#past sexual abuse trafficking

PREVIOUS|INDEX | NEXT

Yoongi x Reader

word count: 10.3k

warnings: mafia au, strangers to lovers, descriptions of violence and death, minor character death, reader treated as commodity, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ | in this chapter: past trauma mentioned (past sexual abuse & trafficking mention but not described! past drug use, mention of blood and murder) pressured to use drugs, drug use, oral sex & fingering

When Yoongi said “we” would be going to the seaside, you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t an entire convoy of vehicles. Yoongi drives you, and there are several cars surrounding you, with Namjoon and Hoseok taking the lead. It seems excessive, but you don’t question it. In fact, you haven’t said much to Yoongi since last night.

The outfit Namjoon left out for you to wear today is a white square neck knee-length sundress covered in floral print and white wedge sandals with a cork heel. Yoongi is dressed in a white double-breasted suit jacket and pants, with all white everything: shirt, tie, shoes. His hair is coifed off his forehead, giving major husband-at-the-end-of-the-aisle vibes, which you do your best to block out of your mind as aggressively as possible because fuck Min Yoongi and fuck how effortlessly sexy and soft he can appear despite being such a dick.

It’s an hour or so outside of the city when Yoongi finally decides to strike up a conversation. You’d been content staring out the window and watching the outside world go by while ballads play quietly on the radio, and hearing Yoongi’s deep, raspy voice spikes something in you—probably anxiety but possibly excitement; sometimes it’s hard to differentiate the two.

“You seem tense,” Yoongi mutters.

Your head flinches toward the sound of his voice, and you look from the corner of your eye, almost in disbelief that Yoongi still knows how to speak. You hum in response.

“Care to tell me why you’re so unhappy?” Yoongi asks.

Your shoulder jerks upward, and you can’t help the incredulous sound that leaves your lips as you shoot Yoongi a glare out of the corners of your eyes before you stare ahead once more.

You mutter, almost to yourself, “Oh, so now you care?”

“I never said it would be easy being with me—” Yoongi says, in a defensive tone, and you roll your eyes and cut him off.

“As if I had any fucking say in the matter.”

You can feel Yoongi looking between the road and you, and you indulge him once, meeting his gaze and watching him smirk before pulling your eyes away from each other.

“Would you be attracted to me if you had met me naturally?”

Yes, you think. Yes, of course you would; you’re not a fool. Yoongi is smart, funny, sexy, charismatic, and—even without knowing the full extent of his influence—gives off an air of being powerful. Your poor fucking heart wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Of course you’d be attracted to Yoongi naturally.

You clear your throat and mutter, “Probably.”

“Does it bother you that I’m as powerful as I am?”

No, you think. Not really. There are many facets to his power that make you uncomfortable, but you tell yourself that if he and his family men have managed to stay this powerful and this alive for as long as they have, then they’re clearly doing something right.

“I guess not,” you admit.

“So then what’s the problem?”

Oh, this really boils your blood. How quickly Yoongi can make you go from contemplative to furious is still a shock to you, and you can’t help but turn to him and stare him down, mouth agape as if you can’t fucking believe his audacity—because you truly cannot.

“Do you hear yourself?” you ask, mocking his tone from last night. “You kidnapped me, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes move between you and the road. “You can leave if you want,” Yoongi states, and it surprises you. “I’m not forcing you to stay.”

You stare at the side of Yoongi’s face, and he stares ahead at the road, and god, you could fucking slap him if he weren’t:

a.) a mafia boss, and

b.) literally driving right now.

“There are men with guns following me around the property,” you remind him.

“For your safety. Do you really think Felix would shoot you in the back if you decided to leave?”

“W-well, n—”

“I can’t imagine Changbin smoking you as you waltzed off into the sunset, can you?”

Now you really want to slap him.

“You would really let me leave?”

Yoongi shrugs. There’s a glint in his eye, even if he won’t look you in yours, and you instantly know what he’s thinking. Sure, you could leave whenever you want, but can you carry all your things with you? Would you leave behind the new things you’ve been given? It’s not as if Yoongi would allow someone to stroll onto the property and help you move out.

Yes, you’re free to leave because Yoongi knows you have nowhere to go. Yoongi knows that, at the end of the day, you need to stay right where you are.

“I fucking hate you,” you mutter, and Yoongi laughs.

It’s a bright, hearty laugh that’s music to your ears, and you bite your lip, hoping that if you inflict enough pain on yourself, it’ll shield how much that fucking laugh affects you.

“Oh, darling. No, you don’t.”

Yoongi checks the two of you into a hanok on the seaside that is so beautiful it makes your heart skip a beat. It has a perfect mix of modern and traditional amenities, making it feel as if you’ve stepped into a different era that just so happens to have running water ahead of its time. There’s also a single bedroom with a smaller bed than you’re used to sharing with Yoongi, and being four hours from home and alone with him, makes you nervous because, try as you might to hate every fiber of Yoongi’s being, you find it impossible to keep your hands off him.

“There’s a night market along this street that starts at seven,” Yoongi informs as you unpack your suitcase, placing your items into the closet and dresser. “If you’d like to check it out, I can join you around nine.”

“Okay,” you respond, not fully taking in the information.

“Don’t change,” Yoongi says.

You turn to Yoongi and find him standing against the wall beside the door with one foot anchored against it and his arms crossed over his torso.

“Why?”

“I like that dress on you.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and consider changing out of it out of spite. There’s a part of you that wants to appease Yoongi and wear what he likes to see you in, and you curse that part of you. Yoongi approaches and kisses you on the forehead, sending a swarm of anxiety aflight in your chest, and you cave in to the feeling and stay in the dress he likes to see you in. You even dare to miss him as soon as he leaves you alone in the hanok.

The night market is nice, and you walk along the crowded street with Felix at your side, trying to decide what to eat. Everything looks and smells amazing, and the longer you take to decide, the more difficult a decision becomes.

