to ever speak of wanting to get out turned up face down in the Han with a bullet hole between his eyes. Foolishly, Christian saw that as an opportunity; a newly open job position waiting to be filled.
“How soon can you start?” Min asks.
Christian shrugs and feigns nonchalance despite how desperate he feels. Tips at the host job are not enough to keep him afloat. The real money comes from getting a hotel room with the clients, but Christian has become bored with sneaking around with wealthy married women, many of whom remind him of his mother. It all feels so unfulfilling. He says, “As soon as you will have me.”
Min smirks. The look in his eye is dark and devious, and it sends a chill along Christian's spine. He has heard so many rumors about Min: the man with Korea wrapped around his pinkie, the man who men and women fall to their knees for in droves, swearing fealty. Christian always thought the rumors were silly and exaggerated, spoken by men so down on their luck that they were willing to spin tales of sugar about the benevolent man who gave them a new opportunity to be rich. But sitting here, in Min's presence, he can get a sense that it is not an exaggeration. He can see how Min's mix of soft and sharp features and soft-spoken voice lull and sway his targets, luring them into camaraderie-turned-servitude like a trap.
As Min stands, so do the men who flank Christian. Christian stands. His heart hammers in his chest, and he feels all the blood rush from his head. What has he agreed to?
“Ever handle a gun?” Min asks.
Christian swallows a lump. “No, sir.”
“Guk, Tae, show Barom the ropes and take him to the range.” Min levels his gaze on Christian. “You have three days to become a perfect shot. We do not have time to waste.”
“Yes, sir,” Christian says.
Min grins. “Good.”
* * *
It takes two days for Christian to become a near-perfect shot, thanks to the endless supply of cocaine, which at first makes his hands shake.
“A tremble is good,” Taehyung insists as he lifts his own gun and aims. “In a situation of life or death, your hands are going to tremble. And despite that, you will need to kill a man without a moment of hesitation.”
Taehyung is, without a doubt, the scariest man Christian has ever met. Tall, tan, with a mouth that is always slightly downturned into a frown, his hair, clothing, and accessories are always styled down to each perfect detail. There is a softness in his eyes reserved for the men in his close circle, particularly Jeongguk, who appears to be the youngest in the group. Otherwise, Taehyung is severe and clinical. A medical doctor, everything Taehyung does is with surgical precision, even after he has consumed enough whiskey and cocaine to kill an elephant. Nobody questions Taehyung, and Taehyung appears to never say or do anything without careful consideration and conviction. He is never given orders below his position as one of Min's close confidants, and nobody has the nerve to tell Taehyung no. At least, that is what Christian picks up on while more or less becoming Taehyung's shadow.
So, when Christian finds himself exhausted and dizzy, worried he has pushed his body beyond its limits, and famished despite the stimulants dulling his hunger, he pushes through some more, unwilling to say no. Only when he shoots the paper man-shaped target beside his head rather than between his eyes, does Taehyung tap his shoulder and instruct him to set down his gun.
“Pack up,” Taehyung says, pointing to the black duffel bag that sits open on the booth counter. "I think we're done for the night."
Christian turns on the gun's safety and pulls out the magazine, surprised to find it is empty of bullets. He places both the gun and the empty clip into the bag and zips the bag with hands that shake from hunger more than nerves. Taehyung and Jeongguk had been discussing food moments ago, and Jeongguk had gone ahead to get fried chicken and beer to take back to the compound. Christian allows the thought of sticky-sweet and spicy sauce on his lips push him forward, out into a cloudy evening, and toward a large SUV.
Since joining the team two days ago, Christian has only lain on a bed for about four hours. He hardly recalls what the compound looks like, and he has no idea how to locate it, knowing only that it is tucked deep within the hotel where he met Min, but that the entrance is neither through the large, heavy door, nor at the front of the hotel, which is lavish and stretches high toward the clouds, a beacon of wealth than any passerby can gawk at and wonder who in the world would build such a thing. Through a secret third other door, the compound lies deep in its underbelly, a dark rectangle of cement that holds a smell of moisture which sinks deep into Christian's lungs, reachable only by tunneling staircases and hallways that may as well be a labyrinth.
Except he knows enough to know that Taehyung is not driving him in the direction of that hotel, and he begins to question whether the compound was mentioned at all, or if he had assumed that was where they would go. The further the men snake through traffic, the further the city becomes, until they are on the outskirts. Christian begins to wonder whether he is being taken out to a field to be shot and left in the dirt. He does not think he has done anything wrong, and yet all he can imagine is the SUV pulling off onto the shoulder and Taehyung instructing him to get out and walk into the long grass before— bang!— everything goes black. Had he done so horribly at the gun range that he is being disposed of before his three days are up? Last bullet notwithstanding, Christian thought he was doing great, but maybe their standards for greatness are higher than he can possibly achieve.
“Probably should have blindfolded you,” Taehyung says, voice low and deep, showing a hint of playfulness that feels foreign to Christian.
“Pardon?” Christian asks, nerves spiking.
“Newbies aren't privy to our living quarters,” Taehyung says as the car peaks a hill, causing Christian's stomach to drop. If there was anything in him at all, he might vomit it up onto himself. Only now does Christian realize Taehyung is driving way too fast. “Of course, if you were to ever tell the others or try something stupid, we could always put a bullet in your head.”
Christian nods, staring out the window at the tall trees that fly past. “Of course,” he mutters, making Taehyung chuckle.
Luckily for everyone, especially Christian, there is no way in hell he would be able to trace this route back to wherever the fuck these so-called living quarters are. Gun to temple, Christian would have to say his prayers, because he cannot even fathom where he is now. And, being that his cellphone has been confiscated until he is fully brought into the fold, it is not as if he could sneak a peek at a map.
Christian is shocked by the fact that any of Min's team lives out in the middle of nowhere, rather than choosing to live in a penthouse in the middle of the city. He imagines every hotel in Min’s name has a room that overlooks the city that is worth more than Christian could possibly fathom. But he does remember reading something about a family property that Min's father did his business out of, despite famously hopping between penthouses to appear before the paparazzi. Father Min liked the spotlight way more than his successor seems to. Perhaps that property is where they are going to now.
A mansion comes into view, tall despite being at the bottom of a short but steep hill, and Christian sits up in anticipation. He is so dizzy from hunger that just that motion makes him feel sick. He is relieved when Taehyung begins to slow down, but is confused when the vehicle turns onto a driveway at the top of the hill that seemingly does not lead to the massive home ahead. They stop immediately in front of a large metal gate.
"Close your eyes," Taehyung says as he rolls his window down, leans out, and keys in a very long pass code.
Christian has no way of seeing the small metal box, especially with the way Taehyung's body takes up the entire window opening, but he closes his eyes anyway. He is simply too tired and hungry to not follow directions. They drive into a covering of trees before there is another large home. To Christian's surprise, Jeongguk stands on the front stoop smoking a cigarette in a black tee and silver basketball shorts. He is not sure why he would be surprised; it was Jeongguk who left to get them food. But seeing him dressed down is definitely unexpected.
Taehyung parks behind a flashy black sports car and turns off the ignition, and Christian pours haphazardly out of the vehicle, motion sick from the way Taehyung drives and on the brink of starvation. Taehyung approaches Jeongguk and mutters something below his breath, then the two of them turn to the front door, which has been left wedged open with a black sneaker.
"Welcome to mi casa," Jeongguk says in a blend of English and Spanish that sounds awkward and endearing, making Christian crack a smile. As he walks into the massive space, he is shocked to find that what he assumes would ordinarily be a living room is full of workout equipment.
Taehyung scoffs. "Still no couch?"
Jeongguk shrugs. "When have I ever had time to sit down on a couch?"
The two of them share a glance that seems to be communicating something private. Christian ignores it and follows the two men into a dining room that actually contains a sizable wooden table and seven chairs. In the center of the table are several white plastic bags filled to the brim with white and black takeout containers, and the smell of gochujang and honey hit Christian's senses in a dizzying wave. Taehyung rounds the table, and Christian takes a seat across from where he stands. In a swift motion, Taehyung whips out a knife that flicks open, and then he gets to work cutting open the bags, which have been tied tightly. Jeongguk brings over two glasses of water and sets them down, then returns to the kitchen, just past a large black marble island, to fill a third from the tap.
"Beer?" Taehyung asks, but it is unclear whether he is asking if Christian wants beer or if Jeongguk has beer.
Jeongguk grunts, sets the third glass of water down, then returns to the kitchen, opening a massive refrigerator door and revealing mostly empty shelves, save for an open case of beer, several soju bottles, and what look like protein drinks. The absurdity of this situation is not lost on Christian. How is someone as young as Jeongguk able to own a house so massive that he clearly spends little to no time in? Does Jeongguk actually sleep here? He is curious to know what the rest of the rooms are like, but he is certainly not brave enough to ask for a tour.
The three of them reach into the various bags to pull out and open the boxes. Fried chicken with a variety of sauces assault his senses, as do containers of tteokbokki and fries. There is enough food on this table to feed a small army of men, so Christian allows himself to be greedy and helps himself to more than he has eaten in weeks. Maybe months.
No conversation occurs while they eat and drink. Only when the three of them are sitting back in their chairs, holding their stomachs and slowly sipping their beers, do the men begin to discuss Christian's work ethic and how quickly he is catching on. Starting tomorrow, he will learn the ropes of the warehouse and receive orders. If he does well in that, they expect one to two weeks on packaging. And then the big leagues, Jeongguk calls it. Drug running.
The thought of drug running makes Christian feel sick to his stomach, but he swallows it down. He needs the money more than anything, but he is also excited to finally be regarded as someone who is a worthy member of a team. For the first time in a long time, he actually feels like he might fit in.
* * *
Working with Jeongguk feels equivalent to working with a Pitbull that has been both domesticated and taught the hard way how to fight. He has a chill, almost soft personality, but without notice, he turns and becomes extremely violent. Christian has yet to piss him off, but he keeps his head down, does as he is told, and keeps his questions to a minimum just to be safe. He gets a sense that Jeongguk is being nicer to him than usual, possibly because of the mission that Min has hinted at; he wonders whether Jeongguk has been given special orders not to flay him open and leave his entrails hanging from the rafters of the warehouse the way he so playfully threatens to do to others.
It all makes Christian extremely uncomfortable, and he does his best to perfect this task so that he can move forward and onto the next. Thankfully, Jeongguk does not keep him as high as humanly possible for this experience, the way Taehyung had been doing. Christian creates a schedule that involves eating meals, getting a good night's rest, and wearing himself out so much that he only has one drink with the guys at night before turning in and crashing.
He can tell that many of the other men despise him for the special treatment that he seems to be getting. He hears grumbles of men who have been stuck on receiving shipments for the last year, with a promise to move up to sorting— a position that Jeongguk considers more dangerous because of the loss it could bring him, should something happen. But everyone knows receiving shipments from gangsters from Japan and Russia is far more dangerous than standing around in a circle weighing the merchandise.
The warehouse men call Christian Pretty Boy and Baby Boy, seemingly in an attempt to get under his skin. They whisper about him being Jeongguk's new plaything and make blow job motions with their hands and tongues as the two of them walk by. When Jeongguk isn't around, they whistle and make remarks about how the two of them resemble each other enough that whatever they are doing behind closed doors might be considered incest. Christian knows that men with nothing to lose resort to gay jokes and rape threats to wear each other down, and it does get under his skin a little. If Jeongguk notices, he says nothing. Christian would think that those kinds of remarks would offend Jeongguk, but by the end of the first week, when he is transitioned out of the warehouse, and none of those men have been flayed open, he has decided that he cannot possibly fathom what might offend Jeongguk.
Sorting and packaging drugs is a killer on the shoulders and back. They stand around a tall table, delicately handling pills and powders, weighing them and stuffing them into various-sized baggies, then storing everything into dark, air-tight containers. Cross-contamination is strictly forbidden, and there are cameras everywhere pointed at everyone's gloved hands. Although there are armed guards and management who watch over the operations, Jeongguk often oversees the process. Packaging is a sporadic job that happens the moment shipments arrive and is over as quickly as possible, usually only taking six to twelve hours, so the men who work this job spend most of their time at the compound or out blowing their money in clubs and dives. At first, Christian questioned how so many men were able to keep their mouths shut about this job. Then he discovered, on his second night of packaging, that two of the men were overheard bragging about how they had come into so much money and were found dead several hours later.
"How did you find out?" Christian asks cautiously over beers with Jeongguk outside the warehouse. They sit on metal folding chairs waiting for the management team— four grunts barely paid more than he is— to finish weighing and recording everything for the night.
Jeongguk takes a long pull from his beer bottle, then makes a loud, comical ahh sound. "We have eyes and ears everywhere," he says, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
Christian finds this hard to believe. "Like, men who are employed to follow us?"
Jeongguk grins at Christian with something terrible glinting in his eye. "Why do you ask?"
Christian shakes his head. "I just mean. I don't know. I can't really fathom the scale of this whole operation that Min runs."
"He has connections," Jeongguk says, tipping the bottle to his mouth and holding it up tall to get the final drops of his beer. He sets the bottle down. "You'll learn eventually, if Yoongi-hyung promotes you.”
Christian is somewhat taken aback by the casual way in which Jeongguk addresses Min to him. He tries not to even think of the man as being named Yoongi, worried he may slip up and call him that by accident after he had been clearly instructed on what to say. Min or sir.
"But the woman you saw the first time we brought you to meet him," Jeongguk continues, reaching to the open case of beers on the cement between them and opening another with the blade of a pocketknife, "that's Sunmi-noona. You'll get to know her once you start running. She's affiliated with us, but she runs her own operation. Kind of. It's complicated. She has eyes and ears that follow whoever needs to be followed, and Hoseok-hyung taps into CCTV without going through the authorities, so it's not easy to fuck us over."
Jeongguk winks, then chugs from his fresh bottle. Christian nods, remembering the woman in silk with long black hair whispering a hairsbreadth away from Min's lips. He assumed she was a pretty ornament to hang off Min's arm and that they were just fucking, and for that, he feels a bit guilty. More than that, he feels intimidated by the fact that Min and his organization are so powerful. It seems as if Christian truly couldn't get out of this mess if he wanted to.
Two weeks on the packaging line is enough to make Christian feel insane. His body aches, he has no time frame for when drugs come in, so he is often called between ten and one, either heading off to bed or already asleep, to get dressed and go meet the team of obnoxious, disgusting men to stand around a tall table and weigh cocaine for hours upon hours. The compound has no windows, nor does the warehouse, so every time Christian steps outside, the time of day is a surprise. Sunshine threatens to burn his retinas, and the nighttime is too quiet for comfort.
He is thankful when he gets the call to go shopping for a nice black-on-black uniform and an ironing board. Jeongguk outfits him in plain but sleek clothing that fits a little too nicely, hugging his muscles a little too tightly. Christian sips champagne, nervous to be in such a fancy clothing store, but Jeongguk, crass as he is, seems to fit right in, flirting with the sales girls and asking for high-end brands by name, gathering nice black leather belts and shoes that are "sleek but have good traction for running."
Christian is surprisingly adept at running drugs. He is the guy who sets up the actual dealers with their stock, and occasionally meets with wealthy clientele to sell to them directly. In this element, where he is determined to make a good impression, Christian finds that, for the first time in a long time, he is charming, funny, and easy to get along with, and he looks good in a gun holster. And he finally gets to have a semi-normal sleep schedule, returning to the compound around two in the morning to pass out.
He even finds himself propositioned by Sunmi one night and is blown away by how eager and talented she is with her mouth. Her lithe, long limbs are delicate as she crawls onto his lap and adept as she slides down his body and very quickly does away with his slacks. Jeongguk did instruct him to get information from her in any way that he could, because she does enjoy gossiping from time to time, so he decides that allowing this is all part of the job.
"Don't tell daddy Min," she winks as she wipes his cum from the corner of her mouth. Christian is too blissed out to do anything but shake his head.
He feels proud and happy for the first time in a long time, but living at the compound, especially after being promoted as quickly as he has, is becoming hectic. He feels like he has a constant target on his back, and his sleep is beginning to suffer. Taehyung and Jeongguk certainly don't stop the other men from picking on him, but they are kind to him and straightforward in the way they train him in each new task, never feeding him bullshit or empty promises. He is surprised to find that he is quite desperate to prove himself to these men, and especially to Min.
When Jeongguk calls early one morning to say, "Dress your best in all black and meet us in the penthouse at one. A card is waiting for you at the front desk," Christian nearly cries with joy.
* * *
Christian stares at the photographs, mapping the lines and shapes of your face, the way your eyes and mouth frown and scowl, how you are never smiling. From high angles or zoomed in with expensive lenses, each shot is candid or pulled from a surveillance camera, and you appear to be a normal woman living a normal life with more sadness in your eyes than he can fathom.
He is not given much to work with, not even your name. Min is strict about how important it is that he learns everything there is to know about you on his own. There is only one chance at getting this mission right, and he needs to carry it out with utmost care and consideration.
"Fuck her if you need to, shower her with gifts, make her feel like the only woman in the world who exists, and in return, I will give you a penthouse suite in any hotel in the city and chaebol-like status. I want her entire wardrobe replaced with designer within the first year, and I will provide you with a sports car to drive her around town in. It is your job to groom her for a life of wealth and status, with the promise of a lavish wedding and large house in the future. Begin planning for that future as fast as possible. I am giving you two years. Under no circumstances should you fall in love, but you absolutely must make her believe that you are. Do not fail me, Yu Barom."
Groom her for a life of wealth and status. The entire sentiment feels like acid in Christian's guts.
* * *
Finding you is easy. The bar you work at is close to the apartment that Min has purchased for Christian.
Getting to know you is easy. You light up at genuine, casual conversation, and although you are guarded and do not seem to understand many pop culture references, you have a snappy, fun sense of humor and are fun to talk to. Contrary to what the photographs led Christian to believe, you actually smile quite a lot. You open like a flower under Christian's touch, and it only takes a week of consistent pestering for Christian to finally get you to come to his apartment and sleep all morning in his bed. Struggling to make ends meet and living in squalor too far from your job, you are easy to convince two months later to move into Christian's flat, since you spend all your time there, anyway. It all moves so fast that Christian is certain this will be the easiest job of his life.
Grooming you, however, is like pulling teeth. You are unimpressed with the way Christian dresses in designer clothing and roll your eyes at his sports car. You insist on walking to work and taking a taxi around town, and you refuse to wear any of the jewelry and clothing he buys for you, even going so far as to accuse him of trying to get you robbed for wearing that shit to the dive bar. You also refuse to look for better work because you like mixing drinks and getting to know your patrons— specifically those patrons at that bar. And you only agree to finally get dolled up in expensive clothing and taken out to a Michelin-star restaurant on your six-month anniversary when Christian is literally down on his knees begging you to let him spoil you.
Christian is, unfortunately, disgracefully, horribly in love with you. The way your eyes soften when you see him, how you are so demanding and giving in bed, and the fact that you are so fucking stubborn that it makes him crazy. Min insists on the two of you having dates and outings in large public places so that he can monitor you. So when Christian gives you a very expensive pair of diamond earrings and takes you to a stand for a dish of your favorite ice cream, it is at a park near the river, at the same spot he first confessed to being in love with you months ago. Standing about twenty feet away are Min and the sword man, eating their own cups of ice cream and watching your every move.
"Bring me here again," you insist as you watch the sunset on the river, eyes filling with tears.
Christian buries his nose and lips against your neck, behind your ear, smiling against your skin and making you shiver and giggle. "I'll bring you here as much as you want."
The two of you have eight incredible months together. And then you begin to change.
You can clearly tell that he is holding back and being dishonest. He refuses to talk about his job, how he has come to have so much money, why he lives in this fuckass apartment when he can afford something much better. Incidentally, Min is harassing Christian to move into a nicer apartment, but everything he offers to buy, you decline, hating how far away each one is from your job, and mocking Christian for how expensive they are because other perfectly good, less expensive apartments also exist and are closer to this neighborhood.
Nothing makes you happy. First, you accuse him of living a double life, having a secret family, and a number of increasingly absurd things. Then you completely shut down and seem to remain in this relationship because it is clear that you cannot afford to move out. The sex dries up, and Christian finds himself turning to Sunmi frequently to let off steam. Some days, you barely speak to him.
Christian still runs drugs for Min. During the day, while you sleep, he is out making deals with very high-profile clients. He takes business trips to Japan to be the face of Min's organization, and fills in for Jeongguk at least once a week to oversee the production line overnight. And, of course, he never has a good excuse for any of it, making you increasingly angry. He tries to lie and say he is meeting with his mother when he goes to Japan, but since he never invites you to tag along, you do not believe him.
On your one-year anniversary, Christian takes you to one of Min's premier restaurants overlooking the city. You seem begrudging but agree that it would be nice to get dolled up and spoiled again, but only after Christian begs at your feet. Plus, you concede in part because you were given the night off from work and have nothing better to do. You look absolutely breathtaking in a long black slip dress and red-bottomed heels, dripping with gold and diamonds, eyes bloodshot after several glasses of wine, and Christian's heart softens a little each time you crack a hesitant smile.
Min, along with several of his family men, sits at a corner booth and watches as the date unfolds. Christian feels terrified, but does his best to play it off. This is far from the first time Min has watched the two of you on a date, but this is the first time you have been so clearly unhappy with him. He keeps his eyes on you and the table as much as he can, and even leans his cheek on his hand, blocking Min from his view. By mid-meal, sweat drips from his hairline that he has to continually dab at with a napkin. He worries that if you appear visually disgruntled—which takes almost no effort these days—Min is going to think of Christian's job as a failure. And you do become increasingly cold as you become drunk, much to Christian's chagrin.
"She is certainly a spicy one," Min jokes at the sink in the men's bathroom, where he had followed Christian after he had gotten up to take a piss. "But please, do not worry. You are doing fine. Perhaps, if she is fed up with you by the time I make my introduction, it will be easier to convince her that she belongs with me."
"She still thinks I'm living a double life. I need an alibi for all this money."
Christian has been saying this for months, and for months, Min has brushed him off, claiming that he wants you to come to accept a life where you are not privy to all that goes on around you. Clearly, that has not been working out.
With a sigh, Min says, "Well, after a year, you need to come up with something slightly nefarious or she really will think you were lying through your teeth."
"Or," Christian says with a sigh, making Min's eyes widen, "I confess to something embarrassing like being a trust fund kid."
Min lets out a deep, guttural laugh that takes Christian by surprise. "Perfect!" His shout echoes off the tile walls. "A trust fund kid who trades in stocks and bonds. During the day, you meet up with fellow finance guys." He is laughing hard now. "Truly an embarrassing lie. Good luck keeping her after that confession, kid."
You buy the lie, and it clearly drives a wedge between you. No doubt, you think he is pathetic. He wonders whether you would be less disgusted with the fact that he sells pills and designer drugs to wealthy assholes, instead.
After about a month, he claims to have gotten a new job working as an assistant to a wealthy businessman in Hannam-dong. He describes the hotel covered in red velvet, actually amusing you with his description of how goofy and stupid it all is. You buy it and, surprisingly, don't ask many questions.
By the time the one and a half year mark rolls around, you are sweet, clingy, and loving. You seem to have dropped your paranoia about Christian living a double life and sleeping with other women to the point of eagerly joining him in the shower and begging for sex. Christian even stops fucking Sunmi. But then Christian gets the call.
Things had remained on a bit of a roller coaster during the final six months, to the extent that Christian has no idea how much time has actually passed. Min has been too preoccupied to call and check in, and Christian has taken over so much of Jeongguk's work that the two have barely crossed paths anymore. Currently, the roller coaster is on a slow ascent back up. Although he has changed his style to be more contemporary and less gangster, and you seem to find his distressed jeans and polo shirts disgusting, you have been kind and caring, and open to the occasional fuck. All of your clothing, with the exception of the plain clothes you prefer to wear to work, has been replaced by designer, which you have become more receptive to wearing, and you have even begun asking regularly to be taken out and spoiled on your days off.
When he calls, Min is brief, speaking quickly, as if he has no time to waste chatting. "Saturday night at the top floor restaurant, let her know that you are celebrating your new promotion. I will arrive for dessert and make my move. I do not plan to take her away that night, but I am receptive to seeing how things go. You are almost off the hook, pretty boy. Do not fuck this up."
Christian feels like vomiting. As he stares ahead at the blank white wall, he has to swallow down the urge, breathing slowly through his nose. His entire world may as well be coming crashing down, because despite how much he has tried to distract himself in the arms of another woman, he is totally and insanely in love with you, and he is terrified to let you go. Especially to be with a cold, manipulative man like Min. You are somewhat secretive about your past, but you have alluded to traumatic experiences at the hands of greedy men, and Christian can't help but worry he could be setting you up for more trauma.
What the fuck had he agreed to? You are a human being, and Christian has more or less brought you straight to the jaws of a greedy, hungry lion. He has treated you like an object to be passed around despite growing deeply fond of you, and it is eating him up inside.
He is in shambles when he brings a shipment to Sunmi later that evening, in tears as he turns her advances down. He tells her about the stipulations of his job, how much he cares about you, and how, in less than a week, he may have to say goodbye. He had assumed that she was aware of the arrangement the entire time, shocked and fearful when her face falls, and anger rises in her eyes.
"You did what to this poor girl!" Sunmi shrieks as one swift hand slaps him hard across his cheek.
Christian leaves her penthouse in a hurry, and his heart wages a storm inside his chest. He has no doubt that she will call Min and tell him that he narked. How could he have narked?! He was certain that if anyone knew about Min's devious plan, it would be the woman who has eyes and ears everywhere, a person whom Min seemed extremely comfortable confiding in, and continues to confide in, if what Sunmi has said about his frequent visits is true.
He formulates a plan to get out of the city and run to Australia, buying a burner phone with cash and then purchasing two one-way tickets for the Friday before your big dinner. Sure, you will be angry and resistant when he tells you he planned a surprise vacation for your anniversary, but you have several days to find coverage for your shifts. Besides, you have been saying you want to go meet his mother someday.
When Min shoots Christian a text that says, "Change of plans, be there tomorrow at 8," he is sure that the boss is onto him.
All he can think to send in reply is, "Yes, sir."
* * *
Christian is tired of feeling weak and pathetic. It is always the same bullshit over and over, a never-ending loop of letdown and despair. He made an idiotic deal with an insane man, and he knows deep in his heart that he would rather die than watch you leave with him.
As the two of you run through the upper floor of the hotel, Christian's head is spinning. He placed an order for a taxi before frantically leaving the dinner table, and now he needs to get you downstairs, outside, and into the backseat safely. He is leaving his car, which Min has undoubtedly attached a tracker to, in the parking garage as a decoy, hoping to buy the two of you a little time. That is, unless Min is also tracking his phone. But he is certain that if he can just get the two of you back to the apartment, he can explain everything and give you the opportunity to leave, whether it be with him or on your own. He is ready to pay for another plane ticket, or anything else, regardless of what it means for him. Even if it puts a target on his back.
But when he confesses to being a drug dealer, you are surprisingly nonchalant about it. In fact, you treat him like an idiot for seeming worried. By the time the two of you reach the cab, he is sick of your attitude.
He asks, "Why are you always like this," before he can think better of it, and you look at him as if he is the biggest dipshit in the world.
"We didn't even get our steaks! I'm hungry!"
Jesus Christ, you are infuriating. “We can order something when we get home,” he concedes. He just needs a chance to think.
“Wait," you ask, tone somewhat softened but still angry, "doesn’t he know where you live? Why are we going home?”
Fuck. Christian had not thought of that very major, very obvious detail when he panicked and decided to run for his life out of that hotel. Of course, Min knows where he lives; the apartment is in his name. With the taxi pulling up to the apartment, Christian feels gobsmacked. He glances around, expecting to see Taehyung's SUV screaming down the road, surprised by just how quiet it is.
“Sh-should we go somewhere else?” he asks, brain feeling like sludge.
You glance around despite not knowing what to look for, which Christian finds endearing but also frustrating. This is not a moment when you need to be taking charge, yet here you are, trying like always to be in control of every situation. He has half a mind to ask the taxi driver to take the two of you somewhere else, but you interject with a shrug, saying the coast looks clear and handing the driver your credit card. When he gets out and makes a beeline to the apartment, he is shocked to glance back and find you leisurely making your way to the door.
Christian is certain that all he has to do is pack a quick go-bag while you change into something more comfortable, then he can call another cab, and you can be on the road before Min has a chance to get to the hotel and realize the two of you are gone. That is, if he was not already there watching everything unfold. Although he is certain that if any of those men watched the two of you flee, there would be a bullet in his brain already. Min does not strike Christian as the type of man who would hesitate to open fire in a crowded dining hall.
"I'm gonna shower," you say, stripping your expensive clothing off and leaving a trail of it through the apartment. "I may as well go in to work tonight."
Christian is shocked. "Work? What? No. Baby, we have to go."
"Christian," you groan, fed up and leaning naked in the bathroom doorway. "Listen, I'm not wrapped up in all of this, okay? And I can't afford to not work, so just... I don't know. Flee the city for a few nights if you have to, but leave me out of it."
"You don't understand," Christian begins, but you close and lock the door before he can say more.
Min calls while you shower, and Christian decides he would rather be aware of his death sentence instead of ignore the man and try to hide. It's not like he has anywhere to hide at the moment.
"Boss," Christian says as he answers.
Min snickers. "Boss, hmm? Interesting title for a man whose orders you are unable to follow."
Christian closes his eyes. He feels like crying. "I'm sorry, sir."
"What happened?"
Deep breath in. "I, uh. I got cold feet."
"Cold feet?"
Christian's eyes frantically scan the room, looking nowhere and everywhere as he struggles to formulate a thought. He begins to cry.
Min hums. "You fell in love."
"Yes," Christian whispers.
"My deepest condolences, truly," Min says in a flat, unapologetic tone. "But a job is a job. You have one more chance to do right by me. Tomorrow night."
Christian's shoulders drop, and he lets out a deep sigh. He could make this right and get the two of you out of town by tomorrow night. Easily.
He mutters, "Yes, sir," and Min ends the call.
Christian decides that he will at least prime you for what is happening by the time you exit the shower and begin to get dressed. But all he manages to say is, "The truth is, I was working for this guy the entire time," and you throw your hands in the air, exasperated at the fact that you knew he was lying. He worries in this moment that he is truly beginning to lose you. There is only hate and anger in your eyes, and you refuse to hear him out.
You are dressed and out the door before he can say another word, shutting him up and screaming at him about how much of a lying weirdo he is each time he attempts to speak. He stands dumbfounded, watching you leave, then he decides that he will use this time to form a plan. He packs all of his clothing into a suitcase, leaving out an outfit for tomorrow. He keeps your things unpacked so you can decide what you want to bring with you. In his suitcase, he puts two framed photos and three photo strips of the two of you into his bag. Then he goes over his script in his head, doing his best to stay up all night by snorting through a baggie of cocaine that has him mentally and emotionally sparking like a live wire.
He mutters to himself, pacing back and forth in only white socks and briefs, wondering whether it would be possible to set up an entire alias, questioning whether he could take this kind of thing to the police. He knows better to assume that police care enough about the well-being of a woman to spring into action and protect you, and ultimately, he decides that he will talk to you the moment you are home and make arrangements right then and there to flee the country. He will get down on his knees once more and plead his case to you, no matter what it takes. Begging has always worked in his favor in the past.
