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Violence Wears a Pretty Face

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“Please.” Jimin begs, ready to get on his knees if he has to, “Please don’t make me do this. He’ll kill me.”

Jimin’s boss only sneers in distaste at his groveling, flicking a perfectly manicured in his direction. Her right hand whores are at the ready, greedy faces all silently laughing as they forcefully walk Jimin to the elevator.

Jimin jerks against their hold, looking around his coworkers for any sign of a friendly face. Of the few that are there, no one seems particularly bothered that he’s being thrown to the wolves. Jimin’s not particularly surprised – in this business, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.

“It’s just one client.” The whore holding on Jimin’s left bicep says, digging her nails in, “Stop overreacting.”

The one Jimin’s right echoes the sentiment, yanking hard when Jimin doesn’t move his feet fast enough, “It’s an honor to be entertaining someone so important.” He says and Jimin can detect the hint of a laugh in his tone, “Besides, you’ll finally get a customer. You should be happy we’re giving you the job.”

Jimin spits at him and his boss leans in to slap him, “Stop that! You’ll entertain that gangster however he wants or else I’ll have your head, hear that Park? Now stop throwing a tantrum, you look ridiculous.”

The ride up the elevator feels like it takes an age, but when they finally get to the floor, Jimin’s beyond terrified. The gang that runs their section of the town are nothing but the cruelest sons of bitches, known for torturing and massacring business that don’t pay up a certain fee.

The fact that Jimin’s been picked to entertain one of them is no coincidence. He’s the lowest ranking whore, his clients all stolen from him by the other workers. Theoretically, when he got to the whorehouse he was only supposed to work for a couple of months, just long enough to earn the necessary amount of credits it’d take to move to a better part of town. He’s been here for the better part of three years now, locked in with no hopes of getting out.

As soon as the doors open, Jimin’s being trudged out by his coworkers. The terror in Jimin’s system makes him go limp, feet dragging on the floor as he goes.

“Think of it this way,” His boss says once they stop in front of a room, her hand pressing to the lock-pad. “If you do well, maybe he’ll let you live.”

The door slides open once it confirms her print and Jimin is all but thrown into the room. The door closes and Jimin settles back against it, swallowing down his anxiety. There’s no point in fighting it, he knows; the door won’t open to his print.

“I thought you were going to be ugly.”

Jimin startles at the low, gruff voice of the gang member, feeling very much like a spooked prey animal when he glances at him from under his eyelashes. The gang member looks at him curiously, head tilted. Jimin spine straightens immediately at the attention, whole body thrumming with—fear? Restlessness? Excitement? It’s impossible to tell.

“So I guess the question now is, what did you do to get thrown in here?” The gang member wonders out loud. Jimin blinks at him, wondering if he’s allowed to speak or if he should save his skin and just keep quiet.

“I asked you a question.” The gang member says quietly, pulling his blazer back. The move looks so natural Jimin hardly thinks much of it, but then the gang member’s bracelets glitter and his attention rivets to his wrist – that’s when Jimin finally notices the shiny metal wink of his gun. It’s tucked snuggly against the gang member’s waist, peeking out over the waistband of his jeans.

Jimin swallows thickly. The atmosphere in the room drops several degrees.

The gang member blinks slowly at him from across the room and Jimin stares back for a moment before his heart jumpstarts in his chest, something like electricity striking down his spine and jerking him into action. His mouth pops open but the words get stuck.

The other looks bored and his hands shifts, fingers lingering on the handle of his gun much more obviously. Jimin flushes, blood rushing hot from the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes.

“I don’t know.” Jimin says, because he really doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he did to be placed in a room with a criminal at his front and the wall at his back, a loaded gun between them.

The gang member tilts his head and Jimin sees his fingers move before they so much as twitch, “M-mister—“ He pleads and the gang member interrupts him, “Suga.”


“Drop the formalities. Just Suga.” Suga tells him. Jimin grapples at the chance he’s been given.

“Suga,” Jimin breathes, formulating his words into something coherent, “I’m in here because I chose to be.”

“I dislike liars.” Suga frowns, the hint of a scowl tilting his mouth downwards.

“What do you want me to say?” Jimin breaks a little, jittery with fear. He can feel the gun at his throat even though it hasn’t left the confines of Suga’s waistband.

“I want you to tell me why they gave you up to me. You knew damn well what to expect when they pushed you into this room.” Suga says, leaning his elbows against his knees, putting his fingers together contemplatively.

“Because—“ Jimin hesitates, swallows, and finds his nerve to stare the gang member head on, “Because I’m expendable. I’m the lowest ranking whore; the business won’t take a hit if you decide t-to—“ He falters at the end, unable to enunciate the word ‘kill’. It’s almost like he’s afraid of reminding the gang member of the option.

Suga hums and settles back. They sit in silence for a minute, Suga watching Jimin and Jimin trying his hardest to return the stare.

“You’re expendable then,” Suga wonders, finally reaching his hand in and pulling out his gun. Jimin’s heart nearly stops. His palms sweat and his body trembles against his will. Suga looks entirely unbothered as he rests the hand against the armchair, gun pointed down and away from Jimin.

Jimin says nothing, eyes glued to the gun. He wonders how many holes Suga will put in him and prays for one that will end it all quickly.

“Jimin-sshi,” Suga purrs, and somehow his sweet voice sounds infinitely more terrifying than his gravel voice, “Come here.”

Jimin doesn’t want to. His muscles feel like lead and his body refuses to step away from the door, but Suga’s command feels like the embodiment of a meat hook having sunk deep into some soft, tender part of him, forcing him across the small space between them.