It’s been a week and a half of being cooped up in Yoongi’s mansion, and it feels almost overwhelming to be out amongst a crowd. You blend in easily enough, and when Felix convinces you to try some corn dogs, you sit below ginkgo trees eating your fried treat feeling as if you’re spending time with a close friend and not your security detail. Felix is a lot more conversational without Changbin present—almost as if the other makes him shy—and you fall into conversation easily, talking about Felix’s life in Australia.

“What about you?” Felix asks as you reach the end of the market. You had been so lost in conversation that you hardly noticed you’d begun walking again, and you look around to take in your surroundings before asking, “What?”

“Where did you grow up?”

The topic of your upbringing is one you try to skirt around and give vague responses about whenever possible, and although it’s something you’ve done many times, it always throws you off-kilter—you never know what to say.

“I moved around a lot,” you respond. You attempt to describe your birthplace, but there’s not a lot you remember about being there, and a lot of the details of your childhood are fuzzy.

“I’m not really sure how I ended up here,” you admit.

“Do your parents live here?” Felix asks. You can tell that he has a lot more questions, but he seems to be taking your hesitance as a hint to not press. This question, however, is more difficult to respond to than the rest.

“I, uh—” you stare ahead at the crowded street and the brightly colored signs and booths that line it on either side. I was stolen, you think. I was trafficked in and out of cities around the world. Traded, bought and sold until I fought my way out. I couldn’t tell you what my parents looked like, but I could tell you how it feels to press a knife between someone’s ribs and watch the light fade from their eyes.

“They died when I was young,” you lie, twiddling your fingers nervously. “I didn’t really stay with one person long, and I spent my teen years between living in hotels or on the street.”

When you meet Felix’s gaze, he looks sad. You feel an overwhelming desire to comfort him and tell him that everything is okay despite not believing in the words yourself.

“That sounds difficult,” Felix says, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You nod and scoff quietly, considering how funny it is that you fought for your freedom only to be taken captive once again. You wonder what it is about you that makes men stake claim. You wonder if your time with Yoongi will end the same way: straddling his naked body while the blood drains from his chest, hot and thick. The situation with Yoongi feels different because he hasn’t forced himself on you, but you wonder if that’s just part of the game to get you to trust him enough to give him what he wants.

“How do you feel about all of this?” Felix asks, and you know he’s not asking about the night market. The two of you begin to walk back the way you came, through the crowd.

You shrug and consider your words as your eyes flicker from booth to booth; sure, Felix has been nothing but kind, but he is one of Yoongi’s men. Perhaps you test him a little. “I’m not sure. I’m not stupid enough to think I have freedom, but I have enough freedom that I don’t feel the desire to escape, either. I’m in limbo.”

Felix chuckles. “How do you feel about Yoongi-hyung?”

You turn to Felix and raise an eyebrow at him, and he holds his hands up as if defending himself. “You don’t have to respond! Just making conversation. I don’t report back to him with anything we discuss.”

“Again, I’m not sure,” you admit. “He’s charming and handsome, and to some extent, his power and influence are intriguing. But it’s also terrifying. I don’t think I can fathom, yet, just how much power he does have. And what if I do fall for him? Does that put a target on my back?”

You worry you’ve said too much, but Felix seems unbothered. “Valid concerns. But you shouldn’t worry about a target; he’s more or less untouchable.”

“How?”

It’s Felix’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you. “That’s just the way it is.”

By the time nine rolls around, you’re back at the hanok, sitting on the bed and scrolling through the gallery on your phone. You had taken some photos of the stalls, capturing the bright lights of the neon signs as the sun began to set, and some close-up shots of rows of food. You consider posting one to social media just to keep up appearances with your handful of friends and acquaintances, but when you thumb through to find your social media apps, they’re all wiped. In fact, most of your apps are gone.

You wish you were surprised. The only thing that shocks you is that it took you so long to notice; they probably wiped your phone within the first 24 hours of your stay. There’s a part of you that feels annoyed, but you toss your phone aside and question whether it matters. You’re no stranger to being dead to the world, and there’s a freedom to it that feels comfortable. Maybe it’s better not to see the people and places you no longer have access to.

Yoongi returns, and when he enters the room, loosening his white tie, he looks anxious. You sit up and wait for him to address you, but he cards a hand through his sweaty hair and walks by toward the large wooden cabinet where your clothing has been unpacked into.

“Everything okay?” you ask, but Yoongi doesn’t respond.

Instead, he grabs a denim jacket and brings it back to the bed, setting it down as his fingers make quick work of the buttons on his white long-sleeve shirt. You’re disappointed to find he has a white tee underneath and consider distracting him, wanting to rub your hands over his body.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi finally says. When he looks at you, his gaze is less piercing. His pupils are dilated, and he doesn’t look in one place for long, tugging his shirt impatiently from being tucked into his slacks before dropping it to the floor, picking up his jacket and throwing it over his shoulders.

“It’s cooling down, grab a jacket,” Yoongi says.

“Where are we going?”

“Did you eat? Are you hungry?” There’s an eagerness in Yoongi’s voice, almost a frantic tone, and you study him a little closer.

“We had corn dogs,” you say, “but they weren’t filling. I could eat.”

Yoongi chuckles and lets out a sigh. “Corn dogs sound great.”

You sit up and reach out for Yoongi, and he gets close enough to let you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his white slacks and pull him close, stumbling to stand before you. You spread your legs around him, though your dress keeps you covered, and you rub your hands up Yoongi’s sides.

“Are we in a hurry?” you ask, looking up at Yoongi through your eyelashes. You’re not even sure what you’re doing or what it is you’re hoping to initiate, but you’re feeling touch starved, and you want to taste Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi smirks and leans down and cages you in with his arms. “Why? What do you have in mind, darling?”

“Dessert before dinner?” you suggest. “I want to taste your lips.”

There’s a tremble to Yoongi, which catches you off guard as he leans down and pushes his lips into yours. You reach your hands up, gently grabbing onto Yoongi’s hair, and he groans into your mouth as you tease his tongue with yours.

Yoongi shrugs his jacket off, and it hits the floor in a loud smack as the metal fastenings strike the hardwood. Yoongi takes the back of your head in one hand and eases you back against the mattress, and you use one leg to wrap around Yoongi’s thigh and pull him close.

