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theharrowing · 12 days ago

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Collateral 🗡️ 24: I have a proposition for you

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Taehyung x Jungkook

🗡️ word count: 18.7k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: casually discussing & thinking about previous violent events (involving guns, knives, cars, etc.); use of MDMA & cocaine, as well as a lot of whiskey; explicit smut (sex swing; sex under the influence of drugs & alcohol; voyeurism/exhibitionism; threesome; multiple orgasms & overstimulation; squirting orgasm; going non-verbal; a hint of subspace; crashing from the need of more after care but also from drugs) mc is still spiraling a lot.

🗡️note: hello, hello!!! ngl, it annoys me that Jimin's and Hoseok's hair are the wrong color in the mood board but it's impossible finding a good square pic of those three. also!!!! this is a reminder that mc is bisexual lol. also!!! drug come-ups and come-downs happen unusually fast because this is fiction. and because this was originally at least two chapters that have been condensed into one.

🗡️ also note: i love you. thank you for waiting. 💜

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted Jan. 2025 | read on ao3

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With a jolt, you awaken, gasping and struggling to get your bearings. You blink, squinting against the sun that shines through the small rounded windows, slowly returning to consciousness. The plane bounces slightly as it taxis, and you lean over—or, rather, into—Hwasa as you peer out the window. The unfamiliar scenery reminds you that you are not home in Seoul but in Busan.

Bright sunlight causes your entire head to ache. You squeeze your eyes closed and bury your face into Hwasa's neck, which is soft and warm and smells like a fresh bouquet. She audibly pouts and raises a hand to shield your eyes, as well as pet your forehead.

"Rough night," she says sweetly, and you nod. "Don't worry, dove, we'll be home very soon."

The events of last night return in flashes, causing your stomach to roil unpleasantly. Despite Ryujin's insistence that Christian poses no threat, you are not so sure. The way he gripped your hand and stared at you felt pretty fucking threatening. He is not the man you once knew.

But you find it hard to believe she would put you in danger. After everything her family has done to harm Yoongi and his men, you imagine if anything happened to you, he would not hesitate to burn her home to the ground with everyone inside it. Just his display at the hideout alone speaks to his willingness to kill for you.

A cursory glance at your phone this morning showed Seokjin has managed to import everyone's numbers into your contact list. This assuages your concerns somewhat; at the very least, you are able to reach them should something go sideways. Never mind the fact that Seoul is four, possibly five hours away by car—a detail you choose to ignore for the time being.

You could text Yoongi right now and inform him of Christian's appearance. But what would that solve, realistically? He would likely appear with guns—or chopsticks—blazing and demand you return to a home that you so desperately felt the need to leave.

It is possible that Christian behaved the way he did last night because you nearly touched him. It could have been a sore spot for him to come so close to you again. Intoxicated, he may have behaved more strangely than usual. Perhaps bringing up his missing eye was triggering.

The plane finally slows to a stop, and one by one, the women begin to stretch and stand. A long red sedan waits outside, and you watch as staff members begin to move luggage from the plane to the back of the vehicle.

Your stomach lurches as you make your way to the steps and begin the descent to the tarmac. As tired as you are of questioning whether you are making a mistake, you are desperate to settle in and feel a semblance of peace. You would be happy to never leave your bedroom once you are introduced to one. It is not as if you are expected to work. At least, you don't think so.

Solar and Moonbyul climb into the far back of the vehicle, then Hwasa gets into the middle row and pats the seat for you to join her. You are about to scoot toward the center to make space for another, but Wheein rounds the vehicle and gets into the passenger seat as Ryujin slides into the driver's seat, making everyone accounted for.

Once you are buckled in and all the doors are closed, Ryujin is off, driving nauseatingly fast. She drives like she owns these streets—and maybe she does, but it makes you want to barf.

You close your eyes and lean into Hwasa, glad when she slots her arm around you easily. Now that the two of you will be under the same roof in a manner that feels more official, you wonder whether you should confront the way you feel around her. The butterflies, the dizziness, the urge to reach out and touch, the desire to be held just as you are now, but always. You are certain that it is nothing more than a crush and not worth dwelling on. But you are also aware of the fact that in no time at all your loneliness will shift to something carnal, and that having her in your bubble like this could become dangerously tempting.

"We're here," Hwasa says softly against the top of your head.

With a light, pleased sigh, you slowly open your eyes and begin to sit up. A large metal gate scrapes open, and you are greeted by the sight of a massive hanok made of beautiful, brightly stained pine wood and earthen bricks. Ridge-end tiles, pine purlins, and decoratively carved rafters and beams showcase traditional Korean craftsmanship.

The massive double doors are decorated with square metal frames, reminiscent of traditional wood and paper screen doors, and you watch in awe as the door on the right opens and several women come excitedly hopping out. You marvel at how tall and wide the structure is compared to them.

You recognize one of the women as the person who attempted to chuck a ball at your head the first time you went into Yoongi's pool. Surely, she must know that you have come to stay in the house. Is she likely to cause you more trouble, or have they been forced to come to some understanding that you will be living with them now?

Men in uniform follow behind the women and remain stationed at the door. They are dressed in black tactical gear, with handguns at their hips, and you think you even spot earpieces in their ears. Although you know their presence is meant to make you feel safe, something about their hard, stoic nature is off-putting, and you tear your gaze away.

"They're nice," Hwasa chides, gently pushing an elbow into your side. You must really look afraid for her to have noticed.

With a nod, you open the car door and slowly step out. It is warm, but there is a nice breeze that cools you. The sun, however, is bright and oppressive, and the more you stand directly in its shine, the harder your head pounds.

Ryujin and the girls gather all the luggage, including yours, and take it inside. You follow behind slowly, inviting Hwasa to link her arm into yours and lead you. The entrance is a small foyer with shoes on either side and two small tables on which keys and other items are stored, including sunglasses and chapsticks. You step out of your shoes and pass through a set of paper and wood screen doors, where the space opens up into what appears to be a massive sitting room that seems at least two stories tall.

Cushions, couches, and tables are strewn about with a pathway leading through the center and around the sides. The space is dimly lit with lamps interspersed and fairy lights that hang from the tall ceiling and along the walls, creating a dreamy atmosphere.

Through the space, there are hallways that lead to the left and the right, and a large, open kitchen and dining hall. The walls are white, with pine beams that complement the cabinets and floors, giving a traditional feel, but the counters and appliances are light marble and polished steel. Sinks are deep, wide basins with tall faucets that hang overhead, and the dishware appears to all be handmade ceramic, earthenware, and stainless steel.

On the far wall between the kitchen and a long dining table raised on a wooden platform is a door that Hwasa slides open, revealing a courtyard. She steps out onto a wooden ledge barefoot, and you follow behind. Stone paths snake and converge through a massive grassy space, surrounded by the rectangular shape of the hanok, with doors along the walls leading to what you imagine to be the various bedrooms.

"Ryujin sleeps in the far room," Hwasa says, pointing straight ahead to the opposite end of the large structure.

"I'm this way," she says, pointing to what you believe is the third door on the right, "And you will be this way," she says, tugging you to the left.

Along the length of the building is a wooden ledge, with a wide stone step in front of each room that leads down to the path, and on both sides of the ledge are potted plants. Some are flowers, some are small trees and shrubs; your room appears to be surrounded by bonsai trees.

Although the doors are traditional screen doors made of paper and wood, they have been enshrined in thick glass with ornate brass handles. As you reach the door to your new room and step up onto the wooden ledge, it slides open, revealing Ryujin's smiling face.

"Come on in," she says, pointing to a small white floor mat beside two sets of house shoes.

You step onto the mat, rubbing off any dirt that you may have tracked, then slide into the closest pair of soft white slippers before entering. There is a small entrance room similar to the foyer of the house, with a wooden railing to hang coats on the left and a wooden table and bowl on the right. In the bowl rests two gold keys on a small gold ring, and you reach for them, feeling their weight in your hand, and slide them into a pocket of the oversized hoodie that once belonged to Jeongguk.

The bedroom is a decent size, with a tall ceiling to accommodate a loft, the ladder for which is to the left as soon as you enter. A bed large enough to accommodate three is on a raised wooden platform on the right, with white pillows, blankets, and sheets. There is a dresser and a large mirror, all made of the same pine and brass as everything in the house, and similar to the doors, all the hinges on the furniture are in the shape of butterflies.

"This is lovely," you say, taking in the scent of the room. It seems to have been recently dusted, but there is a stuffiness to it that suggests it has been vacant for quite some time. You leave the door open to the courtyard as you sit down on the firm bed and take everything in.

"There is a small futon up in the loft, as well as a low table and cushions, in case you would prefer to be up there," Ryujin says. "And we can swap out the white bedding for something that feels a little more you."

You nod and crack a smile, saying, "Thank you."

"I might have something that's all black somewhere," she chides with a wink, making your cheeks warm. "In fact, one of my black comforters may have golden dragons embroidered on it. You can have a piece of Yoongi and Namjoon."

You hug your arms tightly around your middle, pulling your gaze away from her as she speaks. Although you are grateful for Ryujin's hospitality, it does feel strange knowing she has had such an intimate relationship with the men you love. Perhaps it is the casual nature with which she brings it up that you find particularly jarring.

"I will fetch you those items shortly," Ryujin says. "Feel free to look around. There are bathrooms interspersed throughout, but Hyejin and Hyungseo have master suites with their own. Luckily you do not have to work to butter anyone up to bathe in peace." She winks at you, then grins at Hwasa. "I also have a massive suite with a shower room and tub, which you are welcome to use any time."

Ryujin leaves the bedroom through the door that opens up to the hallway, but Hwasa takes your arm and tugs you back toward the courtyard. You step out of your slippers and slide the door closed, then follow her along the path leading to her door.

"It's faster than walking inside," she says, and you nod, finding it easy to imagine so. "There is also a shortcut from the front of the house, so you don't have to walk through the living room. And if you take a path past mother's door, there is a large outdoor pool and garden. Just don't be alarmed by the guards. They tend to hide in plain sight."

Hwasa pulls out a small ring of keys and slots a golden one into the door, twisting and then retracting it before sliding the door open. You step inside and are immediately hit with a sensation opposite to your bedroom.

Hwasa's room is much larger than yours, with an open door on the left that leads to a bathroom. She has no loft, only a tall ceiling from which she has hung fairy lights and fluffy clouds. Her bedding is pale pink, clothing and jewelry are strewn about, and the air smells distinctly of her. She sits on the bed and reaches for the drawer of the pine bedside table. From inside, she takes out a small golden key and holds it out for you.

"What is this?" you ask, dumbfounded.

"A key to my room, silly," she says through a chuckle.

You take the key between your fingers and examine it, but you are filled with a torrent of conflicting emotions.

"I couldn't possibly—" you begin, holding the key out to her, but she pushes your hand away, saying, "Nonsense. Just take it. You might get lonely in this large house, and I don't need you thinking you have to ask for permission each time you want to come see me."

You slide the key into your pocket, hearing it rattle beside your phone and the keys to your room. You do not tell her that you intend to knock or text before coming over and that it is something she is going to need to accept.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, and you nod. You are more than hungry; you feel absolutely hollowed out.