Christian has no memory of falling asleep, but when he hears the door open, he stretches and yawns and says, "Baby?"
The sound of a gun being cocked inches from his head springs him into full wakefulness, and he opens his eyes to find Taehyung standing over him wearing all black, with black leather gloves on. Christian scrambles to sit up, hands and feet sliding against the sheet frantically as he struggles to get his bearings.
Taehyung sighs. "You really fucked up, Barom."
Everything is a blur, and Christian struggles to keep his wits about him. The gun is so close to his face that he is frozen and struggling to breathe. He says nothing. What could he possibly say?
"What time does she get home?" Taehyung asks, looking at his watch.
Christian is barely able to whisper the word, "Three."
"Not a lot of time," Taehyung says, sighing. "How often are you gone when she gets home?"
Christian's mouth feels like sand. When he says, "Maybe once a week," he stammers, struggling to get the syllables out.
"Alright, then, get dressed and come with me."
Taehyung drops the gun to his side and watches silently as Christian's brain buffers and he gets his bearings. When he stands, it is on shaking legs while bile rises up his throat. He gets dressed in jeans and a plain white tee and walks outside in his socks, too in shock to remember to put on shoes. Only when Taehyung mentions it does he turn around and grab a pair of sneakers. Taehyung gathers the mostly empty baggie of cocaine and Christian's phone, shoving them deep into his pocket, then he turns off the lights.
When they approach the SUV waiting outside, Jeongguk is in the passenger seat. Christian has never been so scared as he is in this moment, to the point where he thinks he is going into shock because all sensation of the outside world is dull. He has no sense of what temperature the air is, and he can hardly feel where he places his feet. When he gets into the backseat, he can barely hear the jeers and snickers from Jeongguk, who looks back to threaten him pretty much the entire ride. He mostly just hears, "Fucked up, man," over and over, but he is not sure whether Jeongguk is actually saying that, or if he is imagining it. He feels stuck underwater.
A bag is placed over his head somewhere downtown, and for a time, he has no idea where they take him. But then he recognizes the scrape of a metal gate and the sound of tires on gravel. He thinks that it could be Jeongguk's mansion again, but he is led into a building, down a ramp, and through a large room that is definitely not in Jeongguk's home. He hears what sounds like a large, heavy door being opened, and then he is tied to a chair. Eventually, the heavy door closes. Rather than scream or beg for help, he cries and cries until he wears himself out, and then he drifts in and out of sleep, jolting upright each time his head hangs forward for too long, never able to get any actual rest.
When the bag is removed from his head, he is surprised to see that it is Min standing before him. Min wears a tan suit and leopard print shirt, and he looks ridiculous. Christian is so out of his mind that he actually begins to laugh. When Min grabs him roughly by the hair and asks just what the fuck is so funny, the pain that seizes Christian from his head, down between his shoulders, is so sharp, he frantically says, "Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry, sir," before he is let go.
"Didn't shit or piss yourself," Min says, surprise in his tone, eying up Christian's crotch. "Good. You have one final performance."
When Min unties Christian, he is not gentle about it. Christian is jostled around, and at times his circulation feels cut off from how tightly the ropes are yanked before being released. Min leads him by gunpoint through a massive fluorescent-lit room, up a ramp, and outside, to an SUV that is being driven by sword man, although today he does not appear to have a sword. He is taken to the hotel with the compound and led upstairs, flanked by Min and this man, who he calls Joonie. In the room, he is ordered to shower and get presentable. Then, at gunpoint, with the cellphone Taehyung confiscated earlier, he messages you and says to meet him at the park at 3 p.m. sharp.
"Tell her to dress nice," Min adds, which makes Christian feel increasingly antsy. That is definitely going to piss you off.
* * *
The sun is so bright, it stings Christian's eyes. Of all the days to have a perfectly clear sky, it had to be today. The beautiful, expansive blue feels like it is mocking Christian, whose head is tilted upward. Luckily, with a blade to his throat, everything in his field of vision goes hazy, and the sun is blotted out. Christian is on his knees, drooling from the desire to vomit and thankful his stomach is empty, as much as it aches. He trembles like a leaf, and Min's grip on his hair is the only thing keeping him from face-planting into the grass.
He cannot fathom how quickly everything has turned sour, and he wants to curse Sunmi, who had to have tipped Min off. If he had been paying attention rather than going with the flow, he could have come up with an escape route sooner, but he lost track of time. He was certain that coming to the river with these men and watching the way they assert their dominance would have scared you off, or, at the very least, convinced you to hear Christian out so that he could explain himself. But he was never given the chance to speak.
Instead, you are being led away by that Joonie guy, and— is he imagining it, or did you seem to go with him willingly? Surely the last two years were not so horrible that you would just hand yourself over to these men? You must have some kind of plan for escaping, but what could it possibly be? If they take you to that mansion out in the middle of nowhere, how will you ever get out?
"This isn't right," Christian mutters, voice struggling to push between his lips. "She deserves to know the truth."
Min must pull the blade away from Christian's throat because the next thing he knows, he's being pummeled in his right eye by Min's fist before knuckles connect with his nose with a loud crack that echoes throughout his head. Christian groan-yells in pain, but quickly shuts up as the bag is placed back over his head and pulled so tight that when he inhales, fabric presses inside his mouth and cuts off his air supply. He can hardly breathe, and when he is yanked to his feet and dragged away by what feels like two men, he waits to feel the cold sting of the Han River engulf him at any moment. He is surprised when he is thrown into the trunk of an SUV instead.
* * *
Tied to a chair, presumably left to die, with a bag on his head, Christian feels as if he might go insane.
He holds in his piss for as long as he can, but when his bladder begins to burn, he finally concedes and lets it out. The bag prevents him from smelling the piss, and for that, he is grateful. He imagines there are much worse smells in this place. Before, when he was too afraid to get his bearings, he thought it smelled metallic and musty. That had to have been earlier today, before the trip to the river, but Christian has no concept of how much time has passed, or if he is even in the same place as before. The chair feels the same.
He thinks he hears the squeak of pipes, but worries that it could also be rats. If there are rats trapped in this place, how long will it take for them to begin nibbling at his flesh, starting with his ankles? His legs are stuck in place, tied to the legs of the chair, and he would be unable to kick them away.
Occasionally, he thinks he feels an itch near where ropes pull the denim up against his skin, and Christian freaks out. What if there is something crawling up his pant leg? Can it chew through denim? Rope? Sometimes his leg attempts to kick so violently that the chair rocks, and he has to do his best to breathe through his fear without allowing too much fabric into his mouth, because if he falls over, then whatever is in here could get at his neck, and possibly even into the bag to eat away at his face. Christian is not ready for his lips and eyes to be devoured while he lies on his side, unable to defend himself.
Behind the black bag, Christian's eyes are open, and he sees light and color dancing against the fabric. He thinks of the kaleidoscopes his mother would buy him from the fair, cheap plastic and paper things filled with beads and other small, colorful bits. He cries at the thought of his mother, at her loving brown eyes and soft hands, her gentle voice. He cries until his lips are coated in tears and snot, and he struggles to breathe. Then he calms himself down.
"Stay focused," he mutters to himself. "Listen for clues. Know your surroundings. Anything."
But there is nothing. No clues, no sound whatsoever. No way of seeing.
He begins to dream up stories in his head. His limbs are somewhat numb, no longer itching, and he rewrites the story of how the two of you met. He is on break after filming a really cool action film where he isn't the star, because he's not that famous yet, but he is the star's witty best friend. He has a cool apartment that just so happens to be near the bar you work at, and when he walks in and sees you pouring a foamy, off-white drink from a large metal shaker into a glass of ice, it is love at first sight. You don't recognize him, and haven't seen any of his movies, and he feels happy because he wants a shot at really getting to know you naturally again. You move in right away and fall in love right away because Christian is too antsy to get to the good part.
In this story, he doesn't even know Sunmi and has never touched her, and he doesn't have to lie to you about what he does for a living. You go to his movie premiere where he gets down on one knee and proposes to you, taking all the attention away from the film as everyone claps and cheers, and paparazzi takes pictures. Even the star of the film is happy for the two of you, and he promises to officiate the wedding. He replays you saying yes to him over and over, each time slightly different. Sometimes you roll your eyes, smiling but slightly annoyed with his dramatics. Sometimes you hold your hands over your mouth and cry. Sometimes you stare at him blankly, and he has to shake his head really hard to dispel the image and replace it with something softer. He does his best to hold onto the image of you, and he apologizes over and over, muttering and drooling and crying, and saying he is sorry. He is sorry. He is so, so sorry.
When he hears footsteps enter, he is certain that he must be hallucinating. Perhaps there is a water leak somewhere, and the insistent dripping is only mimicking footfalls. But then he hears that massive door open and close, and the sound of something heavy being thrown onto the floor in a muffled clatter that sounds like a bag full of heavy instruments. He holds his breath.
"Yu Barom," a deep voice calls. It is familiar and not. He cannot place the owner. "Today we decide whether you live or die."
Christian scoffs. Why would they let him live after everything that has transpired?
"It's not in Boss Yoongi's interest to kill a man who has been such a pivotal part of his team for the better part of two years. He has already extended you an immense amount of gratitude by not putting a bullet between your eyes."
To his surprise, Christian feels more resolved than afraid. Sitting alone in the dark, pissing his pants and waiting for rodents to begin eating him from the ankles up has had a chance to put things into perspective. Or, he is so famished and exhausted that he is incapable of thinking clearly. Regardless, what does any of it matter? He has failed you, and maybe he does deserve to die.
When the bag is pulled from his head, sword man is there with a sword strapped to his back. Christian begins to laugh, and the movement hurts his face but in a vague, distant kind of way. There is a stench about this place that is more than just blood mixed with piss and old water. Christian tries to remember whether he knows what a dead body could smell like.
"Joonie," Christian spits out, remembering what Min called him.
The man's eyes go dark. "That's Namjoon, to you."
"Namjoon," Christian repeats, struggling to make his lips form the j-shape. He grunts. "So you're n-not here to k-kill me?"
Namjoon squats before him, eyeing him up. He studies Christian's face, then cracks half of a grin. "Damn. He really fucked you up."
It takes a second for Christian to remember what he is talking about. He had forgotten about getting punched in the face. How could he have forgotten? Absently, he tries to lift his right hand to touch his eye, but remembers it is tied to the chair. Now that Namjoon mentions it, the right eye does seem swollen, making his vision blurry.
"That's…weird. How come it doesn't hurt?"
Namjoon's smile widens. "Painkillers."
"Painkillers," Christian mutters back. That explains a lot.
Namjoon nods, then reaches for his bag. "Let's get you something to eat."
Christian shakes his head. He does not want to shit on himself. Plus, what if he has been trapped here for so long that eating kills him? How long has it been?
"What do you mean no?" Namjoon asks, digging into his bag. "It's been six hours since we brought you back here. I know you're hungry."
Six hours? Christian feels like he has been here for days.
Namjoon pulls out a few pouches of what appear to be protein shakes. Christian attempts to tighten his lips, but the muscles tremble, and he is unable to keep them steady. Namjoon twists off the lid and shoves the small plastic straw-like tip into Christian's mouth, knocking him against the teeth as he squeezes the pouch, forcing the thick liquid through. Christian gags and then swallows, first angry but then pleased to be tasting something that comes close to chocolate and peanut butter. He downs that pouch rather fast, giving himself a stomachache. The motion of sucking also somehow manages to make his nose hurt a little. When Namjoon pulls the pouch away, Christian is trying to catch his breath. And now that he has tasted a little something, he is definitely hungry.
Namjoon assists Christian with drinking down two more pouches. With his wits about him slightly more than before, he glances around and realizes this is not a warehouse but more like a…a dungeon?
"Where are we?" he asks, eyes landing on a rusted metal rack covered in tools, including what appear to be electric saws. Christian swallows thickly, tearing his gaze, which is blurring over with tears, away from the horrifying sight. Are those Namjoon's tools? Does he plan to use them? Some of them look pretty worn, covered in dark rust, but they can likely cut through bone. Or worse, fail to. Looking down, he realizes the cement floor has a gentle incline toward a small round grate. Then he tilts his head back and notices that right above him on the ceiling is a large metal hook. Just what in the hell goes on in here?
Namjoon cocks his head to the side. "Where do you think we are?"
He thinks that perhaps he should lie. Perhaps there is danger in telling the truth. But he decides to be truthful. His voice trembles as he says, "The property where Jeongguk lives."
Namjoon grins. "Why do you say that?"
Christian feels nervous. Has he said too much? "The gate," he begins, watching as Namjoon nods once. "And the driveway. I remember there being gravel."
"I keep telling hyung to pave this side," Namjoon says in a tone that almost seems cordial.
Christian nods.
Behind Namjoon, a large metal door opens, and in walks Min. Dread settles in Christian's belly. Of course, it is inevitable to see the kingpin himself. But Christian was hoping that perhaps he would be too busy to pay him a visit.
Min wears his standard uniform of black. He begins by unbuttoning his cuffs, then he starts at the neck of the shirt, unbuttoning to his waist, untucking, and unbuttoning the rest. He is delicate with the dress shirt as he pulls it off to reveal a black t-shirt tucked into black slacks. Rather than dress shoes, Min wears leather boots with thick rubber soles that make no noise as he walks.
"Tell me, Barom," Min snarls as he approaches, handing his shirt to Namjoon, "how do you think I was tipped off that you were planning an escape?"
Christian licks his dry lips, worried to speak. When he does, his voice is barely above a whisper. "Sunmi-noona."
Min lifts an eyebrow.
"Ah, I see there is a bit of a brain behind this thick skull of yours." Min lifts a hand and knocks on Christian's head hard enough to make him wince. "And tell me…how did Sunmi-noona find out?"
Christian moves his lips, about to speak, but Min continues, his face coming so close that it blurs in Christian's vision.
"Or, rather, why were you spending so much time with Sunmi-noona that she was able to glean such sensitive information? Were you…confiding in her?"
Christian nods, gulping despite there being no spit gathered to swallow. Min strikes Christian against the right cheek hard enough to make the entire right side of his face flare up momentarily in pain. The medication must be wearing off. He grips Christian by the hair and leans in so close that tobacco and whiskey come off his breath. He says, "Use your words, pretty boy," in a tone that is low and oddly seductive.
"Yes, sir," Christian mutters.
Min's grip tightens, making Christian wince.
"Were you fucking Sunmi-noona?"
Christian sighs, eyelids fluttering from the pain. "Yes, sir."
Min releases Christian's hair and lowers into a squat, then leans with his elbows digging into Christian's legs. To his surprise, Christian barely feels it. Concerned, he wiggles his toes. Is he losing circulation?
"Interesting," Min says, "I only remember giving you permission to fuck one of my girls. And here, you were fucking two?"
Christian's lips move, but no sound comes out. Was Sunmi-noona also his? Sure, they seemed close, but she wasted no time getting onto her knees for Christian. Why should Christian assume that Min has laid a claim to every woman in the city?
Min sighs, leaning with his cheek against his left fist. "Do you know what it costs me to lose someone like Sunmi-noona? The range that her eyes and ears manage to explore the city is unmatched. And it is going to cost me a lot of business, never mind weakening my firm grip on many of my more lucrative operations." Min seems to wait just a moment for a response before continuing. "Luckily, we had been planning for a rift to occur. It was only a matter of time; you saw how fickle and temperamental she can be, I presume."
Christian nibbles on the inside of his lip and shrugs. He only witnessed her lash out the last time he saw her.
Min sighs and continues. "In that time, however, Seokjin-hyung and Hoseok were only able to amass a fraction of the power that she has. But that is just no good. A fraction is not close to a whole. And power is priceless to a man such as myself."
Min stands, digging his elbows in much harder as he does so, and this time Christian does feel it. The pain is simultaneously dull and sharp, and it causes the spots on both muscles to ache and seize up, shooting pain down into his feet. Christian grits his teeth, eager not to show weakness, but by the time Min lifts his arms away, Christian is letting out a pained groan.
"It is as they say…an eye for an eye." Min pulls out his switchblade and holds it in Christian's face, right in front of his left eye. "You fucked up my surveillance, Barom. What is a man without his hold on every single person in this city?" Min leans closer, touching the tip of the blade to Christian's eyebrow. "You impaired my vision, so now I am going to repay the favor by impairing yours."
Fear and adrenaline spike through Christian, and he attempts to push himself backwards, but the chair only rocks weakly. The momentum is just enough to cause the tip of Min's blade to poke into Christian's eyebrow, and he winces and attempts to move his head to the side, but he only manages to slash himself horizontally.
"Gonna do all the work for me?" Min jokes, grin widening while his shoulders shake with laughter.
Christian begins to cry. He can't help it. What the fuck is happening to him? How the fuck did he get here? He just wanted to blend into a team of men doing something illegal for an exorbitant amount of cash so he could return home to his mother wealthier than he was when he left, and give her a cozy retirement; how did everything spiral out of control from the moment he met these guys? How could he have been so stupid?
With one hand, Min grabs Christian by the hair. With the other, he presses the blade straight into Christian's eye. The feeling is so intense that Christian simultaneously screams and pisses his pants. His entire body convulses as he vomits all over himself, unable to control his limbs from revolting against the pain, feeling all of the muscles in his face, neck, and shoulders stiffen in agony. It feels like he is crying uncontrollably, but he is unable to blink, and he frantically tries to move his arms and legs, desperate to stop this feeling and to let out the energy that is building and building inside of him.
And then, suddenly, he passes out.
* * *
When Christian awakens, he is lying down in a bright room with a tall white ceiling striped in fluorescent lights. As he blinks, lines of the room blur, and when he moves his head to the left, details rove in and out of focus. He appears to be in a large hospital room, but he has no idea how he has come to be here, and he wonders whether he has been in some sort of accident.
As the details of the room come into focus bit by bit, he realizes that the vision on his left side is impaired and his right eye seems swollen. He tries to lift his hand to feel whether there is a bandage over his left side, but finds he cannot move his arm. In fact, he cannot move either of his arms or his legs, and he is overwhelmed by the smell of vomit and piss. And then it hits him: the dungeon room, Min and his switchblade…his eye. Christian screams and thrashes, making as much noise as he can muster before his throat becomes so dry that he coughs uncontrollably. He cries, and it burns the wound of his eye. Whether he still has an eyeball is a mystery. Regardless, something is extremely wrong.
Min appears over Christian and punches him hard in the jaw, causing the back of Christian's head to slam against the thin pillow and firm mattress. Christian continues to scream and thrash, desperate to be heard. If this is a hospital, surely there is someone else who will hear him, right? Except he is certain that he has overheard Taehyung talk about the equipment and rooms he has set up in his own home. And if that's the case…
"Kill me," Christian begs, vocal cords raw and voice rough. "Please just kill me. Please, please."
Min punches Christian again, causing him to bite his tongue so hard that his mouth fills with blood. He lets enough pool in his mouth, and then he spits it into Min's face. In an instant, Min has a handgun drawn and cocked, pressing cold and heavy into Christian's temple.
"Give me one more fucking reason," Min threatens, leaning close, putting his weight into the firearm. He is clearly drunk, eyes glazed over and bloodshot, and he looks like he has not slept in days.
"You ruined her life," Christian sobs. He wants to curl into a ball, and he is furious that his wrists and ankles are restrained. "You ruined her life. She doesn't deserve this."
"And you are blameless?" Min asks, chuckling sardonically.
Christian closes his eye tight. He prays to whatever gods there may be that Min squeezes the trigger and blows his brains out. Let this be the way it ends, just so long as it fucking ends.
"She came willingly to my home," Min says inches from Christian's ear. "She already sleeps in my bed. And pretty soon I will have her on her hands and knees begging me to make her mine."
Christian imagines you lying back against the pillows, naked and shy, with your knees slightly touching. How soft your skin was when he dragged his lips along the slope of your knees, how your thighs would part and fall open for him. Min does not deserve you. Neither of them does.
"Please," Christian cries. "Please kill me. Please. I can't live with what I've done to her."
The gun lifts from Christian's head, and then Min leaves. Christian keeps his eyes closed, listening for footsteps to come or go, but the room is silent. There is no machine monitoring his heart rate. No IV drip to deliver hydration into his depleted system. He is tied down once more and left alone with his thoughts, his piss-wet jeans, and his pain. He sleeps in fits, waking up screaming from the memory of being stabbed in the eye and dryly gagging with nothing to vomit but stomach bile.
Days must pass. Christian soils himself again and again. He trembles from hunger and feels so dehydrated that he is certain that he may die. When he thinks of you, of the mess he is in thanks to being tasked with grooming you— with fucking tolerating you— he feels anger and despair. Little by little, he stops thinking of you fondly and with concern. He oscillates wildly between deep love and utter hopelessness until little by little, he hopes that whatever Min is doing to you is fucking you up just as badly as he feels fucked up. He hopes that you regret walking away from him so easily. He did so much for you, putting his life on the line, and he hopes that you feel nothing but shame and regret for the way you treated him. So what, he was fucking Sunmi. You treated him like gum under your shoe. If anything, Christian begins to believe that you deserved to be cheated on.
When Taehyung arrives to unstrap him from the bed, Christian feels too weak to move his limbs. Taehyung and Jeongguk lift him from the bed and drag him off to a bathroom with a little square shower stall. They strip him of his clothing and hose him down, washing him of the piss and shit that has caused his skin to break out in rashes and sores. They gently apply salves and bandages to his broken skin, all the while he leans against one and then the other, eye barely open and head lolling to the side. The men say nothing as they dry him off and assist him with getting dressed in a paper gown. Christian feels as if he is on the brink of death. He is too exhausted to be humiliated and accepts everything that is done to him. He says nothing, silent even when his head rolls too hard and slams into the wall. When they lay him down onto a clean bed, Taehyung hooks him up to an IV and does not restrain him. Christian never puts up any resistance. He is resolved to accept his shitty fate.
The men take shifts sitting beside him, watching television. Taehyung plays Ghibli films while force-feeding protein shake packets to Christian. Jeongguk watches kaiju films, mimicking the unnatural monster sounds while spinning small, pointy knives around on his fingers. They help him with walking to the bathroom, rolling the IV bag alongside him. Then they begin to offer him solid foods, mainly plain tofu and rice with a side of vegetables. After some time, Christian slowly begins to feel like himself again. But he does not look at himself in the mirror. He does not want to see what has become of him in such a short amount of time.
When he wakes up to a stranger in a burgundy suit sitting bedside, he startles. The man, who is reading a newspaper, glances over the top of the paper and nods, then begins to delicately fold it and set it aside.
"Here you are," the man says. "Awake at last."
Christian sits up slightly, glancing around and hoping to see Taehyung or Jeongguk, but neither man is around.
"My name is Kim Seokjin," the man says, and Christian nods. He has heard Seokjin's name before. "I have a proposition for you."
Christian is unsure whether he is interested in hearing another proposition put forth by this team of men. He would rather run as far away as his legs will take him. Hell, he would rather lie down in a ditch and die.
"You can keep the job and the apartment," Seokjin says, "interest free. Boss Min is feeling generous."
There has to be a catch. There is no fucking way Min is going to just bring Christian back into the fold. Christian opens his mouth to respond, but sound barely comes out, and he ends up mouthing around unvoiced syllables before giving up.
"You want to know what the catch is?" Seokjin asks.
Christian nods.
"No catch. You were punished and now you are free to resume as if nothing has changed."
As if nothing has changed.
Except everything has changed. The person Christian was before this shit storm began is as good as dead.
For the first time since Min drove a blade into his eye, Christian lifts his hand and feels the wound. His fingers gently touch the bandage first, and then they firmly press. What he feels is unnaturally hard and round. His eye is gone. His heart beats a little harder, but otherwise, he does not have the energy in him to react. An eye for an eye. Perhaps next time, Min will cut out his tongue.
"You will rejoin Jeongguk's crew but under my employ. Whatever orders I give, you will fulfill. Understand?"
Christian shrugs. What's there to understand?
"If you're really miserable staying here, I can always relocate you to Busan. I know some girls who would use a loyal grunt like you. Or we can put you on one of the catering teams. There are countless jobs in this city that need doing.”
Christian says nothing, just nods.
Seokjin must take this as a confirmation because he nods too, then stands and begins to leave. "Heal up and get back to work. One of our men will drive you home when you are ready. This is your last chance, Barom. Fuck this up, and we will have no choice but to kill you. If you work hard and make up for all the past trifling behavior, I will personally put you on a plane to Australia."
Christian stares ahead, watching from the periphery as Seokjin leaves. Then he waits. And waits. When he has to piss, he decides to rip the IV needle out of his arm and make his way to the bathroom. Once he exits, another unfamiliar man is standing in the doorway waiting for him, holding a wide paper bag full of black clothing. Christian gets dressed, then they make their way out of the room, through the large space, and up the ramp. At the front door, as he slides his feet into a pair of shoes, he realizes that he is definitely in a mansion, which means this must be Taehyung's home. No wonder all of his screams were for nothing. Nobody was ever going to hear him.
The man, who introduces himself as Hoseok, drives Christian back to the apartment. Christian barely glances at the space as he grabs his stuff and calls a cab to take him to the compound, then he returns to the tiny cement room there, never to see the apartment again. He does not unpack his suitcase, save for reaching in through an arm-sized hole and extracting some of the clothing, scared of how he might feel if he sees the pictures of you. Instead, he buys an all-new wardrobe bit by bit, leaving the suitcase to collect dust in the corner of the room.
The other guys no longer fuck with him, and instead seem repulsed by what has happened to him. Jae, a long-term member of the team, has promised Christian that they will find a way to fuck the guys over. "We can't kill them," he whispers, checking over his shoulders to make sure nobody is in earshot, "but we can get him where it hurts by fucking with the supply of pills."
Christian keeps his head down and works. He remains on the receiving and packaging teams, seemingly too unsightly with his face bandaged to be trusted out on the streets and meeting with clientele. He barely sees the sun for weeks. But then the bandage is removed by Taehyung, who treats Christian like a stranger, and within days, he is back to running, and he finds himself standing at Sunmi's door.
"What did they do to your beautiful face?" Sunmi asks, soft almond-shaped eyes full of tears. "How could they do this to you?"
These days, Christian hardly has much to say. He goes days sometimes without hearing the sound of his own voice. Even now, he does not try to explain.
"This isn't right," Sunmi says as she stands tall and presses her forehead into his, fingertips on his cheek, below the white prosthetic orb surrounded by scars. Tears begin to form, and Christian finds that he is helpless to do anything but allow them to fall. Only one of his eyes fully blinks. "I knew he would be angry with you, but this has gone way too far."
Crocodile tears, as far as he is concerned. Sunmi is undoubtedly at least partially responsible for Min torturing him. But her hands are soft and warm, and he misses the delicate cadence of her voice. Her floral perfume. The press of her lips.
Christian continues to keep his head down and work, but he overhears the others. A storm is brewing within the lower ranks. There are talks of an uprising. Christian, fed up with all the attention it is getting, worried that one of the higher-ups might overhear it and trace it back to him, destroys a large amount of pills one night while working with the receiving team, after everything has been weighed a final time, in a dark corner of the warehouse where he knows no camera watches. When asked, he mentions overhearing Jae and fourteen other men bragging about wanting to fuck Min over. Within days, all of those men are gone, and the whispers have stopped. Christian feels a strange sense of pride.
Slowly, men begin to show allegiance to him, but in a silent way. Some of them seem to know that Christian was the one to sell out Jae and his crew. Some of them seem to revere him for it. They communicate via text on burner phones and begin to meet up outside of work, at an empty warehouse near the new apartment that Christian has begun to rent on his own dime, away from the compound.
It starts first as an underground fight club— a way to get to know each of the men who show up looking for a way to bulk up and fight back. Some of the men are experts at martial arts, others are great with weapons. They look to Christian as a leader, and for once in his miserable life, he accepts the challenge with no regrets. Maybe, he thinks, he will be able to fuck Min over and take down his empire from the inside.
It's completely insane, no doubt. But it just might work.
*
I don't wanna know all your secrets 'cause I'll tell
It's hard enough being alone with myself
I don't know how long I'll be holding on
I know you tried your hardest, I know that you meant it well
But you pushed me to the edge and I slipped and then I fell
I don't know how long I'll be holding on
*
HELLOOOOO THANK YOU FOR READINGGG!!!!!!! for the record, since it is not clear in the chapter, i am letting you know that Yoongi is no longer involved with Sunmi once mc comes into the picture. he's a jerk for sure but he ain't that nasty.
ANYWAYYYYY HIIIIII!!!! it's been a long time. i know updates have screeched to a halt, and you know that i am sorry, so i don't need to say it again and again. to be honest, with the craziness of school (and getting good grades!!!) on top of deep and heavy grief that i was feeling for about 2 years, writing for my Collateral mc was really hard and i kept avoiding putting myself in that headspace. incidentally, writing this pov really pulled me out of the funk and got me back on the horse, and i have been having a lot of fun. hopefully my writing style feels consistent; it's kind of hard to come back to older work after spending all the time in between updates writing for other projects and feeling like my style/voice is slowly changing. also!!! plz lmk if you spot any errors bc it was hard to use he/him and you/your pronouns with the mc not being the pov of the chapter. i am dyslexic af and make a lot of mistakes in the writing stages lmao so idk if i always fix them in the editing stages.
chapter 27 is VERY CLOSE TO DONE, so the update should be coming very soon. i have been working really hard to get this shit cranked out for you. i love you very much PLEASE STAY HYDRATED. comments and reblogs keep me writing blah blah blah, you know the drill. (it's true, though. sometimes the only thing that pulls me back into a project is someone talking to me about it. so please don't be shy!!!) also sorry if the youtube video is awkward but i don't use spotify anymore and i wanted to make sure the chapters still end with a song.
OKAY I WILL SEE YOU SOON!!!! I PROMISE!!!!!!! VERY SOON!!!!!!!!!!!
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Collateral is copyright 2022-2026 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.
you're so sweet!!! i love you so much. i feel like you're one of the few people who was with this fic since the beginning and still reads it (and talks to me about it) and it means so much to me!!! i always love to hear your thoughts!!! 💜💜💜 thank you so much for reading!!!!
Being told “you should be a published author” or “I can’t believe I’m reading this for free” is literally such a god tier compliment I hope you all know I lose my mind every time
please don't laugh at me, this is so annoying, but
House of Leaves.
i found it by chance in 2001 because i was a fan of his sister in the 90s and recognized her voice in one of the songs in the fucking ending credits of book of shadows: blair witch 2, and then bought her cd, and saw mention of the book, and then i picked it up (after saving up my chore money for a while bc i was a teenager at the time with no job), and became obsessed. i still have nightmares from the book. a lot of my writing is inspired by certain aspects of it. i have a fucking tattoo from it.
it's. too much. like. this book has consumed more than half of my life.
The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?
🎪 Namjoon x Female Reader x Seokjin, Jimin x Taehyung, Yoongi x Female Reader, Yoongi x Jungkook
🎪 word count: in progress (currently 35k)
🎪 choose your own adventure, friends & strangers to lovers, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+
🎪 warnings: general sense of the vibes being off; description of clowns, jesters & acrobats; hypnosis without consent; smut (semi-public oral & vaginal sex)
🎪 note: all of the above details including relationships, tropes, and warnings are subject to change as the story progresses & the readers vote.