You squeeze Yoongi’s hair, and he moans, then kisses down your chin and throat, littering your neck with warm, wet spots. “What’s gotten into you?” he groans against your skin.

“Can’t I miss you?” you tease.

Yoongi stops kissing you, still anchored on one hand while the other cradles your head. He looks at you almost as if searching for something, then chuckles.

“Of course you can. You’re just so hot and cold; I can never tell what you’ll do next.”

This is pretty rich coming from Yoongi, and you want to tell him that, but you decide to take the less aggressive route and attempt to sound playful. “Excuse me for having complicated feelings for my captor.”

Yoongi’s jaw shifts, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, then stands up, letting you go. He runs a hand through his hair and nods his chin toward the door.

“Leave, then,” Yoongi says. His eyes are wide as if he’s challenging you.

You sit up, anchoring yourself on your elbows.

“If you want to go back to that prick in his shitty little apartment, you’re free to go.”

Of course you feel defeated because there is a part of you that yearns for something natural and comfortable between you and Yoongi, and you wish he wouldn’t be so cold. But then you remember he’s a mafia boss and, well…what should you expect.

You return the same expression—eyes wide and challenging—and ask, “What’s the point of taking me if you don’t want to keep me?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and sighs, then scratches at one of his eyelids. It seems like a nervous tick, though you can’t imagine Yoongi being nervous. Then again, he was trembling earlier when you kissed him.

“I’m not arguing with you, darling. Either stay with me and learn your place in my house, or leave.”

“And go where?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not my fucking problem.”

With a deep sigh, you crash back against the bed. Why must Yoongi be so fucking frustrating? You want to ask Yoongi why he’s so guarded and snippy. You want to tell him that you don’t even want to leave his house; you just need help feeling a little more welcome. You want to ask him if  perhaps, the reason he’s single is that he captures women and then annoys them into moving out.

You settle on, “You make it so hard to like you.”

Yoongi surprises you with, “Elaborate.”

You sit up and cross your arms over your chest and watch Yoongi, who stands with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, impatiently tapping his foot like a cartoon character.  

“Let’s start with the facts: You kidnapped me—”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Yoongi insists, and you hold a hand up to shush him.

“You took me into a vehicle and brought me to your house. You had two of your men bring all of my belongings from my apartment into that home without consulting with me or, I don’t know, asking me whether I wanted to live there. You have armed men follow me around the property, and you make them check in with you before we do anything. I don’t have free will, Yoongi. You say I can leave, but you know damn well there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“Do you want to leave?” Yoongi asks, and for just a moment, he almost looks vulnerable.

“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, “No. I don’t think I want to.”

Yoongi’s stance loosens, and his hands drop to his sides.

“I like you,” you admit. “When you’re being nice to me. I enjoy the gifts and the dinners. And your pool, and all the other expensive, superfluous shit.”

“But?” Yoongi cocks his head to the side.

“But it’s a lot all at once. I still don’t know you very well, and you’re talking about finding my placeandbeing useful to the house and…I don’t know what any of that means. I would rather cultivate a real, caring relationship with you than be enamored by all the other expensive bullshit. This whole thing feels so backwards.”

Yoongi squints, and he watches you. He even opens his mouth to respond but then appears to think better of it and closes it, licking his lips. You want to ask Yoongi to spit out whatever is on his mind, but he bends and picks up his denim jacket and nods toward the cabinet.

“Grab a coat, and let’s go. We’ll talk more later; I’m starved.”

Hoseok drives you and Yoongi to an unassuming noodle shop along the ocean. You’re surprised when you’re led through the restaurant and into a private dining room, similar to Yoongi’s restaurant in Seoul. The servers don’t ask any questions, returning with bottles of soju, and you watch Yoongi, waiting for him to say anything. When Yoongi just stares ahead, chewing on the inside of his lip for far too long, you clear your throat and watch as his eyes open wide to meet yours.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” you ask softly.

Yoongi blinks heavily and stretches his arms above his head. “Had a meeting with some men. Nothing too important.”

“You seem out of it.”

Yoongi brings his arms down, folds his hands on top of one another over the table and studies you, squinting. He sighs. “It’s none of your concern.”

There he is, being difficult again. “Do you want me to find my place and be useful, or should I not be concerned? I don’t know how to do both at once, Yoongi.”

The edge of Yoongi’s mouth curves upward as if he’s going to smirk, but then he flattens his lips and rolls his eyes. “Prove yourself trustworthy, and I’ll be more transparent.”

Before you can ask how you’re supposed to go about doing that, waiters bring bowls of udon in a rich broth stacked with vegetables and seafood. You drink back the cup of soju that sits before you, and Yoongi refills it, and you eat in silence, savoring the dish and distracting yourself from continuing the earlier conversation. Maybe it’s best if you don’t ask.

If Yoongi’s men’s expertise—and by extension, his—are brothels, drugs, weapons and gambling, what could you possibly bring to the table that would make you more useful? You saw enough of the first three while trafficked and while living on the streets and hoped to move away from any lifestyle that would invite them back. Especially the drugs and weapons. Asking how you could be useful with regards to any of that just feels like inviting more trouble than you need. Although, if you don’t, then would Yoongi let you stay?

Three cups of soju later, you’re loosened up and ready to ask, against your better judgment. You drink the rest of the broth, leaving the bowl empty, and blot the edges of your mouth with your napkin before blurting, “And just how do I prove myself to be trustworthy?”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and smirks, and his eyes shine with a mix of darkness and mirth that makes you regret opening your mouth.

From the restaurant, Hoseok takes you and Yoongi shopping. Shopping with Yoongi is a surreal experience that involves walking into a boutique, picking out a series of dresses from a tablet, and then trying them on one by one as someone brings them out to you while Yoongi sits on a small leather sofa and sips on champagne. It’s past 11 PM, and you want to ask why they’re even open, but you assume that Yoongi and his money have something to do with it.