Hwasa leads you into the house this time, and you take light steps on bare feet, worried about making too much noise; hesitant to draw too much attention. At the end of the hall, you turn right and walk past the raised dining table, at which two women sit on the floor and pick at plates of fruit and bread.

“We have a chef who comes in the morning to stock the fridge,” Hwasa says as she approaches a large, wide refrigerator.

The stainless steel doors open from the center and inside are rows and stacks of glass containers filled with food. Hwasa rummages, pulling out a tub of cubed melons. You find a tub of glass noodles with carrot and other finely cut vegetables, and Hwasa retrieves a cold bottle of grapefruit-flavored soju. You expect to be led to the long table, but Hwasa opens the containers on the counter, retrieves bowls and utensils, and serves herself food only to immediately eat it where she stands. You do not object and do the same.

Slowly, the area fills with women, but you keep your head down, eating the food. The noodles are filling and the fruit is refreshing; the soju brings a little warmth to your chest and very slightly assuages your anxiety.

"Don't worry, you will get to know everyone soon enough," Hwasa mutters.

You hum, but you are not too certain it is possible. There must be at least twenty bedrooms connected to the long halls of the hanok, and you imagine there are rooms that could contain more than one person. How many women might clamber into Ryujin's bed at night, you wonder. Do they all have rooms of their own?

After eating, Hwasa returns the containers to the fridge while you take the used dishes and utensils to the sink and wash them. A large bamboo rack is on the left side of the sink, already stacked with various items, and you add yours to the pile, too unsure where things go to offer putting dried items away.

"Come," Hwasa says, tugging at your hands as soon as you are able to dry them on a cloth that hangs above the sink in a large window overlooking the courtyard. "Let's take a bottle to the gardens and lie on the grass."

With a new bottle of soju, you are led down a long hallway, past all the closed doors, to a gate nestled to the right of Ryujin's wide-open bedroom door. You glance into the space to find her room in bright pastels, namely yellow and orange, and as you avert your eyes, you think about the bedroom in Yoongi's mansion that was inherited from her. After seven years, things have been left the same, and you are unsure how to feel about that.

* * *

You are groggy and chilly as you roll over, waking up to the feeling of grass tickling your left cheek. At which point you had fallen asleep, you are unsure, but you are glad when Hwasa stirs and groans beside you.

Ryujin's garden is so similar to Yoongi's that when you first laid eyes on it, tears prickled, and you felt the overwhelming urge to spiral into an anxiety attack. Statues, shrub walls, fountains…there is even a shrub maze that Hwasa invited you to walk through, but the thought of it conjured memories of Namjoon, and you suggested instead to lie in the grass as was originally planned. The weight of everything must have pressed you down into a brief but deep sleep. The soju bottle was barely touched.

It is hard not to wonder whether you will ever see Yoongi's garden again. From where you sit, on a slight hill overlooking the labyrinth, you can see the large statue of a minotaur near the center, and you wonder whether Ryujin did it as an homage or a fuck you to Yoongi's garden. You like the addition of the minotaur but dislike how it mirrors the theme of Greek iconography. How much of her former life with Yoongi has Ryujin kept here? How often does she think of him? Are you as safe with her as everyone claims?

The rest of the day feels like a blur. You follow Hwasa around until it is time to retire for the night, at which time the roles reverse and she follows you. She offers to help you unpack your suitcase, but you opt to leave it for tomorrow. There is a finality in unpacking that you are not yet ready to face, despite the suitcase remaining a symbol of your ability to leave at any time. You suppose it is complicated. You do, however, find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the depths of your luggage that are not as soft and comfortable as the ones you had been pilfering from Yoongi over the last several months but cozy enough to make you feel slightly more relaxed. Then you hug Hwasa good night, allowing her to place a kiss on your cheek but feeling incapable of returning the gesture.

Although the walls do a good job of keeping noise out, there is a faint, distant liveliness that can be heard from somewhere inside the hanok. You assume from the living room or possibly the dining room.

You climb into the cold bed and pull the white comforter up to your ears. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You consider calling Namjoon but decide against it, worrying you may ask him to come bring you home. After lying still for an indeterminate amount of time, you sigh, get out of bed, and retrieve the golden keys from the wooden bowl beside your door.

The night is cold as you tiptoe in bare feet out into the courtyard, which is illuminated by string lights, light pollution, and a very bright moon. Although you clench the key to Hwasa's door, as you approach, you gently knock. It only takes a handful of seconds before a light turns on, and another handful until her door slides open. You enter without a word, wipe your feet off, and slide the door closed. Your keys jingle and slide into the basin of the wooden bowl.

Hwasa is barefaced and sleepy, and she smiles lopsided when she climbs into her bed and scoots to one side, facing you as you slip under the warm covers and nestle one arm under the pillow. Once you are settled, she rotates enough to shut off a small bedside lamp, shrouding you in darkness and the scent of flowers. Moments later, you are asleep.

* * *

The hanok is chaotic all day, from the moment you wake to the sounds of voices shouting excitedly, to the moment you stand before Hwasa's mirror wearing borrowed items, giving yourself one last look before setting off into the night. You hardly remember eating food, drinking coffee, and meeting women; your nerves have been alight at the knowledge that you will see your men one more time. One last time, you suppose, for the foreseeable future. It all makes your head spin, and you struggle to focus.

You wear the same asymmetrical little black dress that you wore the first day you met Yoongi—not because you find it amusing, although you do—but because you left behind all the dresses he bought you, and this is the only one you have that seems to fit the vibe of Serendipity.

Hwasa has draped your neck and wrists in gold chains, and you wear borrowed gold daisies in your ears that don't quite match but that you are fond of. She and Ryujin give you the smoky eye look that Yoongi likes so much and pin your hair back away from your face. Borrowed fishnet tights make you feel a bit self-conscious, but you enjoy the way they look with your black loosely-laced boots. You wonder whether the men will recognize the bits of your outfit that you once wore or if they even noticed your dress at all on that first day.

Everyone else wears black and gold, Hwasa in a tight bodice top and pencil skirt with stiletto heels, and Ryujin in a long-sleeve cropped turtleneck and tight leggings with tall boots. Both women are adored in chains, earrings, bracelets, and rings, shimmering with each movement, with their dark hair pinned from their faces and hanging down their backs, Hwasa's falling in pretty waves and Ryujin's perfectly straight.

Despite feeling excitement over seeing the men, you are also concerned about letting loose and feeling too comfortable, teetering continuously between wanting to stay and wanting to return to the mansion. As you take your medications followed by deep, slow breaths, you tell yourself to stop spiraling along this familiar train of thought. You know that it does you no good, and yet it loops endlessly. Finally, when everyone is ready and you feel like you have your shit as together as possible, you allow yourself to be ushered out to the long red SUV.

The drive to Serendipity is so short you could have walked there. Perhaps in another life, you would not need armored vehicles driving you from one destination to another. What had it been like all those months ago to finally have a modicum of freedom? How difficult would it be to run away for real and return to a lifestyle bogged down by working night shift jobs that allow you to be your own person again?

Several security guards are stationed at the door, glowing in the bright red of the familiar sign that reads Serendipity overhead. Ryujin has informed you that only her people, Yoongi's people, and neutral parties to the families will be in attendance, with the exception of bartenders and dancers. So it surprises you when you enter the building and it is already packed. You recognize men from Yoongi's staff but do not see the family men or any of the security staff you have gotten to know. Hwasa veers away immediately with the promise of being right back, so you stick close to Ryujin.

Last time you were here, Yoongi took you directly through dark hallways into a VIP space. This time, you enter the main floor. There is an open area with tables scattered throughout and a large bar on the left. A dancefloor is ahead in a semi-partitioned area, and the VIP section is raised to the far right, overlooking the dancefloor. Your gaze hangs on the VIP section, wondering whether your men are nestled away in those booths, bending low over piles of cocaine as Yoongi had you do—a memory that feels like an indoctrination of sorts into this lifestyle. But as far as you can tell, nobody is over there.

Everything is made of unassuming dark wood and shiny silver metal. It is far less flashy than you would expect from someone like Yoongi, considering it was his bar first. Nothing stands out but the bars, dance cages, and open space, as if the only thing that is meant to be experienced here are the people who come to dance. Or, perhaps, the main draw is downstairs…the thought of which makes you shiver.

Throughout the space, there are raised platforms with bars similar to the dance cages at Paradise. Inside, dancers clad in almost nothing sway and twist to the sultry music that plays overhead. It seems that most attendees are in this first room and not yet on the dancefloor. They congregate around the tall tables and in groups. You scan the room over and over for someone who is more than just vaguely familiar from the Hanok or security teams and feel disappointed when you do not find anyone to run off to as Ryujin places a hand on the back of your right arm and ushers you toward the bar.

People step aside as you approach, giving you and Ryujin a wide berth while never breaking from their conversations. Some turn to bow their heads to Ryujin, but most carry on as if she is not there. Once you are at the bar, Ryujin holds up three fingers, and the tender nods and turns to the shelves, producing a bottle that appears to hold whiskey.

"Your men are running late," she sighs as she glances at her phone before tucking it back into a pocket of her leggings. You feel relieved and disappointed at the same time.

"MDMA for the ladies?" the bartender offers as they set down three glasses of whiskey. You reach for the center glass and glance around for the owner of the third, happy when you see Hwasa's smiling face approaching.

"None for me," Ryujin says, but Hwasa chimes, "Yes, please!"

The bartender produces a small brass decorative box. When they open it, a twinkling song plays, but its tune is lost to the music playing overhead. In the lid of the box is a mirror that reflects your chest, and spinning slowly before the mirror is the figure of a tiny ballerina in a little pink tutu. The box is filled with a white substance that appears to be a mix of powder and crystals, and you turn to watch as Hwasa licks her fingertip and sticks it directly into the substance, then pulls it out, inspecting the powder and small lumps of crystal that coat her fingertip.

"It's fun," she says to you, eyebrows raised.

You nibble on the inside of your mouth, uncertain. The last time you did a similar drug with Jeongguk, you completely lost control of your emotions. But you were also in a more emotionally tumultuous state at the time, and you wonder whether doing it tonight might be different.

"I, uh…I actually took some with Jeongguk not too long ago and I think it had an adverse effect."

Hwasa frowns and asks, "Was it exactly like this?"

You examine the dust and shake your head. "It was more of an…"

"Amethyst color?" Ryujin fills in over your shoulder. You nod, turning your head slightly toward her.

"This stuff is a lot more pure," Hwasa says. "Amethyst was good, but it wasn't quite perfect. Of course, no pressure. But if you want to try a tiny bit, you can always return for more."

"Jeongguk mentioned it may have counteracted my antidepressants. But I was also in a really bad headspace." You feel like you are overexplaining, but truthfully, you are curious to try it again, especially if the women say this version is better than the one he had.

"How much did you take?" Ryujin asks.

"A small capsule," you say, turning to face her more fully.

Ryujin gives a knowing nod. "There are several factors that go into play when taking a drug like this. A capsule could have been too high of a dose, and rather than make you feel euphoric, it overwhelmed you."