🎪 check out the playlist!
🎪 character asks are open!
in this choose your own adventure fic, polls are run between each chapter for the reader to decide what happens next!
🤹♀️ current polls:
none currently! check back soon.
🤹♀️ past polls:
ringleaders | friends | tarot cards | ducky keychain | heads or tails | tunnel of love | as above, so below | the tower crumbles | the lone rabbit | the lone ducky | ducky & rabbit 1 | ducky & rabbit 2 | mirror, mirror | a little help from my friends
note on polls: i will add new polls within 8-24 hours of a chapter being posted, to give folks a head start on reading. polls that are set to 7 days may be shut down (set temporarily to private) a day or 4 early, depending on my writing schedule. i will always be transparent and reblog several times in advance to give warning in the hope that people see it. see below for information on being tagged in the polls.
INDEX:
1: Right place at the right time | 6.1k words
2: Get lost! | 9.2k words
3: Sink for me | 7.9k words
4: I make them dance | 11.7 kwords
Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023 - 2024. no translations or reposting allowed!
🎪 join the show! by requesting to be on the tag list for the fic & polls, you are agreeing to be tagged in dead dove horror content. characters will be maimed and possibly even die. in fact, you may not make it out alive.
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I figured something like that was gonna happen.. That's usually why not a lot of people like conversing with me, because of the longer messages like that. Which is understandable. No one wants to reply to these essay long messages (or read essay long messages either). That's my fault. So I will try shorting my messages by a lot too, if I'm able to do it that way.
And, honestly, I wasn't expecting you to respond right away either since most don't usually reply back right away but I know everyone's different when it comes to doing things at their own pace.
I do apologize for it though. Because I know longer messages can be so overwhelming for most people, so I'll cut back on my messages for you.
~
Everyone has their opinions. I only remember watching Scarface when I was younger because my cousin was obsessed with that movie.. But, if I'm being honest, I don't remember much of the movie though either.
I've never watched Good Fellas or Wolf Of Wall Street, so I can't actually comment on either of those movies.
Whichever is most comfortable for you. Regardless of what people may think, I'm not opposed to people watching anime in whatever language they prefer. I'm not the "dub vs sub" person. Usually I'm just happy have watched the anime in general, so it's interesting know you watch anime.
Although I haven't seen Old Boy, I do know 2.0 was inspired by that, but I haven't had a chance to watch it yet. It's not exactly available for me in my country, from I've seen. But I will watch it when I can, at least once.
Yes and no. The Raid: Redemption is an Indonesian movie (or movies if I include the second, and third since that'll eventually be in production at some point). For that first movie.. The main character, Rama, is a police officer, swat officer, or whichever. And the reason why he volunteers on this mission is because he found out his older brother is working for this notorious drug lord who creates and sells drugs. And by the second one though, the second movie, you find out that this drug lord is connected criminal organizations like mafia so it eventually becomes an organized crime movie at some point. And those actors are real martial artists too.
As for Peaky Blinders, I do love the series in it's entirely. Personally, I do think the first four seasons were the best.. I did enjoy the fifth and sixth seasons, although part of me wishes things were done differently at the same time. And I have mixed feelings about the movie. I didn't hate it in any way but didn't love it either, but it's an ending that wrapped up PB.
I haven't written in years so I know that I'll be rusty, which really can't be helped. Maybe writing prompts may help. I guess I'll see what happens.
~
Again, I apologize. You actually don't have to respond. One short simple message led me to sending longer messages, even knowing people just never like long messages. I just get excited talking to people about a lot ideas I have. So that was definitely my fault anyway.
it's unfortunate that this seems to be a trend, but i think that if that's the case, then you might want to try being less verbose when people make it clear that it can be stressful, or find means to communicate that don't involve walls of text (like an account that is still anonymous but that you can respond to comments and replies through). i certainly wouldn't want to shut down communication completely and not respond, but boundaries also need to be taken into account.
it's really not fair to always say "i know this is a lot, no need to respond" to people who have a track record of being polite, gracious to receive messages, and happy to respond. i can't just delete a message or let it rot in the inbox because the length of it is overwhelming. we just need to meet in the middle. <3 and sometimes messages will become long because there will be a lot to say, and that's fine. but it's hard to form a connection with an anon that allows me to be comfortable with really long messages, if that makes sense. it's easier when it feels like i'm speaking to a real person, even if there's a silly username and a photo of an anime character.
ANON LISTEN: I SEE THIS MESSAGE. BUT IT IS GONNA TAKE ME A WHILE TO BE NORMAL ENOUGH ABOUT IT TO RESPOND SO PLZ JUST. GIVE ME SOME TIME LOLOL. these kind of questions awaken something terrible in me and i cannot take it lightly.
When Yoongi gets invited to watch his crush perform, he has no idea what to expect. Jimin stripping on stage and singing a sultry little number while tugging on his hair is definitely not what Yoongi had in mind, but who is he to complain?
"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."
Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"
🍓 Yoongi x Jimin
🍓 word count: 19.6k 🙈
🍓 friends to lovers, burlesque au, porn without plot, tooth-rotting fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+
🍓 warnings: top yoongi, bottom jimin. jimin has pink hair and yoongi has a half-up top-knot. this is more or less porn with very little plot. recreational drug use (weed smoking.) jimin performing burlesque and singing while being a flirt. light hair pulling. the burgundy suit from jimin's filter performance, and his kitty gang jacket, and cute lingerie. a hint of jealous/possessive behavior. bickering as a form of flirting. the tiniest hint of sub/dom vibes. safe word establishment. teasing & light humiliation. a little begging. use of good boy and slutty. jimin is shy at times but also a brat and yoongi fights the urge to tame him. a lot of drool, spit, lube, and cum. dirty talk. so much god damn praising. anal (plug, play, eating, fingering, sex.) messy blow job. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. yoongi loves to discuss boundaries & check in. lots of heaven/angel comparisons but only because yoongi is a sucker for how ethereal jimin is (it's not that deep.) too many positions (what was i thinking???) subspace. mating press. cock-warming. after care. tooth-rotting fluff.
🍓 note: a yoonmin fic + jimin doing burlesque was some brainrot shared between @echotoyou and i that i decided to write when their birthday was approaching. but then the big day came and went, and i lost control of this beast for a very long time. she is finally ready hehe. i hope you all (but especially mg!) enjoy!!! finally my years of being a photographer for a burlesque troupe and dating a performer have come in handy for my writing lolol.
🍓 listen along: 🎵 streets by doja cat & yeah, i said it by rhianna (thank you to @sailoryooons for these song choices!!!)
🍓 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!
🍓 posted august 2023 | read on ao3
Yoongi pats his pockets down one last time, fingertips tentatively grazing lumps beneath denim. Phone…wallet…keys. That's everything. He presses the lock button on his open car door, then closes it. In his pocket, his phone buzzes.
Namjoon
Hyung, are you close?
Yoongi
Just parked.
Namjoon
Okay, good. Just making sure you don’t miss anything.
Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles. He has no idea what to expect – nobody has told him much – but Jimin did say, over and over again, that it was fine if he could not make it. That he would be thrilled if Yoongi could come but understood if he could not. That there would be other shows.
But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.
He slides his hands into the pockets of his black denim jacket and moseys from the small parking lot to the sidewalk and around the corner. There is a small congregation of people smoking and loitering outside, under a bright red neon sign that reads Paradise. Yoongi has never been to this bar before – tends to avoid spots on this side of town because it is more popular with college kids, and therefore, the drinks are overpriced.
Everyone outside is done up in some flashy way, wearing sequins and fishnets, glittering eye makeup, and patent leather. Yoongi feels underdressed, wearing a black band tee tucked into black skinny jeans, with a black jacket and black work boots, and he awkwardly runs a hand through his dark, wavy, unstyled, and overgrown hair.
"Yoongi!" a familiar voice shouts, and he looks up in time to find his friend Jeongguk waving him over, past the closest group of smokers.
Even his friends are all dressed up, with sparkly eye glitter and tight, colorful clothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are in mesh, Taehyung has a burgundy feather boa, and Seokjin and Namjoon are both wearing leather pants. Since when did the two of them own leather pants?
"Ya, you're dressed like a scrub!" Seokjin shouts, making Yoongi's cheeks warm in an instant.
"Nobody told you a single thing about the event tonight, did they?" Namjoon asks sympathetically.
Yoongi shrugs, mutters, "No," and digs his hands further into his pockets.
Taehyung approaches, using his pinkies to brush the hair away from Yoongi's face, cradling a pot of light blue glitter between his fingers. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise," he mutters lowly, unscrewing the pot. "Don't let them make you feel self-conscious."
"I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. He stands still while Taehyung dabs his fingertip into the glitter and allows him to smudge it around his eyes. In the early days of their friendship, Yoongi probably would have fussed, but these days, he lets the youngest two – Taehyung and Jeongguk – do whatever they want.
Jeongguk approaches, unscrewing a stick of pink, shiny lip gloss, and Yoongi huffs out a sigh but stands as still as he can while Jeongguk applies it. "Should put your hair into a bun or something," he mutters before he and Taehyung trade places so Taehyung can smudge blue glitter onto his other eye.
"Your hair is really pretty, hyung," Taehyung adds, screwing the top of the glitter pot back on and sliding it into his very tight white slacks. "You should let me style it."
"Don't we have to go inside?" Yoongi asks.
"We'll head in when the emcee comes on," Hoseok responds, approaching with a mischievous smile. Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth."
"What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information.
"A little singing," Hoseok mutters, grinning. "You know how it is."
"I literally do not know how it is," Yoongi responds, finally becoming impatient with his friends touching and fixing him.
"You'll see, hyung," Hoseok says as he takes a step back, inspects his handy work, and nods.
Taehyung returns with a knit brow and reaches up to fix Yoongi's glittery makeup, which he allows for a moment before swatting him away, grumbling, "Okay, enough."
"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases, then passes him a freshly lit joint. "Here."
Yoongi reaches for the joint and takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before tilting his head upward and releasing it. Then he holds out his hand for the next person to take it, and rolls his shoulders back.
"What kind of song is Jimin singing?" Yoongi half-mutters, expecting next to nothing in response.
Taehyung simply says, "You'll see, hyung," with a wink.
“Is it an original song?” Yoongi tries. He can’t remember Jimin ever talking about songwriting, but he wouldn’t put it past him; Jimin is full of surprises.
The sound of someone shouting into a microphone can be heard, and Yoongi stands at attention, ready to go inside. He can hear people cheering and loud pop music playing.
“Shall we?” Taehyung asks as he takes one last drag at the diminishing joint and hands it to Yoongi.
Yoongi nods and takes another hit, cradling the tiny roached joint between his thumb and forefinger, then holds it out for the others, all of whom hold their hands up and shake their heads. With one last puff, Yoongi flicks it into the street, then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets.
“Is Jimin part of the opening act?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin snickers.
“He’s one of the main acts,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully.
So he must be headlining, Yoongi assumes.
“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him.
“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.
He glances around and sees flyers for various events taped to the windows for drag and burlesque shows, and a few for various bands, none of which shows any images of Jimin, or any other performers he has ever seen before. In his pockets, his hands prickle with sweat, and he imagines what kind of instrument Jimin might play. Or maybe he only sings.
Jimin is a somewhat new addition to their friend group, brought in by Taehyung and Hoseok; they all work together. To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century. And although Yoongi thinks Jimin may also be interested in him, they have not spoken too much about anything outside of college and work, only seeing one another as part of the larger friend group.
As a major in theater arts with a minor in dance, Jimin works at a local studio teaching children tap and ballet as an assistant to Hoseok. Occasionally, Taehyung substitutes for the older lady who plays piano for the classes. It was natural for them to come together, all close in age, with Hoseok only a year older than the other two.
When Jimin invited Yoongi to come watch him perform, they were all tipsy from one too many bottles of soju. Jeongguk was the last in their friend group to graduate college, and they were all celebrating with drinks and fried chicken.
Even then, when Yoongi asked what kind of show it was, everyone was giggly and secretive. From that moment, he got the feeling that Jimin was definitely flirting with him, with the way his gaze lingered, lips curled into a smile long after Yoongi made him laugh. The more Jimin insisted Yoongi needed to just go and experience the event first-hand, nibbling on his pillowy lip with a somewhat shy, rosy-cheeked grin, Yoongi felt eager to do anything he wanted him to.
“Of course, I’ll be there,” Yoongi promised, and he meant it.
The cheers inside grow louder, and Taehyung takes up the lead, stepping into the bar. Namjoon slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder and gently shoves him along with the group. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, but Taehyung mutters something to the door guy, who looks at a list of names and then waves the six of them inside.
Taehyung leads them down a short hallway, into the bar. A long counter lines the left wall, with patrons leaning against it both to order drinks, and to chat with one another. Past the bar top, at the end of the venue, is a stage, and on stage is a woman lip-synching to some upbeat pop song while waving big white feather fans in front of her, enticing the audience to want to see what the fans are covering.
Yoongi has seen clips of performances like this but has never attended this type of show before, and his gaze lingers on the woman, who winks and blows kisses to cheering audience members before Namjoon leads him over to get a drink.
The music is loud and a little tackier than Yoongi’s usual taste, but the bass line thrums through the speakers straight into his bloodstream, building his nervousness to see Jimin, egged on by feeling somewhat high. He wonders what kind of performance Jimin might put on at an event like this, and he cannot imagine what it could be.
“Hyung?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head toward the waiting tender. “First one is on me.”
What he would like is a nice scotch neat, but since Taehyung is paying, he finds a mid-tier whiskey and gets it with a spritz of soda water. The others order, and by the time they step away from the bar, the woman’s song is at its climax, and she is topless, wearing lacy red underwear and bouncing in a way that spins the red tassel pasties on her breasts in a circle. The action makes him chuckle, and when she bows and leaves the stage, he claps his fingers against the back of the hand holding his drink.
“Burlesque, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to Namjoon while a man in drag takes the stage.
Namjoon waggles his eyebrows while taking a sip from the bright blue concoction in his hands.
“Is Jimin also doing burlesque?” Yoongi asks, earning him a shrug.
Yoongi decides to just stop asking. Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless.
Although there is a decent crowd in the bar, most people are mingling about, watching the stage from a distance, or whispering amongst themselves. The emcee introduces another act and leaves the stage, replaced by a person with a very nicely manicured mustache and beard wearing a big orange wig and vintage blue dress. They prance around the stage, lip-synching to a silly pop song that Yoongi has never heard before, winning cheers and applause from the crowd.
Yoongi wonders if Jimin will also come out in drag, and what kind of a gimmick he might have. Would he wear a dress? High heels? A wig? Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty.
Taehyung leads the group toward the stage, taking his place just left of the center. The others file in behind him, with Yoongi keeping some distance from the very front. The performer comes by, lip-synching to Taehyung, who pulls some money from his pocket and holds it up while the performer bends and offers their cleavage for him to slide the notes into.
"I don't have any cash," Yoongi grumbles toward Taehyung when the song ends and the performer exits. "Will I need any for Jimin?"
"I got you," Taehyung responds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes, shoving them into Yoongi's empty hand before he has a chance to protest.
Yoongi attempts to straighten out the notes while holding onto his drink. Meanwhile, the emcee returns to the stage.
"Our next performer is a fan favorite," the emcee says with an exaggerated waggle of their eyebrows. Around them, the crowd becomes dense, with someone bumping shoulders and elbows into Yoongi as they get close to the stage. The emcee continues, "A man who needs no introduction because, let's be honest, you're all here to see him…Jimin."
The stage lights go out, and there is some movement – a person carrying items, as well as the light clacking of heels on the wooden stage. Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest, and he lifts his drink to his lips, watching ahead for more movement in the dark, eager to not miss a thing when the lights come back on.
A red glow illuminates the back edge of the stage, showing the silhouette of Jimin sitting on what looks like a standard black folding chair. He is sideways on the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped over the back of the chair, and his head tilted back. He appears to be wearing a jacket and slacks, but it is hard to tell.
Also on the stage is a tall, wooden coat rack, and hanging from it appears to be a short mesh robe with fur trim along the sleeves and bottom hem.
Beside Yoongi, a man loudly whispers, "I fucking love Jimin; just wait," to someone else, and Yoongi shifts a little on his feet with anticipation and something like envy stirring in his guts.
A yellow spotlight comes on, shining on Jimin. He wears a fitted burgundy suit and black leather boots with a heel and pointed toe. His light pink hair is styled off his forehead, and he appears to be wearing makeup around his eyes, but it is hard to clearly see. In his hand, which is draped over his knee, is a burgundy wide-brimmed hat.
A familiar oldie comes on, a pop track from the 1950s, and Jimin slowly uncrosses his legs and places both feet on the floor. Female voices sing sweetly before Paul Anka's voice croons, "Put your head on my shoulder."
Only, before the sentence is finished, the song abruptly changes to a sexy R&B track with a trap beat. In that moment, the yellow spotlights turn red, the hat is dropped to the floor, and Jimin's hands are on the chair, supporting his weight as his body bows upward. Briefly, Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song from a bunch of tiktoks Hoseok has made him watch.
The crowd cheers as Jimin rolls his body, then sits and rotates, facing the audience and spreading his legs. A woman's voice comes through, singing, "Like you…like you…like you…I find it hard to find someone like you," while Jimin rolls his shoulders and hips to the song, leaning forward and then back, holding onto this chair as he lifts his hips and lolls his head.
Yoongi is stunned, gripping onto his drink while he watches Jimin stand, spin the chair around and sit once more with his back to the audience and head tipped back while his hands rove over his body. His fingertips lift and fall to the rhythm of the song while they work their way down, down, down Jimin's body, difficult to clearly see and stirring up so many mental images.
Jimin's shoulders and hips sway while his hands disappear, and then he pulls open the burgundy jacket. Everyone around him roars excitedly, cheering and applauding. Jimin holds onto the lapels and turns his head, teasing the audience with his opened jacket before he stands and lets the garment slip down past his shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy button-up that is tucked into his matching slacks and clings tightly to his arms and waist.
With a slow, deep swish of his hips, Jimin faces the audience and begins to rip the dress shirt open from the collar, sending buttons skittering across the stage, earning him whoops and shouts. With a strip of skin exposed, he walks over to the coat rack, turns it in a circle, and dips it as if he were dancing with a person, causing the mesh robe hanging from it to sway.
Each movement of Jimin's body is fluid, clothing clinging to his torso and thighs in a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. He wears tighter clothing sometimes when they all hang out, but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.
For just a split second, while Jimin is holding the coat rack as if he is cradling the back and neck of a person and lip-synching to the song, it seems like he makes eye contact with Yoongi, causing Yoongi to hold his breath and heavy-blink through the well of excitement and shyness that he feels. It almost looks as if the edges of Jimin's lips lift ever so slightly, but then he releases the rack and spins away from it, swishing his hips as he dips down low and continues to rip open and untuck the button-up shirt with his eyelids fluttering closed.
Yoongi practically forgets there is a song playing, focused so intently on Jimin, that when the singer begins to rap – quick and raspy – matched by Jimin's movements of tearing away the garment and revealing a bare torso with little light-colored heart pasties on his nipples, Yoongi sucks in a gasp that gets caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. Jimin’s bare chest and abdominals are chiseled – carved from the finest clay with careful hands. Yoongi lifts his drink quickly, taking a gulp of bitter whiskey and soda water while the crowd goes wild.
In a swift movement, the pants are torn away from Jimin's waist, revealing long, muscular legs and shiny briefs that match the pasties. Jimin sinks into a squat, rubbing his hands over his legs. Then he sits and lifts one of his legs into a high split, giving Yoongi a very clear eyeful of a bulge and taut thigh muscle, making his mouth fall open.
Jimin unzips the boot from the foot suspended in the air and tosses it aside, then drops his leg down and sweeps his other leg out in a half-squat, half-split while he drags his hands down the length of his leg to the other boot, unzips it, and tosses it near the other one.
He spins, gets onto his knees, which are spread, and rolls his hips, lifting and dropping his ass while his hands rove up to his neck and hair, and his head lolls back. All he wears is shiny briefs and pasties, making Yoongi feel more intoxicated than the glass of whiskey ever could.
The group to Yoongi's right is particularly loud, cheering for Jimin and shouting things like, "That's it, baby, show us how you ride it!" making a shiver run along Yoongi's spine. The objectification makes him feel uncomfortable, but he wonders whether Jimin cares, considering he clearly enjoys stripping for an audience; maybe that is all part of the thrill. Yoongi can't say he blames him.
The song fades out as Jimin gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over to the coat rack, then slowly gets to his feet. As the music ends, the red lights fade to regular spotlights, revealing the briefs, pasties, and mesh robe – which Jimin pulls from the rack and begins to put on – are all a light pink color that matches his hair.
Jimin ties the robe with a cord around his waist, standing barefoot while looking out at the crowd with a soft smile. The audience roars with applause and praise, and Yoongi expects Jimin's performance to be over, but then a stagehand in all black runs out, collects the discarded clothing while another sweeps a large broom across the floor to kick away loose buttons, and he hands Jimin a microphone that has been covered in light pink rhinestones.
Once the men wearing black disappear behind tall curtains, a new song begins, also a slow R&B track, and Jimin lifts the microphone and starts singing, slowly swaying his hips and approaching the front of the stage.
Yeah, yeah…yeah, yeah…
I ain't tryna think about it, no
Taehyung takes a step back, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, and pulls him closer to the stage, causing Yoongi to fumble as Jimin approaches. He stands still as a statue with his hands in front of his chest – wad of notes that Taehyung gave him wedged between two fingers while both hands grip tight to his cold, condensation-covered glass of whiskey and soda water.
Jimin's eyes find Yoongi, and he smiles, tilting his head sweetly to the side. To his right, the guys who had been cheering loudly try to close in and reach forward, but Jimin ignores them, looming over Yoongi while he sings in a soft, sweet voice, delivering lyrics that have Yoongi's cheeks absolutely burning.
Yeah, I said it, boy, get up inside itI want you to homicide it
As Jimin lifts a hand and reaches out, Yoongi steps forward instinctively, knocking the toe of his boot into the front of the wooden stage, head tilted upward with his eyes never leaving Jimin's face. Around him, hands reach out with money, and some even toss notes to the stage, but Jimin ignores all of it.
Go in slow, but I want you to pipe it
And I think I kinda like ya
Up against the wall, we don't need a title
But Jimin does take the wad of notes that stick out from between Yoongi's fingers, tugging them right out of his weak grasp, and he snakes his hand under the robe and tucks it into the side of his little pink briefs, making Yoongi breathe out a soft chuckle.
Beside him, the guy who seems intent on getting Jimin's attention mutters, "Who the fuck is this guy?" just loud enough that Yoongi can hear him, and pride begins to burn behind his ribs.
Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae
Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title
Gently, Jimin reaches out toward Yoongi's head, eyes widening and brows slightly lifting as if asking for permission, and Yoongi nods while letting out a shaky breath. Fingers delicately push into his hair, tugging on strands as Jimin takes a handful and releases it, pulling away while dragging his fingertips against Yoongi's cheek. Even the gentlest touch feels electric, and Yoongi sways slightly forward when Jimin's hand drops away.
Boy, I always like to show
Get a little bit, come a little close, now
Arousal builds, and Yoongi feels a bit ashamed considering he and Jimin are friends, and Jimin is hardly touching him in a way that should warrant blood rushing to his dick. But Jimin looks like pure sin wrapped in inviting pink, and the way he stares at Yoongi is playful in a way he has never seen him look.
Take it home on your camera phone
Get a little bad, watch me blow it down
Jimin sinks to his knees, still taller than Yoongi but closer to eye level. With one hand, Jimin reaches for Yoongi's drink, then he has a sip of it and sets it down on the stage. Yoongi's hand stays in the same shape as if the glass had never been removed, and he is not sure what is sexier, the fact that Jimin takes the glass straight from his hand, or that he doesn't even flinch after essentially drinking carbonated whiskey.
Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae
Yeah, I said it… Ooh
With a smirk, Jimin slinks to the very edge of the stage, knees practically bumping into Yoongi's hips. He slips his microphone into Yoongi's hand and lifts it until Yoongi has it in front of his face, as if he is supposed to sing the next line, and then he drapes his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, leans in, and continues.
Yeah, I said it… Yeah, I said it, bae
Yeah, I said it… Ooh
From this close, Yoongi can see a dusting of shimmery pink on Jimin's eyelids, which are lined in black. His lips are glossy, he smells like strawberries, and Yoongi feels stunned in place, questioning whether or not all of this is a dream. Could his friends have slipped something in the weed? Could he be hallucinating?
Jimin sings higher, each word more inviting than the last.
You can be rough, boy, but you won't
One of Jimin's hands slides into Yoongi's hair, and starting from the nape of his neck, he takes a handful. Everyone in the bar fades away; as far as Yoongi is concerned, the only two people in the room are himself and the beauty before him.
Yoongi wonders if this is how Jimin's performances typically go. Does he always pick someone from the audience to tease? Is he always this handsy?
Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'
With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher.
Jimin continues singing—
Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae
Yeah, I said it…
—but he seems less focused on sounding good for the audience and more interested in gently tugging Yoongi's hair and making him gradually fall apart. Soon, he is no longer singing at all, and he releases Yoongi's hair and drags his hand around his neck, past his throat and chin, then up and away, making Yoongi lean forward as if pulled by an invisible string.
Yoongi wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Jimin seems to follow the movement before gently tugging his microphone out of Yoongi's tight, sweaty grasp and getting to his feet. Only then, does Yoongi realize the music is fading out. Jimin does a cute little twirl and opens his arms wide, bowing as the audience erupts into cheers, leaving Yoongi too stunned to clap.
The emcee returns to the stage to announce an intermission, and the house lights come on, brightening the space. The crowd thins, and Yoongi heavy-blinks as he takes in his surroundings and allows his soul to return to his body while Jimin prances away, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Yoongi before slipping behind the black curtain.
Two large, warm hands crash into Yoongi's shoulders, and he jumps, sucks in a gasp, and turns to find Namjoon staring at him with a wide smile.
"So?" he has the audacity to ask, and all Yoongi can do is scoff and shake his head incredulously.
"So, what?" Yoongi responds, attempting to play it cool despite the way his heart hammers in his chest.
"Was it life-changing?" Taehyung asks, and Yoongi turns to regard him before remembering his drink is still on the stage and spinning around to retrieve it. When he turns back to his friends, he finds five sets of eager eyes watching him, as well as the stares of strangers, and he ducks his head and gulps down half of his drink.
"It was…" Yoongi begins, trailing off as he attempts to summarize what he just witnessed, blinking through mental image after mental image. "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile, which he covers by slamming back the rest of his drink.
"It sure was!" Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Jimin never comes to the edge of the stage like that. People always try to entice him, but he always plays hard to get."
"Oh," Yoongi mutters, letting the words sink in.
"Another?" Jeongguk calls, holding an empty glass, and everyone nods. Hoseok and Taehyung finish their drinks in a gulp while they all turn and make their way to the end of the bar.
As they stand and wait, Yoongi takes a look around the space. Everything is black and chrome and nothing too remarkable, but the place seems to have a chill vibe. And he is grateful to not be the only person wearing denim and a band tee – dressed like a scrub, as Seokjin so elegantly put it.
Taehyung and Jeongguk get drinks, then slink away from the bar to stand off to the side. Then Hoseok and Seokjin order, and finally, Namjoon. Yoongi steps up to the counter and decides to order the same thing he had before – whiskey and soda water.
From beside him, a sweet, familiar voice shouts, "Make that two, please!"
The smell of strawberry perfume hits Yoongi's nose, and he turns to his left to find Jimin smiling widely at him. He wears a white tee tucked into tight, black leather pants, and a black leather bomber jacket with a feathery design embroidered in red and silver beads on the shoulders.
Now that Jimin has touched him – tugged at his hair while looming over like a salacious little threat – Yoongi allows himself to stare a little without feeling the nervous urge to flit his gaze away. The longer he looks at Jimin, the wider Jimin's smile grows.
"Hi, hyung," Jimin says, taking a step closer.
"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed.
Two glasses thunk against the bar top, and Yoongi turns with a gasp, fishing for his wallet.
"On the house," the bartender says, nodding at Jimin.
"Oh," Yoongi mutters, "okay."
"I got the tip," Jimin says beside him, leaning into his personal space to hand a folded wad of notes to the bartender. Jimin adds, "Though, technically, you are paying for it, hyung," close to Yoongi's ear.
"Taehyung is paying for it, actually," Yoongi responds with a smirk, turning to Jimin whose mouth falls agape, scandalized. Yoongi feels the need to defend himself, adding, "Hey, I didn't know what was going on, otherwise I would have come prepared!"
Yoongi picks up both drinks and hands one to Jimin, who responds, "Fair," through laughter as he grabs Yoongi by the bicep and pulls him away from the bar.
Even through his denim sleeve, Yoongi feels a spark of electricity where Jimin touches him. He notices that Jimin has pulled him in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends and decides not to question it. When they find themselves against the wall in a somewhat dimly lit corner, Jimin's hand stays on Yoongi's arm, giving him a tentative squeeze, and Yoongi looks down at Jimin's hand and smiles before meeting his eye.
"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."
Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"
Yoongi has a sip of his drink, then he hums as he nods and says, "I did like the show. Your voice is really beautiful."
"Just my voice?" Jimin asks, stepping so close, their shoulders touch.
A chuckle rocks through Yoongi, and he tips his head toward Jimin, who takes a drink with wide, curious eyes. "Not just your voice, no. Everything about you is beautiful."
"Awe, hyung!" Jimin shouts, shoving playfully at Yoongi's shoulder and sending him crashing lightly into the wall.
"Wow," Yoongi responds, snickering. "Last time I compliment a guy."
Jimin places his hand over the spot he shoved and rubs over it, radiating warmth through denim and cotton. He opens his mouth to respond when a small group of men approaches to tell Jimin he did a great job, and Yoongi recognizes one of their voices as the guy who stood beside him during the performance. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow as the man makes eye contact with him, lifting his free hand to place over Jimin's hand, which continues to mindlessly rub over his chest, just below his clavicle.
"Thanks for coming to the show," Jimin mutters politely, turning back to Yoongi.
The group hovers behind Jimin and Yoongi does his best to ignore them, but it feels awkward to have an audience now that Jimin is no longer performing.
"We should finish these drinks and get out of here," Yoongi suggests loud enough for the others to hear him, letting his gaze lift to the group to see if they have.
Jimin chuckles. "Hyung, are you being possessive right now?"
"Maybe," Yoongi responds, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to stay while that desperate pack ogles you, by all means—"
Jimin slides his hand from Yoongi's weak grasp to give him another smack, this time on the arm.
"God, you're hot when you're jealous," Jimin says, making Yoongi blush, "but I should stay until the end to support the other performers. There are only four more."
Yoongi nods and accepts Jimin's terms. He wants to clarify that his offer for Jimin to leave with him afterwards is genuine, but the house lights dim, and music plays through the speakers, signaling the return of the show.
Jimin takes Yoongi's hand and pulls him toward the front of the stage, to where the rest of their friends have congregated. Namjoon looks down at their linked hands, then to Yoongi, and he winks, making Yoongi roll his eyes despite how nice it feels to be holding Jimin's hand in public.