Each piece Yoongi chooses is a short cocktail dress that highlights at least some of your curves, if not all of them, and they all make you feel trepidation for the type of place you’re being outfitted for. These are not the types of dresses you would wear to dinner with Yoongi or anywhere but a nightclub—you’d probably only wear these dresses if you were on the prowl and looking for a hookup.

Yoongi insists on a black satin halter-neck bodycon dress that dips low in both the front and back and barely covers your ass. At first, you laugh because surely this must be some kind of joke, but Yoongi cocks his head and says, “Don’t worry, darling; we’ll find you more fitting shoes,” and waves you off to be led to another room by two employees who begin showing you selections of black strappy heels.

The staff applies makeup—a smoky eye look that you’re beginning to think it’s Yoongi’s preference—and they pin your hair back, twisting it from your face and letting the rest hang down in the back. Your original dress, bra, shoes and jacket are bagged up and you’re sent back to Yoongi feeling practically naked.

Once you return, Yoongi is standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a black leather harness that sits atop a new white satin button-up shirt. The harness has straps that go over both shoulders, then come straight down to two horizontal belts that wrap around his waist. His shirt is tucked into the tightest pair of skinny black jeans you’ve ever seen, and—to make matters worse—he’s in chelsea boots.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head to you. Silver earrings dangle from his ears, and you are certain, at this moment, that Yoongi is far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. How is it possible for him to get any hotter?

You nod and realize your mouth has been hanging open, so you close it and avert your eyes, but when you meet Yoongi’s gaze again, he’s studying you with his head cocked and his lips in a smirk. He clearly knows the effect he has on you, and, frankly, it’s unfair.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s go.”

Hoseok drops you off in front of a club with a large red neon sign that reads Serendipity. When you get out, Yoongi leads you to the front, past a line of folks waiting to get in, and the bouncer bows his head down as you pass. Inside, sexy down-tempo music blares, and you’re escorted through a hallway lit with red lights, past the main entrance to the club, where another security guard bows his head and opens a black velvet curtain for you to walk through. Up a short set of stairs and through a large black door, you’re led into what appears to be a VIP lounge that overlooks the rest of the nightclub.

Men and women turn to notice you and scramble to get up and bow their heads, and when Yoongi leads you to a large booth at the end of the room, you find three men sitting around a mirror, and one of them is snorting one of three racked up lines of cocaine.

“Fellas,” Yoongi says, and the men look up with alarmed expressions. “Finish what you’re doing and move along.”

You turn to look away, gazing out onto the artificial smoke-covered dance floor and watching people writhe under rainbow lights while the sounds of snorting and heavy exhales are heard from the booth. Leather creaks, and you hear the men get up and watch as they bow their heads to you and Yoongi while they scurry away, muttering “Thank you, sir,” as they go by.

Yoongi motions for you to get into the booth, and when you sit down, you notice the mirror is still there with a pile of cocaine, a business card that was undoubtedly used to rack the lines, and a short metal straw still sitting where the men had left it. You stay closer to the outside of the booth, away from the paraphernalia, and a server wearing a vest, slacks and tie with no shirt underneath brings you two glasses of neat, caramel-colored liquor.

“Mister Min,” the server says, head bowed down. Her hair, tied into a loose ponytail, falls over her shoulder, sending a delicate floral scent to you. “It’s our pleasure to see you again,” she continues and walks away.

Yoongi, who sits in the center of the booth, takes one of the glasses, pulls the napkin from under his drink and uses it to pick up the metal straw on the mirror, then folds it over and places it on the table away from him. He then uses the card to swipe all of the cocaine on the mirror off to one side, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a metal vial. Your heart pounds, and you watch Yoongi with wide eyes as he removes a small cork from the top and tips the vial over the mirror, dumping out white powder of his own.

This explains his erratic, anxious behavior earlier. The dilated pupils and sweaty forehead. You should have known.

By the time Yoongi has taken out a card from his wallet and scraped the pile into two thick, long lines, your hands are clenched to the hem of your skirt, holding on tightly and sweating. You don’t do drugs—not anymore. And you certainly don’t want to start again in a crowded nightclub wearing a swatch of fabric with a man whose behavior is unstable at best. Drugs don’t exactly bring out the best in you, and there’s too much at risk. You’re so far from home.

“Yoongi, I—”

Yoongi has a 50,000 won note that he’s rolled into a tight cylinder and he holds it out to you. You know you must look terrified, and Yoongi seems unconcerned, staring into your eyes with one brow raised.

“I don't—”

“I thought you wanted to prove yourself trustworthy and useful,” Yoongi says, cocking his head to the side while his lips upturn. “Ladies first.”

Your eyes travel from Yoongi to the cocaine and back, and you swallow a lump in your throat. Where past you would have taken the note and slid over excitedly, snorting the line no problem, you sweat, and your heart pounds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to run.

Yoongi opens his arms and motions for you to join him in the center of the seat, and you let go of your skirt and attempt to wipe your sweaty palms on the dress, but the fabric is thin and useless, and the texture feels terrible against the moist skin. You place your hands, balled into fists, against the seat and slide in, and when you’re close enough, Yoongi wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him.

Fingers draw lazy shapes between your shoulder blades, and Yoongi uses his pinky and ring finger to tilt your chin to him, still clutching the rolled note between his thumb and pointer. You look up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze, lips only about an inch away, and Yoongi smiles sweetly. His cologne and the loud but sultry music of the club soothe you, which, in the back of your mind, sets off more alarm bells; nothing about this should be soothing.

“What are you afraid of?” Yoongi asks.

You swallow another lump and study Yoongi’s face—his sharp eyes, round nose and plump lips. Up close, he’s somehow more beautiful, and you wonder how someone so soft, so pretty could be the leader of something so dark and so cold. You don’t want to tell Yoongi about your past drug use or past anything, really. You don’t want him to know how closely the situation he has put you in mirrors the situations men had put you in for years and years. Although it was never your fault, you fear what Yoongi may think of you.