You certainly felt overwhelmed that night. And you wonder whether it was the combination of what was in your system that made everything go sour or the aftermath of what Jeongguk had said to you. Do you think you could fall for someone like me? A shutter works its way along your spine.

"I would like to try a little," you say, eager to feel the euphoria and body high that you had the last time before everything went south.

You turn to Hwasa, whose finger is still coated in the drug. With a grin, she says, "This amount should only last about an hour or two. And the come-up and come-down are a lot smoother than they were with amethyst."

With a nod, you begin to lift a finger to your lips in order to wet the tip, but Hwasa beats you to it, holding her own close to your mouth. She raises an eyebrow, and you part your lips, feeling as self-conscious as you are excited to be given an invitation to suck on her finger. The substance is alarmingly sour, and your face puckers as you suck harder, doing your best to get all of it. Hwasa giggles, and when she removes her finger, you quickly pick up your whiskey and knock a mouthful back. As soon as you do so, you begin to worry that you are once again not in a good place to be doing drugs like this. But then you think of Yoongi and Namjoon, and warmth fills your chest, making it hard to imagine your night could turn sour.

Perhaps it is the nerves of waiting for the drug to kick in, but you drink your whiskey a little too fast. It makes you feel light on your feet, especially considering you only snacked all day, not having much of an appetite in anticipation for tonight. You ask for water and are relieved when a large, cold glass is set before you.

Hwasa and Ryujin both lean against the bar facing the main room, and you do the same, clenching the chilled glass as you rest your elbows against the bar top. You look between caged dancers, from glistening pecs and hard abs to soft curves. But your eyes trail to the front door the most, waiting for the men to arrive. It is not like Yoongi to be late, and the longer you wait, the more antsy you become.

And then, slowly, you begin to feel the tingle. It starts in your fingertips but resonates in your chest, too. You feel a warmth work its way over you, but also a chill—it's hard to fully grasp. More than anything, you have an overwhelming feeling that something is missing. Or, rather, someones. Plural.

Hwasa and a few of the women from Ryujin's home dance and giggle beside you. You continue to hold tight to the glass in your hands, eyes trailing back to the front entrance over and over. You would like to dance and sway and get to know the other women a little better, especially since they have stolen your pretty friend's attention. But you feel glued in place with a budding, blooming sense of enrapture and intrigue.

You sigh, drain the contents of your glass of water, and spin on your toes to lean against the bar and perceive a different, calmer perspective. As you set the glass down on the wooden bar top and stand taller in order to get the tender's attention, deciding that perhaps you would like more whiskey to take the edge off, two large, warm hands cover your eyes.

"Guess who," a rich, playful male voice says, and you grin, lifting your hands to cover his long fingers.

"Taehyung," you say, heart pounding, chest filling with warmth.

His hands fall away, and you spin around quickly, unable to hold back glee at the sight of Taehyung standing before you. He is dapper in a deep purple suit with a gold brooch of a tiger on his lapel and a caduceus on his breast pocket, connected by two gold chains.

"Finally," you say, slamming forward into a hug that he hesitates to return. Your arms slide around his ribs, and you flay your fingers open against his back, breathing in his earthy, spicy cologne that carries floral notes reminding you of Jeongguk. You squeeze, and he chuckles as his arms engulf you, gently squeezing back.

"I have a surprise for you," he says as you break the hug, keeping your arms loosely around his waist.

It feels good to hug—really fucking good—and you do not want to stop. You tilt your head to the side, glancing up into his devious eyes. "A surprise?"

Taehyung's eyes study yours, then he leans close and says, "Your pupils are quite dilated. What are you on?"

"Molly," you admit somewhat sheepishly. "Not too much, though. Didn't want a repeat of last time."

Although you have not spoken with Taehyung about last time, you assume that Jeongguk has. He gives a knowing nod.

"There are many factors that can cause someone to have a bad high," Taehyung explains, "one of which is allowing oneself to spiral into a negative thought loop. Sometimes even the best uppers struggle to fight against our demons. If you feel yourself going down that path, you can either do your best to reroute your thinking or remove yourself from the situation entirely."

You nod along, in appreciation of Taehyung's advice. However, it is all a bit too much—too stuffy, too serious—and you lose your patience for it.

Grinning, you ask, "What's my surprise?"

Taehyung chuckles. "I left it somewhere secluded and secretive." He holds out a hand and adds, "Follow me?"

You take Taehyung's hand and allow him to tug you along. Intrigue and excitement simmer through you, pulsing to the beat of the music but also to that of your heart. The path he drags you through is a familiar one: dark curtains, a narrow hallway that leads to a red-lit stairwell snaking deep into the building. The last time you were here, things were so different. You were so new to this world. So inexperienced.

What are you afraid of? Yoongi had asked, pressuring you into trying cocaine. Don't you trust me?

You shake the thought away, doing your best to remember what Taehyung said about keeping a positive mindset. After all, the visit here wasn't all that bad. The tone of his voice when he proudly proclaimed, that's my girl, made all of the pressure feel better. Things had gotten pretty exciting up until Namjoon called. Warmth snakes up your neck to your cheeks at the memory. Namjoon called, and Yoongi let him sit on the line while he finished eating you out.

At the bottom of the stairs, all the black doors are closed but one, which is cracked ever so slightly open. A soft purplish glow shines in a sliver from the bottom and right side of the door at the far end of the hall. Your palm prickles with sweat in Taehyung's hand, and you do your best not to wobble, feeling the full force of excitement laced with joy. And then Taehyung halts in place halfway to the door.

"Ah," he says, releasing your hand, "I nearly forgot."

In a swift movement, Taehyung removes a black piece of cloth from the breast of his jacket and places it over your eyes. Before you can so much as gasp, the cloth is tied tightly and he is taking your hand in his once more.

"You may commence walking," he says before tugging you along, and you stumble somewhat, legs struggling to keep up.

You think you hear voices, but then Taehyung snaps his fingers several times, louder than you have ever heard someone snap their fingers before. And then all you hear is the sound of downtempo music, footsteps, and your whooshing pulse.

A door closes, and you are led further. Then you are stopped.

"We thought it might be fun to play a game," Taehyung says as he lets go of your hand. You hear and feel him stepping away, possibly behind you, before two warm hands are placed on your shoulders. His voice is close to your right ear as he says, "A guessing game."

You smile widely. "And what do I win?"

There is a pause. Beside your left ear, he says, "Pleasure."

Goosebumps cover you and you let out a long, deep sigh, biting on your lower lip. Although you cannot see who is in the room, you can sense them. Colognes mingle in the air, all familiar, all filling you with desire.

In your right ear, he asks, "Are you ready, mon chéri?"

You swoon from the term of endearment, from the accent in which he utters it, from his closeness. Although your relationship with Taehyung differs from the others, you feel a deep sense of longing toward him—a kinship that extends just beyond the boundaries of something platonic.

"Yes," you say, breathy. Eager.

Taehyung's hands tighten on your shoulders, and then he steps away, leaving you to stand alone, suddenly a bit cold. "Keep your hands at your sides at all times," he tells you.

You nod, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, sir," he says in a commanding tone, and you let out a surprised gasp.

You respond, "Yes, sir," but your voice is light and breathy. You expect him to reprimand you and tell you to speak louder, but he does not.

"You are going to feel a touch," Taehyung says from just to your right, slightly behind you. "Perhaps you will detect a scent. You only have one guess per man. Answer incorrectly and they leave the room. Answer correctly, and they stay."

Leave the room? Anxiety swells knowing the stakes are so high. You swallow the lump that slowly forms in your throat and take a deep breath. You know your men. There is no way you are going to lose this game.

"How many are there?" you ask, worried Seokjin, Hoseok, or Jimin could be lingering somewhere, ready to throw you off.

Taehyung sighs, and you smile slightly.

"There are three, as well as myself. But I am not playing."

You nod and lick your lips. You can handle this, you tell yourself. This should be easy.

"Let us begin," Taehyung says.

You stand up straight, rolling your shoulders back as if good posture will give you any sort of advantage. Something in the room seems to shift, and you hear the rustle of fabric but not shoes. Unfair, you think, determined that you would be able to identify Yoongi's walk, if not the others.

Before you feel a touch, you detect a scent: spring morning, fresh and bright. You smile, lick your lips, and open your mouth, ready to greet Namjoon. But then you feel the backs of fingertips grazing your cheeks, and there is a musk that follows, which does not match the rest of the cologne.

The touch is delicate, trailing from your temple to below your ear, down the length of your neck. Your head turns, chasing the touch and the scent before fingers fall away. Silence hangs as you stand and wait, unsure whether you should guess. And then those hands grip you by the hips from behind, large and warm and so familiar.

As you inhale, thinking about all the times those hands have held you like this—all those times bent over and begging—you exhale and mutter through an aroused sigh, "Yoongi."

The fingers dig, grip tightening, and you picture his sharp, devious smile. And then the touch disappears, and you hear the rustling of more fabric.

Two hands grip onto your hips from in front of you, and you can feel the heat radiate from him, sensing he has stepped very close. He leans and rests his forehead against yours, and the bouquet of scents is unmistakable.

"Jeongguk," you declare, and the touch recedes completely.

In the seconds that pass before you detect the same blend of colognes as before, you begin to worry you may have guessed incorrectly the first time. It seems clear that Yoongi and Namjoon are trying to trick you, and you are certain that Yoongi has touched you the way the first man had. But, as far as you know, Namjoon could have, too. The grip on your hips felt like Yoongi—of that, you are certain. You take a deep breath and do your best to calm your nerves, but the drug has you feeling antsy.

Fingers cradle your chin, and you part your lips instinctively. Rather than a kiss, you feel the slow press of a thumb before the hand slides down, and the fingers splay across your throat. Typically, it is Yoongi who touches you this way, and you begin to panic, worrying more than ever that you chose the wrong man.

But then you focus on the feeling of the hand. It is large, warm, soft, and familiar, but it is not Yoongi's hand. It slides away, and then two hands gently grab your ribs as if steadying you or readying you for a hug. You can tell these men are trying to trick you, but it is not going to work because you know these hands.

"Namjoon," you say, voice broken behind the sudden urge to cry.

Footsteps approach from behind—Taehyung, undoubtedly—and then the cloth is lifted from your eyes, and you are left blinking to adjust to the red and purple lights cast from various bulbs, focusing on Namjoon's beautiful smile. His muscles strain under a jacket that is too tight for him, and you giggle as you step forward, causing his hands to slide around your back as you lean close for a kiss. But you stop just before meeting his lips as you notice something is different.

"Your hair," you say as you reach a hand up and rub it over a short stubble. He has a buzzcut, even all around with neatly shaven edges.

Namjoon nods slightly, but seems more interested in that kiss you interrupted than explaining the new look. He presses close, hums with pleasure, and holds you tight, licking firmly into your mouth in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. You are too high to do anything but allow yourself to be tasted and touched, and as soon as he breaks the kiss, you mutter, "Does this mean I've won?"

Yoongi approaches from the right, stepping behind you and placing his large hands on your hips. You lean into him, smiling at Namjoon as Yoongi says, "You even saw through our parlor trick."

You pout, raising a hand to gently slap it over Namjoon's pec. He holds your hand in place, sandwiching you between their two bodies while two sets of lips claim your shoulders and neck.