The rest of the show goes by in a haze. Yoongi is hardly aware of the performers, hearing a hint of a song here and seeing a whoosh of brightly colored fabric there. All he can focus on is Jimin’s hand in his, Jimin’s voice singing and cheering, Jimin's warmth emitting in welcoming bursts beside him.
Whenever Jimin slips his hand away to clap for each performer, Yoongi follows suit, robotically tapping his fingertips to his glass. And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.
Once the house lights come on again, signaling the end of the show, Yoongi downs the rest of his drink. He feels sluggish and heavy, stumbling slightly when Jimin yanks him over to their friends. He wonders if they will want to keep drinking, whether they will want to go to a new bar. He thinks he would be alright with going to another bar; he parked his car somewhere it can be left overnight.
“Wanna get out of here, hyung?” Jimin asks sweetly in his ear, and Yoongi decides all at once that another bar is out of the question.
“Yes,” Yoongi responds, turning to Jimin with a wide smile that may very well look too eager for his own good.
Jimin chuckles, finishes his drink, and says, “Good,” before leading the way to the bar where their friends are gathering with empty glasses.
Yoongi considers how to break the news; Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning.
“We’re gonna get out of here!” Jimin announces, gracefully stealing the words from his mouth before he can even begin to formulate them.
Jimin begins to hug everyone before they have a chance to oppose, smacking kisses against their cheeks and thanking them for coming to watch him perform. Most of them seem too dazed to argue.
Yoongi waves to everyone, noticing as they all make some sort of wink or eyebrow waggle at him, then he turns wordlessly and allows himself to get dragged by the wrist through the space, past patrons who attempt to talk to Jimin, and out into the cool night air.
Jimin slides his arm into the crook of Yoongi’s elbow and pulls him along the sidewalk. “I live close,” he says before Yoongi has a chance to ask where they are going. Not that he would protest against being taken anywhere Jimin wanted.
“Did you like the performance?” Jimin asks, bumping his hip against Yoongi as they walk.
“I told you I did,” Yoongi teases, turning to find Jimin smiling while looking ahead.
Jimin’s side profile is all firm lines and glitter, softened when he turns to Yoongi with wide, round eyes and pillow lips. He is stunning, and Yoongi is relieved to be able to stare unabashedly.
“You told me I was beautiful,” Jimin clarifies, raising his eyebrows before looking ahead.
“You are,” Yoongi mutters, remembering the performance. “And your singing was really beautiful. And the…stripping…” he trails off, feeling nervous about his choice of words.
But Jimin does not miss a beat. “You liked watching me strip, hmm?”
“Of course I did,” Yoongi mutters, blushing.
He is tugged around a corner to the right where the streetlights are fewer and the world feels darker, quieter.
“And my dancing?” Jimin asks, walking impossibly closer – the two of them somehow managing to not trip over one another.
“I liked your dancing,” Yoongi responds softly, clearing his throat to speak louder. “Hoseok mentioned you never come to the edge of the stage like that.”
Jimin chuckles, and Yoongi glances to the side, catching his eye before they both look ahead.
“I don’t. That was just for you. I had a couple surprises just for you.”
Yoongi hums questionably, and Jimin says, "There's still one more surprise, in fact."
Jimin stops in his tracks and turns, pulling Yoongi gently away from the sidewalk, onto a grassy area near where tall bushes line the outside of an apartment building. It is even darker, and even quieter, without another soul around as far as Yoongi can tell, and he allows Jimin to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close enough that their lips nearly touch.
“You are special,” Jimin responds with a smile, fingertips playing with Yoongi’s hair. “And you look so cute with your hair half up and your eyes covered in Taehyung’s favorite blue glitter. How could I keep my hands off you?”
“Your admirers seemed pretty jealous,” Yoongi teases as he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close.
“Let them be,” Jimin mutters softly, ghosting warm breath over Yoongi’s lips, which he wets with the tip of his tongue in anticipation. “The only admirer I care about is you.”
Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy. But Jimin slots their lips together tentatively, hands cradling Yoongi’s neck and back, and Yoongi sinks into the feeling with a sigh, then gently sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as his pulse quickens.
Jimin’s mouth is warm and soft beyond Yoongi’s wildest dreams. Yoongi rubs his hands over Jimin’s lower back and tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, licking over Jimin’s bottom lip until it falls open with a gasp, granting Yoongi entrance.
With a slow graze of his tongue over Jimin’s, he feels Jimin tense and shiver in his hold, letting out a soft whine that has arousal crashing through Yoongi. Jimin whimpers, and all Yoongi can think about is the man on stage in his tight little briefs, and his trim, flexible body grinding and swaying so invitingly.
Jimin breaks from the kiss, panting as he tips his mouth away but presses their foreheads together. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Jimin smiling.
“Let’s go inside,” Jimin mutters, sounding breathless, and he releases Yoongi from his hold and leads him up the short set of steps into the building they were just in front of.
“Couldn’t wait two more minutes to get me inside?” Yoongi chides as Jimin tugs him by the wrist down a short hallway, to a door on the right.
Jimin punches in the door code and steps inside the apartment, switching on a bright overhead light that makes the two of them squint. When Yoongi steps in and closes the door, Jimin has his hands on him, pressing him against the wall.
“Are you always such a brat?” Jimin groans, crowding Yoongi’s space.
Yoongi assists Jimin in being close by wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like to tease you,” he rasps, chuckling as Jimin rolls his eyes.
“You were teasing me earlier,” Yoongi adds, sliding one hand up, over the scratchy embroidery of Jimin’s jacket until his hand is on the back of Jimin’s neck. “With your dancing…and your singing…and your hair-pulling.”
“I was being extra sexy once I saw you standing there,” Jimin says sweetly as he slots a leg between Yoongi’s thighs.
“Is that so?” Yoongi asks, tipping his head back against the wall so he can actually see the beauty before him.
Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip and nods his head. “I don’t usually grind on the floor as much. And the little splits I did to take off my shoes was improvised.”
“I might need to see those moves again,” Yoongi mutters, closing the gap between their lips with a soft, chaste kiss.
Jimin sighs and sinks into Yoongi, stomach and chest flush with his. “I have a lot of moves I can show you, hyung,” he responds as he sucks Yoongi’s lip into his mouth hard enough to make Yoongi whimper.
“So show me,” Yoongi practically whines as he licks eagerly over Jimin’s lips.
Jimin heaves a breath and takes a step back, grabbing Yoongi’s hands as they slowly slide from their grasp, walking backward through his tidy apartment, smiling as he mutters, “I’ll show you.”
Abruptly, Jimin stops and shouts, “Wait!” shoving Yoongi backward. Yoongi is confused and cocks his head, allowing himself to be moved, fingers still laced with Jimin’s.
“We have to take our boots off, silly,” Jimin says, unlinking their hands and pressing Yoongi against the wall once more. He leans against Yoongi's chest as he lifts each foot to slide out of his black Chelsea boots and socks, stepping a bit shorter than before.
Once Jimin’s feet are free, he prances away with a giggle, and Yoongi opens his mouth to call after him, but shakes his head and chuckles instead as he bends and unties his boots, toeing out of each one. The sound of a faucet running cues Yoongi to where to go, and he walks through the living room, to the right, and finds Jimin standing in a small kitchen, drinking from a glass of water.
“Thirsty, hyung?” Jimin asks, holding out the glass.
Yoongi takes it and has a drink, then sets it on the counter, and says, “I’m not too thirsty…but I am quite hungry,” watching as Jimin begins to look around with a frown.
“I don’t have much,” he says, “what are you hungry for?”
Yoongi wraps his hands around Jimin’s waist, rubbing both palms over his leather-clad ass.
“You,” he rasps, earning him a groan and a weak smack on the arm. He pouts and adds, “Pretty please?” while batting his eyelashes, and Jimin takes his hand, leading him away.
“Are we leaving every light in your apartment on?” Yoongi asks while Jimin drags him into a short hallway.
With a huff, Jimin turns on the hallway light, then reaches into a semi-open door right in front of them and turns the light on, revealing a bathroom.
“There!” Jimin says with an incredulous glare. “Are you happy, hyung?”
“No,” Yoongi grumbles. “Feels like a waste of electricity.”
“You’re infuriating,” Jimin complains as he shuts off the bathroom and hallway lights. He playfully shoves Yoongi away to storm off to the kitchen and living room, and Yoongi laughs to himself, over the moon with how easy Jimin is to rile up.
When Jimin returns, he grips onto the sleeve of Yoongi's jacket and yanks him roughly down to the end of the short hallway, into a dark room. Yoongi is still laughing, muttering, "Whoa, easy, tiger," as he is pressed into another wall, body against body, with warm breath wafting over his face.
"You'll just have to fuck me in the dark since you're so god damn annoying," Jimin huffs as two hands slide up Yoongi's neck, into his hair and grip tightly.
Yoongi reaches into Jimin's jacket, pushing material away as he grabs him by the waist. Then he twists the two of them, grinning to himself when Jimin huffs out a surprised, "Oof," from the impact of his back being pressed into the wall.
He leans forward, grazing his nose against Jimin's nose as he says, "So you want me to fuck you, hmm?"
"I thought that was a given," Jimin responds, voice less confident than before – trembling, even.
Yoongi hums and noses at Jimin some more, flicking his tongue out and pleased when it grazes over soft lips. "Didn't want to assume," he responds lowly, licking over Jimin's lips once more. "I'm down for anything you want, pretty."
It feels almost frantic the way Jimin's lips crash into his, mouth kissing and nipping while hands shove away Yoongi's denim jacket, sending it to the floor in a heavy lump of fabric. Jimin's hands yank at Yoongi's shirt, pulling it untucked from his jeans, and Yoongi reaches down, gently taking him by the wrists to stop him.
"Wanna see you," Yoongi says. "I take back what I said about the lights; turn them all on so I don't miss anything."
Jimin chuckles and pulls his hands away, then a rustling of fabric is followed by the bright flashlight of Jimin's phone coming on.
"Compromise?" he suggests with a smile that Yoongi barely sees behind the bright white glow. "There's a lamp beside my bed. Be a good boy and turn it on for me?"
Despite the somewhat indignant scoff that rolls through Yoongi's chest and throat, he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed. He watches his step, maneuvering around discarded clothing items in the white glow before reaching the bed and finding the lamp.
It takes a few moments of him rubbing his hand over the post and then down to where a cord sticks out, but he finds the little plastic switch and presses it on. A soft, golden light fills the space, and when he spins back around, Jimin is in the center of the room with his jacket draped down past his shoulders.
Jimin begins to saunter over, and Yoongi's brain kicks into gear, going haywire over what he should do – join Jimin and undress him, or sit down and find out whether Jimin feels like putting on another show for him. He opts to sit, but when he turns to make sure the bed is close enough, his knees bump into it, knocking him off balance, and he more or less crashes onto his butt against the mattress.
"So eager," Jimin teases as he rubs his hands over his neck, up into his light pink hair, and back down.
"For you?" Yoongi responds, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Jimin, feeling zero embarrassment over his floundering. "Absolutely."
"What are you so eager for?" Jimin asks with a grin that grows into something as beautiful as it is dangerous.
"You," Yoongi responds without thinking. "All of you."
Jimin giggles. "Be more specific, hyung."
"I want to watch you strip again," Yoongi says, swallowing a lump of excitement that builds and builds in his throat, threatening to suffocate. "I want to worship you."
With another giggle, Jimin begins to thumb through his phone. The sound of a bluetooth speaker connecting somewhere to the right chimes through the room, and Yoongi turns to glance around, noticing a desk, a dresser, and an open closet door. Garments are strewn about – mostly shirts, it seems – and the dresser appears to be covered in various makeup items, beauty tools, and accessories.
Over the speaker, a sexy R&B track begins to play, and Yoongi turns his attention back to Jimin, who tosses his phone over to the bed, to the right of Yoongi, and begins to sway his hips. Earlier, when Jimin was on stage, Yoongi was awestruck and struggled to fully comprehend what was happening. Especially with others around him cheering and shouting for Jimin, it took time for everything to settle over him.
But sitting in this dim room, just the two of them, knowing the type of body that Jimin has under all that leather and cotton, Yoongi's desire and anticipation reach new heights, and he leans back with his palms spread against Jimin's pink and orange floral comforter while butterflies kick up in his stomach. He almost feels the urge to pinch himself, worried once more that he might be dreaming.
Jimin lets the jacket fall to his wrists, then he lifts one hand slowly, dragging the material upward with his wrist until it slides free and falls. He lifts his other hand straight out and tilts his wrist until the material slides and crumples to the floor, and although it is just outerwear and Jimin is still fully clothed, the seductive movements have Yoongi sitting wide-eyed and mouth agape – entranced.
Yoongi barely registers the song that is playing, but he does not need to. Jimin's shoulders and hips amplify its tune, turning it into something tangible – something he could reach out and feel. Slowly, Jimin turns, and, with his fingertips dancing over the material of his t-shirt, he begins to untuck it little by little.
White cotton drags over muscular shoulders with every movement, while black leather hugs his ass and thighs tightly. Then Jimin does a cute turn and sways down, bending his knees before swishing back up while lifting his shirt over his tummy and up, up, almost to his chest before spinning again and looking over his shoulder, pretending to be shy.
Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, absolutely charmed by Jimin's little show, still toeing the line between playful and sexy as the shirt lifts over his head completely and Jimin tosses it over his shoulder, straight at Yoongi's face. Yoongi barely lifts his hands, allowing the fabric to gently clobber him in a wave of warm strawberry, and when it falls to his lap, he lazily takes it in one hand and holds onto it.
"Still wearing those cute hearts?" Yoongi asks, and when Jimin mock-pouts and says, "Sorry, hyung, I took them off," he feels the tiniest tinge of sadness.
"What a shame," Yoongi responds, wetting his lips as Jimin turns and saunters closer, hands rubbing over his nipples, keeping them covered. "They were cute."
"You're cute, hyung. But no touching unless I say you can," Jimin instructs softly but firmly, nibbling his bottom lip while slotting one leg between Yoongi's thighs and lifting his other knee to the bed.
Yoongi tips his head back, leaning to give Jimin space as he rolls and grinds his hips, rubbing his hands up, over his neck, and into his hair, and then down, over his nipples and abdominals. Jimin is delicate hills and valleys of taut muscle and soft skin, and all Yoongi can do is stare at the beauty before him while swallowing the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, threatening to drool past his lips.
"Like what you see, hyung?" Jimin asks, making Yoongi chuckle.
Yoongi has to find his voice, softly clearing his throat. "You know I do."
With a deep, inviting hum, Jimin presses his thigh between Yoongi's legs, applying just enough pressure to make the air get trapped in his lungs. Arousal simmers through Yoongi, and he gasps, which becomes a soft chuckle when he notices the playful look on Jimin's face.
"Evil," Yoongi groans when Jimin's leg grazes over him again, feeling blood rush straight to his dick.
"What's the matter, hyung?" Jimin sing-songs as he takes a step back, spins around, and lowers his ass to Yoongi's lap.
With both hands planted on Yoongi's knees, Jimin rolls his hips in circles and grinds them forward and back, and Yoongi squeezes the comforter in both palms as he groans from the pressure, fighting how badly he wants to touch.
The song switches to something else sultry and unfamiliar, and Jimin reaches back with one arm that drapes over Yoongi's shoulder, resting his head on his other shoulder while his hips lift and fall in quick but soft movements that graze over Yoongi's crotch.
"You're good at this," Yoongi mutters, dazed, hardly sounding like himself.
Jimin hums in agreement and says, "I'm good at a lot of things."
A particularly firm press of Jimin's ass against Yoongi's constricted dick has his eyes fluttering closed, and he practically whines, "Show me everything."
Jimin sits up, taking away the arm around Yoongi's shoulder, then glances back with a mischievous smile, still moving his hips in inviting circles. Yoongi can hear the slow drag of a zipper, each tooth releasing as Jimin's arms make small movements in front of him. And then he lifts his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooks his thumbs under the black leather to slowly push the garment down.
The movement is agonizingly slow, only revealing an inch before he pulls back up and begins to drag down little by little, exposing pinkish-white satin briefs. Yoongi wants to grab onto the pockets and yank the material to the floor, losing all sense of sitting like a good boy.
"You're killing me," he grumbles, fisting the blanket tight.
With a giggle, Jimin stands, pushes the pants all the way to his thighs, and then sits again, grinding down on Yoongi's lap. The delicate curve of Jimin's waist into soft hips and a round, perfect ass has Yoongi reeling; the fact that he has Jimin all alone, and he is teasing him like this, is still a bit hard to comprehend. And, to make matters worse – or better – sticking out from under Jimin's satin panties are white lace garters connected to white mesh thigh-high stockings.
Yoongi groans, eager to show his appreciation while feeling at a loss for words, earning a light giggle in response.
"How badly do you want to touch me?" Jimin teases, glancing over his shoulder.
Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, raising his eyebrows while Jimin continues to watch him. "Oh, I'm going to fucking ruin you the second you give me permission to."
It is subtle the way Jimin's eyes widen and all mirth melts from his features – it only lasts a split second. But Yoongi clocks it, and he smirks, feeling victorious.
Jimin turns and stands, bending himself in half while pushing his pants down to his ankles, and Yoongi watches as more drool pools under his tongue, gaze drifting down to where Jimin peeks from around his ankles to smile before slowly standing back up. He steps from the crumpled leather and then kicks the garment away before turning to Yoongi with his cock straining hard in those tight little briefs as he straddles his lap.
"How was this performance, hyung?" Jimin asks, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's shoulders to play with his hair.
At some point, the song had changed, but Yoongi barely registers the downtempo beat, staring at Jimin, who giggles and wiggles his hips back and forth in a quick, playful movement. He lifts his right hand and then drops it back to the blanket with a groan, rolling his head back and taking a quick moment to close his eyes.
"It was more of a tease than the first one," Yoongi grumbles, tracing the soft lines of Jimin's neck and shoulders with his eyes before looking at his face. "But it was great, all the same; I thoroughly enjoyed it."
Jimin reaches down and palms over Yoongi's dick, which sits bunched up at an uncomfortable angle under restrictive denim, making him gasp from the pressure-ache that tears through him.
"I can tell how thoroughly you enjoyed it, hyung."
At this, Yoongi chuckles, biting the inside of his mouth and biding his time for when it is his turn to be a menace.
"Did you notice my final surprise?" Jimin asks.
"The garters and stockings?" Yoongi asks, eyes drifting downward.
"Not that," Jimin responds, and Yoongi cocks his head, unsure what he means.
"No…" he mutters.
Jimin stares incredulously, heavy-blinking in disbelief. "What, really?" he practically shouts. "My ass was right in your face, how did you miss it?"
"I mean…your ass is…surprisingly perfect," Yoongi tries.
With a playful huff, Jimin rolls his eyes, grabs Yoongi's right hand, and wraps it around him, making Yoongi cup one of his cheeks.
"You can touch only with this hand," Jimin says with an insistent gaze, "and only on my butt."
The material of these briefs is thin and smooth, gliding softly under Yoongi's palm. It takes Yoongi a moment of rubbing over the soft flesh, squeezing gently, and mapping its shape before his fingertips brush over something hard, making Jimin suck in a sudden gasp of air.
"Oh?" Yoongi asks, grazing his fingertips against the spot with more purpose, making Jimin squirm. "What have we here?"
Jimin whimpers as Yoongi presses against the hard, round surprise before taking a handful to squeeze and spread, turning his sounds into soft moans.
"Were you wearing this plug during the performance?" Yoongi asks, head tipped back to watch as Jimin's lips tremble and search for what to say.
"Yes," he finally sighs, lolling his head back with a moan when Yoongi passes his fingers firmly over it again.
"You performed wearing an anal plug?" Yoongi asks again, watching as Jimin's cheeks flush and his eyes widen.
Jimin leans forward and presses his forehead against Yoongi's, nodding while whimpering a broken, "Uh-huh."
"While dancing and singing and tugging on my hair?" Yoongi continues, "While those eager boys stood and watched you flirt with me, you wore this, hoping I would bring you back here and find it."
"Yes, hyung," Jimin moans, and god if Yoongi had not already been fighting back the urge to absolutely destroy this pretty man in the most delicious ways possible, he would be now.
"You wanted me to find this plug, hmm?" Yoongi presses and rubs over it, squeezing and spanking while his other hand grips onto the blanket for dear life. "Wanted me to bend you over and pull it out…stretch you further on my cock…didn't you?"
"Hyung," Jimin whines, hips rolling lazily into Yoongi's touch.
Without another word, Yoongi slides his hand away and anchors himself back against the bed. Jimin scrambles, sitting back with his eyes bulging wide, making Yoongi chuckle.
"So naughty," Yoongi teases, voice full of mirth and sparking a petulant fire in Jimin's eyes.
"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, lifting a hand to smack Yoongi on the chest, which Yoongi catches despite not being given instruction to touch, just yet. Jimin looks incensed and gasps, eyes going between Yoongi's hand and his face.
"It's my turn," Yoongi rasps, biting back a grin. "Let me touch you."
Jimin blinks at him, clearly still processing the teasing, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, impatient.
"Fine," Jimin huffs brattily, yanking his hand from Yoongi's grasp and sliding from Yoongi's lap to take his place beside him on the bed. "It's your turn to strip, hyung. Give me a good show."
Yoongi stands, walks a couple paces into the room, and turns, letting the movement flow with the beat of whatever song is playing – something a little quicker-paced but still sexy enough to dance to. He rubs his hands over his neck, down his pecs, and over his tummy, watching as Jimin rests back on his palms with his thighs slightly spread, intently following every movement.
Then Yoongi grips onto the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head, messing up his hair in the process. He flings the garment at Jimin with maybe just a little too much force, and it hits him in the chest, falling to his lap.
"Wh—hyung!" Jimin shouts, tossing the shirt aside as Yoongi quickly undoes his belt and fly and shoves his jeans to the floor, stepping out of one side and then the other, and then reaching down to yank away his socks.
"This is the worst strip tease I have ever seen!" Jimin shouts despite his eyes roving over Yoongi's body with a hunger that says otherwise.
Yoongi approaches in two swift strides and bends to take Jimin by the backs of his knees. He lifts and spreads Jimin's legs, sending his back crashing against the bed, scrambling and squealing while Yoongi leans forward, legs draped over his hips, and grins.
"What did I tell you I was going to do, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sternly, caging Jimin in with his hands against the bed while Jimin's frantic movements cause their clothed cocks to rub against one another in an addictive jolt of energy.
"R-ruin me," Jimin pants as his flailing slows to a stop.
Yoongi grins. "That's right. I am going to absolutely ruin you. Now be good for me and get on your hands and knees."
It appears to take about two seconds for Jimin to process Yoongi's words before he crawls back on his elbows, getting fully onto the bed, and turning to position himself on his hands and knees while Yoongi sinks down to the floor. Jimin moves toward the center of the bed when Yoongi stops him.
"Ah, ah, come back here, pretty." He pats the mattress as if calling over a puppy. "Want you right here."
Jimin crawls backward with a somewhat dazed, borderline humiliated look on his face, and Yoongi waits patiently until Jimin is settled on the edge of the bed with his ankles hanging near Yoongi's head.
"Perfect," Yoongi groans as he sits high, reaches for the waistline of Jimin's pretty satin briefs, and pulls, uncovering his prize in all its soft yet muscular glory.
Yoongi practically moans at the sight of Jimin stretched around a metal toy with a light pink rhinestone in the center, and he wastes no time reaching two handfuls of soft flesh to squeeze firmly in his palms. He spreads his hands wide to graze his thumbs over the toy, then uses one hand to begin slowly tugging on it while keeping Jimin spread.
"God, look at you," Yoongi groans as Jimin's pucker tenses and relaxes with each movement. "Is this what you wanted? When you invited me to come watch you perform, did you picture me bending you over and playing with your ass afterward?"
"Yes," Jimin whines, sending a shiver down Yoongi's spine.
Yoongi uses his palm to gently strike Jimin's ass. The sound cracks through the room, punctuated by a moan, and Jimin shutters as he relaxes.
"What did you imagine, exactly?" Yoongi asks, hearing a dazed, "What?" come from Jimin.
"When you nestled this pretty little toy inside yourself tonight," Yoongi clarifies, rubbing over the reddened mark of his hand. "What were you imagining I would do to you?"
"I thought you would want to f-fuck me," Jimin says, sounding somewhat bashful. How cute.
Yoongi rubs over Jimin's ass with both hands, then taps the tip of his index finger over the end of the toy, making Jimin tremble. "Is that all?"
"N-no," Jimin whimpers.
"Awe, is pretty Jimin too shy to dirty talk to his hyung now that he has me right where he wants me?"
All he hears in response is a low whine, and Yoongi chuckles, smacking and squeezing Jimin's ass just enough to make his legs quake. He wonders if Jimin likes becoming pliant and malleable in someone else's hands.
"I can tell you what I imagine," Yoongi offers, sitting back before getting onto his feet to rub over Jimin's back and bend over him, draping himself to speak low into Jimin's ear.
Jimin nods.
"What I've imagined since the day we met—" Yoongi reaches with one hand to Jimin's chin and lifts his head up, then presses two fingers into his warm, wet mouth, "—is watching these sinful fucking lips wrap around my cock."
Jimin sucks on Yoongi's fingers, stirring a fire in his belly, and Yoongi nuzzles their cheeks together, pulling away as Jimin releases him with a pop.
"And what I've imagined since that little performance of yours tonight—" Yoongi gently grips Jimin's chin and pulls him so that he is held in place, back arched and neck craned, looking him in the eye, "—is the sight of you riding me…using me to make yourself cum…squeezing me so nice and tight…all while tugging on my hair."
Jimin's eyes blow wide, and he gasps, staring at Yoongi as if he has just personally hung every star in the night sky. Reverent.
"Would you like that, pretty?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin nods.
Yoongi grins. "Use your words, baby."
Brighter and wider, Jimin's eyes turn to heavenly disks, and Yoongi makes a mental note to call him baby a lot more.
"Yes, hyung," Jimin mutters sweetly.
"Say my name. Tell me what you need."
"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin responds. "I need…you. Anything you want, please."
With a soft kiss against Jimin's cheek, Yoongi lowers Jimin down, continuing to drape himself over his body, keeping his weight from pressing on him too much.
"Do you like to be more in control," Yoongi asks, dancing fingertips in Jimin's pink hair, "or do you like to submit?"
Jimin's voice has a slight tremble when he says, "Submit."
"Do you like it rough or soft?"
"Both."
Yoongi groans, pleased with that answer. "Do you have a safe word, baby?"
"S-strawberry."
"Strawberry, of course," Yoongi says, grinning. "Good. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."
Yoongi feels Jimin's body relax beneath him as he sighs, "Please, Yoongi," in a voice fit for an angel.
Eager to learn all the pretty ways Jimin can sing, Yoongi gets back onto his feet, running his fingertips over the length of Jimin's back before dropping to his knees. He spreads Jimin wide, leans forward, and licks from just beneath the end of the plug to just above it, tasting cold metal and zirconia with a sticky-sweet hint of lube.
Jimin moans low and arches his back, pressing his ass against Yoongi's face, and Yoongi chuckles as he grips tightly to both cheeks and licks again and again, straight lines and rounded ones, tasting and teasing.
"Do you get really sensitive?" Yoongi asks as he rests his cheek against the soft curve of Jimin's ass and takes the end of the toy between his fingers, tugging it ever so slightly – just enough to make Jimin whine.
Jimin mutters a pitchy, "Uh-huh."
"Words, baby," Yoongi instructs with a somewhat stronger tug.
Jimin sobs as he says, "Yes, Yoongi!"
"Good," Yoongi groans as he nuzzles against Jimin and nips gently at his skin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together."
With a firm tug, Yoongi begins to pull the toy, taking it nice and slow while Jimin's hole stretches around the bulb. Jimin sobs with shaking legs, and Yoongi lifts his head and drops a dab of spit as he pushes the toy back in and gives it another tug.
Back and forth, he tugs and presses, with more spit and kisses against Jimin's soft skin, again and again, until finally Jimin opens wide and releases the plug with a soft wail.
"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, licking over Jimin's rim with a firm twist of his tongue, making him moan. "So good for me."
Yoongi stands on somewhat shaky legs – knees, and calves tired from being bunched up on the floor – and he moves to the bedside table, grabs a tissue from a small box, and places it down to rest the plug onto. "You got lube in here?" he asks, tapping his fingernails against the small door on the front of the table.
"No, on top," Jimin responds, and Yoongi glances around, then finds the bottle wedged behind the tissue box.
"Is this the lube you used earlier?" Yoongi asks as he returns and takes in the sight of Jimin on his knees with his face pressed against his floral comforter.
"Don't pick on me," Jimin pouts, frowning, making Yoongi chuckle fondly.
"Not picking on you, baby," Yoongi responds, patting the center of the bed, closer to the pillow. "Come up here."
With a whimper and even deeper pout, Jimin anchors himself on his hands, and – like a doe learning to walk for the first time – fumbles and sways with forward momentum until he slams his chest down onto a pillow and wraps his arms around it.
Yoongi gets onto the bed and crawls on his knees behind Jimin. The satin briefs are still around Jimin's legs, keeping him from spreading his knees too far, and Yoongi leaves them in place, curious how Jimin might enjoy a little movement restriction.
With his thumb, Yoongi flips open the lid of the lube bottle, then he squirts a generous amount onto his index and middle fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb through the sticky substance to warm it just a little. Then he rubs the slicked tips of his fingers over Jimin's hole, watching the way he trembles from even the slightest of touches.
Slowly, Yoongi presses the tip of his middle finger in, testing how far the toy has stretched him. Although Jimin moans, his voice is steady as Yoongi pushes all the way to his knuckle and twists. The muscle does not squeeze too tight, so he pulls out and gently slides in another.
With his index finger added, Jimin squeezes him with a deep whimper and then relaxes. Yoongi takes it slow, rubbing his palm soothingly over Jimin's ass and thigh, pulling his fingers back and pressing them forward little by little.
"Let me know if you need me to slow down or stop, pretty," Yoongi says as he watches his fingertips get swallowed.
"Don't stop," Jimin whimpers, "give me more."
"More?" Yoongi teases, drawing the word out nice and long.
"Please, Yoongi."
Yoongi twists his fingers as he pushes and pulls, listening to Jimin's deep voice become high-pitched and raspy. Satisfied with how Jimin feels around him – swallowing eagerly but not with a death grip – Yoongi adds his ring finger.
Jimin trembles and bleats broken syllables as Yoongi presses three fingers into him. He twists slowly and dribbles spit onto Jimin's rim, giving himself a little more slide, working himself a little deeper. And Jimin takes him so well until he gets to his knuckles and the stretch feels too tight.
"Fuck," Jimin gasps, legs quaking. "Feels s-so good, but it—'s too much."
"I got you, baby," Yoongi says softly, planting kisses over Jimin's ass and upper thigh as he slides his fingers out and pauses. "Call your safe word if you want a break."
"No," Jimin pants. "I don't want a break, your fingers are just…they're too good."
Yoongi chuckles, slowly pressing his fingers back in, stopping before the knuckles, as he says, "Just breathe for me," with his lips dragging over Jimin's soft skin.
Labored, panicked breaths make Yoongi smile and shake his head, and he slowly pulls out as he clarifies, "Breathe slowly, Jiminah. Don't make yourself dizzy; I don't need you passing out on me."