“Uh—I—” you struggle to form a thought. Your heart pounds, and you can tell you’re breathing more shallow than usual. You shake your head. “In the past, I—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Yoongi’s voice is deep, low, and so quiet it could only be heard at the distance you sit from him. Yoongi uses his fingers to pull your chin to him, and you gasp lightly as your lips touch. It’s light and sweet, and it makes your shoulders relax. You turn your head slightly to the side to better slot your lips together and chase a deeper kiss.

“I’ll take care of you, darling,” Yoongi mutters against your lips.

You whine as Yoongi licks between your lips, grazing your teeth, and when your mouth falls open, inviting Yoongi to chase your tongue with his, you reach up and place your hands on Yoongi’s chest. You run your fingers over the leather straps, passing a fingertip over a nipple, and Yoongi gasps as the hand on your back pulls you closer.

“Trust me,” Yoongi whines, leaning his forehead against yours.

With a deep exhale, you sit back and accept the note from Yoongi. It’s just cocaine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this many times before. If Yoongi is as powerful and influential as he says he is—as untouchable as Felix claims—you shouldn’t have to worry about the quality of his drugs. With your free hand, you reach for your drink and take a big gulp. Whiskey. It’s smooth, but it burns the back of your throat and fills your chest with warmth.

You set your drink down and lean over the mirror, scooting it close to you, and Yoongi’s fingers continue to ease your mind, drawing lines up and down your spine, skin against skin. With a deep inhale and a soft, slow exhale, you lean forward, line the end of the note with one of the lines, press your nose close to the other end, and inhale.

The powder instantly hits your throat, and you continue to inhale the entire line. And although it takes no time at all for the drug to course through you, it’s the adrenaline of the situation that has your heart pounding dizzyingly. You tilt your head up and rub the back of a shaky hand against your nose and sniff, getting the powder that’s stuck to the inside of your nostril to travel back into your throat.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi praises, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

Yoongi takes the note from you, and with his hand still on your back, he leans forward and inhales the second line in a quick, practiced movement. Sour mucus drips down your throat, and the air suddenly feels thick and heavy. You feel the urge to sink into the booth and will your soul to push itself up and out of your body. You want to dance and drink and fuck, and you tilt your head back against the warm leather and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“How do you feel, darling?” Yoongi asks. His breath is warm and close, and he runs a finger down the side of your neck.

Energy trembles and sparks through your limbs. It shouldn’t hit you so fast, but it has. “Electric,” you mutter, opening your eyes and staring at the dark ceiling.

“You won’t find anything this pure on the streets.”

The words swim around, but you can’t make sense of much. The lights are flashing, the music is loud, and your bodies are radiating heat. The cocaine did smell clean, almost floral, and you’re inclined to believe him; you’re used to shit smelling like gasoline.  

“Care to dance?” Yoongi asks.

You look at Yoongi, searching his wide-eyed, smirking face. You nod your head, and Yoongi reaches for his drink and chugs it back, so you chug the rest of yours and let Yoongi pull you along as he slides out of the booth. Yoongi leads you through a door similar to the one you came through, but in the opposite direction, and you walk down a short set of steps, through a black velvet curtain and past a man whose head is bowed down. Then you’re led through an entrance into the nightclub, and Yoongi pulls you into the center of the crowd and wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close.

The music is slow enough that you sway your hips at a languid pace and pull Yoongi close, arms over his shoulders with your fingers twisting in the long hair at his nape. One of Yoongi’s hands holds your back, flayed open and radiating heat against your bare skin, and the other moves down to the swell of your ass, moving slowly over the fabric, hiking and dropping the skirt. You’re aware of how many eyes might be on you, but all you can do is look at Yoongi.

“Is it dangerous to be in a crowd like this?” you ask softly. You grazed a finger over a nipple earlier; Yoongi is not wearing a bulletproof vest.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “In my own club? No.”

Of course Yoongi owns this place. You chuckle and pull him closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling foolish for even asking.

“How do you feel, being seen with a man like me?”

And you thought your question was stupid; his is frankly astounding. You tilt your head back and meet Yoongi’s gaze, smiling as you roll your eyes to show him just how silly he sounds.

“How do I feel in the arms of the man who everyone in this room envies? The man who everyone wants to be, or wants to be with?” Yoongi’s eyes flash, dark and devious, and you pull him to you until your lips are close to touching. “How do you think I feel?”

You run your hands down over Yoongi’s chest, feeling his warmth through his shirt, and Yoongi smirks. The song blends into something new, something with a faster tempo, and Yoongi grabs you by the hips, spins you, and slams your ass against his body. Your head whips to the side as if trying to see Yoongi, and he takes it as an invitation to lean in and kiss your neck. Yoongi’s hands open and flay over your hips and the tops of your thighs, pushing and pulling the satin around, and you moan quietly, melting into the feeling.

“How do you like the coke, darling?” Yoongi asks against your skin.

Yoongi’s lips leave sparks on every spot they touch, and you reach your hands back to rub the sides of his thighs. “Good,” you respond.

“How good?”

The deep rasp of his voice sends a shiver along your spine, and Yoongi presses your hips back, grinding your ass against him, pushing the tense bulge in his very tight pants against you. Your breath comes out shaky, and your body is flooded with arousal.

“Sogood.”

Although you’re not really dancing, more like swaying, there’s a rhythm in Yoongi’s hips that has your mind going places. His long fingers come so close to rubbing past your thighs, ghosting near your pussy, and you swish your hips in opposite movements, rubbing your ass over Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi hisses and sighs behind you, and you can feel every inch of your skin break out in goosebumps. The song changes, but the tempo stays the same, and as each minute passes, you feel yourself becoming needier and needier.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” Yoongi rasps.

It occurs to you in this moment that this club most likely doubles as a brothel and that somewhere private could mean a lot of things. A lot of dangerous, enticing things. And god, you want to fuck Min Yoongi so badly. Mafia boss Min Yoongi who not only runs Seoul but apparently some of Busan too; his power feels immeasurable and scary, and you’re increasingly turned on by the idea that all eyes are on him and his eyes are on you. The cocaine energizes yet relaxes you in a delicious blend that has every nerve and sense on high alert, and you want nothing more than to be absolutely overwhelmed by Yoongi.