"We had faith in you," Namjoon teases, making you feel all the more petulant.

You whine, "But what if I guessed wrong?"

Yoongi nips at your neck, forcing you to giggle and close your eyes. His voice is barely above a growl as he says, "Then you would have fucked Jeongguk while Namjoon and I took another room."

"Not funny," you whimper as hands rove your sides, grazing below your breasts and squeezing at your hips. You feel so good, but you also want to cause as much trouble as possible for these two. "I've missed you."

Fingertips cradle your chin, guiding you to turn your head to the right.

"What's the matter, doll?" Jeongguk asks, "Didn't you miss me?"

Your eyes blink open to find Jeongguk scowling at you. His satin leopard print shirt is unbuttoned below his pecs, and you allow your eyes to fall, taking in each hint of skin you can see. It is apparent that he is trying to appear angry, but his gaze is soft, almost loving.

Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

You push the thought away and reach an arm just far enough to hook a finger on Jeongguk's slacks and pull him close. As he stumbles and looms over you, you grin, tilting your chin toward him, wishing you could stretch yourself a little taller.

Jeongguk chuckles and leans in just close enough to press your lips together. You want more, straining toward him, but then he backs away and begins to fully unbutton his shirt.

"Our buttercup is high on molly," Taehyung announces, met with a chorus of hums and gasps. You bite your lip and sheepishly nod, eyes on the large swath of Jeongguk's bare stomach and chest.

"How high are you?" Yoongi groans against your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed from his touch, and you press your ass against him. Although you had somewhat forgotten about the molly, now you feel it absolutely shimmering through you. "Quite high."

Namjoon presses himself close and licks over your lips, then asks, "I bet you're pretty turned on, then, hmm?"

You smile. "How could I not be?"

"I have just the thing," Taehyung says as he walks past you to the center of the room. He disappears behind Namjoon, then reappears with a step stool that he places down and begins to climb.

Only now do you realize that there is something on the ceiling, which Taehyung unravels with quick movements. You have to heavy-blink several times to realize it is a sex swing.

"Undress her," Taehyung says.

Namjoon grins wide and devious, then says, "Yes, sir," just loud enough.

Two sets of hands make quick work unzipping your dress and yanking it—pushing it to the floor. You wobble and stumble as you step out of your boots and socks, clinging to Namjoon's shoulders while Yoongi, on his knees, assists you. Standing in only fishnets and panties, you feel simultaneously warm and cold as Yoongi stands, trailing his fingertips up the backs of your legs. He hooks his fingers into the netting of your borrowed stockings right in the crotch and roughly rips a hole in them, making you tremble and gasp.

"Fuck, I have missed you," Yoongi growls, hands roughly gripping your hips. Namjoon nods, eyes roving your body hungrily.

"On the swing," Taehyung instructs. "On your back."

Namjoon turns and leads you toward the swing. It looks like nothing more than an amalgamation of straps, and you watch as he clumsily lifts and attempts to sort them. With an exasperated huff, Taehyung steps forward, grabs onto the contraption, and simply presents it in a way that looks like a swing. You are surprised and amused, and you turn, stepping close to it and allowing Taehyung to lift you into it.

You giggle, and your head spins as your legs are maneuvered through straps and spread. It feels strange to trust these bits of rough fabric to hold you up, and you grip onto two sturdy straps that are connected to the ceiling brace while the swing is adjusted beneath you, and you are gradually convinced that it is safe to lie back.

"Darling," Yoongi teases through a chuckle as he unbuttons his dress shirt. "You look so worried. Relax."

You watch intently, chest heaving with each breath. Although you are eager for the events that are transpiring, you are also very high, verging on feeling overwhelmed. Not to mention, your heart feels ripped into warring halves—one part wanting to experience Yoongi and Namjoon again, and the other worried that it is a very bad idea.

Yoongi's black shirt is untucked from his slacks and slid off his broad shoulders by Namjoon, whose eyes are on you. He gently drapes the shirt over the edge of the large bed to your left, then returns, unbuttoning his cufflinks while Yoongi steps forward and gets down on his knees. It is difficult to keep your eyes on him; your eyelids flutter with the urge to close them and become lost to the drugs. But you remain as laser-focused as possible.

"Fuck," Yoongi says as he roughly spreads your legs, warm, calloused fingers yanking fabric to the side and digging into soft skin. "You have no idea how much I have missed this."

You open your mouth to say me too, but the first syllable is lost to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue against your clit. A loud moan rolls from your lips, chased by an intense wave of pleasure that courses through your limbs, causing your head to fall. Yoongi does not give you a chance to catch your breath, sucking and licking while making the most depraved sounds—groaning like a man who is finally satiated after days of fasting. Pleasure builds quickly, and you can already imagine the deep, pleased laugh he makes before teasing you for cuming too quickly.

The sound of a zipper causes you to open your eyes, and you find your head, which is hung back in ecstasy, level with Namjoon's crotch. Reluctantly, you reach back, gasping both from pleasure and the feeling of the swing shifting and swaying from the movement.

Yoongi, either helpful, impatient, or both, grips your thighs tightly, holding you in place. You rub your hands over the sides of Namjoon's legs, licking your dry lips, wishing you had water. Namjoon lets his slacks slide down, and the fabric tumbles to the ground. A particularly slow lap over your cunt causes you to shiver and moan, losing focus on the prize above your semi-upside-down head, and Namjoon chuckles as he palms the tight dark cloth over his growing erection.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, head fully upside down, sinking into the pleasure that claws at you so fiercely, you are moments away from bursting. Clothing rustles, metal clangs, and you feel hands on your legs and ankles lifting and spreading you while Yoongi continues to suck and lick. It is clear that you are being restrained, with fabric encircling your ankles and keeping them suspended high. When you open your eyes and attempt to take in the scene, you realize you are tilted back too far to see Yoongi's head between your legs. Instead, you see Jeongguk towering over him.

Fingers breach your entrance, sliding easily despite the tight sting, causing you to whimper. Yoongi's thick knuckles graze deliciously past your walls, and as you relax to his intrusion, his tongue and lips match the steady pace of his hand, bringing you crashing instantly with orgasm. Your head falls back hanging as you squeal and gasp, so overcome with bliss that you feel the urge to crawl out of your skin. You tremble wildly, held tightly in place as your legs yank against their restraints. Yoongi does not slow or stop, and you find yourself gasping for breath and practically screaming from pleasure.

"That's it, doll," Jeongguk practically growls, voice deep and lust-laced. "Make a fucking mess of him."

Only now do you hear the release squelching wetly from you with the movement of Yoongi's hand. Liquid sprays on your thighs, and you gulp for air, no longer able to moan, simply heaving each breath in and out of your tired lungs.

Yoongi removes his mouth and slides his fingers free. When he stands, you notice his mouth glistening, and he makes a show of licking you from his fingers with a hum. Namjoon, who is nude, thick cock erect and level with your face, steps around the swing, meeting Yoongi halfway, and licks your cum from his chin and lips. They kiss deeply, hungrily, lapping your taste from one another, and you watch reverently, wishing for one of them to kiss you in that way—too need you in that way. How is it, you wonder, that you can be practically nude, restrained, covered in your own cum, and the center of attention, and still feel such a deep, aching sense of loneliness and dread?

The feeling fades as skin rubs over your cunt, soft yet firm. You turn your head, slowly as if in a dream, and find Jeongguk standing between your legs with his satin leopard shirt unbuttoned and his slacks open, cock standing erect between the parted zipper. He glares down at you like an animal who has caught his prey, and you part your lips to take a deep, eager breath, feeling at a loss for words.

"May I?" Jeongguk asks, rubbing his cockhead over you once more—undoubtedly the sensation you felt moments ago.

You nod, head turning once more to watch Yoongi and Namjoon paw at one another, connected at the lips, then return your gaze to Jeongguk. He stares down at you as if in waiting, so you croak out a soft, "Please."

"Please, what?" Jeongguk asks.

Licking your lips, you notice Taehyung standing over Jeongguk's shoulder, dark eyes on you. You are high enough that you wonder whether he would like to fuck you, as well. And with a lift of one of his eyebrows, you wonder whether he has somehow just read your mind, although it is more likely that he is encouraging you to answer Jeongguk.

"Please fuck me," you finally say to Jeongguk, though you have failed to rip your gaze from Taehyung. His hands are nowhere to be seen, and you can't help but imagine him touching himself to the sight of you.

"Slowly," Taehyung says, eyes on you. "Make her beg a little more."

Jeongguk grins, responds with a sharp, "Yes, sir," and steps forward. His cock rubs against you again, grazing over your clit before catching on your entrance, and you hold your breath in anticipation. Only he does not press forward. He does not enter you. Instead, he stands watching you with a hint of a grin that spells trouble. And you are not too proud to beg.

"Jeongguk," you mutter, wiggling in the swing, doing your best to push yourself forward but doing nothing that helps your cause whatsoever. "Please."

"Please, wh—"

"Fuck me!" you practically scream.

Jeongguk chuckles, as does Taehyung. To your right, where Yoongi and Namjoon had been connected at the lips, the shapes and shadows of them move to stand behind you.

"Please," you say again, knitting your brow, attempting to hold your head up despite how tired your neck feels. You hold eye contact as well as you can manage, but your eyelids flicker against your will. "Please fuck me. I need you."

Hands reach and grab your breasts—tan, lithe fingers; Namjoon's hands. He squeezes you firmly and rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, causing you to exhale and almost drop your head. You want to feel full so badly, and you wish Jeongguk would cave.

"I said go slow and make her beg," Taehyung says as his hands snake around Jeongguk's waist and rub over his chest and stomach, "not leave her empty and desperate."

Jeongguk's eyes fall to your cunt, where he rubs himself languidly over you, teasing your parted lips and ghosting over your hole. He appears hypnotized, staring down at you, barely moving. This makes Taehyung snicker and paw a little more aggressively at his chest.

"If you won't fuck her, I'm sure someone else will," Taehyung says, gaze roving between your pussy and your face. "You don't want to lose your chance, do you, baby?"

You attempt to read his expression, wondering whether he is insinuating that he will be the one to finally fill you the way you need—a thought that you are not sure you should be having but that the drugs will not let you let go of. Neck tired, you drop your head back and shiver, feeling suddenly cold. You begin to become acutely aware of how untouched and naked you are. Even Namjoon's hands have moved away from your chest, leaving you on display.

"Please, someone," you complain, sounding whinier than you want. You shiver harder, each second seeming to pull you down from your high and cover you in a mist of freezing discomfort. "Touch me."

Warm hands press to your forehead and face, and you look up to see Yoongi leaning over you. His brow is knit, outgrown hair hanging prettily in his face. "Are you coming down?" He asks.

You nod. You must be; the jittery discomfort is impossible to ignore, and the euphoria feels dull.

"Hang on, Ggeuk," Yoongi says as he disappears. He rummages through some fabric and reappears. "This is the same as the shit you took upstairs," he says, then, "Open," and you do as you are told, opening your mouth with an exaggerated ahhh sound. The powder that hits your tongue is intensely bitter and antiseptic tasting, causing you to cringe and pucker, desperately gathering all the saliva you can in your mouth and swallowing it down.