An impatient groan muffled by a blanket makes Yoongi sit up high on his knees and angle his body to get a look at Jimin, whose face is squished cutely into the bed with flushed cheeks and a frown in his brow.
"Ya, what is it?" Yoongi teases, using his lubed fingers to give Jimin's ass a little smack, smiling at how the man cries and quakes.
"Wanna ride you," Jimin groans indignantly.
Yoongi wants to rile Jimin up so badly. He considers tickling the man until he crashes to the bed laughing – and probably throwing a tantrum. He wants to threaten not to let Jimin do anything he wants, just so he can be pouty and bratty and make Yoongi put him in his place a little – gently and sweetly, of course. He has to hold his tongue to not chide the poor guy for how grumpy and impatient he is, even as Yoongi stretches him.
But he does not. Instead, Yoongi rubs both hands over Jimin's ass, spreading and squeezing while settling back down again. "I thought you wanted to be submissive," he asks, with only a hint of mirth.
"I do," Jimin responds, pout still evident in his tone. "I want to do both. I can't make up my mind."
"You can do both," Yoongi insists with a smirk, reaching for the lube bottle to slick his fingers back up. "I would love it if you rode me, baby. But if you can't take three knuckles, you sure as hell can't take my cock. So why don't you be a good boy and breathe nice and slow while I stretch you open, yeah?"
The breathy way in which Jimin mutters, "Yeah," tells Yoongi his message has been received loud and clear. The prospect alone of Jimin riding him has him very eager to get the other nice and ready.
Yoongi slathers his three fingers in lube and begins to press them in. Jimin still huffs his exhales, but he is breathing less like a man who might be dying, for which Yoongi is grateful. It takes plenty of twisting and coaxing to slowly get the muscles to open for him, but Yoongi is patient, kissing and sucking on Jimin's skin while watching his fingers get swallowed.
When Yoongi finally does finger Jimin past the knuckle – accompanied by a pitchy squeal and Jimin begging, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop," – he stops, letting Jimin adjust to the stretch.
"That's it," Yoongi praises, rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and thigh while his fingers stay nestled deep inside him. "I knew you could take me. Just had to be a little patient."
"I've fantasized about how your knobby knuckles would feel but fuck, they are so big," Jimin whines, making Yoongi laugh.
He squeezes Jimin's ass in his palm, then slowly begins to pull his fingers out, watching as Jimin opens wide to accommodate him once more. "You've fantasized about my fingers, huh?"
"H-hyung," Jimin groans, sounding embarrassed.
"Say my name, pretty," Yoongi sweetly commands as he twists his fingers out and begins to plunge them back in, meeting far less resistance.
"Y-Yoongi," Jimin sobs, trembling as Yoongi twists – pulling out and pushing back in.
The sight of his fingers getting swallowed whole has Yoongi's jaw hanging slack, drool pooling beneath his tongue. Jimin is an absolute vision, and the more his light-dusky pucker becomes flushed and reddened with pleasure, the hungrier Yoongi is to give and give and give. Anything to paint him prettily with bliss. Anything to hear the sweet, broken sounds he makes.
"What is it, baby," Yoongi asks, twist-pulling and plunging deep.
Jimin hiccups and Yoongi rotates his torso to lean just enough to see Jimin's fist grasping at the comforter. "N-need you."
"I'm here," Yoongi coos while rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and lower back, fingertips mapping and memorizing. "You're almost ready for me."
Yoongi pulls out, then uses the index fingers of both hands hooked into Jimin's rim to open him nice and wide. Jimin sobs as Yoongi stretches him, slowly plunging his fingers in and out in a push and pull, watching as the welcoming rings of muscle tense and relax.
"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Jimin groans, as he sinks a little further forward, pushing his ass ever so slightly higher.
"Admiring you, baby," Yoongi says, sitting high on his knees to dribble a dollop of spit into Jimin's hole to squelch between his two fingers. "You have no idea how fucking perfect you are."
Jimin hiccups as he moans, and Yoongi slowly pulls out, one finger and then the other, watching as his pucker tightens and tightens.
"Alright, baby," Yoongi says as he sits back on his knees and open-palm kneads at Jimin's fleshy thighs, feeling supple skin, rough lace, and soft mesh against his palms. "Wanna be a good boy and show hyung how you ride cock?"
A pitchy, garbled, "Uh-huh," leaves Jimin's mouth in a rush as he pushes himself on shaking limbs until he is seated on his knees. Yoongi slides off the bed and walks toward the head, moving pillows and the comforter out of the way, revealing a pretty green floral sheet. He pushes his dark briefs down to the floor, stepping out of each side as he places his knees onto the bed, knee-walks the center, and then sits, spreading his thighs while Jimin grabs the bottle of lube and hobbles close.
Without preamble, Jimin cages Yoongi's hips between his arms and licks a slow stripe up the underside of his aching, neglected cock, sending a thrill of pleasure shooting through him that has a moan storming from his lungs. Yoongi's head thumps against the headboard as he sinks against the cool, wooden surface, and he lifts his hands to gently take Jimin by the hair and chin.
"Hyung tastes so good," Jimin coos sweetly, glancing up through his eyelashes while poking out his pretty pink tongue to lap at the dribble of precum at his tip.
Yoongi was not planning on getting his dick sucked – he was dead set on Jimin's pleasure first and foremost, eager to give absolutely anything to him that he wants. But if what Jimin wants is to put those pretty lips to use, Yoongi would not dare say no.
"Is that so?" Yoongi urges, eager to press Jimin to say more – hopeful that he will turn shy and sweet like before.
Jimin nods, blinking with a lust-drunk haze in his eyes before looking down into Yoongi's trimmed dark pubes as he says, "Salty-sweet…so yummy…"
"It's all yours, baby," Yoongi says as he drags his trimmed, blunt fingernails along the sharp lines of Jimin's jaw. "Anything you want, it's yours."
Jimin lets his tongue hang long, blinking upward while drool pools and dribbles onto Yoongi's tip, dripping down to disappear from view. "Want to make a mess," he slurs, barely pulling his tongue back enough to speak clearly.
"Yeah?" Yoongi urges, "you wanna make a mess of me, baby?"
Jimin nods, curving his lips upward, saliva pooling and dripping. Yoongi fights the urge to beg him to do more – wants Jimin to go at his own pace and enjoy himself, even if it means Yoongi vibrates with nerves and anticipation, bordering on impatience and flat-out desperation.
Luckily, Jimin does not make him wait long. With a deep, eager groan, Jimin sucks Yoongi's tip into his mouth without using his hands, then curves his back and neck, doing his best to swallow him down. Pleasure quakes through Yoongi, and he sinks further into the bed, dragging his head back against the headboard while he moans deep and appreciative.
He tips his head to the side to watch Jimin's spit-slick petal lips drag along his length. Jimin hums and moans, which vibrates just enough to make Yoongi shiver, sucking his cheeks and swishing his tongue in a hypnotic dance.
Slowly, Yoongi climbs to the precipice of bliss, further each time Jimin takes him a little deeper and swallows a little harder. Then Jimin changes position, sitting higher on his knees, and he takes Yoongi into his throat and swallows hard, sending a heavy wave of euphoria crashing inside him. Yoongi's fingers, which had been loosely holding onto Jimin's hair and face, grip onto Jimin's hair, and he tugs gently without pulling too hard.
"Shit, baby, that's it," Yoongi whines, voice coming out pitchy and breathy. "Won't last if you keep swallowing me like that."
Jimin hums and swallows harder, holding Yoongi in his throat long enough to make Yoongi begin to spiral; long enough for Jimin to come up for air with a heavy gasp. Spit hangs from Jimin's lips and tongue in thick strings, and when he blinks, mascara leaves little black streaks on his face.
"Pretty, messy baby," Yoongi praises with a smile that feels crooked and heavy. He knows he must look absolutely fucked out, and the way Jimin's eyes shimmer has affection blooming deep behind his ribs.
Jimin grins, then sinks back down, sucking and swallowing eagerly while setting a quick pace bobbing his head. The faint pass of Jimin's teeth along Yoongi's length sends a tickle up his spine that has his back arching, and with each upward stroke of his lips, spit collects and trickles, coating his balls and dribbling over his asshole.
Yoongi is close, and he grips Jimin's hair a little tighter, guiding his head a little deeper. He whimpers broken pleas for Jimin to keep going that hardly sound like words – whisps of sounds flitting into the air as he struggles to keep his bearings. Jimin's mouth is better than Yoongi could have possibly anticipated, and he submits fully to letting Jimin send him straight into the clouds. He wants to cum down that pretty throat so badly.
"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, finally finding his voice. "Gonna cum, baby. Will you swallow for me?"
Jimin seems to try to nod, muttering some kind of response that amounts to consonants and sputtered drool, and Yoongi loosens his grip on Jimin's hair, letting his hands slide and fall away to fist at the sheet, instead. It only takes three more passes of those perfect fucking lips to make Yoongi absolutely dissolve.
"Gonna c—" is all he chokes out before painting Jimin's tongue and throat.
Jimin gags slightly but continues to suck and swallow, humming and moaning between Yoongi's sharp, raspy sounds of pleasure. His orgasm flows through him hot and quick, erupting and intoxicating. Only once he is trembling from overstimulation does Jimin release his cock, licking once more from base to tip with his mouth hanging agape.
Streaks of viscous white streak Jimin's tongue, and Yoongi takes him by the jaw and gently lifts, urging Jimin to sit up and crash into him. Yoongi licks into Jimin's mouth, tasting his own heady release, and Jimin melts forward, laying his torso heavily against Yoongi while very slowly crawling up into a seated position on his lap.
"Was that what you were imagining, hyung?" Jimin asks against his mouth, making Yoongi chuckle.
"Better," he rasps. "I could never have imagined anything feeling that good, Jiminah."
Jimin blushes as he asks, "Did you like how my lips looked?" and Yoongi raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. "Wrapped around you," Jimin continues, nibbling on his plush, kiss-swollen bottom lip.
"You know I did." Yoongi leans in to place a soft kiss against Jimin's lips, deciding instead to suck them into his mouth, one after the other, making him giggle. "You looked and felt like heaven, baby."
Jimin leans back into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his neck and gently tugging at his hair. They kiss, lick, suck, and nip in unhurried movements, tasting and teasing while Yoongi's dick recovers and begins to harden once more. Sticky-cool saliva transfers from Jimin's chin to Yoongi's, aiding in the mess that was promised, and Yoongi slowly sucks at Jimin's tongue tip, making him drool even more.
Time grinds to a halt, suspended and of no use to them. Yoongi passes his hands over Jimin's shoulders, down the slopes of his back and hips and ass – anywhere he can reach. Occasionally, Jimin shivers and sighs, and Yoongi cannot help but smile, endeared and eager to know every single sensitive spot he may have.
One of Jimin's hands leaves Yoongi's hair and travels down, tickling as his fingernails delicately scrape down his pec, across his ribs, to his hip. When Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi's growing erection, engulfing him in pleasure and warmth, Yoongi gasps, rolling his eyes back and nodding as he mutters, "Almost ready for you."
Jimin releases Yoongi and reaches for the lube before using both hands to slick him up. Yoongi is grateful that Jimin does not warm it in his hands, hissing with delight at the cold touch. Jimin giggles deviously, chewing on his lip, and Yoongi gazes down at his cock between two slender, pretty hands before returning his attention to Jimin's face.
"Now are you ready, hyung?" Jimin asks as he sits high on his knees and positions himself over Yoongi's tip.
Yoongi uses both hands to steady Jimin's thighs, dancing his fingertips over the stockings, then gripping gently while Jimin reaches up to the top of the headboard and leans his chest close to Yoongi's face.
"I don't think I could ever fully be ready for someone as perfect as you fucking me, Jiminah," Yoongi confesses with a smile, tilting his head until his tongue is able to flit out and drag over a dusky, pert nipple. "You'll just have to give it to me; force me to be ready. Don't hold back."
"As you wish, hyung," Jimin responds sweetly as he begins to sink down.
The tip of Yoongi's cock breaches Jimin's hole with a shutter and whimper from both men in tandem. Yoongi grips Jimin's hips bruisingly, expecting Jimin to stop and adjust, but Jimin keeps lowering, down, down, down until he is fully seated and choking pretty, broken sobs.
Yoongi is overwhelmed with pleasure, squeezed with blissful tight warmth, and he quakes with each gentle squeeze of muscle around him. His breath feels heavy in his lungs, and as he lets out a groaned exhale, he releases his grip on Jimin's thighs and rests his head back in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, teetering on the brink of total mental collapse.
"Hol—" is all Yoongi manages to moan as Jimin lifts and drops, slamming his ass against Yoongi's thighs, letting out a dulcet whimper that is rivaled by Jimin's pitchier one.
"Big," Jimin mutters as he picks up a dizzying pace of slowly lifting before forcefully dropping, spearing himself so nice and deep, Yoongi feels like he may be carving the poor guy open.
Jimin is magnificent with his head tilted back and lips hung wide, whimpering as he rises and drops and rises and drops. Somehow exactly as Yoongi imagined, yet so much more. His cock glistens hard against his tummy, dribbling with precum and so neglected, bouncing against his abs with each drop, leaving a little splatter behind.
"I won't last," Yoongi admits, feeling the blissful, agonizing squeeze that is only intensified as Jimin's muscles flutter with pleasure. "I usually have more—ahh—s-stamina, but you feel so g-good."
"Awe, hyungie," Jimin purrs, tilting his head forward and opening his dreamy, lust-lidded eyes. "That's ok. I just hope you can keep going…ruin me like you promised."
"I can," Yoongi croaks. It will be much easier to stave off his orgasm when he is in full control; like this, he doesn't stand a chance.
"There's always tomorrow, too," Jimin mutters half-dazed, and Yoongi smirks at the prospect of Jimin wanting him after tonight.
Yoongi rubs his hands up Jimin's hips, along the delicate curve of his waist and the white lace garter, and further, palming over pecs. As Jimin lifts and drops, Yoongi almost feels overwhelmed by the arousal that pools and pools, warm and aching in his center, tingling to his limbs, filling him with desire. He wants to grab Jimin tight and fuck up into him, but Jimin feels and looks so amazing he lets him take his time.
With a grin that morphs into a bite of his lower lip, Jimin lifts his hips and swivels them, whorling around Yoongi's tip and tugging up, making him gasp and groan. Yoongi rubs his hands down to Jimin's waist and gently holds, helping keep him steady while the dancer twists and swishes, creating dizzying patterns to the song Yoongi barely hears over the pounding of his heart.
"God, your body…" Yoongi mutters, eyes heavy as he watches muscle tense and soften.
"You like how I feel, hyung?" Jimin mutters as he swirls up.
Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin begins to bounce his ass up and down to the beat of the background song, just fucking himself on Yoongi's tip – teasing in a most delightful way.
"How you feel…" Yoongi mutters, head rolling back against the headboard, looking down his nose at the beauty above him. "How you look, how you sound…you're fucking perfect, baby."
Jimin smiles and runs his hands over Yoongi's neck, then uses one hand to leverage himself on Yoongi's shoulder while the other takes a handful of hair and grips tight.
"You're just saying that because I'm fucking you," Jimin teases through gasps and whimpers, gaze turning sharp while he begins to drop his hips back down and spear himself deep.
Even with a cock buried inside him, Jimin is a brat. Yoongi finds it way too endearing, though he is eager to flip the pretty dancer over and fuck him so good he can no longer talk back. He rolls his eyes, moaning as Jimin rides him a little steadier, trying to ignore how rapidly his pleasure builds.
"True," Yoongi mutters, playing along. If Jimin wants to be petulant, two can play this game.
"Ah—" Jimin moans, "I knew it. Just using me for my perfect ass."
Yoongi's hands slide over the soft, inviting curves of Jimin's hips and ass, and he takes two splayed handfuls and gives him a squeeze, moaning, "Exactly."
With his palms gripping tight, Yoongi assists Jimin in his movements, lifting and dropping him in a nice steady rhythm. Rather than attempt to stave his high, he chases it now, eager to change positions and give Jimin more.
Jimin whimpers and sobs, breath coming out punchy and ragged while his tip leaks precum.
"Are you close, baby?" Yoongi asks, receiving only a whimpered, "Uh-huh," in response.
"What did I say about using your words?" Yoongi insists through grit teeth, finding it harder to steady his breathing and speak clearly.
"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin moans, sending a chill down Yoongi's spine at the sound of his name. "I'm so close."
Yoongi pulls one hand away, lifts it to his mouth, and spits into his palm. He stares up at Jimin as he wraps his hand around Jimin's cock head and squeezes just enough to elicit a moan and shiver from him, then he begins to stroke nice and slow, collecting dribbled precum on his palm.
"Hyung," Jimin whimpers, body tensing and relaxing over and over.
"Say my name, baby," Yoongi instructs with a smirk, watching Jimin's lips tremble and form unvoiced syllables.
Jimin leans forward and takes two handfuls of Yoongi's hair as he lifts and slams his ass with purpose. Each breath Yoongi pants hits Jimin's chest, creating a pocket of sticky warmth between them.
"Yoongi," Jimin whines as his grip tightens, tugging on Yoongi's scalp and making him hiss.
"Yes, baby?"
Jimin's voice cracks, barely croaking out the words, "I'm gonna cum."
"Cum for me, Jiminah," Yoongi moans, feeling his own high reach its peak. "Cum all over this cock, baby, let me feel you."
Jimin's muscles squeeze and release– frenzied and dizzying as his rhythm falters. Rather than lift, he grinds, burying Yoongi so deep, the air feels trapped in Yoongi's chest.
"That's it, baby," Yoongi wheezes through grit teeth, stroking Jimin at an angle that has him gently punching his fist against both their tummies. "Use my cock to get yourself off. Fuck, you feel so good."
Jimin's back arches and his body quakes as he cums. Yoongi squeezes at his tip, urging more and more release to coat his fist sticky-white, digging his heels into the mattress as he fucks his hips upward, just enough to get Jimin bouncing and moaning. Jimin squeezes him so tight, pushing him right over the edge.
"Gonna cum, baby," Yoongi groans as every nerve prickles tingly and hot, ready to burst.
"Fill me, Yoongi," Jimin sobs as he bounces in quick, shallow movements. "Make me messy."
The squeeze of Jimin's muscles, and fucked out, eager sound of his voice has Yoongi's orgasm hitting hard. He releases Jimin's cock, gripping onto his thighs with both hands as his body trembles roughly with pleasure. Yoongi barely makes a sound, rasping around heaving breaths as his eyes squeeze momentarily tight, attempting to relax as his orgasm pulses through him in tremendous bursts, making him see stars.
"That's it, hyung," Jimin whimpers, leaning all the way forward, draping himself over Yoongi's shoulders. "Feels so good."
Yoongi sits back, catching his breath as his cock softens, running his clean palm up Jimin's back while the cum-covered hand falls to the side. Jimin's muscles continue to flutter, and he nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, leaving lazy, wet kisses against the skin and filling Yoongi with butterflies.
The music continues to play, changing from one sexy beat to another. A female artist sings, but Yoongi is unable to make out what she is saying. His pulse thumps in his ears and throat, forcing each breath out in a lively beat of his own.
"It feels nice to just…sit here and hold you," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's skin.
"I would hug you back but one of my hands is covered in your cum."
Jimin hums in understanding, adding, "You got it on my thigh," with a familiar bratty tone.
"You wanted to be messy," Yoongi grumbles with a smile, feeling absolutely smitten.
Jimin groans, "I did," as he slowly begins to sit up, taking the warmth of his body away.
Yoongi shivers as the sweat that covers him turns cold. He tips his head back and looks up as Jimin settles on his lap, cock-warming him while sitting tall, smiling sweetly.
"I guess since you got what you wanted, you don't need me anymore," Jimin teases with a smirk and a lift of one eyebrow as he reaches out and undoes what is left of the bun in Yoongi's hair, tossing his trusty hair tie aside.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and lolls his head back, trying not to smile as he mutters, "Really, Jiminah?"
With wide, playful eyes, Jimin nods, sliding his ass up, up, up until Yoongi's soft, cum-covered cock falls away, making him shudder.
"You had a taste of my perfect ass, so—"
"Oh, I had a taste, alright," Yoongi interrupts with a grin, sitting up and causing Jimin to move slightly backward. "You think I'm gonna just leave now? Never to see you again?"
Jimin's playful demeanor begins to crumble as Yoongi lifts his soiled hand and begins to lick at what is left of Jimin's heady, salty-sweet release.
"Uh, I—" Jimin says, lips forming around syllables he never voices.
"What about promising me tomorrow? Hmm?" Yoongi asks before dragging his tongue over his knuckles, cleaning the remnants of Jimin's cum.
Now that his hand is far less messy, Yoongi grips onto Jimin's waist nice and tight and lift-pushes the dancer onto his back. Jimin yelps as he hits the pretty green sheet, pink hair sweat-stuck together in little spikes, fanning messily around his beautiful face.
"I'm not finished with you yet," Yoongi says as he gets onto his knees and towers over Jimin. "Weren't you just whining about me ruining you moments ago?"
Jimin giggles softly, reaching his arms to wrap around Yoongi's neck. Yoongi gently takes Jimin by the wrists and pushes his arms to the mattress, pressing his weight down, watching with delight as Jimin gasps and shivers beneath him.
"You really think I could only do this once?" Yoongi teases as he leans forward, crowding Jimin's space. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I'll be craving you, Jiminah."
"I-is that so?" Jimin breathes, head tilting as if offering the expanse of his neck to Yoongi – an invitation Yoongi takes as he drags his lips over salt-slick skin.
"That is so."
"Are you sure you can keep going?" Jimin asks sweetly. "You just came twice."
"I could fuck you all night, baby," Yoongi insists, licking and nipping until Jimin gasps. "Just need a moment to get hard again. Why? Can you keep going?"
Each breath that puffs from Jimin's lips sounds heavy. "I can, but…I might get overstimulated."
"I know," Yoongi groans with a smile. "I watched you fall apart on my fingers, remember?"
"I might get…really…lost," Jimin admits.
Yoongi releases Jimin's hands and moves them to the mattress so he can press more weight down and angle himself upward just enough to look Jimin in the eyes.
"Maybe," Jimin mutters. "I just get really…floaty. Like my soul and body are disconnected…held together by pleasure."
Yoongi nods in understanding. "Do you want to hold off, then? Wait until we're more comfortable with each other before you go there with me?"
The smile that tugs on Jimin's lips is sweet, and his eyes sparkle as he says, "I have a feeling you will take good care of me, hyung."
Affection bursts warm in Yoongi's chest. "Of course, I will. But I still understand if that's something you want to build up to."
Jimin shakes his head and nibbles on his lip. "I trust you. I'll call my safe word if I need to."
"You don't go non-verbal at all?"
Jimin pinches his brow and shakes his head. "No."
"Alright," Yoongi agrees, eager to keep going as long as Jimin feels safe.
Jimin leans forward, groaning as his chin juts out, puckering for a kiss, making Yoongi chuckle softly. Yoongi closes the gap and presses further, allowing Jimin to lie comfortably, and he licks and sucks at Jimin's soft, sinful mouth.
"Sorry for ruining the mood with talking," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's lips.
Yoongi hums as he licks into Jimin's warm, petal mouth, opening him wide; making space. Jimin tastes so delicately sweet yet heady, and Yoongi has no choice but to chase every nuanced flavor, eager to discover more. Jimin's hums and groans are music to Yoongi's ears, and he swallows each sound with ease.
Rather than lifting his head, Yoongi simply stops kissing, letting his lips rest on Jimin, who smiles. Yoongi wishes he could adequately communicate just how important every little thing Jimin thinks, feels, and needs is, to him.
"Discussing boundaries is never a mood killer," Yoongi insists against his lips. "I never want you to hold anything back."
"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mutters, leaving pecks of soft kisses along Yoongi's mouth and chin.
"Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum, Jiminah. You deserve to be cared for."
The way Jimin squeals and wiggles beneath him makes his smile go lopsided. Yoongi lifts his head just enough to watch Jimin's cheeks flush, taking in the beauty of his shimmery and black makeup smudged around his eyes.
"Shut up," Jimin groans.
"Shut me up," Yoongi challenges with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Jimin tilts his chin up once more, chasing a kiss. As Yoongi leans down, giving into his desire, one warm hand wraps around his half-hard cock, making him shiver and groan; this certainly is one way to get him to stop talking.
"Want you again, Yoongi," Jimin pleads into Yoongi's open mouth, tugging on his cock. "Need you."
"You have me, baby," Yoongi practically moans, licking against Jimin's lips as his arousal simmers and warms him. "Turn over, on your stomach."
Jimin nods as he deepens the kiss, licking eagerly into Yoongi's mouth, sighing as Yoongi pushes and pulls with his tongue. When Jimin breaks the kiss, fingertips dig into Yoongi's neck and shoulder, and both men are panting, thickening the air between them with moist warmth.
Jimin begins to wiggle around onto his side, then his stomach, and Yoongi stays where he is, caging him in with his arms and lifting his knees one after the other to accommodate Jimin's legs. Once Jimin is settled, Yoongi leans forward and presses his lips to the back of Jimin's neck, nipping and swirling his tongue as Jimin moans, back bowing delicately – trembling.
Yoongi kisses down the curve of Jimin's spine, crawling backward onto his knees. He sucks marks at the top of Jimin's ass, nipping and licking over dewy-smooth skin and lifting his hands to cup and squeeze. As he sits up, he kneads gently into Jimin's perfect, pillowy flesh, spreading him wide. Jimin's puffy rim glistens with leaked cum, and Yoongi wets his lips as he runs two fingertips over the mess before pressing deep inside.
Jimin moans loudly, broken and debauched, as Yoongi fingers his tight asshole, feeling his own cum squelch, icky and enticing. He looks around for the bottle of lube and leans back, allowing his fingers to be slowly released as he reaches for it with his free hand.
"You sure you can keep going?" Yoongi asks as he flicks the lube bottle open with his thumb, caressing the soft swell of Jimin's ass and thigh.
"I'm not fragile, hyung," Jimin whimpers with his hands beside his head, clutching onto the comforter that has been bunched up and pushed out of the way.
"Never said you were," Yoongi smiles fondly, squirting lube into his palm and working it over his cock, hissing from the sensation on his tender skin. "Just don't want to push you too far."
Jimin groans a pitchy sound that Yoongi assumes is impatience. "We already discussed this. My safe word is strawberry, hyung. Please fuck me."
Yoongi rubs his lubed hand sloppily over Jimin's hole, nibbling his lip as Jimin bucks and trembles against him. "Say that last part again."
There is a second of hesitation, followed by a soft sigh that makes Yoongi grin. He opens his mouth to ask again nicely, but Jimin beats him to it, muttering, "Please fuck me, Yoongi."
Jimin spreads his thighs flat against the bed and extends his legs straight, laying in a perfect split, and Yoongi gasps at the sight of him. He leans forward to accommodate the new height, gripping onto his length with one hand and Jimin's hip with the other. With a devious giggle, Jimin begins to bounce his ass, clapping his cheeks softly in a show that has Yoongi absolutely reeling.
Without a moment more to spare, Yoongi leans forward on his knees and lines himself up with Jimin's rim, using his non-sticky hand to guide one of Jimin's hips. "You're a fucking menace," he groans as he presses in, in, in, spearing Jimin open as they whine and moan in tandem, feeling pleasure burst through his limbs like rays of warm, alluring light.
"Squeezing me, baby," Yoongi rasps as he slowly slides out, giving Jimin no time to adjust. He places both hands on Jimin's hips and begins to rock his body, fucking into Jimin without moving his own hips. The delicate, elongated stretch of Jimin's mesh clad legs, right down to the tips of his pretty little toes has Yoongi torn between wanting to cherish him like something delicate or completely wreck him.
"Such a slutty little dancer and you're all mine," Yoongi teases as he continues to rock Jimin's hips against him, watching his puffy rim swallow him whole. "What would your admirers think if they knew you wore a plug on stage while you were doing the splits to tease me?"
"Hyung," Jimin whines, burying his face down into the comforter.
Yoongi slides his hands to the bed and leans forward, slowly thrusting his hips up and down while walking his hands up to Jimin's armpits, hovering nice and close. The scent of strawberry mixed with a faint, sweaty musk is sticky-sweet enticing, and Yoongi lets his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath in.
"You even performed for all of our friends wearing a toy," Yoongi rasps beside Jimin's ear. "What would they think of you?"
"Stop," Jimin whines, dragging the word long and whiny.
Yoongi nuzzles his face against Jimin's nape, nipping at short pink hairs. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, baby," he mutters sweetly, smiling at the sound of Jimin cooing happily.
"Mmm, I like it," Jimin admits with a groan, making Yoongi nuzzle harder, grinning at the thought of Jimin feeling shy.
The smacking of skin is heard in lewd, rhythmic bursts. Yoongi fucks Jimin nice and steady, listening for the strained "Ah!" that punctuates each thrust, huffing small sounds of his own.
Yoongi begins to sit back, careful not to let his hips lose too much rhythm. Once on his knees, Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with both hands and leans his weight into him, fucking him much faster. Jimin jiggles hypnotically, and Yoongi gives him light spanks to each cheek, unable to resist playing with him; delighted by the sound of him squealing.
"Hyung, I want to cum again," Jimin cries, gripping the floral blanket tight.
Yoongi wants to watch him cum – wants to touch and tease his cock while praising him and making him sob. As he slowly pulls out, Jimin trembles and groans in protest. Yoongi gives his ass a couple of light taps and mutters, "On your back."
"Hyung" Jimin complains, elongating the word, making Yoongi smirk.
Jimin crawls slightly forward and bends at the knees, then flops onto his side, huffing dramatically as if he cannot be bothered to move a single inch more.
"I know, I know," Yoongi mutters, grabbing Jimin by the hips and pulling him the rest of the way onto his back. Jimin squeals and laughs, spreading his legs wide while watching with eager, mascara-smudged eyes as Yoongi continues to position him right where he wants him.
"Sorry I can't choose between wanting to see your ass and wanting to see your face," Yoongi grumbles defensively while pumping his cock and reaching for the bottle of lube. He squirts some directly onto his shaft – cool liquid on warm skin – and he smears it in one stroke.
"Wow, and they say chivalry is dead," Jimin teases, lifting his eyebrows playfully with a grin.
Yoongi slides his length into Jimin's tight warmth in one swift movement, and Jimin's grin falls agape as his back arches. He lets out a deep, pleased moan that Yoongi mirrors with a slow intake of air, filling his lungs. The curve of Jimin's neck, along his chest, and down to his tummy bows delicately taut, and Yoongi maps each inch with his eyes, stunned by his beauty.
When Jimin settles slowly onto his back, Yoongi reaches forward and slots two fingers into Jimin's mouth. Jimin clamps his lips closed and gently sucks as Yoongi begins to set a steady pace with his hips.
"Good boy," he praises, and Jimin's eyes blow wide. "So fucking good for me. So pretty and tight and perfect."
Jimin anchors himself onto his elbows, muttering something that sounds like a question, and Yoongi nods, smiling sweetly down at Jimin, watching his hard, leaking cock slap his tummy with each thrust.
"Perfect, pretty Jiminah. And you're all mine."
More sounds are uttered around Yoongi's fingers as Jimin's eyes roll and his head bobs with the rocking of their bodies. Yoongi reaches between them and rolls his palm over the tip of Jimin's cock, eliciting his eyes to open big and round.