“Yes,” you mutter, and in an instant, Yoongi is grabbing your hand and pulling you along in the direction you came, through the entrance and toward the security guard. Only, rather than enter the black curtain at the end of the hall to go back to the VIP area, you stop in front of the guard, who steps aside and opens a black curtain you hadn’t noticed behind him. Red light fills the small stairwell, and you’re led down a winding flight of steps into another red-lit hallway.

The hallway is lined with heavy black doors, and although the music from the club upstairs comes through speakers and shakes through the ceiling, you can hear moans and grunts, slaps and gasps, and other salacious sounds from the rooms. Yoongi leads you to the door at the end of the hall, types in a long code on the keypad and swings the door open, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back to enter first.

Yoongi pushes a button on the wall as he enters, and the lights flicker on, purple and dim, as the door closes behind you. To the right is a bed with wrist and ankle straps snaked from beneath the mattress, making an X shape in the center atop the neatly tucked silk sheets. On the wall beside the bed is a rack with various whips, floggers and other striking tools. Shelves along the wall are covered in various toys and devices, and you hold back a chuckle at the sight of dildos and anal plugs standing alert, waiting to be used. In the center of the room is a large white couch facing the shelves, and on the left wall is a large bar stocked with bottles of liquor.

“Have a seat,” Yoongi offers.

Reluctantly, you make your way to the couch and sit. You can’t help but rove your eyes over the shelves of toys, landing on the row of monster-looking cocks with strange bulbous bases and tentacles covering the lengths. Yoongi goes to the bar, and you can hear the sounds of glasses on a glass surface, a bottle opening and closing, and liquid pouring, but your mind is clouded with everything this room has to offer. This is so far beyond what you expected—though, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure what you should have anticipated lies behind that door.

“This is the executive suite. Busan has some real kinky little fuckers; they love those monster cocks here.”

The creaking of the leather couch pulls your gaze from the dildo wall to Yoongi, who smirks widely. “Seems you’re intrigued by the monster cocks, too.”

“Please stop saying monster cocks,” you mutter, suddenly feeling shy and taking one of the glasses from Yoongi.

“Everything is sanitized, and staff are required to use condoms with customers, in case you—”

You hold up a hand, stopping Yoongi mid-sentence. “Yoongi,” you giggle, “I think I’m good but thank you.”

Yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek and chuckles, and you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders and try not to swoon. “If you insist,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

The mood you were in on the dancefloor seems to have all but dissipated, but you sip the whiskey and let your eyes fall over Yoongi’s face and throat, down to his chest, and—

“You should undo some of your buttons,” you suggest, meeting Yoongi’s eyes.

“I could remove the shirt,” Yoongi offers, taking a sip of his drink.

You take a drink and let the warm, slightly sweet, bitter liquid sink you further into the mental and physical calm that you chase. “Keep the harness on,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and Yoongi chuckles.

Yoongi drinks his whiskey down and sets his empty glass on a shelf next to a large black and purple tentacle dildo, and you drink back yours, setting the glass next to a red cock with a large knot in the center of the shaft. Yoongi takes your hand and tugs you to him, and you get onto your knees on the couch and straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your skirt barely covers you, and Yoongi runs his hands up your thighs, pushing the satin up and exposing your panties.

Suddenly, you feel nervous and drop your head onto one of Yoongi’s shoulders. You nuzzle against his skin and inhale his scent, and Yoongi chuckles and moves one of his hands, pushing your knee away so he can reach into his pocket and pull out the metal vial. As soon as you see it, it occurs to you that your high has more or less begun to wear off, and the come down has you feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable.

Yoongi opens the vial, sets the cork lid on the couch, and reaches into his shirt to pull out a necklace you hadn’t noticed he’s wearing. Hanging from a thin gold chain is an angel with big, open wings, and her hands are pulled into prayer with her head tilted slightly forward. Her legs smooth out into a stem and at the end is a small spoon. Yoongi hands the angel pendant to you, still hanging from his neck, and you dip the spoon into the cocaine and gather a small pile onto the end, then inhale it.

“Both sides, for good measure,” Yoongi mutters, and you oblige, dipping the spoon into the drugs once more and inhaling it into your other nostril. Yoongi delicately uses the pad of a thumb to rub away any excess cocaine on your nose, then takes the angel and snorts two piles before closing the vial and tucking the necklace back into his shirt. Yoongi leaves the drugs on the couch and runs his hands up your thighs, lifting your skirt again.

The buzzing, electric feeling starts to flow through you, and you rub your nose against Yoongi’s, watching as his lips tug into a smirk before pulling you in a deep, hungry kiss. Yoongi’s hands grip onto your thighs, and you grind your ass down against his half-hard cock, delighting in the hiss that falls between his lips.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “You drive me wild. It’s so hard to hold back.”

“Don’t hold back,” you whine against Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi rubs a thumb over your clothed pussy, sending a jolt of arousal through you, and you gasp into his mouth. He circles over your clit, pressing the thin, soft fabric against you, and you moan short, desperate sounds. His thumb slides over you, down over your folds, parting them, and back up.

“This what you want?” Yoongi asks, and you hum in response, though it sounds more like a moan.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” Yoongi groans, and you whimper in response, eager for more praise to fall from Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi taps your hip. “Get comfortable for me.”

You climb off Yoongi’s lap and sit, and before you can ask where he wants you, Yoongi slides onto the floor and crawls between your legs, spreading you wide and pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. He reaches for a throw pillow and hands it to you, and you put it behind your back but lean forward, pulling Yoongi’s face into a kiss. Yoongi licks eagerly into your mouth and sucks on your bottom lip, then pulls from the kiss and rubs his open hands up your thighs, spreading your legs.

Yoongi hooks your right leg over his shoulder as he litters kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. His lips are warm and soft, and the closer they get to where you want him, the more shattered your breath becomes. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you grip onto the edge of the couch and sink into the feeling, watching Yoongi get closer and closer.