Namjoon, however, takes your mouth and prises it open, then leans close and dribbles cold water from his lips to yours. When and where Namjoon produced water, you are unsure, but you open wide, accepting his offering graciously, allowing it to drip down your throat, taking traces of the unpleasant flavor with it.

"More?" he asks, and you nod, still feeling the lingering drugs on your tongue. Namjoon lifts a glass to his lips, fills his mouth, and then leans close, allowing it to spittle out and onto your tongue.

Once Namjoon is finished, he stands and takes a step back. Yoongi steps close and, taking advantage of how wide open your mouth still is, begins to tap the head of his cock against your tongue. You attempt to open wider—attempt to move closer—reaching back in the hopes of grabbing onto him and moving him near enough to allow you to suck his dick. However, even he seems eager to tease, and he keeps himself just out of reach. You whimper and moan, mouth lolled open. Namjoon chuckles and reaches once more to paw at your breasts, keeping his beautifully erect cock too far from reach, as well.

"You guys are the worst," you pout, closing your mouth to Yoongi's teasing and jutting out your bottom lip instead.

"Alright," Yoongi chuckles, reaching for your jaw. "No more teasing. Jeonggukah, fuck her right now or Namjoon will take your place."

You miss whatever snarky remark Jeongguk says in favor of loudly saying, "Finally!"

Hands grip your thighs, and you are speared unceremoniously and somewhat unyieldingly on Jeongguk's thick, hard cock. The sensation makes you squeal, involuntarily bucking your hips, and he grips tightly, forcing you to take his entire length all at once.

"Fuck," you pant, mouth hung open and attempting to angle your head upward to watch Jeongguk fuck you. But your head is held in place as two fingers press down on your tongue, causing drool to pool before those fingers are replaced with a dick.

Suddenly, you are too full, worked from both ends—gently on one end and rather roughly on the other. You attempt to breathe and relax as your throat is slowly but eagerly opened and fucked, all the while Jeongguk's thighs slam against you in a rhythm that jostles you and causes you to deepthroat who you presume to be Yoongi.

Had Taehyung's earlier game been testing whether you would be able to tell the difference between their dicks in your mouth with you down on your knees, you think you would have easily won. You think you would know any part of them inside any part of you. But at this angle, unable to even properly see the legs of the man who holds you so tenderly but eagerly, with Jeongguk pounding into you like a ravenous beast, you are stumped. Everyone in the room seems to be moaning and gasping, and you imagine that whoever's dick is not in your mouth is in someone else's hand, judging by the sound of skin rubbing against skin. The hands on either side of your face could be mismatched; in this position you are unable to guess.

As the head of the mystery cock presses even deeper into your throat, however, seemingly stretching and opening you in a new, exciting way, the shattered, blissful sound that rips out belongs to Yoongi, and all at once, you are certain that it must be him. And then he pulls out, trailing long strings of saliva from deep in your throat that turn cold the second they hit the air and fall against your chin and down to the floor, bringing Yoongi's paler thighs into view. You gasp for air but allow fingers to press against your tongue. Only now are you able to fully focus on the way your pussy is stretched and pounded so well, and you moan unabashedly, your body quaking its way toward another orgasm.

It occurs to you that you must be high again, but this time from cocaine. The powder Yoongi dropped onto your tongue certainly tasted like the molly you had earlier, but also something else—a combination, no doubt.

Yoongi's hand grips your neck and holds your head up at an angle that allows you to fully see Jeongguk. He is naked and covered in sweat, fingers digging into your skin, and he looks stunning as he fucks you as hard as he seems able to. As the hand presses against your throat and another hand belonging to Namjoon snakes through the straps of the swing and begins to rub over your clit, you explode from pleasure.

Jeongguk's expression widens from alarm and pleasure, and he has to keep from getting pushed out of your cunt as wave after wave crashes over you. When he finally does pull out, he is sprayed with your release, giving you only seconds to scream from the intense orgasm that Namjoon urges out with his swirling fingertips before Jeongguk's cock is back inside you, slamming hard.

Only when Jeongguk pulls out and takes a step back do you see Taehyung in the shadows down on his knees. He opens his lips, and Jeongguk slides his glistening cock inside, moaning as Taehyung finishes him off, swallowing his cum. You spiral on the thought of Taehyung also tasting you but are distracted by Namjoon stepping in front of the scene, stroking his cock and looking down at the mess that is your spread, dripping pussy.

You expect him to fuck you, but he falls to his knees to lap over your cunt and thighs. He prods three long fingers inside you, and you sigh against the hand still at your throat, lost to bliss. It is incredible how easily you cum, even as your high begins to build once more and the tingling nearly feels like too much to bear. When Yoongi's hand lifts from your throat, you feel somehow dizzier, watching as he steps around the swing to join Namjoon on his knees.

Everything is a momentary blur as Namjoon and Yoongi take turns between your legs, using their lips, tongues, and hands to make you unravel past the point of becoming non-verbal. You are vaguely aware of hands on your face, throat, and breasts, feeling the presence of Jeongguk behind you at times and beside you at others. The only constant is Taehyung standing ahead, in shadow, watching.

You take Jeongguk's cock in your throat and drool shamelessly, making as much of a mess as the men between your legs are. In waves, you feel pleasure acutely, bursting through each inch of you, only for it to dull out while you focus on opening your throat as far as it will go. It feels like a dream the way you are touched and used; the dim red and purple lights seem to streak each time you open your eyes.

It is only when your legs are released from the restraints and you are forced to sit up that you feel fully in your body once more and aware of the room and its inhabitants. You hum questioningly and wipe drool from your chin as the straps are moved from beneath you, and you are made to place your feet on the floor in a squatting position.

Below you, Namjoon lies back against the carpet, atop what looks like a bedsheet, and he reaches up to take you by the hips and pull you down. You spear easily on his thick, hard cock, gripping onto the straps of the swing that connect to the ceiling high above your head on either side for stability, and use your leverage to lift and lower yourself. Namjoon meets you halfway, thrusting his hips upward, and the sensation pulls a raspy moan from your mouth—the first sound you have made in a while.

You bounce eagerly on his dick, lost in the movement while your head lols, and you moan unabashedly, so full and at such an incredible angle. Hands paw at your breasts and face, and you open your eyes to find Yoongi to your left, cock leaking and eager. Your lips are sore from stretching around cocks, but you are happy to comply, sucking him only half as deep as you would like but humming and moaning and drooling just for him.

Namjoon holds you in place by the hips and fucks hard and fast, causing you to drop Yoongi from your mouth and scream through an intense, dizzying orgasm. Yoongi gets onto the floor in time to lap over your cunt and make you quake from overwhelming pleasure, and then you feel Namjoon's hips still as he fills you with his hot release.

Your legs shake as you are pulled to your feet and maneuvered. You release the straps of the swing and barely catch sight of the bed before you are bent over the edge of the mattress with one large hand pressing the side of your face firmly against the comforter.

"Yes, please," you beg, desperate for the way Yoongi holds you down and makes you his.

"Please, what?" he asks, voice low and close, breath hot against your face.

"Fuck me, Yoongi. Please."

You feel the tip of his cock graze over your entrance, catching on the stretched and ripped fishnet fabric that once covered you. Your lips open and close, dragging over the soft bedding, unable to fully voice your need and desire. It almost feels unfair that you should get to enjoy him last.

"You miss my cock this much?" he asks, and you realize you have been grinding your ass against him like a bitch in heat.

You nod, winning you a smack against the ass that stings enough to make you squeal. Yoongi squeezes the spot where he slapped and says, "Use your words," in a sharp, commanding tone.

"Yes, sir," you whine. "I've missed your cock. Please. Please, please."

Yoongi lessens the press of your face but keeps his hand on your cheek, holding you in place, showing you that it is he who calls the shots. He rubs his cock over your hole and then presses slow and deep, forcing you to gasp and tremble. You feel sore and used, but you are desperate for more—for him. There is a part of you that is glad it is only the two of you in this moment.

Yoongi starts slowly with one hand on your face and the other on your ass, spreading you. He pulls and pushes in long strokes that you feel each and every inch of, driving you absolutely insane with want. Then he lifts his hand from your face, making you acutely aware of the fact that you had been drooling a cold spot onto the blanket. Both hands find your hips, and you lift your head in time for Yoongi to snap forward, making your back bow with pleasure.

He fucks you hard and fast, a delicious rhythm that you know by heart. You grip onto the comforter and keep your head lifted, letting out each desperate sound that crawls up your throat, eager for Yoongi to know just how good he makes you feel. He lifts one hand and wraps his fingers around your throat, and you see stars, vision blacking as your eyelids flutter closed and you chase a long, rolling orgasm that seems to build and crash, over and over, until your legs are shaking and your body falls limp.

Yoongi continues to use you, slapping and squeezing your ass. "So fucking perfect for me," he moans, thighs crashing against you in loud slaps that burst loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

You nearly forget that it is not just the two of you in existence, that there are other bodies in this room, more bodies upstairs, infinite other bodies in the world. The urge to cry builds and breaks, tears wetting your cheeks and the blanket as Yoongi's thrusts slow into deep rolls, filling you so perfectly. Yoongi must have given you more of the drug cocktail than you managed to suck from Hwasa's fingertip the first time because you feel more high than you have all night. Immensely high. High in a way that makes you question whether you have ever loved another person as much as you love Min Yoongi—in this moment, but in the soft, quiet moments, as well.

Yoongi moans and digs his fingers into your skin, then he cums deep inside you. Rather than pull out, he lies forward, draping his body over yours, panting against you, and pressing you forward. It is awkward the way your bodies are bent, and it makes you giggle. Yoongi chuckles in return, then slowly begins to stand. He presses his lips to your neck and shoulders, then his warmth retreats, leaving behind sweat that turns cold and makes you shiver.

It occurs to you that you will need to move, and you groan. The thought of standing—of using your legs at all—feels impossible. Luckily, a warm hand presses against your lower back, and Namjoon's deep, sweet voice instructs you to stay where you are. A warm cloth rubs over your sore cunt, and you jolt before relaxing into the touch. He wipes you down, then leans close and kisses your neck and shoulder similar to the way Yoongi had.

Yoongi and Namjoon—wearing black slacks but no shirts, glistening with a sheen of sweat—assist you with getting fully naked before gathering your clothing. You are given a dry, clean pair of panties, which Yoongi pulls from the pocket of his jacket, flashing a sheepish grin as he tucks the soiled pair in their place. The stockings are ruined and tossed aside, and Yoongi apologizes for not knowing to bring another set.

"You owe Hyejin," you say with a raised eyebrow, attempting to seem upset about the inconvenience to your friend but unable to keep from smiling.

You realize now that Taehyung and Jeongguk are gone, and you wonder whether they are in another room or have gone back up to the party. You mean to ask, but you are still too floaty to focus on anything but the hands on your body, zipping your dress and stepping each foot into socks and boots. As Yoongi slides his arms into a black satin shirt, you lean half-sitting against the bed, watching him. You have missed those hands, that hair, those muscles. Everything about him. And yet, you are frozen in a limbo of sorts, even now hesitating to reach out and touch him.