Already, Jimin looks dazed, back draped slightly with his head held up only enough to suck on Yoongi's fingertips, supported against his elbows. Jimin's fingers slowly dance over the material of his green floral sheet, legs flayed lazily around Yoongi's hips.
Yoongi slowly tugs at Jimin's length, making him whimper and sputter incoherently. Jimin rocks his hips and squeezes around Yoongi in a rhythm matching Yoongi's thrusts – must be chasing his own high. Seeing Jimin looking dazed and eager to cum again, stuffed with fingers and cock, Yoongi's mind races as he attempts to sort out how he got so fucking lucky.
"'S good," Jimin whines, dropping his head back and letting Yoongi's drool-slick fingers drag over his chin.
Yoongi continues his pace – a deliberate roll of hips – letting his fingers slowly fall past Jimin's chin, to his chest, tracing curves and dips until finally taking hold of him around the ribs. Gradually, Jimin's arms give way, and he lies back – head first, then shoulders, sinking deeper against green flowers with his eyes hazy and wide.
"Are you floaty, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sweetly, wetting his salty-dry lips.
Jimin hums and crooks a lazy smile, lifting his hands slowly to rub over his pecs and tummy. Yoongi follows the movements, feeling affection swirl and swell behind his ribs. At this pace, he thinks he could fuck Jimin for an eternity if he tried; his pleasure simmers just below the surface nice and steady, with no risk of boiling over too soon.
"Ah—Yoongi," Jimin gasps, chest heaving and falling. "I'm—"
Yoongi rolls his palm over Jimin's tip and gives him a firm enough squeeze to make him sob.
"Gonna cum, pretty?" he asks.
Wide-eyed and mouth droopy-round, Jimin nods. His lips form shapes unvoiced, and Yoongi continues to roll and squeeze, languidly syncopating his quicker thrusts.
"Cum for me, baby. Get nice and messy."
Jimin's eyes flutter, and his back arches slowly, head and heels digging into the mattress. "Please, please, please," he mutters softly like a prayer, palms flaying and squeezing above his ribs.
"Relax and let go," Yoongi urges sweetly. "Let yourself float."
As if reacting on command, Jimin's body goes rigid and taut before quaking and sinking – thunder growling from his depths and dispersing out. He spurts tiny piles of cum onto Yoongi's fingers and palm, mouth forming softly-uttered stormy sounds. Even in the throes of incomprehensible bliss, every little thing Jimin does is eloquent; a performer and a muse.
"Harder," Jimin groans, taking Yoongi by surprise. "P-please, Yoongi, need you."
Yoongi grips Jimin's hips with both hands, smearing cum on his sweat-slick, goosebumped skin. He picks up a pace that has Jimin's legs lifting and stretching, and Yoongi slings both calves against his shoulders before leaning in and taking hold of his hips once more.
Jimin wails, eyes squeezed as if pained, licking and biting at his reddened lower lip. His arms lift and fall around his head, and he grips onto the bunched-up pink and orange comforter.
"This how you want it?" Yoongi asks, feeling his high build and build, impossible to hold at bay.
"Mmm, 's good," Jimin slurs, opening his eyes wide and smiling before his face falls back into a state of lazy bliss.
Yoongi would love for Jimin to cum once more but has no idea whether he can. His cock is limp and resting against his patch of cutely trimmed pubic hair, jostling with each slam of Yoongi's hips against his thighs.
"Not gonna last at this pace," Yoongi warns through grit teeth, his high climbing fast toward its breaking point.
"Fill me," Jimin mutters dazedly. "Make me messy."
"Say my name," Yoongi rasps as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping harshly to Jimin's soft hips.
"Yoo—" Jimin sighs, bowing his back. "Yoongi. Please, Yoongi."
Pleasure courses through Yoongi, flowing like lava in his bloodstream. He keeps his pace steady, holding back from slamming too fast or too deep. Cum and lube squelch around his cock, and the thought of watching it drip from Jimin's used, puffy hole is just the push he needs to reach orgasm.
"Fuck, Jiminah," Yoongi groans, dragging blunt fingernails in streaks along Jimin's sides. "I'm—ahh, fuck!"
Yoongi's body tenses and releases in waves of pleasure – white-hot and overwhelming. He quakes as he spurts his cum into Jimin's begging, fluttering hole, babbling nonsense, attempting to praise, failing around each syllable. Jimin sobs and squeezes, trying but failing to reach for Yoongi.
With a chuckle, Yoongi leans forward, hands slipping and crashing into the mattress, dripping sweat from his forehead to Jimin's chest. Now that he is within reach, Jimin reaches and clings, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders and yanking down until Yoongi gives in and falls forward. Pleasure continues to tremble through him – chest heaving and jumpy as he does his best to settle and relax.
"Holy shit," he mutters into Jimin's clavicle, covering his face in sweat. "That was—"
"Amazing," Jimin coos.
Yoongi smiles and nods, kissing anywhere his lips reach in slow movements. "Amazing."
Where they lay in the center of the bed, Yoongi is unable to stretch his legs far before hitting the headboard, so they stay in a ball while he catches his breath and litters Jimin's shoulder, neck, and chin with affection. It takes time, but Jimin begins to come back to earth, clinging a little more purposefully.
"You made me messy," he mutters with more clarity than Yoongi has heard for a while.
"Lemme see," Yoongi says as he sits up, groaning from his soft cock sliding from where it was nestled nice and warm.
Jimin groans shyly, covering his face with his hands as Yoongi sits up and lifts his spread legs. He puts up a tiny amount of resistance, but Yoongi holds firmly, nibbling his lip, trusting Jimin to use his safe word if he really does not want to be teased.
Dropping a leg to the side, Yoongi uses his thumb to press pearly liquid back into Jimin's puckered hole, grinning like an idiot when Jimin whimpers, legs shaking.
"Messy baby," Yoongi teases, earning his arm a light smack from Jimin's foot.
Yoongi pulls his fingers away and watches as Jimin tenses, causing the cum to dribble back out. He rubs his hands over Jimin's shins and calves, watching as Jimin heavy-blinks at the ceiling.
"Shower?"
Jimin's gaze finds Yoongi's, and he smiles, then nods. "Carry me?" he asks with a cute bat of his lashes that makes Yoongi's heart go haywire.
And although Yoongi makes a show of rolling his eyes and being indignant, he gets up and stretches, then turns his back to Jimin and taps his shoulder.
"Get on."
"Ooh, piggyback?" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi turns his head in time to see Jimin sit high on his knees and fling himself over Yoongi's shoulders.
Yoongi links his arms around sweaty thighs and has to bend and hop a few times to get Jimin in place – a mildly humiliating task while nude – then he is off, kicking discarded clothing items along the way.
"We should take a bath," Jimin mutters into Yoongi's shoulder.
Yoongi hums and nods, turning left into the hallway and again into the bathroom. "Anything you want."
Although Yoongi would love to dote on Jimin hand and foot, he is grateful when Jimin slides off his back and begins the bath, finding sweetly-scented bubble products to squeeze into the stream and controlling the temperature. Jimin slides out of the lace garter and mesh stockings, and sinks into the tub when the water is barely a few inches high. Yoongi presses a kiss on his forehead before leaving to fetch a glass of cool water from the kitchen, lingering just a moment to take in the sunflower pan holders and mismatched cooking utensils.
Yoongi returns with the glass to his lips, taking slow, steady sips and smiling over the rim.
"Sit up and drink this," he instructs a sleepy Jimin, whose cheeks are pinkened from the warm water.
Once the bath is full, Yoongi slots himself behind Jimin, fitting perfectly with his legs outstretched. He rubs Jimin's shoulders and litters him with kisses. And when the water cools, he insists they shower off, helping Jimin finger the cum from his ass while licking deep into his mouth.
"I could get used to this," Jimin groans as Yoongi wraps a towel tightly around his hips and uses another to squeeze the remaining water from his hair.
"Good," Yoongi responds against his lips, finding it impossible to spend too many minutes without touching and kissing. "Want you to get used to this."
"Stay the night," Jimin whines, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's middle and walking him backward out of the bathroom.
Yoongi smiles and nips at petal lips. "That was the plan."
"Stay tomorrow night, too," Jimin groans as they hobble out into the hallway, bumping Yoongi's elbow against the doorframe enough to make him hiss.
"Won't you get tired of me?" Yoongi barely utters slightly pained against Jimin's soft, greedy mouth.
Jimin releases their hug and pulls Yoongi by the hand back to bed. He has a pep in his step as he gathers his phone – shutting off the music, finally – and finds the lube bottle tangled in the blanket.
"Doubtful," Jimin finally says as he crawls into bed and plops down, yanking Yoongi's hand until he sits and lays beside him.
"Alright," Yoongi grins, wrapping himself around Jimin and pulling him close, chest to chest, on their sides. His hair is still damp, but he is unconcerned when Jimin beckons so adamantly. With a gentle teasing tone, he says, "I'll cancel all my foreseeable plans and live only to serve you."
Jimin smiles and hums, saying, "Good," into Yoongi's mouth.
In a tangle of tongues and limbs, Yoongi sighs and sinks, unable to hold back the affection that overflows from him. He thinks he could also get used to this.
thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs & comments make the world go 'round!!! and likes are super appreciated too!!!
tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 🍓 wanna be tagged in my posts? shoot me a message!!!
Denim & Strawberry is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.
I haven’t reviewed a fic is so long, I’ve forgotten how to do it! This was so hot 🥵 mxm readers rejoice, especially bratty Jimin lovers. This has single-handedly reignited my love for Yoonmin. 👏 💜
ahhhh thank you so much for reading this one. what a blast it was to write (and what a throwback, kind of?????? 3 years ago can be a throwback????) 💜💜💜 you're the best and i'm so glad this relit the yoonmin fire (fya???) 🌷
As an avid reader across the board, I think I always return to (and largely stay with) fanfic because of the engagement with the readers and even sometimes with the author. It’s such a fun, unique experience, especially when a fanfic author writes at (or above) the level of the published fiction I also read.
What I mean to say is that you almost feel like you should be celebrity status with how well you write, yet you’re here sharing heart emojis and thanking your readers and being such a kind, gracious creative, and it is such a fun and sweet experience.
i don’t know if this makes any sense. But i am really glad that you are so active and that we get to know you as more than just a username. Thank you for being so sweet and nice and SO FUCKING talented.
🥺🥺💐
anon, you are so so kind and i appreciate you so much. this does make sense!!! and i appreciate you for saying it. (also omg idk about being better than published authors.....................but also i do read a lot of books and i agree that i am better than a lot of those fools BUT IT'S SUBJECTIVE LOL WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT)
it always means the world to me when people tell me they're happy when i'm back and being active bc sometimes i do get in my head like WiLL tHeY eVeN nOtiCe iF i NeVeR cOmE bAcK (emo kid thru and thru, v embarrassing actually) so it means a lot to know that you might.
💜💜💜 i feel like a goofball lol. WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT. i appreciate you i love you please have the best weekend/week/month/year of your life!!!! 🌷
All Christian wanted was to make enough money to return home to Australia and help his mother retire early. Instead, he becomes entangled with some dangerous men who completely turn his life upside down. And at the center of it all is you.
PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT
❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!
even if you have not been reading the POV chapters, i highly recommend reading this one because it is going to set up the remaining chapters and make Christian more of a 3-dimensional character.
🗡️ warnings: mafia shit (talk of receiving, packaging and shipping drugs; use of cocaine; torture involving being tied to a chair for a long time and some eyeball gore; a bit of piss, shit, and vomit; recovering from wounds;) semi-explicit smut (blowjobs; mentions of sex; begging) angst (homophobic remarks; grooming; lying; infidelity - but not between yoongi/namjoon and mc; mental and emotional anguish; not everyone is in their right minds at all times; )
🗡️ notes: hello, friends! i am once again crawling out of a long hiatus. the woman in the header is Sunmi, my queen. but THE MC IS IN THIS CHAPTER!!! with you/your pronouns used. and there are a lot of fun callbacks from chapter 1, as well as some other chapters. the next normal chapter is nearly finished and will be coming soon. please don't skip this one, though. it provides a little extra context that i think will make the upcoming chapters a little more meaningful!!! also please take the warnings seriously! this one gets a bit gnarly!!! (siri play katseye) also!!! this chapter does contain infidelity, which i know a lot of folks hate, but please read with an open mind!!! it does NOT take place between Yoongi/Namjoon and the mc which is why it's not listed in the main fic warnings (i don't want to give new readers the wrong idea since this is the only chapter we see it in).
🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin
🗡️ posted may 2026 | read on ao3
*
The clouds that hang over are thick and dark grey, heavy with moisture that has not yet broken through as rain, but that has permeated the air, making it damp and sticky. An omen. A sign that all of this is a mistake and that Christian needs to turn back and return to his leaking, roach-infested, semi-basement flat, and come up with a new plan. Or, maybe he is just feeling paranoid.
Taking cover under an awning in front of a convenience store, Christian watches and waits. A large black door across the street is going to open at any moment, and he will be given the signal to approach and enter. With each second that passes, his pulse becomes heavier, less steady. He feels dizzy with an anticipation that borders on fear, which he attempts to quell with nicotine, but each time he reaches up for the cigarette that is clenched between his teeth, the tremble in his hand practically causes him to punch himself in the face.
After what feels like an hour— approximately six minutes, realistically— the large door swings open and a man walks out. The man wears a black satin shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest and tucked into fitted black slacks. His hair is light brown and short, styled in a wave over his forehead. Rather than signal, or even so much as look in Christian's direction, he allows the door to slam closed, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a metal cigarette case. Christian watches intently as the case springs open and the man chooses what appears to be a hand-rolled cigarette. He places it between his lips and pulls out a gold Zippo lighter that he rolls against the thigh of his slacks to simultaneously open and ignite it in a quick, practiced motion that looks like something out of a movie.
Christian knows it is rude to stare, but something tells him that this man is putting on this performance for him. Any moment now, he is going to look up and make eye contact and then nod or wave or something, and that will be Christian's cue to follow him. Perhaps the man is building anticipation, or testing to see whether Christian is rude enough to make the first move.
The man tilts his head back as soon as the cigarette is lit and takes in a deep, slow inhale. Christian takes in a deep, slow inhale on his own cigarette, filling his lungs with smoke until they burn. He practically gags on the need to breathe and huffs out a plume of smoke that pours from his mouth and nose. It is sharp and stings his eyes, nearly causes him to cough, and he does his best to hold the urge in and keep his cool, only letting out semi-silent coughs behind his closed lips, through his nose.
When his gaze finds the man across the street, he realizes that the man is standing with both hands in his pockets, staring straight at him, cigarette cradled between his lips. Christian freezes. Was he wrong to assume this would be the man who gives him a signal? The way the man stares at him is not at all welcoming, and Christian second-guesses this entire situation. Should he turn back and run, pretend this was all a coincidence, and hope the man doesn't fire a bullet into the back of his skull? His hands stretch open and squeeze closed at his sides as anxiety courses through him.
Before he can get his bearings and figure out what to do, two large hands settle onto his shoulders, causing Christian to practically jump out of his skin.
"This way," a deep voice says from his right as the man to his left shoves him forward.
Christian's body does not quite get the memo, and so he stumbles. This causes the man to his left to snicker and shove harder. The three of them walk toward the man with the cigarette, and as he comes into clearer view, Christian begins to catch glimpses of this man's wealth and status. Gold drapes around his neck, diamonds glimmer in his ears and on his hands, and as he reaches up to remove the cigarette from between his lips, Christian is mesmerized by the gold diamond-encrusted timepiece on his wrist. On the large swatch of visible tan skin is ink that peeks through, showing off what looks like scales on the body of a dragon. Christian is not well-versed in local gangsters, but he knows enough to know that a dragon tattoo in this part of town, on a man dripping in expensive jewelry, with eyes that pierce into his soul so sharply, likely means trouble. The man stands tall and slightly turns to reach for the door, revealing the long black handle of a hwando, and Christian would laugh if this situation weren't so fucking scary. What type of man is strapped with a sword rather than a gun?
Sword man pauses, sizes Christian up, and nods to the man to Christian's right, then he opens the large black door and walks inside. The men who flank Christian hold him still, gripping onto his shoulders until the door swings closed in a sound that is heavy and final.
"Against the wall," one of the men barks as Christian is shoved forward. He turns his head in time for his cheek to be pressed into the cold, porous brick, and he bites into his cigarette to keep it from falling, causing loose tobacco to sting his tongue and make his mouth water. The men frisk him right here, out in the open, and Christian closes his eyes as his arms are lifted above his head and his palms dig into the brick.
This is humiliating, and Christian blocks out the thought that strangers on the street, in the convenience store, and in the apartment buildings are watching this take place. The men are rough with him, yanking on his trousers and digging into his pockets. His cigarettes and lighter are pulled out and then shoved back in, as are his phone and wallet. When one hand slides up his inner thigh and fingers dig near his balls, Christian jolts and practically yelps. Suddenly, he is pissed off. He wants to tell the man to watch his fucking fingers, but he doesn't feel like eating a knuckle sandwich, and so he bites harder into the cigarette, which burns dangerously close to his lips.
"All clear, pretty boy," one of the men sing-songs, then the hands yank Christian off the wall. He spits his still-burning cigarette butt onto the ground as he is turned and shoved toward the door, which one of the men opens. Briefly, he feels guilty for littering.
The entryway is dark, and Christian's eyes fail to adjust. As he is shoved forward, onto a carpet that feels like velvet and catches on the rubber soles of his boots, he tries his best not to stumble. What the fuck was he thinking? What has he gotten himself into? This has to be, without fail, the most idiotic situation he has ever found himself in. But returning to his mother at her beautiful home in coastal Australia would bring him too much shame. He cannot admit that his dream to become an idol was an abject failure and that all he has been able to land are dead-end jobs that barely make rent. He cannot return to her with his tail between his legs after all she has sacrificed to raise him on her own.
They seem to be traversing through a dark hallway, and as it opens up into a large, dimly lit room, Christian blinks rapidly, attempting to adjust to the scene before him. On a large ornate red couch is a man sitting with his legs spread wide. Draped across his lap is a woman with long, straight black hair, and she leans into him, palm splayed over his chest with long, blood-red nails digging into his black satin shirt. The white satin adorning her body could hardly be called a dress. The back dips low, the straps are spaghetti thin, and the skirt rides so high that Christian can glimpse red panties peeking out between her thighs.
The pair seems to be conspiring, giggling with their lips a centimeter from each other, and as Christian and the other men enter the room, neither of them stops their private conversation. The sword man takes a seat beside the two and leans close, pressing a hand against the other man's knee while whispering to the woman. The pair continues to chatter for another moment as sword man stays perched on the edge of the couch, before the woman presses her lips to the other man's cheek and slowly gets up. She sashays out of the room, never so much as glancing in Christian's direction. Again, he would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but the gun holstered under the new man's arm keeps his lips from twitching out of their grimace. Either these men are extremely deadly, or they put on one hell of a performance to creep out newcomers.
"Barom," the new man says in a voice so deep and rough that Christian barely hears it.
Barom is Christian's Korean name. He lifts his gaze and he meets the man's eyes, then he drops his head into a bow.
The man says, "Come," and Christian lifts his head once more, watching as the two men stand from the couch. The one with the gun rubs his palms against his slacks and rolls his neck, then walks past the couch and deeper into the room before disappearing. Sword man follows, and then Christian is shoved in their direction. He stumbles forward, unconcerned that he has no clue where the men disappear to behind the large velvet curtain ahead, as the hands on his shoulders guide him. A tattooed hand adorned with gold rings and a gold timepiece reaches forward to part the curtain, and Christian continues ahead. Everything is red. Red lighting, red curtains, red carpeting, red upholstery. When Christian is led into a smaller room with a red couch and three red leather chairs, he is steered toward the middle-most chair, and he sits. The men who guided him take the chairs to his left and right, and gun man sits in the center of the large couch while sword man stands behind him with his hands clasped at his stomach.
"You can call me Min," the man on the couch says, and Christian is somewhat taken aback. This man is the Min Yoongi?
Min sits at the edge of the couch, leaning forward. On the table before him is a pile of white powder, some of which has already been organized into neat lines, and Min leans forward, using a short metal straw to snort a line of the powder into his nose. As he lifts his head, he closes his eyes and sighs with a smile. This man is handsome in a delicate way, with hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. He wears a thick gold Cuban chain around his neck, and the various rings on his knuckles shimmer in the red lights, bulbous enough to leave a nasty mark if those hands were to meet flesh.
"N-nice to meet you, Min-ssi," Christian says, head still bowed but eyes looking ahead.
"Just Min," the man says. "No honorifics needed. Unless, of course, you find yourself on your knees begging for your life.”
The request confounds Christian, but he nods. "Understood, Min."
"Although… you may call me sir, if you want to," Min adds, saying sir in English.
"Yes, sir," Christian responds in full English, automatically.
Min appears amused. "Good."
Sword man rolls his neck from side to side as Min lifts a hand, palm facing upward. Without a word, sword man pulls his cigarette case from his pocket and places it into Min's hand. Min settles back against the couch, putting his booted feet up onto the table, heels barely missing the powder that covers it, and he retrieves a cigarette and tilts his head back so that sword man can light it for him. The gesture almost feels romantic, and Min keeps his head back for several beats while sword man replaces the cigarette case and lighter in his pocket. Christian itches to taste nicotine on his tongue as the smoke begins to travel in a dancing line toward the tall, dark ceiling, and he watches as Min sits forward and takes in two long drags and puffs them out in his direction.
"I have a rather delicate assignment," Min says, "higher paying than any other position. But first we need to test your loyalty."
None of these words bode well for Christian. He nods his head.
“The boys were able to dig up some rather interesting information about you, so I know you have worked with high profile individuals in the past and are able to be discreet.”
Christian nods, nervous to imagine how much these men may already know about him. What must they think of a man who works as a bottle service host for wealthy, married older women?
“And I believe you worked in acting for a bit as a child and teen.”
Christian nods again.
“Why not act now?”
Shame courses through Christian's veins. “I, uh. I wanted to be an idol.”
Min nods and hums knowingly. “An idol. That is a lot of hard work.”
Christian nods some more, feeling like a bobble-head.
“And it is not as glamorous as it seems.”
Christian stops nodding, surprised by this statement. Sure, training is hard work, and there is no guarantee that it will result in being put into a group, but he cannot imagine what in the world could be more glamorous than being an idol on stage, performing for thousands of adoring fans.
“You become a slave to the government,” Min says with a shrug. “A slave to the music industry, to the fans who turn on you the second you say or do anything that they deem out of line.” He pauses, sits forward, and takes a deep drag off his cigarette. On the exhale, he says, “Better to be a slave for me. I am far more generous than fair-weather fans. I can put those acting skills of yours to work.”
The tone of Min's voice, the blood-red room, everything sets Christian on edge. The tremble in his hands returns.
"Have you run drugs before?" Min asks.
Christian shakes his head. "No, sir," he says in English. Then he pauses and corrects himself, "Well, I used to sling Adderall in college."
"Adderall?" Min asks, impressed. Adderall is not legally for sale in Australia, although there are plenty of legal alternatives, and Christian is under the impression that it is also illegal in Korea.
"In Australia," Christian adds.
Min nods.
"Jeongguk will train you on how to receive drugs, then how to package them, and finally how to run them," Min says, nodding to the man on Christian's left as he says the name Jeongguk. All Christian knows of the man is tattoos and gold, having never turned to look at him. He keeps his gaze ahead even now that his curiosity is piqued. "Once you have a few months under your belt and have been branded as a loyal member of the team, I may shift gears. So, for now, work hard and look forward to a potentially handsome raise."
Christian nods, nervous but excited at the prospect of a lucrative job, despite how dangerous it all seems.
"Any questions?" Min asks.
Christian shakes his head.
Min chuckles. "You have no questions about this new job, which entails handling dangerous, illegal substances?”
Christian shakes his head again.
“None, whatsoever?”
“No, sir,” Christian says. “I trust Jeon—” he pauses, forgetting the man's name.
“Jeongguk,” Min supplies.
“Jeongguk,” Christian repeats, then swallows thickly, hating the way the man's name settles on his tongue and forgoing honorifics because Min asked him not to use them. “I trust Jeongguk to tell me all that I need to know. For now, the less I know, the better.”
Min hums and nods, seemingly satisfied, and Christian is glad he is not asked to elaborate. It is not that he would be unable to keep his mouth shut; he has nobody to nark to about any of this, and he has no interest in informing the corrupt police about this operation, if it is as big as it seems. Yoongi, the man who has taken a page out of his late father's handbook and goes by his family name in public, is, after all, the only known kingpin in the city, and seemingly the most powerful man on the entire peninsula. Christian has done at least that much homework before agreeing to this idiotic meeting. Although Min's existence is a bit of a ghost in normal online spaces, Christian was able to dig on the dark web to find snippets of his life as a child and as the leader of the nation's mafia. So few photographs exist, however, that Christian always imagined this man to be much larger and more intimidating.
Christian does not wish to know more at this time because he does not wish to spiral. The less he knows now, the less likely he is to change his mind and go into hiding. After all, there is no way Christian comes out of this meeting with his heart still pumping if he chooses to turn down this job. Walking through that large black door has sealed his fate, and he knows this to be true. He has known men from previous jobs who have become employed by Min and his gang, and the only one to ever speak of wanting to get out turned up face down in the Han with a bullet hole between his eyes. Foolishly, Christian saw that as an opportunity; a newly open job position waiting to be filled.
“How soon can you start?” Min asks.
Christian shrugs and feigns nonchalance despite how desperate he feels. Tips at the host job are not enough to keep him afloat. The real money comes from getting a hotel room with the clients, but Christian has become bored with sneaking around with wealthy married women, many of whom remind him of his mother. It all feels so unfulfilling. He says, “As soon as you will have me.”
Min smirks. The look in his eye is dark and devious, and it sends a chill along Christian's spine. He has heard so many rumors about Min: the man with Korea wrapped around his pinkie, the man who men and women fall to their knees for in droves, swearing fealty. Christian always thought the rumors were silly and exaggerated, spoken by men so down on their luck that they were willing to spin tales of sugar about the benevolent man who gave them a new opportunity to be rich. But sitting here, in Min's presence, he can get a sense that it is not an exaggeration. He can see how Min's mix of soft and sharp features and soft-spoken voice lull and sway his targets, luring them into camaraderie-turned-servitude like a trap.
As Min stands, so do the men who flank Christian. Christian stands. His heart hammers in his chest, and he feels all the blood rush from his head. What has he agreed to?
“Ever handle a gun?” Min asks.
Christian swallows a lump. “No, sir.”
“Guk, Tae, show Barom the ropes and take him to the range.” Min levels his gaze on Christian. “You have three days to become a perfect shot. We do not have time to waste.”
“Yes, sir,” Christian says.
Min grins. “Good.”
* * *
It takes two days for Christian to become a near-perfect shot, thanks to the endless supply of cocaine, which at first makes his hands shake.
“A tremble is good,” Taehyung insists as he lifts his own gun and aims. “In a situation of life or death, your hands are going to tremble. And despite that, you will need to kill a man without a moment of hesitation.”
Taehyung is, without a doubt, the scariest man Christian has ever met. Tall, tan, with a mouth that is always slightly downturned into a frown, his hair, clothing, and accessories are always styled down to each perfect detail. There is a softness in his eyes reserved for the men in his close circle, particularly Jeongguk, who appears to be the youngest in the group. Otherwise, Taehyung is severe and clinical. A medical doctor, everything Taehyung does is with surgical precision, even after he has consumed enough whiskey and cocaine to kill an elephant. Nobody questions Taehyung, and Taehyung appears to never say or do anything without careful consideration and conviction. He is never given orders below his position as one of Min's close confidants, and nobody has the nerve to tell Taehyung no. At least, that is what Christian picks up on while more or less becoming Taehyung's shadow.
So, when Christian finds himself exhausted and dizzy, worried he has pushed his body beyond its limits, and famished despite the stimulants dulling his hunger, he pushes through some more, unwilling to say no. Only when he shoots the paper man-shaped target beside his head rather than between his eyes, does Taehyung tap his shoulder and instruct him to set down his gun.
“Pack up,” Taehyung says, pointing to the black duffel bag that sits open on the booth counter. "I think we're done for the night."
Christian turns on the gun's safety and pulls out the magazine, surprised to find it is empty of bullets. He places both the gun and the empty clip into the bag and zips the bag with hands that shake from hunger more than nerves. Taehyung and Jeongguk had been discussing food moments ago, and Jeongguk had gone ahead to get fried chicken and beer to take back to the compound. Christian allows the thought of sticky-sweet and spicy sauce on his lips push him forward, out into a cloudy evening, and toward a large SUV.
Since joining the team two days ago, Christian has only lain on a bed for about four hours. He hardly recalls what the compound looks like, and he has no idea how to locate it, knowing only that it is tucked deep within the hotel where he met Min, but that the entrance is neither through the large, heavy door, nor at the front of the hotel, which is lavish and stretches high toward the clouds, a beacon of wealth than any passerby can gawk at and wonder who in the world would build such a thing. Through a secret third other door, the compound lies deep in its underbelly, a dark rectangle of cement that holds a smell of moisture which sinks deep into Christian's lungs, reachable only by tunneling staircases and hallways that may as well be a labyrinth.
Except he knows enough to know that Taehyung is not driving him in the direction of that hotel, and he begins to question whether the compound was mentioned at all, or if he had assumed that was where they would go. The further the men snake through traffic, the further the city becomes, until they are on the outskirts. Christian begins to wonder whether he is being taken out to a field to be shot and left in the dirt. He does not think he has done anything wrong, and yet all he can imagine is the SUV pulling off onto the shoulder and Taehyung instructing him to get out and walk into the long grass before— bang!— everything goes black. Had he done so horribly at the gun range that he is being disposed of before his three days are up? Last bullet notwithstanding, Christian thought he was doing great, but maybe their standards for greatness are higher than he can possibly achieve.
“Probably should have blindfolded you,” Taehyung says, voice low and deep, showing a hint of playfulness that feels foreign to Christian.
“Pardon?” Christian asks, nerves spiking.
“Newbies aren't privy to our living quarters,” Taehyung says as the car peaks a hill, causing Christian's stomach to drop. If there was anything in him at all, he might vomit it up onto himself. Only now does Christian realize Taehyung is driving way too fast. “Of course, if you were to ever tell the others or try something stupid, we could always put a bullet in your head.”
Christian nods, staring out the window at the tall trees that fly past. “Of course,” he mutters, making Taehyung chuckle.
Luckily for everyone, especially Christian, there is no way in hell he would be able to trace this route back to wherever the fuck these so-called living quarters are. Gun to temple, Christian would have to say his prayers, because he cannot even fathom where he is now. And, being that his cellphone has been confiscated until he is fully brought into the fold, it is not as if he could sneak a peek at a map.
Christian is shocked by the fact that any of Min's team lives out in the middle of nowhere, rather than choosing to live in a penthouse in the middle of the city. He imagines every hotel in Min’s name has a room that overlooks the city that is worth more than Christian could possibly fathom. But he does remember reading something about a family property that Min's father did his business out of, despite famously hopping between penthouses to appear before the paparazzi. Father Min liked the spotlight way more than his successor seems to. Perhaps that property is where they are going to now.