Two fingers touch you, rubbing over your clit, and you whimper and exhale a deep breath. Yoongi’s lips are so close, and the sensation of his mouth, his fingers, his hair tickling the inside of your thigh, everything has you panting in anticipation.

Yoongi sits back, inches from your pussy, and reaches up with both hands, rubbing over your tummy and breasts. You whimper as Yoongi squeezes your nipples between his fingers and thumbs over the satin, and he smirks before pulling his hands back down, down, down, spreading your thighs again.

“I’ve been dying to taste you,” Yoongi rasps.

Long fingers dimple your skin, holding tightly, and Yoongi leans forward and licks you over your panties, slowly up and down and up again, and arousal drips through you, thick and saccharine. You moan and let your head crash back into the leather surface as Yoongi tugs your panties aside and gently, slowly parts your folds with his tongue, teasing you, making you unravel so delicately for him.

You knew that Yoongi would be skilled, but you’re still surprised by how quickly, almost effortlessly, Yoongi’s tongue has you melting just from teasing and tasting. By the time his tongue circles over your clit and his lips close over the bud, gently sucking, you’re moaning and whining and holding onto the edge of the couch like a lifeline. Every inch of you may as well be engulfed in flame.

Yoongi sets a rhythm with his lips and tongue that has every inch of you burning hot and eager with arousal. Pleasure pools and builds and threatens to swallow you whole, and Yoongi moans and hums as he savors you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of total collapse.

Two fingers tease your entrance, then press slowly into you, and your hips rock involuntarily as he stretches you around his knuckles and slowly thrusts into you. You moan and whimper and chant, “please,” under your breath, and Yoongi hooks his fingers and gradually begins to fuck them into you, fast and rough enough to have you seeing stars. Yoongi flattens his tongue and leans his head forward, and the thrusts of his hand have your hips rocking just enough that your clit grinds against Yoongi’s tongue.

“F-fuck,” you whine, feeling the quick, steady rise of an orgasm. “Please, don’t stop.”

Yoongi sucks your clit between his lips and fingers you faster, and that’s all it takes to have you grabbing onto his hair and crying out. Your voice blends with the squelch of Yoongi’s fingers in your pussy in a lewd cacophony of pleasure, and you cum hard, grinding against Yoongi’s face as your back arches and your legs tremble, and you feel as if you’re absolutely fucking drowning in pleasure. Yoongi doesn’t slow, and as your high begins to dissipate, leaving you overstimulated and sensitive, you begin to cry out and squeeze your thighs closed, but Yoongi keeps you spread, and he doesn’t stop.

“One more for me,” Yoongi groans, and you let your hands fall from his hair and grip the couch instead, doing your best to relax into the feeling and allow him to make you cum once more.

It takes no time at all for another orgasm to rise. Your thighs tremble, and you feel as if a haze has covered the room. You’re blissful and exhausted despite taut, intense coiling in your core that feels ready to burst and shatter you into thousands of pieces. Your hips begin to shake, grinding on Yoongi’s face, and you feel pulled in every direction, overwhelmed in the best way.

Yoongi’s phone rings. The sound almost yanks you out of the moment, but Yoongi’s fingers don’t slow, and he pulls his lips from you long enough to grumble, “What?”

You try to hold back your moans, but you’re so close, and they fall so easily from your mouth. From the phone, you hear Namjoon’s deep voice ask, “Bad timing?” and tense up at the realization that Yoongi has him on speaker.

“What do you think?” Yoongi growls back before sucking your clit between his lips, and holy shit, you are falling apart quickly. You try not to make too much noise, but your orgasm courses through you so fast, and you tremble and grind and whimper through the feeling.

“Are you at Serendipity? We have a problem.”

Yoongi hums loudly in affirmation with his lips attached to your clit, and you continue to ride out your high, squeezing the leather below you and panting heavily. Yoongi’s fingers slow but continue to trust deeply, dragging along your walls.

“Jimin is on his way to the executive suite. Clean up and meet us in ten.”

With a sigh, Yoongi licks one last slow stripe over your clit and mutters, “Heard,” then ends the call and flips his phone over.

Yoongi sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is pink, lips slick and swollen, and his hair is disheveled. He looks sinful yet soft, and you wonder if you could fall in love with him.

There’s a knock at the door before a code is punched into the keypad, and you attempt to cover yourself, but Jimin is in the room before you can sit up. You look over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Jimin wears a leopard print jacket with thick black lapels that rise in dramatic peaks over his chest. Under the jacket is a black satin shirt with a loose, long bowtie collar. You marvel at how nice it is to see Jimin in something other than a plain black button-up.

“This won’t do,” Jimin says, eyeing Yoongi. He begins to untie and unbutton his own shirt, and Yoongi catches on and begins to unbuckle his harness.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi mutters, tossing the harness to the couch and unbuttoning his white shirt.

“Ryujin heard you were in town.”

Yoongi’s fingers stall over his buttons, then he continues to work them open. “So?”

“Just because you own the district doesn’t mean she doesn’t have free reign to enter as she pleases.”

“Is she here?”

Jimin shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, and you tear your eyes away. He’s similar in build to Yoongi but a little more muscular and a bit more honey-toned. Instead, you watch Yoongi grab the shirt that Jimin had tossed onto the couch and watch his hands—those magic fucking hands—button the black shirt, tie the collar into a delicate, loose bow, and then pull on the leopard print jacket.

Jimin rounds the couch, and you notice how his tiny waist is cinched in the harness that Yoongi wore earlier. He uses his thumbs to rub away any makeup that may have smeared from your eyes, then fixes your hair, unpinning and repinning sections.

“Whatever you do, do not look this woman in the eye, and do not let her intimidate you,” Jimin says. He stands and holds his hand out to you, and you take it and allow Jimin to help you stand on unsteady legs. “In fact, don’t even look at her at all. This dress is perfect, by the way. It looks hot. Stand tall with your chin up and cling to Yoongi’s side. Only look at him and us, alright?”