His jacket is draped over the end of the bed to your right, and you watch as he walks past, picks it up, and puts it on. You feel mesmerized by his presence, by the slight ringing in your ears, by your body continuing to fully return to itself. You are unsure whether it is the drugs or the sex, or likely both, but you feel as if you are still somewhat tethered to your corporeal form but not fully inhabiting it.

Yoongi runs his hands down his front, smoothing down his jacket, then turns to hand Namjoon his. They lean close, smile sweetly, and share a soft, slow kiss. Then Yoongi pulls his phone from his slacks pocket, thumbs around, and smiles.

"Tae wants the stash," he says.

Finally, you ask, "Where did they go?"

"Next door," Namjoon replies as he straightens his jacket, which covers a black satin shirt matching the one Yoongi wears.

Yoongi steps forward and uses his fingertips to tilt your chin upward. You expect a kiss and part your lips, but Yoongi uses his thumbs to rub at what you imagine is very smeared makeup. Once he is satisfied, he hums and places a kiss against the tip of your nose. He attempts to step back, dropping his hands from your face, but you are unsatisfied, and you grab onto the lapels of his jacket, yanking him toward you with a force that makes the two of you stumble.

"Not so fast," you mutter before your lips meet. You sigh into the feeling and continue to grip his jacket, relaxing only as Yoongi's arms encircle your waist and pull you close.

He deepens the kiss, and tears streak down your cheeks, hot and fast. You chase his tongue, licking, tasting him, tasting yourself, drowning in this moment, in him. And then your tears turn into sobs, and you break the kiss and fall into Yoongi's chest. You tell yourself that it is just the drugs, that you are simply overwhelmed, but you know that is not the full truth. You love him. You miss him. As much as all of this has been an incredible reprieve, the thought of letting him go again feels like a nightmare.

But what could be a greater nightmare than witnessing your friend get shot, than feeling the crushing weight of another vehicle slamming into yours, than the popping crunch of bullets meeting glass and polycarbonates? Your heart feels ripped in two, and you catch your breath, shaking your head as two deep, concerned voices ask whether you are alright, then attempting to nod, knowing that the gesture is unconvincing.

"This has all been a lot for you," Namjoon says, warm thumbs stroking your cheeks. You open your eyes to find his sad smile shining toward you and collapse into his chest, still partially in Yoongi's hold.

The two of them softly shush and stroke you, telling you that you are safe and loved, that they are sorry for how intense everything has become, how they should have known you would need more aftercare.

"Want to go back to the hanok?" Yoongi offers. "A dip in the tub might be good for you."

You think about Yoongi and Namjoon in Ryujin's home, and your stomach roils. Everything has been significantly too strange, and that might make matters worse. And there are still people upstairs who you would like to spend time with. One in particular who you feel like you haven't seen in many lifetimes.

"No," you insist, catching your breath. "You're right, it got too intense. I just needed to come back to earth a little more."

Despite being antsy to leave this room that smells like sweat and cum, they continue to comfort you a little longer. It feels nice, and you tilt your head in a way that urges a soft, sweet kiss from Namjoon. Then the three of you finally bid this room farewell, and you walk into the hallway, hand in hand with Yoongi on your left and Namjoon on your right.

Only, Yoongi pulls away at the first door on the left and knocks, digging into his pocket and pulling out a silver vial that is similar to the one he wears on a chain around his neck, but larger. You wait a beat, breathing deeply in an attempt to get your bearings. At some point, the high must have plateaued because you can feel yourself coming down again, and this time, you are certain that you do not need more powders floating around in your bloodstream.

The door swings open, and you are shocked to see Taehyung standing in only a pair of dark briefs. His hair is tousled, body is covered in sweat, and there are deep scratches down his chest and arms that are raised and red. Yoongi hands the vial over, which Taehyung takes, nodding his thanks. You look past Taehyung to see a nude Jeongguk in the middle of the room, restrained to a sex swing but standing—well, swaying—with his body limp and head drooped forward. He, too, has deep welts scratched down his arms and chest, as well as other red marks that suggest impact play of some kind.

"He just needs a little pick-me-up," Taehyung says with a wink before disappearing into the room and shutting the door behind him. You remain standing with your mouth agape until Yoongi takes you by the hand, and you are led back upstairs.

Namjoon excuses himself to the restroom, and you consider following, self-conscious about the way you must look after what has taken place. You trust that Yoongi will not bring you back upstairs with messy hair and makeup, but you imagine you must have cried and rubbed off every last trace of eyeshadow and mascara. Still, you are more eager to have a drink in hand and continue with Yoongi into the main hall.

Your legs tremble as you make your way to the party, and a jolt of fear rips through you at the sight of the man standing behind the bar who looks suspiciously like Christian, causing your step to falter. Yoongi clocks the movement, turning to you with a hum, and you look over to him, to his curious gaze, then ahead, opening your mouth to tell him what you see. Only, you do not see Christian. The bartender has shaggy dark hair and wears all black, but otherwise looks like every other man in the building. Hell, in a dark enough room, with long enough hair, Jeongguk could look enough like Christian to give you pause.

You chuckle and smile softly, doing your best to play it off. "Just a little shaky from the come-down."

Yoongi hums again, accepting your answer as the two of you continue your approach to the bar. Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin stand along the rightmost edge, drinks in hand. Jimin faces you with his elbows against the bar between Seokjin and Hoseok, who seem to be speaking to and around him. They all wear tan suits—Seokjin's and Hoseok's a darker shade with beige ties and burgundy shirts. Jimin's suit is lighter, fitted tighter, and he wears what appears to be a satin ascot tucked into a white shirt with its top two buttons undone and burgundy suede loafers.

As you approach, you notice a glazed-over darkness in Jimin's eyes, and you have to wonder whether he has partaken in the drugs. He smiles lazy and open, pushing off the bar and turning momentarily to shove his glass of clear liquid into Seokjin's free hand. Seokjin scoffs as if Jimin's action inconveniences him, but his eyes are soft and loving as he shakes his head and continues his conversation with Hoseok, double-fisting his and Jimin's drinks

A sexy R&B song plays overhead, and Jimin's hips dip and sway as he approaches. You watch his movements, impressed with how fluid and delicate he can be. He lifts his hands when you are close enough and runs fingertips of both hands gently over your temples, to your cheeks, and along your neck. A shiver works its way down your spine, and you grin through slightly clattering teeth. The ascot around his neck has a pretty floral pattern and you feel the urge to touch it.

"Need more molly, dove?" Jimin asks.

You shake your head, unsure whether you can handle the come-up and come-down again after all that has transpired downstairs—especially given your emotional state, although your nerves seem to have calmed a bit since your episode downstairs.

"Coke?" he offers, pulling a chain around his neck and revealing a large silver cross with roses inlaid all around it.

With a chuckle, you nod. You have no evidence to support the claim, but you feel like cocaine might even you out. Or it could make you worse. Still, you accept when Jimin unscrews the top of the cross and produces a small spoon connected to his chain that is already full of white powder. You lean close and lift your hand to delicately hold his hand in place and snort the drug into your right nostril. Jimin retrieves one more spoonful, and you repeat the motion on the left side. All the while, Yoongi holds onto your right hand.

"So," Jimin says, leaning to rest his forehead against yours and speaking as he snorts two small piles of coke and then replaces the spoon. "Yoongi's scar��he won't tell me how it all went down, and you know I will die if I don't have all the gossip."

Yoongi's hold on your hand loosens and falls away, and you attempt to look his way, but you are stuck in place as Jimin's arms snake around your waist.

"Whiskey, darling?" Yoongi asks, leaning close.

You try to nod and mutter, "Yes, please. Thank you."

Once he walks away, you sigh and lift your arms to wrap around Jimin. He sways slightly to the music, and you mirror his movements, unable to resist.

"Are you sure you want to recount that night?" you ask.

Jimin hums and nods. You can't see much, but you can see him smile.

You sigh. "After you were shot, I went into a rage." Emotions build, trembling as they fill your chest. Your voice wavers as you say, "Jimin, I lost my fucking mind."

Jimin's arms tighten, and he pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. You sigh and smile, wrapping him in a tight embrace. It is hard not to lament the fact that he has finally woken up and you are not in Seoul to spend time with him. You miss him dearly, and all the chaos that is Paradise.

Once the hug loosens, you both stand straight, hands still on each other's hips. Jimin sways and heavy-blinks, and you wonder why he is so content wasting his high on this moment when he could be on the dancefloor or tangled downstairs with someone on one of the beds. When he giggles, his entire face lights up.

"Doll…I don't know what this has to do with his scar."

At this, you swallow thickly and rapidly blink. The cocaine is hitting, and you have to take in a deep breath.

"Just listen," you say, then swallow again. Jimin frowns. "After you were…" you trail off, unable to say it again.

Jimin raises his eyebrows, slowly and clearly saying, "Shot."

You let out a breath that is halfway to laughter and nod, causing him to smile in return. "Yes, well, I emptied my clip in the guy's face." Jimin's eyes widen and he gasps. "I'm sure I looked insane just shooting a dead man in the head over and over and…"

The song switches to something slightly more upbeat and Jimin sways harder. You struggle with the mental image of the man on the ground with six bullets turning his face into a pile of gore. The sound of flesh, blood, and bone becoming pulp with each shot echoes in your mind and you swallow thickly, then look over Jimin's shoulder, nodding to Yoongi. You need that drink.

Yoongi, who leans against the bar between Namjoon on his left and Seokjin and Hoseok on his right, nods once and steps forward, holding a glass of whiskey in each hand. You wonder whether he has stood there just like that this entire time waiting for your signal. Has he been watching you? What must he think, knowing you feel so deeply for him despite being unwilling to return to his home? Does this, too, open a deep scar on his heart matching the one over his eye?

You stand a bit straighter as Yoongi approaches, and Jimin mirrors you then slowly pulls away, giving you distance. He continues to dance, but there is a faraway look in his eye as you reach past him for the drink in Yoongi's hand.

"Mind if I cut in?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin steps closer, pulling you tight once more, causing your fingers to slip away from the glass that is thankfully still held tightly in Yoongi's grasp.

"Yes, I fucking mind," Jimin says in a snarky tone. You continue to reach for the drink. "She was entreating me with the wonderfully harrowing tale of how you got that pretty little battle scar, since you won't tell me."

Yoongi groans and rolls his eyes, attempting a smile. But you can tell that there is something else in that expression. Something he does his best to tamp down and keep out of sight. He hands you his drink and nods a little bow before returning to the bar.

"Touchy subject?" Jimin teases.

You frown, "Well, I was the one who gave him the scar."

Jimin's hold on you drops at the same time his mouth falls open. Suddenly, you want to curl in on yourself, but you opt to lift the whiskey to your lips and take a nice slow swig, instead. It burns against your tongue, much stronger and more flavorful than what you had been drinking earlier in the evening, and it takes you a moment to gather yourself and continue your story.

"As I said, you were shot and I lost my mind. First, I emptied my clip into the man's head. Then, out of anger over having no more bullets, I tried to bludgeon him with the butt of the gun. But Namjoon caught me and dragged me away, and my weapon was confiscated."