A mansion comes into view, tall despite being at the bottom of a short but steep hill, and Christian sits up in anticipation. He is so dizzy from hunger that just that motion makes him feel sick. He is relieved when Taehyung begins to slow down, but is confused when the vehicle turns onto a driveway at the top of the hill that seemingly does not lead to the massive home ahead. They stop immediately in front of a large metal gate.
"Close your eyes," Taehyung says as he rolls his window down, leans out, and keys in a very long pass code.
Christian has no way of seeing the small metal box, especially with the way Taehyung's body takes up the entire window opening, but he closes his eyes anyway. He is simply too tired and hungry to not follow directions. They drive into a covering of trees before there is another large home. To Christian's surprise, Jeongguk stands on the front stoop smoking a cigarette in a black tee and silver basketball shorts. He is not sure why he would be surprised; it was Jeongguk who left to get them food. But seeing him dressed down is definitely unexpected.
Taehyung parks behind a flashy black sports car and turns off the ignition, and Christian pours haphazardly out of the vehicle, motion sick from the way Taehyung drives and on the brink of starvation. Taehyung approaches Jeongguk and mutters something below his breath, then the two of them turn to the front door, which has been left wedged open with a black sneaker.
"Welcome to mi casa," Jeongguk says in a blend of English and Spanish that sounds awkward and endearing, making Christian crack a smile. As he walks into the massive space, he is shocked to find that what he assumes would ordinarily be a living room is full of workout equipment.
Taehyung scoffs. "Still no couch?"
Jeongguk shrugs. "When have I ever had time to sit down on a couch?"
The two of them share a glance that seems to be communicating something private. Christian ignores it and follows the two men into a dining room that actually contains a sizable wooden table and seven chairs. In the center of the table are several white plastic bags filled to the brim with white and black takeout containers, and the smell of gochujang and honey hit Christian's senses in a dizzying wave. Taehyung rounds the table, and Christian takes a seat across from where he stands. In a swift motion, Taehyung whips out a knife that flicks open, and then he gets to work cutting open the bags, which have been tied tightly. Jeongguk brings over two glasses of water and sets them down, then returns to the kitchen, just past a large black marble island, to fill a third from the tap.
"Beer?" Taehyung asks, but it is unclear whether he is asking if Christian wants beer or if Jeongguk has beer.
Jeongguk grunts, sets the third glass of water down, then returns to the kitchen, opening a massive refrigerator door and revealing mostly empty shelves, save for an open case of beer, several soju bottles, and what look like protein drinks. The absurdity of this situation is not lost on Christian. How is someone as young as Jeongguk able to own a house so massive that he clearly spends little to no time in? Does Jeongguk actually sleep here? He is curious to know what the rest of the rooms are like, but he is certainly not brave enough to ask for a tour.
The three of them reach into the various bags to pull out and open the boxes. Fried chicken with a variety of sauces assault his senses, as do containers of tteokbokki and fries. There is enough food on this table to feed a small army of men, so Christian allows himself to be greedy and helps himself to more than he has eaten in weeks. Maybe months.
No conversation occurs while they eat and drink. Only when the three of them are sitting back in their chairs, holding their stomachs and slowly sipping their beers, do the men begin to discuss Christian's work ethic and how quickly he is catching on. Starting tomorrow, he will learn the ropes of the warehouse and receive orders. If he does well in that, they expect one to two weeks on packaging. And then the big leagues, Jeongguk calls it. Drug running.
The thought of drug running makes Christian feel sick to his stomach, but he swallows it down. He needs the money more than anything, but he is also excited to finally be regarded as someone who is a worthy member of a team. For the first time in a long time, he actually feels like he might fit in.
* * *
Working with Jeongguk feels equivalent to working with a Pitbull that has been both domesticated and taught the hard way how to fight. He has a chill, almost soft personality, but without notice, he turns and becomes extremely violent. Christian has yet to piss him off, but he keeps his head down, does as he is told, and keeps his questions to a minimum just to be safe. He gets a sense that Jeongguk is being nicer to him than usual, possibly because of the mission that Min has hinted at; he wonders whether Jeongguk has been given special orders not to flay him open and leave his entrails hanging from the rafters of the warehouse the way he so playfully threatens to do to others.
It all makes Christian extremely uncomfortable, and he does his best to perfect this task so that he can move forward and onto the next. Thankfully, Jeongguk does not keep him as high as humanly possible for this experience, the way Taehyung had been doing. Christian creates a schedule that involves eating meals, getting a good night's rest, and wearing himself out so much that he only has one drink with the guys at night before turning in and crashing.
He can tell that many of the other men despise him for the special treatment that he seems to be getting. He hears grumbles of men who have been stuck on receiving shipments for the last year, with a promise to move up to sorting— a position that Jeongguk considers more dangerous because of the loss it could bring him, should something happen. But everyone knows receiving shipments from gangsters from Japan and Russia is far more dangerous than standing around in a circle weighing the merchandise.
The warehouse men call Christian Pretty Boy and Baby Boy, seemingly in an attempt to get under his skin. They whisper about him being Jeongguk's new plaything and make blow job motions with their hands and tongues as the two of them walk by. When Jeongguk isn't around, they whistle and make remarks about how the two of them resemble each other enough that whatever they are doing behind closed doors might be considered incest. Christian knows that men with nothing to lose resort to gay jokes and rape threats to wear each other down, and it does get under his skin a little. If Jeongguk notices, he says nothing. Christian would think that those kinds of remarks would offend Jeongguk, but by the end of the first week, when he is transitioned out of the warehouse, and none of those men have been flayed open, he has decided that he cannot possibly fathom what might offend Jeongguk.
Sorting and packaging drugs is a killer on the shoulders and back. They stand around a tall table, delicately handling pills and powders, weighing them and stuffing them into various-sized baggies, then storing everything into dark, air-tight containers. Cross-contamination is strictly forbidden, and there are cameras everywhere pointed at everyone's gloved hands. Although there are armed guards and management who watch over the operations, Jeongguk often oversees the process. Packaging is a sporadic job that happens the moment shipments arrive and is over as quickly as possible, usually only taking six to twelve hours, so the men who work this job spend most of their time at the compound or out blowing their money in clubs and dives. At first, Christian questioned how so many men were able to keep their mouths shut about this job. Then he discovered, on his second night of packaging, that two of the men were overheard bragging about how they had come into so much money and were found dead several hours later.
"How did you find out?" Christian asks cautiously over beers with Jeongguk outside the warehouse. They sit on metal folding chairs waiting for the management team— four grunts barely paid more than he is— to finish weighing and recording everything for the night.
Jeongguk takes a long pull from his beer bottle, then makes a loud, comical ahh sound. "We have eyes and ears everywhere," he says, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
Christian finds this hard to believe. "Like, men who are employed to follow us?"
Jeongguk grins at Christian with something terrible glinting in his eye. "Why do you ask?"
Christian shakes his head. "I just mean. I don't know. I can't really fathom the scale of this whole operation that Min runs."
"He has connections," Jeongguk says, tipping the bottle to his mouth and holding it up tall to get the final drops of his beer. He sets the bottle down. "You'll learn eventually, if Yoongi-hyung promotes you.”
Christian is somewhat taken aback by the casual way in which Jeongguk addresses Min to him. He tries not to even think of the man as being named Yoongi, worried he may slip up and call him that by accident after he had been clearly instructed on what to say. Min or sir.
"But the woman you saw the first time we brought you to meet him," Jeongguk continues, reaching to the open case of beers on the cement between them and opening another with the blade of a pocketknife, "that's Sunmi-noona. You'll get to know her once you start running. She's affiliated with us, but she runs her own operation. Kind of. It's complicated. She has eyes and ears that follow whoever needs to be followed, and Hoseok-hyung taps into CCTV without going through the authorities, so it's not easy to fuck us over."
Jeongguk winks, then chugs from his fresh bottle. Christian nods, remembering the woman in silk with long black hair whispering a hairsbreadth away from Min's lips. He assumed she was a pretty ornament to hang off Min's arm and that they were just fucking, and for that, he feels a bit guilty. More than that, he feels intimidated by the fact that Min and his organization are so powerful. It seems as if Christian truly couldn't get out of this mess if he wanted to.
Two weeks on the packaging line is enough to make Christian feel insane. His body aches, he has no time frame for when drugs come in, so he is often called between ten and one, either heading off to bed or already asleep, to get dressed and go meet the team of obnoxious, disgusting men to stand around a tall table and weigh cocaine for hours upon hours. The compound has no windows, nor does the warehouse, so every time Christian steps outside, the time of day is a surprise. Sunshine threatens to burn his retinas, and the nighttime is too quiet for comfort.
He is thankful when he gets the call to go shopping for a nice black-on-black uniform and an ironing board. Jeongguk outfits him in plain but sleek clothing that fits a little too nicely, hugging his muscles a little too tightly. Christian sips champagne, nervous to be in such a fancy clothing store, but Jeongguk, crass as he is, seems to fit right in, flirting with the sales girls and asking for high-end brands by name, gathering nice black leather belts and shoes that are "sleek but have good traction for running."
Christian is surprisingly adept at running drugs. He is the guy who sets up the actual dealers with their stock, and occasionally meets with wealthy clientele to sell to them directly. In this element, where he is determined to make a good impression, Christian finds that, for the first time in a long time, he is charming, funny, and easy to get along with, and he looks good in a gun holster. And he finally gets to have a semi-normal sleep schedule, returning to the compound around two in the morning to pass out.
He even finds himself propositioned by Sunmi one night and is blown away by how eager and talented she is with her mouth. Her lithe, long limbs are delicate as she crawls onto his lap and adept as she slides down his body and very quickly does away with his slacks. Jeongguk did instruct him to get information from her in any way that he could, because she does enjoy gossiping from time to time, so he decides that allowing this is all part of the job.
"Don't tell daddy Min," she winks as she wipes his cum from the corner of her mouth. Christian is too blissed out to do anything but shake his head.
He feels proud and happy for the first time in a long time, but living at the compound, especially after being promoted as quickly as he has, is becoming hectic. He feels like he has a constant target on his back, and his sleep is beginning to suffer. Taehyung and Jeongguk certainly don't stop the other men from picking on him, but they are kind to him and straightforward in the way they train him in each new task, never feeding him bullshit or empty promises. He is surprised to find that he is quite desperate to prove himself to these men, and especially to Min.
When Jeongguk calls early one morning to say, "Dress your best in all black and meet us in the penthouse at one. A card is waiting for you at the front desk," Christian nearly cries with joy.
* * *
Christian stares at the photographs, mapping the lines and shapes of your face, the way your eyes and mouth frown and scowl, how you are never smiling. From high angles or zoomed in with expensive lenses, each shot is candid or pulled from a surveillance camera, and you appear to be a normal woman living a normal life with more sadness in your eyes than he can fathom.
He is not given much to work with, not even your name. Min is strict about how important it is that he learns everything there is to know about you on his own. There is only one chance at getting this mission right, and he needs to carry it out with utmost care and consideration.
"Fuck her if you need to, shower her with gifts, make her feel like the only woman in the world who exists, and in return, I will give you a penthouse suite in any hotel in the city and chaebol-like status. I want her entire wardrobe replaced with designer within the first year, and I will provide you with a sports car to drive her around town in. It is your job to groom her for a life of wealth and status, with the promise of a lavish wedding and large house in the future. Begin planning for that future as fast as possible. I am giving you two years. Under no circumstances should you fall in love, but you absolutely must make her believe that you are. Do not fail me, Yu Barom."
Groom her for a life of wealth and status. The entire sentiment feels like acid in Christian's guts.
* * *
Finding you is easy. The bar you work at is close to the apartment that Min has purchased for Christian.
Getting to know you is easy. You light up at genuine, casual conversation, and although you are guarded and do not seem to understand many pop culture references, you have a snappy, fun sense of humor and are fun to talk to. Contrary to what the photographs led Christian to believe, you actually smile quite a lot. You open like a flower under Christian's touch, and it only takes a week of consistent pestering for Christian to finally get you to come to his apartment and sleep all morning in his bed. Struggling to make ends meet and living in squalor too far from your job, you are easy to convince two months later to move into Christian's flat, since you spend all your time there, anyway. It all moves so fast that Christian is certain this will be the easiest job of his life.
Grooming you, however, is like pulling teeth. You are unimpressed with the way Christian dresses in designer clothing and roll your eyes at his sports car. You insist on walking to work and taking a taxi around town, and you refuse to wear any of the jewelry and clothing he buys for you, even going so far as to accuse him of trying to get you robbed for wearing that shit to the dive bar. You also refuse to look for better work because you like mixing drinks and getting to know your patrons— specifically those patrons at that bar. And you only agree to finally get dolled up in expensive clothing and taken out to a Michelin-star restaurant on your six-month anniversary when Christian is literally down on his knees begging you to let him spoil you.
Christian is, unfortunately, disgracefully, horribly in love with you. The way your eyes soften when you see him, how you are so demanding and giving in bed, and the fact that you are so fucking stubborn that it makes him crazy. Min insists on the two of you having dates and outings in large public places so that he can monitor you. So when Christian gives you a very expensive pair of diamond earrings and takes you to a stand for a dish of your favorite ice cream, it is at a park near the river, at the same spot he first confessed to being in love with you months ago. Standing about twenty feet away are Min and the sword man, eating their own cups of ice cream and watching your every move.
"Bring me here again," you insist as you watch the sunset on the river, eyes filling with tears.
Christian buries his nose and lips against your neck, behind your ear, smiling against your skin and making you shiver and giggle. "I'll bring you here as much as you want."
The two of you have eight incredible months together. And then you begin to change.
You can clearly tell that he is holding back and being dishonest. He refuses to talk about his job, how he has come to have so much money, why he lives in this fuckass apartment when he can afford something much better. Incidentally, Min is harassing Christian to move into a nicer apartment, but everything he offers to buy, you decline, hating how far away each one is from your job, and mocking Christian for how expensive they are because other perfectly good, less expensive apartments also exist and are closer to this neighborhood.
Nothing makes you happy. First, you accuse him of living a double life, having a secret family, and a number of increasingly absurd things. Then you completely shut down and seem to remain in this relationship because it is clear that you cannot afford to move out. The sex dries up, and Christian finds himself turning to Sunmi frequently to let off steam. Some days, you barely speak to him.
Christian still runs drugs for Min. During the day, while you sleep, he is out making deals with very high-profile clients. He takes business trips to Japan to be the face of Min's organization, and fills in for Jeongguk at least once a week to oversee the production line overnight. And, of course, he never has a good excuse for any of it, making you increasingly angry. He tries to lie and say he is meeting with his mother when he goes to Japan, but since he never invites you to tag along, you do not believe him.
On your one-year anniversary, Christian takes you to one of Min's premier restaurants overlooking the city. You seem begrudging but agree that it would be nice to get dolled up and spoiled again, but only after Christian begs at your feet. Plus, you concede in part because you were given the night off from work and have nothing better to do. You look absolutely breathtaking in a long black slip dress and red-bottomed heels, dripping with gold and diamonds, eyes bloodshot after several glasses of wine, and Christian's heart softens a little each time you crack a hesitant smile.
Min, along with several of his family men, sits at a corner booth and watches as the date unfolds. Christian feels terrified, but does his best to play it off. This is far from the first time Min has watched the two of you on a date, but this is the first time you have been so clearly unhappy with him. He keeps his eyes on you and the table as much as he can, and even leans his cheek on his hand, blocking Min from his view. By mid-meal, sweat drips from his hairline that he has to continually dab at with a napkin. He worries that if you appear visually disgruntled—which takes almost no effort these days—Min is going to think of Christian's job as a failure. And you do become increasingly cold as you become drunk, much to Christian's chagrin.
"She is certainly a spicy one," Min jokes at the sink in the men's bathroom, where he had followed Christian after he had gotten up to take a piss. "But please, do not worry. You are doing fine. Perhaps, if she is fed up with you by the time I make my introduction, it will be easier to convince her that she belongs with me."
"She still thinks I'm living a double life. I need an alibi for all this money."
Christian has been saying this for months, and for months, Min has brushed him off, claiming that he wants you to come to accept a life where you are not privy to all that goes on around you. Clearly, that has not been working out.
With a sigh, Min says, "Well, after a year, you need to come up with something slightly nefarious or she really will think you were lying through your teeth."
"Or," Christian says with a sigh, making Min's eyes widen, "I confess to something embarrassing like being a trust fund kid."
Min lets out a deep, guttural laugh that takes Christian by surprise. "Perfect!" His shout echoes off the tile walls. "A trust fund kid who trades in stocks and bonds. During the day, you meet up with fellow finance guys." He is laughing hard now. "Truly an embarrassing lie. Good luck keeping her after that confession, kid."
You buy the lie, and it clearly drives a wedge between you. No doubt, you think he is pathetic. He wonders whether you would be less disgusted with the fact that he sells pills and designer drugs to wealthy assholes, instead.
After about a month, he claims to have gotten a new job working as an assistant to a wealthy businessman in Hannam-dong. He describes the hotel covered in red velvet, actually amusing you with his description of how goofy and stupid it all is. You buy it and, surprisingly, don't ask many questions.
By the time the one and a half year mark rolls around, you are sweet, clingy, and loving. You seem to have dropped your paranoia about Christian living a double life and sleeping with other women to the point of eagerly joining him in the shower and begging for sex. Christian even stops fucking Sunmi. But then Christian gets the call.
Things had remained on a bit of a roller coaster during the final six months, to the extent that Christian has no idea how much time has actually passed. Min has been too preoccupied to call and check in, and Christian has taken over so much of Jeongguk's work that the two have barely crossed paths anymore. Currently, the roller coaster is on a slow ascent back up. Although he has changed his style to be more contemporary and less gangster, and you seem to find his distressed jeans and polo shirts disgusting, you have been kind and caring, and open to the occasional fuck. All of your clothing, with the exception of the plain clothes you prefer to wear to work, has been replaced by designer, which you have become more receptive to wearing, and you have even begun asking regularly to be taken out and spoiled on your days off.
When he calls, Min is brief, speaking quickly, as if he has no time to waste chatting. "Saturday night at the top floor restaurant, let her know that you are celebrating your new promotion. I will arrive for dessert and make my move. I do not plan to take her away that night, but I am receptive to seeing how things go. You are almost off the hook, pretty boy. Do not fuck this up."
Christian feels like vomiting. As he stares ahead at the blank white wall, he has to swallow down the urge, breathing slowly through his nose. His entire world may as well be coming crashing down, because despite how much he has tried to distract himself in the arms of another woman, he is totally and insanely in love with you, and he is terrified to let you go. Especially to be with a cold, manipulative man like Min. You are somewhat secretive about your past, but you have alluded to traumatic experiences at the hands of greedy men, and Christian can't help but worry he could be setting you up for more trauma.
What the fuck had he agreed to? You are a human being, and Christian has more or less brought you straight to the jaws of a greedy, hungry lion. He has treated you like an object to be passed around despite growing deeply fond of you, and it is eating him up inside.
He is in shambles when he brings a shipment to Sunmi later that evening, in tears as he turns her advances down. He tells her about the stipulations of his job, how much he cares about you, and how, in less than a week, he may have to say goodbye. He had assumed that she was aware of the arrangement the entire time, shocked and fearful when her face falls, and anger rises in her eyes.
"You did what to this poor girl!" Sunmi shrieks as one swift hand slaps him hard across his cheek.
Christian leaves her penthouse in a hurry, and his heart wages a storm inside his chest. He has no doubt that she will call Min and tell him that he narked. How could he have narked?! He was certain that if anyone knew about Min's devious plan, it would be the woman who has eyes and ears everywhere, a person whom Min seemed extremely comfortable confiding in, and continues to confide in, if what Sunmi has said about his frequent visits is true.
He formulates a plan to get out of the city and run to Australia, buying a burner phone with cash and then purchasing two one-way tickets for the Friday before your big dinner. Sure, you will be angry and resistant when he tells you he planned a surprise vacation for your anniversary, but you have several days to find coverage for your shifts. Besides, you have been saying you want to go meet his mother someday.
When Min shoots Christian a text that says, "Change of plans, be there tomorrow at 8," he is sure that the boss is onto him.
All he can think to send in reply is, "Yes, sir."
* * *
Christian is tired of feeling weak and pathetic. It is always the same bullshit over and over, a never-ending loop of letdown and despair. He made an idiotic deal with an insane man, and he knows deep in his heart that he would rather die than watch you leave with him.
As the two of you run through the upper floor of the hotel, Christian's head is spinning. He placed an order for a taxi before frantically leaving the dinner table, and now he needs to get you downstairs, outside, and into the backseat safely. He is leaving his car, which Min has undoubtedly attached a tracker to, in the parking garage as a decoy, hoping to buy the two of you a little time. That is, unless Min is also tracking his phone. But he is certain that if he can just get the two of you back to the apartment, he can explain everything and give you the opportunity to leave, whether it be with him or on your own. He is ready to pay for another plane ticket, or anything else, regardless of what it means for him. Even if it puts a target on his back.
But when he confesses to being a drug dealer, you are surprisingly nonchalant about it. In fact, you treat him like an idiot for seeming worried. By the time the two of you reach the cab, he is sick of your attitude.
He asks, "Why are you always like this," before he can think better of it, and you look at him as if he is the biggest dipshit in the world.
"We didn't even get our steaks! I'm hungry!"
Jesus Christ, you are infuriating. “We can order something when we get home,” he concedes. He just needs a chance to think.
“Wait," you ask, tone somewhat softened but still angry, "doesn’t he know where you live? Why are we going home?”
Fuck. Christian had not thought of that very major, very obvious detail when he panicked and decided to run for his life out of that hotel. Of course, Min knows where he lives; the apartment is in his name. With the taxi pulling up to the apartment, Christian feels gobsmacked. He glances around, expecting to see Taehyung's SUV screaming down the road, surprised by just how quiet it is.
“Sh-should we go somewhere else?” he asks, brain feeling like sludge.
You glance around despite not knowing what to look for, which Christian finds endearing but also frustrating. This is not a moment when you need to be taking charge, yet here you are, trying like always to be in control of every situation. He has half a mind to ask the taxi driver to take the two of you somewhere else, but you interject with a shrug, saying the coast looks clear and handing the driver your credit card. When he gets out and makes a beeline to the apartment, he is shocked to glance back and find you leisurely making your way to the door.
Christian is certain that all he has to do is pack a quick go-bag while you change into something more comfortable, then he can call another cab, and you can be on the road before Min has a chance to get to the hotel and realize the two of you are gone. That is, if he was not already there watching everything unfold. Although he is certain that if any of those men watched the two of you flee, there would be a bullet in his brain already. Min does not strike Christian as the type of man who would hesitate to open fire in a crowded dining hall.
"I'm gonna shower," you say, stripping your expensive clothing off and leaving a trail of it through the apartment. "I may as well go in to work tonight."
Christian is shocked. "Work? What? No. Baby, we have to go."
"Christian," you groan, fed up and leaning naked in the bathroom doorway. "Listen, I'm not wrapped up in all of this, okay? And I can't afford to not work, so just... I don't know. Flee the city for a few nights if you have to, but leave me out of it."
"You don't understand," Christian begins, but you close and lock the door before he can say more.
Min calls while you shower, and Christian decides he would rather be aware of his death sentence instead of ignore the man and try to hide. It's not like he has anywhere to hide at the moment.
"Boss," Christian says as he answers.
Min snickers. "Boss, hmm? Interesting title for a man whose orders you are unable to follow."
Christian closes his eyes. He feels like crying. "I'm sorry, sir."
"What happened?"
Deep breath in. "I, uh. I got cold feet."
"Cold feet?"
Christian's eyes frantically scan the room, looking nowhere and everywhere as he struggles to formulate a thought. He begins to cry.
Min hums. "You fell in love."
"Yes," Christian whispers.
"My deepest condolences, truly," Min says in a flat, unapologetic tone. "But a job is a job. You have one more chance to do right by me. Tomorrow night."
Christian's shoulders drop, and he lets out a deep sigh. He could make this right and get the two of you out of town by tomorrow night. Easily.
He mutters, "Yes, sir," and Min ends the call.
Christian decides that he will at least prime you for what is happening by the time you exit the shower and begin to get dressed. But all he manages to say is, "The truth is, I was working for this guy the entire time," and you throw your hands in the air, exasperated at the fact that you knew he was lying. He worries in this moment that he is truly beginning to lose you. There is only hate and anger in your eyes, and you refuse to hear him out.
You are dressed and out the door before he can say another word, shutting him up and screaming at him about how much of a lying weirdo he is each time he attempts to speak. He stands dumbfounded, watching you leave, then he decides that he will use this time to form a plan. He packs all of his clothing into a suitcase, leaving out an outfit for tomorrow. He keeps your things unpacked so you can decide what you want to bring with you. In his suitcase, he puts two framed photos and three photo strips of the two of you into his bag. Then he goes over his script in his head, doing his best to stay up all night by snorting through a baggie of cocaine that has him mentally and emotionally sparking like a live wire.
He mutters to himself, pacing back and forth in only white socks and briefs, wondering whether it would be possible to set up an entire alias, questioning whether he could take this kind of thing to the police. He knows better to assume that police care enough about the well-being of a woman to spring into action and protect you, and ultimately, he decides that he will talk to you the moment you are home and make arrangements right then and there to flee the country. He will get down on his knees once more and plead his case to you, no matter what it takes. Begging has always worked in his favor in the past.
Christian has no memory of falling asleep, but when he hears the door open, he stretches and yawns and says, "Baby?"
The sound of a gun being cocked inches from his head springs him into full wakefulness, and he opens his eyes to find Taehyung standing over him wearing all black, with black leather gloves on. Christian scrambles to sit up, hands and feet sliding against the sheet frantically as he struggles to get his bearings.
Taehyung sighs. "You really fucked up, Barom."
Everything is a blur, and Christian struggles to keep his wits about him. The gun is so close to his face that he is frozen and struggling to breathe. He says nothing. What could he possibly say?
"What time does she get home?" Taehyung asks, looking at his watch.
Christian is barely able to whisper the word, "Three."
"Not a lot of time," Taehyung says, sighing. "How often are you gone when she gets home?"
Christian's mouth feels like sand. When he says, "Maybe once a week," he stammers, struggling to get the syllables out.
"Alright, then, get dressed and come with me."
Taehyung drops the gun to his side and watches silently as Christian's brain buffers and he gets his bearings. When he stands, it is on shaking legs while bile rises up his throat. He gets dressed in jeans and a plain white tee and walks outside in his socks, too in shock to remember to put on shoes. Only when Taehyung mentions it does he turn around and grab a pair of sneakers. Taehyung gathers the mostly empty baggie of cocaine and Christian's phone, shoving them deep into his pocket, then he turns off the lights.
When they approach the SUV waiting outside, Jeongguk is in the passenger seat. Christian has never been so scared as he is in this moment, to the point where he thinks he is going into shock because all sensation of the outside world is dull. He has no sense of what temperature the air is, and he can hardly feel where he places his feet. When he gets into the backseat, he can barely hear the jeers and snickers from Jeongguk, who looks back to threaten him pretty much the entire ride. He mostly just hears, "Fucked up, man," over and over, but he is not sure whether Jeongguk is actually saying that, or if he is imagining it. He feels stuck underwater.
A bag is placed over his head somewhere downtown, and for a time, he has no idea where they take him. But then he recognizes the scrape of a metal gate and the sound of tires on gravel. He thinks that it could be Jeongguk's mansion again, but he is led into a building, down a ramp, and through a large room that is definitely not in Jeongguk's home. He hears what sounds like a large, heavy door being opened, and then he is tied to a chair. Eventually, the heavy door closes. Rather than scream or beg for help, he cries and cries until he wears himself out, and then he drifts in and out of sleep, jolting upright each time his head hangs forward for too long, never able to get any actual rest.
When the bag is removed from his head, he is surprised to see that it is Min standing before him. Min wears a tan suit and leopard print shirt, and he looks ridiculous. Christian is so out of his mind that he actually begins to laugh. When Min grabs him roughly by the hair and asks just what the fuck is so funny, the pain that seizes Christian from his head, down between his shoulders, is so sharp, he frantically says, "Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry, sir," before he is let go.
"Didn't shit or piss yourself," Min says, surprise in his tone, eying up Christian's crotch. "Good. You have one final performance."
When Min unties Christian, he is not gentle about it. Christian is jostled around, and at times his circulation feels cut off from how tightly the ropes are yanked before being released. Min leads him by gunpoint through a massive fluorescent-lit room, up a ramp, and outside, to an SUV that is being driven by sword man, although today he does not appear to have a sword. He is taken to the hotel with the compound and led upstairs, flanked by Min and this man, who he calls Joonie. In the room, he is ordered to shower and get presentable. Then, at gunpoint, with the cellphone Taehyung confiscated earlier, he messages you and says to meet him at the park at 3 p.m. sharp.
"Tell her to dress nice," Min adds, which makes Christian feel increasingly antsy. That is definitely going to piss you off.
* * *
The sun is so bright, it stings Christian's eyes. Of all the days to have a perfectly clear sky, it had to be today. The beautiful, expansive blue feels like it is mocking Christian, whose head is tilted upward. Luckily, with a blade to his throat, everything in his field of vision goes hazy, and the sun is blotted out. Christian is on his knees, drooling from the desire to vomit and thankful his stomach is empty, as much as it aches. He trembles like a leaf, and Min's grip on his hair is the only thing keeping him from face-planting into the grass.
He cannot fathom how quickly everything has turned sour, and he wants to curse Sunmi, who had to have tipped Min off. If he had been paying attention rather than going with the flow, he could have come up with an escape route sooner, but he lost track of time. He was certain that coming to the river with these men and watching the way they assert their dominance would have scared you off, or, at the very least, convinced you to hear Christian out so that he could explain himself. But he was never given the chance to speak.
Instead, you are being led away by that Joonie guy, and— is he imagining it, or did you seem to go with him willingly? Surely the last two years were not so horrible that you would just hand yourself over to these men? You must have some kind of plan for escaping, but what could it possibly be? If they take you to that mansion out in the middle of nowhere, how will you ever get out?
"This isn't right," Christian mutters, voice struggling to push between his lips. "She deserves to know the truth."
Min must pull the blade away from Christian's throat because the next thing he knows, he's being pummeled in his right eye by Min's fist before knuckles connect with his nose with a loud crack that echoes throughout his head. Christian groan-yells in pain, but quickly shuts up as the bag is placed back over his head and pulled so tight that when he inhales, fabric presses inside his mouth and cuts off his air supply. He can hardly breathe, and when he is yanked to his feet and dragged away by what feels like two men, he waits to feel the cold sting of the Han River engulf him at any moment. He is surprised when he is thrown into the trunk of an SUV instead.
* * *
Tied to a chair, presumably left to die, with a bag on his head, Christian feels as if he might go insane.
He holds in his piss for as long as he can, but when his bladder begins to burn, he finally concedes and lets it out. The bag prevents him from smelling the piss, and for that, he is grateful. He imagines there are much worse smells in this place. Before, when he was too afraid to get his bearings, he thought it smelled metallic and musty. That had to have been earlier today, before the trip to the river, but Christian has no concept of how much time has passed, or if he is even in the same place as before. The chair feels the same.