You nod your head, but the instructions take a moment to settle. Jimin straightens out your dress, then he turns to Yoongi and messes with his tie, smoothing his lapels over his chest.

“You smell like pussy,” Jimin grumbles through a smirk, and Yoongi bites back a grin. “And what did I say about leaving glassware by the dildos, hyung?”

“Don’t do it,” Yoongi mutters like a scolded child.

“Don’t do it!” Jimin parrots. “Alright, Joonie-hyung is waiting; grab your coke and let’s go.”

Jimin makes his way to the door, and Yoongi grabs his metal vial and wraps an arm around your waist, leading you along behind him. You’re still in a daze from Yoongi’s mouth and fingers, and you feel like you’re walking through clouds as you make your way down the red-lit hallway and up the stairs. Jimin takes you to the VIP section, and you pass the booth you and Yoongi had been in, noticing the mirror of cocaine is still there.

“Who are you meeting?” you ask quietly, finally starting to mentally catch up with what’s happening, but Yoongi doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he stops in his tracks near the bar that runs along the far wall, and as a few of Yoongi’s family men crowd your space, a woman walks up with men of her own surrounding her.

Jimin instructed you not to look at her, but you can’t help but take a glimpse. Long, black hair is tied in a low ponytail with loose hairs in the front hanging over her face, framing it nicely. She has soft red eyeshadow around her eyes and bright purple lipstick, and she wears a tight black leather crop top beneath a black blazer, and slacks. Although the outfit is simple, she’s breathtaking.

“Baby!” the woman squeals in a tone that borders genuine and sarcastic in a twist that confuses you. “Did you miss me?”

You realize she’s talking to Yoongi and turn to look at him, clinging to his side with one hand on his chest and the other around his waist. Yoongi’s expression is almost unreadable, but there’s a hint of sadness that you try not to overthink. He doesn’t respond.

“Heard you were in town and wanted to come say hi,” she says, getting closer. She places a hand on Yoongi’s jacket and rubs over it, and you see she’s turned to look at you, but you don’t look at her. “I guess you brought a new pet along to play instead, though, huh?”

“What do you want, Ryujin?” Yoongi mutters. He places a hand over hers and pulls it off his jacket, and she drops her hand and takes a step back.

“You, obviously.”

Yoongi sighs. “That’s it? I was a little busy, you know.”

The woman, Ryujin, hums, and you fight the urge to look at her. She smells like fresh citrus and something floral.

“I can tell,” Ryujin responds mockingly, then steps back. “The streets speak, Yoongi. Busan doesn’t want to keep you unless you accept my proposal.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Tough shit.”

“Yes, it will be tough shit when you wake up to find your precious seaside port gone. How will your little coke operation run?”

“Busan isn’t the only port city,” Yoongi responds. His hand on your hip tightens, but otherwise, you wouldn’t know he’s tense. “If you think I can’t buy a village, you grossly underestimate me.”

“We’ll see,” Ryujin sing-songs. “It’s not too late to merge families, though.”

Yoongi sighs. “Cool, good talk,” he says, pulling you away from the bar. His men crowd around behind you, creating a barrier between you and her men.

“You can’t run from me forever, Yoongi, baby!” Ryujin shouts, “As long as you have a district in my city, I’ll come for you.”

Yoongi pulls you closer and continues walking. You’re led out of the VIP, through the red-lit hallway and out into an alley. Hoseok is in an SUV just outside, and Yoongi opens your door, waiting for you to climb in before he shuts it and rounds the vehicle.

“How was meeting the ice queen?” Hoseok asks with a grin. You hum a question, watching Hoseok watch you through the rearview mirror, and Hoseok opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi opens the door and gets into the backseat beside you.

“I want everything out of the warehouse,” Yoongi says, pulling on his seatbelt. “We’re heading back tonight.”

“One step ahead of you, boss,” Hoseok says as he pulls out of the alley. “Jungkook already has the cargo in tow to Seoul with Changkyun and his men. I have your luggage in the back.”

“Everyone knew well before I did?” Yoongi asks.

Hoseok smirks. “You were having fun, boss. We didn’t want to interrupt until we felt it was necessary.”

You watch the city disappear as Hoseok drives in the direction of home. You wish you had more time to spend at the hanok, but whoever Ryujin is, seems to have shaken Yoongi enough to make him want to leave.

“Who is she?” you ask, and Yoongi’s jaw tenses.

“She,” Hoseok offers with a smile, which you catch in the rearview mirror, “was none other than the love of Yoongi’s life.”

Yoongi sighs, and you look to find him staring out the window with a sharp, cold expression.

“What happened?” you ask, though you’re unsure you have a right to.

“Found out her father is the head of a rival mob and that she was using me in hopes of blending power and helping her family take over my family’s territory,” Yoongi mutters.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

“Want to know the best part?” Hoseok asks, and you look into the mirror to find him staring at you.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi warns, but, aside from glancing forward at the road, Hoseok’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Yoongi found out just before their wedding.”

Their wedding. Yoongi and Ryujin were engaged. Bile rises to your throat, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“How long were you together?” you ask.

“High school sweethearts!” Hoseok chirps and Yoongi buries his face in his hands. He looks exasperated. “You were together for, what? Ten years?”

Yoongi grumbles, and you’re not sure if it’s an affirmative or not, but you’re guessing that it is.

And although you can tell Yoongi does not want to talk about it anymore, you can’t help but ask, “How soon before the wedding?”

Yoongi turns to you, and his eyes are sharp and angry, but they soften as he studies your face. He chuckles a low, humorless sound and says, “I was tipped off while standing at the altar.”

“Oh.”

“Yoongi almost shot her father dead there in the church as he began to walk her down the aisle. It was like a scene from a movie.”

“Fucking should have,” Yoongi mutters, looking down at his hands.

You reach out and take Yoongi’s hand, and he squeezes your fingers softly and smiles, looking down at your hand in his.

“Does she actually want you still,” you ask, “or was she just taunting you?”

Hoseok chuckles. “She not only wants him, lately she seems ready to stop at nothing to have him.”

The information set