You pause again to take a sip, doing your best to read the expression on Jimin's face. It seems to be a mix of shock and sadness, but also something akin to admiration.

"I was still in a rage, and so I reached for the switchblade that Jeongguk and Taehyung gifted me, which was in a garter on my thigh." You watch as Jimin's expression deepens, and against your will, tears begin to form in your eyes. You rapidly blink, doing your best not to let them fall, and as you continue, your voice wavers. "I took out the knife and attempted to lunge forward. Namjoon caught my hand and pulled it back, and tip must have—"

You remember the way the blade caught and snagged; the way blood leaked between Yoongi's fingers. With a gulp, you finish your drink. Jimin thumbs at the tears you are unable to prevent from falling, then takes your hand and leads you out of the main room and into the hallway, near the restrooms. It is dark and a bit quieter, and he pulls your empty glass from your hand, then wraps you in a hug.

Although you do not feel the urge to fully cry, you lean into the hug and breathe deeply, allowing the tears that have formed to fall. Jimin's hands—which are free of drinkware, and you are unsure how—rub over your shoulders and neck. After a long moment of breathing in Jimin's cologne and settling your heart, you nod and Jimin breaks the hug. You feel exhausted by this night.

Jimin takes your hand and pulls you into the restroom, which is too brightly lit for comfort, making you squint. He pulls a tube of mascara from the inner breast pocket of his jacket and tilts your face toward him, making you smile. "I spoke to Ryujin about bringing you to Paradise some time soon, if that's something you want."

Your smile widens and you do your best to hold your face as still as possible as you say, "I would love that."

"It will be good for you and Yoongi to be seen together in public more than once in a blue moon," he explains, then finishes his task while adding, "and, of course, we all miss you."

"I miss you, too," you say barely above a whisper.

Jimin uses water to fuss with your hair, which you opt not to perceive in the mirror, worried about the weathered, sad person you may find staring back at you. Then he leads you back to the bar for shots of something fruity and strawberry-flavored. He and Hwasa pull you to an empty dance cage, and the three of you lose yourselves to the music while multiple tiny piles of cocaine are introduced to your nose and simmer through your body.

It feels nice to let go and dance, to touch and be touched in friendly and flirtatious ways—to feel like, in this moment, you simply exist outside of the mafia families that surround you. It is only when you are panting and exhausted that the three of you leave the cage and seek out water.

You are tipsy and stumble a bit toward the bar. Taehyung and Jeongguk have returned—Taehyung appearing perfectly put together and Jeongguk looking like he has been to hell and back, shell-shocked with a wide stare and his hair an absolute mess—and you wink at them on your way to the bar.

As you wait for a glass of water, Yoongi's cologne tickles your senses and large hands begin to paw at you. "I was watching you dance," he says into your ear, voice low and whiskey-laced.

"Oh?" you ask, smiling but keeping your gaze ahead. The water is set before you, and you gulp it down, feeling the cold absorb into your body, giving you chills. When you turn to Yoongi, his jaw is set as if he is angry, but you know that it is a horny impatience that he masks.

"Darling," he groans, eyes bloodshot, drunk.

You attempt to bite back a smile, but it is impossible, and the sight of your glee seems to make him all the more impatient. Poor guy looks pained. You lean close, high on your toes to whisper, "Baby, I'm sore."

He groans and nods in pained understanding, making you giggle. "Next time I want you all to myself," he insists, and you nod. You would like that.

Namjoon, whose back had been to the two of you turns, notices Yoongi's expression and cocks his head. You let your eyes trail down and then back up as you say, "He has a problem that needs to be taken care of. Be a dear?"

"Ah," he says in understanding.

Namjoon leads Yoongi off toward the hallway—to the restroom or back downstairs, you imagine. You chuckle and turn back to the bar for another glass of whiskey as Taehyung sidles up to your right, taking Yoongi's place.

"How do you feel?" he asks, leaning close.

You scoff, making him cock his head. "Good," you say on a deep exhale, facing him. "And you?"

Taehyung grins, eyes sparkling. "Good."

"Good," you say, turning back to the bar. You manage to order another glass of the whiskey Yoongi has been drinking with your eyes ahead, but you can feel Taehyung's intense gaze on you.

"What?" you complain when a glass is in your hands. You turn toward him but look at the golden tiger on his lapel.

"Just thinking," he says. Annoying.

You lift your gaze to his, asking, "About what?"

Taehyung licks his lips and says, "You," giving you chills.

You find it hard to hold his intense stare and drop your eyes to his chest once more, taking a drink of whiskey.

"Just making sure you're actually doing well," he clarifies. "The scene in there was pretty intense."

"That it was," you say. You feel antsy, though you are not sure why. Could it be due to the way you were thinking about Taehyung while high? You wonder whether you might feel that way about him while sober.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asks, quieter.

Suddenly, you feel silly. You were not uncomfortable with Taehyung in the room with you before, and there is no reason you should be now.

"No," you say, looking him in the eye. "Sorry. You are right that it was intense, and I think I am still spiraling a little from it all."

"My presence there doesn't bother you?"

You open your mouth but hesitate, gaze falling to his mouth as you wonder what he might kiss like. "No," you say, swallowing your pride before continuing. "I like having you there."

"I'm glad," you watch his lips say. You feel silly for staring openly, but it is the first time you ever have. Taehyung really is beautiful, and his soft, semi-rectangular pout intrigues you almost as much as the cold psychopathy you occasionally glimpse in his eyes.

"It is strange?" you ask, looking up into his eyes. The expression you find is just as intense as it was earlier. "Watching, I mean."

Taehyung's eyes trail back and forth between yours. He appears to be gathering his thoughts. When he simply shakes his head and says nothing more, you lift your free hand to smack him on the arm. With a chuckle, he leans close.

"I like to share and watch, but otherwise not become more involved." You open your mouth and begin to ask why, but he cuts you off, leaning closer. "Nobody can handle my wrath quite like Jeongguk can. I am afraid fucking me is akin to having a near-death experience."

A gasp falls from your lips, in part because you know he is not joking, and because you are so curious to know more. You recall the way Jeongguk looked hanging from his wrists earlier, like a corpse waiting to be butchered. Taehyung chuckles in your ear, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and stands up straight.

"Trust me, it is an honor to be in audience of you, buttercup. You put on quite the show."

This makes you laugh, pushing all the tension out. You feel silly but relieved and step to the side, away from the bar enough to courtesy and say, "Thank you," winning a deep chuckle from Taehyung.

Yoongi and Namjoon return—Yoongi looking far better than he had before, and Namjoon with fresh reddened fingerprints around his neck. You lament missing whatever the two of them managed to do so fast but ultimately feel glad to have sorted out whatever it is you were feeling for Taehyung. It is a relief to keep at least some relationships semi-platonic, especially if being fucked by him means putting your safety and well-being at risk. You think that perhaps this revelation explains a lot about Jeongguk.

You lift your whiskey to your lips, but Yoongi swipes it from your hand, holding stern eye contact as he drinks the entire glass at once. A surge of petulance rises, outmatched only by how much you absolutely adore him with his long, wavy hair and sharp red scar. He makes a dramatic ahh sound as if he had just quenched his thirst with the purest water, then leans into you to set the empty glass onto the bar top.

"What—" you begin, hoping to ask what his problem is, or perhaps what the fuck he thinks he is doing, but he mutters, "Come with me," and takes you by the hand, leading you through the hall to the hallway and up into the VIP section, causing you to stumble in haste to keep up. It is vacant in this area, save for a security guard who nods as you pass, and you are pulled to a dark corner that does not look out over the dancefloor or any other space that another living human may be occupying.

Without saying a word, Yoongi pulls your legitimate engagement ring from his pocket—not the larger one meant for show—and lowers to one knee. Your stomach dips from the movement, and you suddenly feel unstable on your feet.

"I have a proposition for you," he says, taking your left hand and sliding the cold metal onto your ring finger. You stare at him, not quite ready to perceive the ring on your hand once more. Rather than respond, you simply stare at Yoongi, who licks his lips and glances up at you pleadingly.

"I could have a house built for you," he says as if it is nothing—as if simply willing a house into existence is as easy to him as loading bullets into a handgun. "Deep on the property, past the gardens and the other homes, where nobody could ever bother you. You can have all the space you desire, but still be close to us."

Tears build, and you feel bile rise to your throat. This offer is enormous and ridiculous, and there is simply no way you would feel wholly safe or comfortable living on the same plot of land as his mansion. You search for what to say, but words fail you. It feels impossible to tell Yoongi to his face that this offer is preposterous, yet you cannot bring yourself to even attempt to consider it.

He must read the concern on your face, and he sits up a little taller, gripping your hand between his two as if you are suddenly a lifeline that he must not let go of.

"I can buy you a house in Seoul. Or a penthouse, if you prefer an apartment. You can have a private entrance with my most trusted men guarding, and be a short drive away rather than a long one."

This offer is far more reasonable, but it still worries you. What if news gets out that Yoongi's fiancé is not only living separately from him but that they have managed to spot you coming and going? How difficult would it be for someone like Christian to find you?

"Yoongi, I don't know," you finally say. Your guts roil with uncertainty, and your heart pounds, making you feel nauseated.

Yoongi nods and smiles, but you can see that he is disappointed. Here before you, down on one knee, is a man who is not used to being told no. This is not how he anticipated this would go, and it is clear that is the case.

"Alright," he says, standing with your hand still tight between his. He pulls you close for a hug, and you hesitate before lifting your arms to return the embrace. "I am sorry if that was not the right thing to offer. I just thought—"

"No," you say, shaking your head and tilting your face into his neck. You press your lips to his skin. "It was a generous offer, Yoongi. An amazing one, really. I'm just…I don't know. I'm still really afraid."

Yoongi hugs you tighter, and you breathe deeply, eyes closed, silently existing in this moment. It is impossible not to imagine what life with him could be like under any other circumstance, especially now.

"I understand," he says, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. "We can discuss it again if and when you are ready. I am in no rush, darling. Really. I just miss you." Yoongi kisses you softly and says, "I miss you so fucking much."

"I miss you too," you say, doing your best to smile through the tumult of emotion. "It's hell without you, Yoongi. I miss so much about being with you…but there have been so many moments that have had too negative of an impact on my mental health. I don't want this to be forever, though. And when I'm ready, we can talk about it some more. Really, it is such a kind offer, and I appreciate it more than I could ever say."

Yoongi's expression conveys a deep sadness the likes of which you have never seen. You wish more than anything that you could wave a magic wand and make everything normal. No more drugs, no more guns, no more fires or car crashes. The anxiety that fills you at the thought of watching him return to Seoul without you is similar to the anxiety you feel over staying in a hanok full of strangers in Busan whose intentions you are not completely sure you understand or trust.

You continue to hold one another for a moment longer, swaying slightly. Whether it is from the alcohol, or the music playing, or the simple enjoyment of the movement, you are uncertain, aware only that it is nice to be here with him like this.

"I fear we should head back to Seoul soon," Yoongi finally says.

Of course, the realization is somewhat soul-crushing. Just because you are in no rush to return to his mansion does not mean you want him to hurry back there, either.