He thinks he hears the squeak of pipes, but worries that it could also be rats. If there are rats trapped in this place, how long will it take for them to begin nibbling at his flesh, starting with his ankles? His legs are stuck in place, tied to the legs of the chair, and he would be unable to kick them away.
Occasionally, he thinks he feels an itch near where ropes pull the denim up against his skin, and Christian freaks out. What if there is something crawling up his pant leg? Can it chew through denim? Rope? Sometimes his leg attempts to kick so violently that the chair rocks, and he has to do his best to breathe through his fear without allowing too much fabric into his mouth, because if he falls over, then whatever is in here could get at his neck, and possibly even into the bag to eat away at his face. Christian is not ready for his lips and eyes to be devoured while he lies on his side, unable to defend himself.
Behind the black bag, Christian's eyes are open, and he sees light and color dancing against the fabric. He thinks of the kaleidoscopes his mother would buy him from the fair, cheap plastic and paper things filled with beads and other small, colorful bits. He cries at the thought of his mother, at her loving brown eyes and soft hands, her gentle voice. He cries until his lips are coated in tears and snot, and he struggles to breathe. Then he calms himself down.
"Stay focused," he mutters to himself. "Listen for clues. Know your surroundings. Anything."
But there is nothing. No clues, no sound whatsoever. No way of seeing.
He begins to dream up stories in his head. His limbs are somewhat numb, no longer itching, and he rewrites the story of how the two of you met. He is on break after filming a really cool action film where he isn't the star, because he's not that famous yet, but he is the star's witty best friend. He has a cool apartment that just so happens to be near the bar you work at, and when he walks in and sees you pouring a foamy, off-white drink from a large metal shaker into a glass of ice, it is love at first sight. You don't recognize him, and haven't seen any of his movies, and he feels happy because he wants a shot at really getting to know you naturally again. You move in right away and fall in love right away because Christian is too antsy to get to the good part.
In this story, he doesn't even know Sunmi and has never touched her, and he doesn't have to lie to you about what he does for a living. You go to his movie premiere where he gets down on one knee and proposes to you, taking all the attention away from the film as everyone claps and cheers, and paparazzi takes pictures. Even the star of the film is happy for the two of you, and he promises to officiate the wedding. He replays you saying yes to him over and over, each time slightly different. Sometimes you roll your eyes, smiling but slightly annoyed with his dramatics. Sometimes you hold your hands over your mouth and cry. Sometimes you stare at him blankly, and he has to shake his head really hard to dispel the image and replace it with something softer. He does his best to hold onto the image of you, and he apologizes over and over, muttering and drooling and crying, and saying he is sorry. He is sorry. He is so, so sorry.
When he hears footsteps enter, he is certain that he must be hallucinating. Perhaps there is a water leak somewhere, and the insistent dripping is only mimicking footfalls. But then he hears that massive door open and close, and the sound of something heavy being thrown onto the floor in a muffled clatter that sounds like a bag full of heavy instruments. He holds his breath.
"Yu Barom," a deep voice calls. It is familiar and not. He cannot place the owner. "Today we decide whether you live or die."
Christian scoffs. Why would they let him live after everything that has transpired?
"It's not in Boss Yoongi's interest to kill a man who has been such a pivotal part of his team for the better part of two years. He has already extended you an immense amount of gratitude by not putting a bullet between your eyes."
To his surprise, Christian feels more resolved than afraid. Sitting alone in the dark, pissing his pants and waiting for rodents to begin eating him from the ankles up has had a chance to put things into perspective. Or, he is so famished and exhausted that he is incapable of thinking clearly. Regardless, what does any of it matter? He has failed you, and maybe he does deserve to die.
When the bag is pulled from his head, sword man is there with a sword strapped to his back. Christian begins to laugh, and the movement hurts his face but in a vague, distant kind of way. There is a stench about this place that is more than just blood mixed with piss and old water. Christian tries to remember whether he knows what a dead body could smell like.
"Joonie," Christian spits out, remembering what Min called him.
The man's eyes go dark. "That's Namjoon, to you."
"Namjoon," Christian repeats, struggling to make his lips form the j-shape. He grunts. "So you're n-not here to k-kill me?"
Namjoon squats before him, eyeing him up. He studies Christian's face, then cracks half of a grin. "Damn. He really fucked you up."
It takes a second for Christian to remember what he is talking about. He had forgotten about getting punched in the face. How could he have forgotten? Absently, he tries to lift his right hand to touch his eye, but remembers it is tied to the chair. Now that Namjoon mentions it, the right eye does seem swollen, making his vision blurry.
"That's…weird. How come it doesn't hurt?"
Namjoon's smile widens. "Painkillers."
"Painkillers," Christian mutters back. That explains a lot.
Namjoon nods, then reaches for his bag. "Let's get you something to eat."
Christian shakes his head. He does not want to shit on himself. Plus, what if he has been trapped here for so long that eating kills him? How long has it been?
"What do you mean no?" Namjoon asks, digging into his bag. "It's been six hours since we brought you back here. I know you're hungry."
Six hours? Christian feels like he has been here for days.
Namjoon pulls out a few pouches of what appear to be protein shakes. Christian attempts to tighten his lips, but the muscles tremble, and he is unable to keep them steady. Namjoon twists off the lid and shoves the small plastic straw-like tip into Christian's mouth, knocking him against the teeth as he squeezes the pouch, forcing the thick liquid through. Christian gags and then swallows, first angry but then pleased to be tasting something that comes close to chocolate and peanut butter. He downs that pouch rather fast, giving himself a stomachache. The motion of sucking also somehow manages to make his nose hurt a little. When Namjoon pulls the pouch away, Christian is trying to catch his breath. And now that he has tasted a little something, he is definitely hungry.
Namjoon assists Christian with drinking down two more pouches. With his wits about him slightly more than before, he glances around and realizes this is not a warehouse but more like a…a dungeon?
"Where are we?" he asks, eyes landing on a rusted metal rack covered in tools, including what appear to be electric saws. Christian swallows thickly, tearing his gaze, which is blurring over with tears, away from the horrifying sight. Are those Namjoon's tools? Does he plan to use them? Some of them look pretty worn, covered in dark rust, but they can likely cut through bone. Or worse, fail to. Looking down, he realizes the cement floor has a gentle incline toward a small round grate. Then he tilts his head back and notices that right above him on the ceiling is a large metal hook. Just what in the hell goes on in here?
Namjoon cocks his head to the side. "Where do you think we are?"
He thinks that perhaps he should lie. Perhaps there is danger in telling the truth. But he decides to be truthful. His voice trembles as he says, "The property where Jeongguk lives."
Namjoon grins. "Why do you say that?"
Christian feels nervous. Has he said too much? "The gate," he begins, watching as Namjoon nods once. "And the driveway. I remember there being gravel."
"I keep telling hyung to pave this side," Namjoon says in a tone that almost seems cordial.
Christian nods.
Behind Namjoon, a large metal door opens, and in walks Min. Dread settles in Christian's belly. Of course, it is inevitable to see the kingpin himself. But Christian was hoping that perhaps he would be too busy to pay him a visit.
Min wears his standard uniform of black. He begins by unbuttoning his cuffs, then he starts at the neck of the shirt, unbuttoning to his waist, untucking, and unbuttoning the rest. He is delicate with the dress shirt as he pulls it off to reveal a black t-shirt tucked into black slacks. Rather than dress shoes, Min wears leather boots with thick rubber soles that make no noise as he walks.
"Tell me, Barom," Min snarls as he approaches, handing his shirt to Namjoon, "how do you think I was tipped off that you were planning an escape?"
Christian licks his dry lips, worried to speak. When he does, his voice is barely above a whisper. "Sunmi-noona."
Min lifts an eyebrow.
"Ah, I see there is a bit of a brain behind this thick skull of yours." Min lifts a hand and knocks on Christian's head hard enough to make him wince. "And tell me…how did Sunmi-noona find out?"
Christian moves his lips, about to speak, but Min continues, his face coming so close that it blurs in Christian's vision.
"Or, rather, why were you spending so much time with Sunmi-noona that she was able to glean such sensitive information? Were you…confiding in her?"
Christian nods, gulping despite there being no spit gathered to swallow. Min strikes Christian against the right cheek hard enough to make the entire right side of his face flare up momentarily in pain. The medication must be wearing off. He grips Christian by the hair and leans in so close that tobacco and whiskey come off his breath. He says, "Use your words, pretty boy," in a tone that is low and oddly seductive.
"Yes, sir," Christian mutters.
Min's grip tightens, making Christian wince.
"Were you fucking Sunmi-noona?"
Christian sighs, eyelids fluttering from the pain. "Yes, sir."
Min releases Christian's hair and lowers into a squat, then leans with his elbows digging into Christian's legs. To his surprise, Christian barely feels it. Concerned, he wiggles his toes. Is he losing circulation?
"Interesting," Min says, "I only remember giving you permission to fuck one of my girls. And here, you were fucking two?"
Christian's lips move, but no sound comes out. Was Sunmi-noona also his? Sure, they seemed close, but she wasted no time getting onto her knees for Christian. Why should Christian assume that Min has laid a claim to every woman in the city?
Min sighs, leaning with his cheek against his left fist. "Do you know what it costs me to lose someone like Sunmi-noona? The range that her eyes and ears manage to explore the city is unmatched. And it is going to cost me a lot of business, never mind weakening my firm grip on many of my more lucrative operations." Min seems to wait just a moment for a response before continuing. "Luckily, we had been planning for a rift to occur. It was only a matter of time; you saw how fickle and temperamental she can be, I presume."
Christian nibbles on the inside of his lip and shrugs. He only witnessed her lash out the last time he saw her.
Min sighs and continues. "In that time, however, Seokjin-hyung and Hoseok were only able to amass a fraction of the power that she has. But that is just no good. A fraction is not close to a whole. And power is priceless to a man such as myself."
Min stands, digging his elbows in much harder as he does so, and this time Christian does feel it. The pain is simultaneously dull and sharp, and it causes the spots on both muscles to ache and seize up, shooting pain down into his feet. Christian grits his teeth, eager not to show weakness, but by the time Min lifts his arms away, Christian is letting out a pained groan.
"It is as they say…an eye for an eye." Min pulls out his switchblade and holds it in Christian's face, right in front of his left eye. "You fucked up my surveillance, Barom. What is a man without his hold on every single person in this city?" Min leans closer, touching the tip of the blade to Christian's eyebrow. "You impaired my vision, so now I am going to repay the favor by impairing yours."
Fear and adrenaline spike through Christian, and he attempts to push himself backwards, but the chair only rocks weakly. The momentum is just enough to cause the tip of Min's blade to poke into Christian's eyebrow, and he winces and attempts to move his head to the side, but he only manages to slash himself horizontally.
"Gonna do all the work for me?" Min jokes, grin widening while his shoulders shake with laughter.
Christian begins to cry. He can't help it. What the fuck is happening to him? How the fuck did he get here? He just wanted to blend into a team of men doing something illegal for an exorbitant amount of cash so he could return home to his mother wealthier than he was when he left, and give her a cozy retirement; how did everything spiral out of control from the moment he met these guys? How could he have been so stupid?
With one hand, Min grabs Christian by the hair. With the other, he presses the blade straight into Christian's eye. The feeling is so intense that Christian simultaneously screams and pisses his pants. His entire body convulses as he vomits all over himself, unable to control his limbs from revolting against the pain, feeling all of the muscles in his face, neck, and shoulders stiffen in agony. It feels like he is crying uncontrollably, but he is unable to blink, and he frantically tries to move his arms and legs, desperate to stop this feeling and to let out the energy that is building and building inside of him.
And then, suddenly, he passes out.
* * *
When Christian awakens, he is lying down in a bright room with a tall white ceiling striped in fluorescent lights. As he blinks, lines of the room blur, and when he moves his head to the left, details rove in and out of focus. He appears to be in a large hospital room, but he has no idea how he has come to be here, and he wonders whether he has been in some sort of accident.
As the details of the room come into focus bit by bit, he realizes that the vision on his left side is impaired and his right eye seems swollen. He tries to lift his hand to feel whether there is a bandage over his left side, but finds he cannot move his arm. In fact, he cannot move either of his arms or his legs, and he is overwhelmed by the smell of vomit and piss. And then it hits him: the dungeon room, Min and his switchblade…his eye. Christian screams and thrashes, making as much noise as he can muster before his throat becomes so dry that he coughs uncontrollably. He cries, and it burns the wound of his eye. Whether he still has an eyeball is a mystery. Regardless, something is extremely wrong.
Min appears over Christian and punches him hard in the jaw, causing the back of Christian's head to slam against the thin pillow and firm mattress. Christian continues to scream and thrash, desperate to be heard. If this is a hospital, surely there is someone else who will hear him, right? Except he is certain that he has overheard Taehyung talk about the equipment and rooms he has set up in his own home. And if that's the case…
"Kill me," Christian begs, vocal cords raw and voice rough. "Please just kill me. Please, please."
Min punches Christian again, causing him to bite his tongue so hard that his mouth fills with blood. He lets enough pool in his mouth, and then he spits it into Min's face. In an instant, Min has a handgun drawn and cocked, pressing cold and heavy into Christian's temple.
"Give me one more fucking reason," Min threatens, leaning close, putting his weight into the firearm. He is clearly drunk, eyes glazed over and bloodshot, and he looks like he has not slept in days.
"You ruined her life," Christian sobs. He wants to curl into a ball, and he is furious that his wrists and ankles are restrained. "You ruined her life. She doesn't deserve this."
"And you are blameless?" Min asks, chuckling sardonically.
Christian closes his eye tight. He prays to whatever gods there may be that Min squeezes the trigger and blows his brains out. Let this be the way it ends, just so long as it fucking ends.
"She came willingly to my home," Min says inches from Christian's ear. "She already sleeps in my bed. And pretty soon I will have her on her hands and knees begging me to make her mine."
Christian imagines you lying back against the pillows, naked and shy, with your knees slightly touching. How soft your skin was when he dragged his lips along the slope of your knees, how your thighs would part and fall open for him. Min does not deserve you. Neither of them does.
"Please," Christian cries. "Please kill me. Please. I can't live with what I've done to her."
The gun lifts from Christian's head, and then Min leaves. Christian keeps his eyes closed, listening for footsteps to come or go, but the room is silent. There is no machine monitoring his heart rate. No IV drip to deliver hydration into his depleted system. He is tied down once more and left alone with his thoughts, his piss-wet jeans, and his pain. He sleeps in fits, waking up screaming from the memory of being stabbed in the eye and dryly gagging with nothing to vomit but stomach bile.
Days must pass. Christian soils himself again and again. He trembles from hunger and feels so dehydrated that he is certain that he may die. When he thinks of you, of the mess he is in thanks to being tasked with grooming you— with fucking tolerating you— he feels anger and despair. Little by little, he stops thinking of you fondly and with concern. He oscillates wildly between deep love and utter hopelessness until little by little, he hopes that whatever Min is doing to you is fucking you up just as badly as he feels fucked up. He hopes that you regret walking away from him so easily. He did so much for you, putting his life on the line, and he hopes that you feel nothing but shame and regret for the way you treated him. So what, he was fucking Sunmi. You treated him like gum under your shoe. If anything, Christian begins to believe that you deserved to be cheated on.
When Taehyung arrives to unstrap him from the bed, Christian feels too weak to move his limbs. Taehyung and Jeongguk lift him from the bed and drag him off to a bathroom with a little square shower stall. They strip him of his clothing and hose him down, washing him of the piss and shit that has caused his skin to break out in rashes and sores. They gently apply salves and bandages to his broken skin, all the while he leans against one and then the other, eye barely open and head lolling to the side. The men say nothing as they dry him off and assist him with getting dressed in a paper gown. Christian feels as if he is on the brink of death. He is too exhausted to be humiliated and accepts everything that is done to him. He says nothing, silent even when his head rolls too hard and slams into the wall. When they lay him down onto a clean bed, Taehyung hooks him up to an IV and does not restrain him. Christian never puts up any resistance. He is resolved to accept his shitty fate.
The men take shifts sitting beside him, watching television. Taehyung plays Ghibli films while force-feeding protein shake packets to Christian. Jeongguk watches kaiju films, mimicking the unnatural monster sounds while spinning small, pointy knives around on his fingers. They help him with walking to the bathroom, rolling the IV bag alongside him. Then they begin to offer him solid foods, mainly plain tofu and rice with a side of vegetables. After some time, Christian slowly begins to feel like himself again. But he does not look at himself in the mirror. He does not want to see what has become of him in such a short amount of time.
When he wakes up to a stranger in a burgundy suit sitting bedside, he startles. The man, who is reading a newspaper, glances over the top of the paper and nods, then begins to delicately fold it and set it aside.
"Here you are," the man says. "Awake at last."
Christian sits up slightly, glancing around and hoping to see Taehyung or Jeongguk, but neither man is around.
"My name is Kim Seokjin," the man says, and Christian nods. He has heard Seokjin's name before. "I have a proposition for you."
Christian is unsure whether he is interested in hearing another proposition put forth by this team of men. He would rather run as far away as his legs will take him. Hell, he would rather lie down in a ditch and die.
"You can keep the job and the apartment," Seokjin says, "interest free. Boss Min is feeling generous."
There has to be a catch. There is no fucking way Min is going to just bring Christian back into the fold. Christian opens his mouth to respond, but sound barely comes out, and he ends up mouthing around unvoiced syllables before giving up.
"You want to know what the catch is?" Seokjin asks.
Christian nods.
"No catch. You were punished and now you are free to resume as if nothing has changed."
As if nothing has changed.
Except everything has changed. The person Christian was before this shit storm began is as good as dead.
For the first time since Min drove a blade into his eye, Christian lifts his hand and feels the wound. His fingers gently touch the bandage first, and then they firmly press. What he feels is unnaturally hard and round. His eye is gone. His heart beats a little harder, but otherwise, he does not have the energy in him to react. An eye for an eye. Perhaps next time, Min will cut out his tongue.
"You will rejoin Jeongguk's crew but under my employ. Whatever orders I give, you will fulfill. Understand?"
Christian shrugs. What's there to understand?
"If you're really miserable staying here, I can always relocate you to Busan. I know some girls who would use a loyal grunt like you. Or we can put you on one of the catering teams. There are countless jobs in this city that need doing.”
Christian says nothing, just nods.
Seokjin must take this as a confirmation because he nods too, then stands and begins to leave. "Heal up and get back to work. One of our men will drive you home when you are ready. This is your last chance, Barom. Fuck this up, and we will have no choice but to kill you. If you work hard and make up for all the past trifling behavior, I will personally put you on a plane to Australia."
Christian stares ahead, watching from the periphery as Seokjin leaves. Then he waits. And waits. When he has to piss, he decides to rip the IV needle out of his arm and make his way to the bathroom. Once he exits, another unfamiliar man is standing in the doorway waiting for him, holding a wide paper bag full of black clothing. Christian gets dressed, then they make their way out of the room, through the large space, and up the ramp. At the front door, as he slides his feet into a pair of shoes, he realizes that he is definitely in a mansion, which means this must be Taehyung's home. No wonder all of his screams were for nothing. Nobody was ever going to hear him.
The man, who introduces himself as Hoseok, drives Christian back to the apartment. Christian barely glances at the space as he grabs his stuff and calls a cab to take him to the compound, then he returns to the tiny cement room there, never to see the apartment again. He does not unpack his suitcase, save for reaching in through an arm-sized hole and extracting some of the clothing, scared of how he might feel if he sees the pictures of you. Instead, he buys an all-new wardrobe bit by bit, leaving the suitcase to collect dust in the corner of the room.
The other guys no longer fuck with him, and instead seem repulsed by what has happened to him. Jae, a long-term member of the team, has promised Christian that they will find a way to fuck the guys over. "We can't kill them," he whispers, checking over his shoulders to make sure nobody is in earshot, "but we can get him where it hurts by fucking with the supply of pills."
Christian keeps his head down and works. He remains on the receiving and packaging teams, seemingly too unsightly with his face bandaged to be trusted out on the streets and meeting with clientele. He barely sees the sun for weeks. But then the bandage is removed by Taehyung, who treats Christian like a stranger, and within days, he is back to running, and he finds himself standing at Sunmi's door.
"What did they do to your beautiful face?" Sunmi asks, soft almond-shaped eyes full of tears. "How could they do this to you?"
These days, Christian hardly has much to say. He goes days sometimes without hearing the sound of his own voice. Even now, he does not try to explain.
"This isn't right," Sunmi says as she stands tall and presses her forehead into his, fingertips on his cheek, below the white prosthetic orb surrounded by scars. Tears begin to form, and Christian finds that he is helpless to do anything but allow them to fall. Only one of his eyes fully blinks. "I knew he would be angry with you, but this has gone way too far."
Crocodile tears, as far as he is concerned. Sunmi is undoubtedly at least partially responsible for Min torturing him. But her hands are soft and warm, and he misses the delicate cadence of her voice. Her floral perfume. The press of her lips.
Christian continues to keep his head down and work, but he overhears the others. A storm is brewing within the lower ranks. There are talks of an uprising. Christian, fed up with all the attention it is getting, worried that one of the higher-ups might overhear it and trace it back to him, destroys a large amount of pills one night while working with the receiving team, after everything has been weighed a final time, in a dark corner of the warehouse where he knows no camera watches. When asked, he mentions overhearing Jae and fourteen other men bragging about wanting to fuck Min over. Within days, all of those men are gone, and the whispers have stopped. Christian feels a strange sense of pride.
Slowly, men begin to show allegiance to him, but in a silent way. Some of them seem to know that Christian was the one to sell out Jae and his crew. Some of them seem to revere him for it. They communicate via text on burner phones and begin to meet up outside of work, at an empty warehouse near the new apartment that Christian has begun to rent on his own dime, away from the compound.
It starts first as an underground fight club— a way to get to know each of the men who show up looking for a way to bulk up and fight back. Some of the men are experts at martial arts, others are great with weapons. They look to Christian as a leader, and for once in his miserable life, he accepts the challenge with no regrets. Maybe, he thinks, he will be able to fuck Min over and take down his empire from the inside.
It's completely insane, no doubt. But it just might work.
*
I don't wanna know all your secrets 'cause I'll tell
It's hard enough being alone with myself
I don't know how long I'll be holding on
I know you tried your hardest, I know that you meant it well
But you pushed me to the edge and I slipped and then I fell
I don't know how long I'll be holding on
*
HELLOOOOO THANK YOU FOR READINGGG!!!!!!! for the record, since it is not clear in the chapter, i am letting you know that Yoongi is no longer involved with Sunmi once mc comes into the picture. he's a jerk for sure but he ain't that nasty.
ANYWAYYYYY HIIIIII!!!! it's been a long time. i know updates have screeched to a halt, and you know that i am sorry, so i don't need to say it again and again. to be honest, with the craziness of school (and getting good grades!!!) on top of deep and heavy grief that i was feeling for about 2 years, writing for my Collateral mc was really hard and i kept avoiding putting myself in that headspace. incidentally, writing this pov really pulled me out of the funk and got me back on the horse, and i have been having a lot of fun. hopefully my writing style feels consistent; it's kind of hard to come back to older work after spending all the time in between updates writing for other projects and feeling like my style/voice is slowly changing. also!!! plz lmk if you spot any errors bc it was hard to use he/him and you/your pronouns with the mc not being the pov of the chapter. i am dyslexic af and make a lot of mistakes in the writing stages lmao so idk if i always fix them in the editing stages.
chapter 27 is VERY CLOSE TO DONE, so the update should be coming very soon. i have been working really hard to get this shit cranked out for you. i love you very much PLEASE STAY HYDRATED. comments and reblogs keep me writing blah blah blah, you know the drill. (it's true, though. sometimes the only thing that pulls me back into a project is someone talking to me about it. so please don't be shy!!!) also sorry if the youtube video is awkward but i don't use spotify anymore and i wanted to make sure the chapters still end with a song.
OKAY I WILL SEE YOU SOON!!!! I PROMISE!!!!!!! VERY SOON!!!!!!!!!!!
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Collateral is copyright 2022-2026 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.
What the fuck. Okay! So.. I'm gonna attempt to send my message again since my laptop decided to freeze up and restart right when I was going to send my message the first time. Now I have to do this all over again.
Maybe the should a "save draft" option for longer messages too, when a person like me writes longer people. This site does hate people like me.
I do apologize for spamming you with these long anonymous messages lately. Although not every anonymous message is me, quite a few of the anonymous messages are mine. Probably enough to be annoying now.
That's probably because I am a overly detailed person when it comes to explaining things, talking, to people. And.. I tend to be just a bit verbose when conversing with people online, not actually in person. So I know it might be annoying for some people because of my detailed responses.
~
Honestly, I have a much longer list for organized crime inspiration ideas than this too.. But I've already sent a long enough list to begin with, so I only sent the medias that give me the most inspiration for this concept.
Despite enjoying crime dramas, the organized crime concepts, and any other similar concept.. I've never cared about the Italian mafia concepts either. I know Scarface is about Cubans rather than Italians, I have seen that movie at least once in my life, but I was honestly never a fan of it at all. I never saw the hype to the movie. I have never seen The Godfather's franchise, or Good Fellas or even The Irishmen either, amongst many of the other "cult classics" organized crime movies either. So I'm definitely very nitpicky about my own preferences too, so I know what you mean.
Which ones were you interested in? Watching, reading?
Personally.. I do enjoy JJBA. Minus the animal abuse. But, I will say that there's one thing that bothers me personally, how the superpowers was changed from one power to another power. They'd actually use Harmon for the first three arcs but then switches over from Harmon to Stands in the fourth arc. I actually do like both of those abilities. So I wished really had been able to combine the powers rather than changing the powers, but that's probably just my opinion though. But, yeah. Golden Wind has the Italian mafia, assassins, hitmen, mercenaries in that whole arc - but only if you ever do decide to get back into watching the series again. As for the Gundam franchise, it kinda seems like an anthology series to me (to some extent). Because Mobile Suit Gundam always seems to have a different story, plot, characters for every season. And, from the seasons I have actually seen, I've only ever enjoyed Iron-Blooded Orphans. So I'd be a bit biased whenever recommending the Gundam series to anyone.
And.. I'm the same way. People seem surprised about it. I'd get involved in a lot of Asian media - music, shows, movies - so language never even bothered me in that context. Although, I will only ever watch any anime in English. People are surprised by that. But that's just my preference.
For the movies.. Not that you have to watch the movies, I actually don't want you to think I'm pressuring you into doing anything you really just have no interest in. Headshot, The Night Comes For Us, Hell Dogs, and Kate are on Netflix if you have the channel. But, The Raids 1 & 2 are not, so you'd probably have to search around for those movies. And if you're interested, here's a fight scene from the first Raid movie if you like type of action. These action movies are better than most American action.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8j5IA0L_MI
Yes! Miyavi is a Japanese soloist musician, who also eventually got into acting and modelling as his career went on. So there are times where I'd watch something, whether I liked it or not, just for him since I also enjoy his acting too. And he's been in quite a few organized crime dramas too.
Well.. If you ever decide to get back into Peaky Blinders, the franchise is completely over now. Minus the spinoff series. But, I honestly have zero interest in the spinoff series, because none of the actors you actually do like from the original cast would be in it. Without spoilers, I do know lots of fans to have mixed feelings which is understandable so I won't get so into that. But, overall, PB's definitely one of my favorite series. Although a lot of these shows and movies I've sent you are my personal favorites.. So I gave you a list of some of my favorites, is basically when I'm saying.
Vincenzo's another favorite series for me. Obviously, everyone has their preferences. Though.. I think, Vincenzo is basically my only exception to Italian mafia concept but not really at the same time. A Korean boy who was adopted by an Italian family, becomes Korean-Italian, moving back to Korea temporarily. So maybe just only partially Italian mafia concept.
Bloodhounds is another favorite series too. Without spoilers, they might potentially make a season three based on how season two ended. So I'd definitely recommend watching this series too, if and when you decide.
~
Okay.. So, I am just adding this on to my already long message to begin with. I actually haven't written in years because of these creative blocks always preventing me from writing. I have plenty of ideas and concepts, but I'm never able to actually put my thoughts into words for reasons I'd never know. And I don't know why. So if I am able to read or write any of these concepts doesn't mean that's going to live up to my expectations.
I'm a perfectionist in obsessive compulsive ways known to people too..
And as for the potential Bibi character concept. I know, I know.. That's a word I have been saying a lot. Sometimes I'm a bit repetitive in wording. Anyway. Yeah.. Bibi's videos alone were enough to make me want to use her as a face claim for a character in crime story, but then seeing how in those parallel gifset between Bibi and Yoongi made me think being very similar made me think, "Maybe she learned from them." Or, "Maybe she learned those actions, reactions and mannerisms from them." Or things like that. Vague ideas. All I know is she would not be related to them but was "adopted" into the family, in criminal family context, being younger than them would lead to be being like their younger sister in some way.
I don't know. Basically, all of my ideas are vague right now.
~
Again. I do apologize again. I complained about sending long messages to you, while basically sending an even longer message than last time. I have to say it's a serious problem that I should actually work on by now.
anon, hello!
i actually kind of like scarface but i have never seen the godfather movies (i hear the second one is good but idk. not really interested in italians.) goodfellas is good (i had to watch it for a film class) but it's not something i would watch again. you can tell wolf of wall street was very inspired by that film if you've seen that.
i try to watch shows and anime in their original language personally (i've studied japanese and korean, among other languages, so i enjoy listening to the langauges - although it's frustrating when subtitles don't match) but when i'm eating or watching with my partner (and we tend to also watch while we're eating) we tend to watch dubs so it's easier.
that clip was intense. it reminds me of old boy (speaking of the 2.0 mv, which is highly inspired by that film!) definitely watch that if you haven't already - but only the original by park chanwook. it was remade and i've seen clips that are absolute trash. (no shade to spike lee but he should have left that one alone.) it's kind of organized crime but mostly a dude getting revenge on a group of people, so it's like reverse organized crime (maybe the same type of vibes as the film that clip is from.)
i can't remember why i lost interest in peaky blinders but i have thought about picking it back up. only problem is i watched the first few seasons when they came out and barely remember anything, so i would have to start from the beginning.
even if you struggle to write, i think it might help to at least try to get started with an idea, but with something small. not a huge ass series. even if you just write out one or two scenes that replay in your head. and then just proofread and edit them over and over again until you get a feel for how you want it to be. not even necessarily for the purpose of publishing, but you also could post a scene or a chapter as a trial run to see how it's responded to. you're not going to start out being an amazing writer, usually. i have a lot of orphaned fics that i outgrew, so to speak, and decided i didn't want to be attached to them anymore. but they all helped me a lot in terms of finding my voice and writing style so i could post fics i'm actually proud of.
i think the idea of Bibi being adopted into the group is really good. it gives her an edge as a sibling type and as an outsider, which can add to her overall lore. keep me updated if you want to!
*
so, with all of this replied to, i gotta be honest, these very long messages are really beginning to stress me out. it's not that i don't care to hear from you!!! i genuinely do. and i would love to have these conversations but maybe off anon where we can continue conversations in comments and replies or something that feels more like an actual conversation. even if it's just a random ass burner account for you, since being anonymous on tumblr is incredibly easy. because idk. i get really anxious and overwhelmed by very long anonymous messages, and you are being really kind and conversational, which is appreciate, but. it's a lot. i hope you aren't offended. i just have to draw a boundary if the conversations are going to keep going. <3