"Tonight?" you ask, leaning back and cocking your head to the side. Yoongi raises his eyebrows, and you shrug. "I just thought maybe you would leave in the morning."

He appears to think it over. "I suppose I could stay for one night."

From one simple sentence, you feel elated. Falling asleep beside Yoongi is something you have come to deeply miss. Except…you frown.

"I'm not sure how I feel about sleeping under Ryujin's roof with you. Is that weird? Should I not care?"

Yoongi chuckles. He takes your hand and leads you back through the dark VIP area toward the rest of the party. "I have a penthouse nearby, darling."

"Of course, you do," you say with a playful hint of annoyance. Yoongi squeezes your hand, filling you with the same warmth and butterflies that you remember from months past.

"You can part from your girls for a night?" Yoongi teases as you enter the hallway.

You scoff. "Meaning, what?"

He leans close and says, "I see the way Hyejin looks at you. Or…what is it you call her…Hwasa? It really rolls off the tongue." Your mouth falls open, and you watch as his smile sharpens into a grin. "Sorry, is the thought of her name on your tongue making you flustered, darling?"

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you have to look away. As the two of you enter the main hall, you glance to the dance cage you were in earlier to find Hwasa and Jimin grinding in the way two platonic queer besties would. She certainly is dressed to impress with her bodice and skirt hugging each of her curves as if the material was cut specifically for her body. Yoongi chuckles darkly and squeezes your hand before letting it go, only to slide it around your waist and tug you close.

"I wouldn't mind, you know," he says so low that you are not quite sure you heard him. There are no lyrics to the music that plays, but it is loud enough to mask parts of his tone.

"Hmm?" you ask, turning to look at him.

"I wouldn't mind," he says, leaning to press a kiss to your lips. "If you wanted to fuck her."

"Oh, my god," you grumble, turning your face away as your cheeks go even hotter. Leave it to Yoongi to be able to have a serious conversation for precisely one brief moment before returning to his natural state of being a feral, horny monster.

Namjoon spots the two of you and begins to approach, eyes quickly darting down to the ring on your hand as a smile tugs at his lips.

"I am just saying," Yoongi continues, and you wish he would not, "no need to ask permission. The answer is already yes."

Namjoon leans to press a kiss to your lips, then looks between the two of you, asking, "Permission for what?"

You feel antsy and glance around, making sure nobody is around to hear Yoongi say, "For our darling to fuck Hyejin."

"Good god," Namjoon mutters under his breath. You roll your eyes as he adds, "Absolutely, no objections here."

You grumble, "You two are incorrigible," under your breath.

"Ah, Namjoon-ah," Yoongi says as he pulls you closer to his side. His fingertips play with the hem of your dress just below your left breast. "I am afraid I will have to miss tomorrow's activities. Our darling has asked me to stay with her tonight."

Namjoon's smile falters for such a split moment that it is nearly imperceptible. "Ah. No worries, baby. Seokjin and I can handle everything. And, did you ask her about…"

He trails off, but you know what he is hinting at, and a pang of sadness stabs you directly in the gut.

"I did," Yoongi responds with a sigh, "but she is not quite ready to return to Seoul."

Namjoon nods, taking in a deep breath. You nibble on your bottom lip searching for something to say to him, but nothing feels quite right. Promising for an uncertain future feels disingenuous, even if all you want in this moment is to give sweet Namjoon anything in this world he could want.

"I'm sorry," is all you can bring yourself to say.

Namjoon shakes his head. His gaze is soft and slightly sad, but so loving. "Will you at least keep the jewelry? And the clothing?" His lips falter, and he glances down at his shoes. "I know they're just material things, but it felt so strange to see it all left behind. You didn't regret receiving any of it, did you?"

You feel a horrible guilt as Namjoon's gaze lifts to meet yours. How you could have possibly made him think your gifts were not good enough—that you may have regretted them somehow—has you wishing you had never left anything behind. Shaking your head, you step forward, wrap your arms around Namjoon's ribs, and press your face against his chest, listening to his quick, worried heartbeat.

"Nothing about that night went as planned," you say, squeezing him as tight as you can manage. Namjoon's arms lift and engulf you with warmth. "I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I absolutely love the gifts, especially the jewelry."

You loosen the hug and take a step back, holding Namjoon's gaze. It is devastating how handsome he is with tears glistening in his eyes.

"If I'm being honest…" you begin, taking a deep breath. "I left the items because I wasn't sure whether you two would be upset with me. After all, I snuck away. I thought…I suppose I thought I wouldn't be worthy of keeping what had been given to me, and so I left it all behind. I felt guilty at the thought of taking any of it, knowing what I would be doing to you."

Namjoon nods in understanding and then pulls you closer. Yoongi follows, sandwiching you between warm bodies that feel and smell like home. You breathe slow and deep, smiling through the exhaustion that engulfs you; you hate to admit that you will not last much longer on your feet. With the promise of visiting Jimin and the others at Paradise soon, you feel a little lighter; a little more willing to part for now.

Bodies begin to file out as you and your family men crowd the bar for shots. Ryujin and her core group of girls join in, and you all toast and drink, one after another after another until your body is dizzy and heavy and begging to lie down. You hug the women good night, feeling eyes on you as Hwasa wraps her arms around you with a pout. She takes a step back and whines that she will miss you tonight. When you turn to face the men, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk all wear curiously devious expressions.

As you hug Jimin goodbye, he takes a step back to speak but then eyes your dress and boots, and his expression brightens. "Hold on," he says, "this is the outfit you were wearing the day we all met."

You smile widely and nod, impressed that someone has recognized the outfit. Yoongi steps forward and hums a questioning sound.

"This outfit," Jimin says, "she was wearing it the first time we saw our buttercup."

Yoongi cocks his head to the side and frowns. "The first time?" he asks.

A moment passes that is brief and confusing. The two share a glance, Jimin with his eyebrows raised, and then Yoongi clears his throat, licks his lips, and says, "Of course. Sorry, darling, the alcohol must have gone straight to my head. I remember now. You were so adorably angry in this dress."

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to be an utter brat. "You forgot what I was wearing the day you spirited me away…not very chauvinistic of you."

Yoongi smiles and chuckles, but there is something in his thoughtful expression that makes you uncomfortable, especially with how Jimin is looking at him as if he has said something unforgivably wrong. That had been the first time they saw you…right? Paranoia rears its ugly head, and you do your best not to allow yourself to travel down roads you have no business visiting. Especially after how emotionally fraught this night has been. After all, Christian had been working for him, so perhaps Yoongi saw you in passing once or twice before. Anything is possible.

As you continue to wish everyone a good night, it sinks in that you are soon returning to your life free of the men you love, and sadness settles deep within you. But first, you will spend a night with Yoongi in his penthouse on the ocean and you do your best to be in the present moment and not wallow in what is to come.

Namjoon follows behind in his own car and joins the two of you for a glass of water and a soft, slow makeout session on the couch overlooking the dark sea. He treats you to several blissful orgasms using his skilled lips, teeth, and fingers, and you watch as he and Yoongi take turns cuming in each other's mouths after you regretfully whine that your holes are too sore to accommodate them anymore for the night.

Namjoon slips away with deep promises and soft kisses as you begin to fall fast asleep wrapped around Yoongi's body. You drift off thinking about how warm and solid he is; how your body slots beside his as if the two of you are built for one another. But there is a part of you that also wonders what outfit had been on Yoongi's mind when he was imagining the first time he ever saw you. Were you in that black dress or something else entirely? Had that time at the river been the first time he laid eyes on you, or were there other times? Secret times when you had no idea of his existence. How long might he have been watching you? Of course, you know this line of thinking is ridiculous, and you smile as you bury your nose into his skin and inhale the sweet, musky scent of him.

You drift deeply, swiftly, remembering what home feels like.

i drive fast, wind in my hair i push it to the limit 'cause i just don't care

i've got a burning desire for you, baby

🎵 visit the playlist

❗❗❗ important authors note: as mentioned previously, i am basically condensing everything that was going to be a 20 chapter fic into the last two chapters and the next 6ish chapters. i think you will understand why i chose to do it this way. something to keep in mind: all major warnings are already listed. things in future chapters might seem really, really fucking bad. please trust the author and the tags and don't let me lose you on this ride because i am intentionally going to be vague and non-descript about certain plot points outside of the narrative. i don't like to give things away, which means we might become traumatized together. from this point on, the story is going to shift in a big way. i love you. thank you for reading.

happy new year, my dears! if you observed holidays, i hope they have been good. i hope you have a lovely lunar new year & eat the best foods! if you're on break from class, i hope you get a lot of rest. i got all As last semester, and i bet you also did an amazing job at whatever you got into. i miss you very, very much and i hope to be back soon. 💜

EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU IS THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

😘😘😘

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#yoongi mafia #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #namjoon angst #bts angst #bts poly #fic: collateral

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theharrowing · 5 months ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach.

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad.

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir.

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout.

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon.

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips.

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter.

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks.

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away.

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath.

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall.

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts.

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips.

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi.

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood.

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint.

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling.

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is.

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling.

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering.

He mutters, "Fine."

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up.

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent.

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—"

"Go home," you interrupt.

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be.

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them.

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying.

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says.

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word.

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile.

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask.

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow."

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek.

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls.

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront.

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort.

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below.

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside.

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure.

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed.

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex.

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder.

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip.

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct.

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep.

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once.

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore.

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria.

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes.

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here.

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all.

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago.

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here.

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you.

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men.

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look.

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose.

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste.

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much.

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well.

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like.

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away.

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin.

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by.

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep.

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall.

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you.

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs.

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back.

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come.

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart.

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself.

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong.

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table.

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking.

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well.

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to.

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi.

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks.

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying.

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men.

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end.

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat.

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin.

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power.

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice.

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained.

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair.

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues.

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects.

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright.

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation.

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown.

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused.

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing.

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm.

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon.

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you.

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you.

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes.

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you.

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long.

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad.

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth.

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin.

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not.

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands.

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee.

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times.

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers.

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish.

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod.

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass.

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed.

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth.

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry.

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table.

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake.

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake.

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart.

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second.

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath.

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek.

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention.

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver.

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his.

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night.

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek.

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan.

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home.

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet.

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill.

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful.

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men.

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands.

"Coke?" she asks.

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table.

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer.

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him.

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer.

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell.

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne.

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you.

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information.

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear.

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated.

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing.

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne.

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks.

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you.

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks.

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too.

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean.

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else.

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts.

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies.

Hwasa's grin widens.

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls.

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh.

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is.

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along.

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of.

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs.

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip.

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down.

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into.

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious.

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago.

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath.

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere.

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter.

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right.

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward.

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle.

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes.

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his.

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey.

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you.

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup.

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril.

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him.

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing?

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more.

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away.

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face.

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know.

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another.

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off.

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity.

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again.

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter.

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm.

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says.

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much.

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic.

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach.

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

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hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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#yoongi mafia #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #dpr ian mafia #bts angst #bts smut #yoongi angst #namjoon angst #fic: collateral

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