Every step seems to make his heart fall lower into his chest until it falls into the pit of his gut, rotting with anxiety and fear. He stands in front of Suga with enough space to let Suga stretch his arm out and aim the gun, but the gang member doesn’t. Simply looks at Jimin from head to toe before he spreads his knees a little and gestures down with a tilt of his head, “Take a seat.”

There’s surprise in Jimin’s system, but he’s so numb he can’t make it out. He takes his seat on Suga’s lap with grace, the movement fluid even though he’s so out of practice.

Up close, Jimin realizes Suga is beautiful. His face is soft and round but the lines of his jaw look sharp enough to cut. Jimin takes a shuddering breath, trying to balance his weight on his toes. Suga yanks him down the rest of the way so that he’s fully seated and the gun makes a reappearance in Jimin’s periphery.

“You’re expendable,” Suga repeats, bringing the gun up and tracing down the curve of Jimin’s face, “But not useless.” He sounds contemplative.

Jimin arches subtly, throwing his head back as the barrel of Suga’s gun slides right up against the apple of his throat, exactly where Jimin had envisioned it before. Jimin’s breath starts coming quicker when hears the safety click off, the chip drilled into the base of his neck heating in response to the danger.

He looks down at Suga as best as he can with the weird angle. Suga ticks an eyebrow up at him, still not smiling but very obviously amused.

Jimin swallows, feeling the tip of the gun follow the movement, and decides to put the adrenaline pouring into his veins to use. He shifts his hips forward slightly, tentative. Suga doesn’t respond, too busy admiring the column of his neck – probably wondering what angle would be best to have Jimin’s brains slather all over the pristine white walls.

Curving his pelvis down, Jimin shifts again, pressing down a little harder. Suga’s tongue peeks out, a pretty pink thing, and Jimin arches his back more, his hands finding Suga’s knees for balance. The gang member allows him the movement, gun still pressed tightly to his throat.

The metal has begun heating against Jimin’s skin, no longer that biting sting of cold. Being on the edge of death does things to a person, makes them braver (stupider) and Jimin decides if he’s going to die, he’ll die the whore he’s always meant to be.

He ruts against Suga’s thigh, already stimulated with the danger of the situation. Suga looks pleasantly surprised and clicks his tongue, “Definitely not useless, huh?”

Jimin agrees, nodding his head carefully. His face flushes with Suga’s mocking tone, body thrumming hotly when he thinks of how terribly this can all end, but he wants to do good. He wants to prove his manager and all the other whores wrong. He wants to show Suga how good he can be.

Jimin grinds harder, shyly sliding in closer to Suga even though the man refuses to drop the gun from Jimin’s throat. A large, incriminating wet patch starts to form under him as Jimin’s chip fully activates, forcing his body to produce slick. Jimin stutters out an embarrassed moan as it drips out of him, through his pants and onto Suga’s lap but he doesn’t stop.

Suga hardly looks bothered, but he still looks so detached from the situation, simply watching as Jimin ruts on his lap like a bitch in heat.

Some part of Jimin sharpens at that, hands itching to dig into the gang member’s hair or leave marks on his skin, but the gun glints under the light like a warning. Even with his slick, the continuous rub starts to burn.

Jimin gets off Suga, the honey-like feel of arousal so thick in his veins it makes him slow and stupid. He unhooks his belt and slides out of his pants and underwear before climbing Suga’s lap again, making sure to angle his throat carefully so the gun rests back in its place.

“Suga—“ He mumbles prettily, making his voice go breathy like he knows his clients like. He lifts his shirt up slightly, showing off the mess of slick over his cock and thighs before jutting his bottom lip out in a pout, “I’m not useless.”

That gets a small grin out of Suga but it feels the equivalent of lucking out at a casino game for Jimin. He might just fuck his way out alive.

Suga agrees with a small hum, finally lowering the gun to drag down Jimin’s throat and settle at the dip of his collarbones.

“Show me what you can do.” He says and the some of the trepidation laden on Jimin’s bones melts away. Ignoring the gun, it’s like any other client Jimin’s had to entertain, and despite how badly the other whores had tried to sully his name, Jimin’s good at what he does.

Suga settles more comfortably into the armchair and Jimin knows he won’t be an active participant. This is all Jimin’s show, his chance to prove his worth.

Carefully, he reaches up under the gun and pulls on his shirt, popping open the buttons. Normally for a show, Jimin would be prettied up with glitter and neon paint, but he’ll have to do with the natural glow of his skin.

He slides a hand down from his chest to his stomach and Suga follows the path with his gun. Jimin’s stomach, softer now since the manager took his pole-dancing away, shudders under the metal and Suga’s eyes seem to almost glimmer in excitement. Jimin leaks.

The gun stops right at his bellybutton, clinking a little against the jewel there.

“Pretty.” Suga mumbles and Jimin arches again, rolling his hips to make the little jewel bounce against his belly.

Usually, in the times that Jimin was able to land a client, he’d talk to them. People like the sound of his voice, like it even better when he says things filthy enough to curl toes. Here, he’s afraid to moan too loudly, much less talk.

Suga laughs, tapping the gun against Jimin’s belly button piercing, “Poor baby. No one cared about you enough to keep you from me.”

The background music of the room is something slow with a heavy bass, but Jimin can hardly make it out over the sound of his heart beating fast and hard in his ears. The gun pokes at his belly enough to be mildly uncomfortable every time Jimin grinds down, but underneath him Suga is finally starting to respond.

Jimin imagines the gun firing and putting a fist-sized hole in him and shakes, moaning high and pretty as Suga’s erection pokes at him from underneath.

Suga’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Jimin’s skull before he tightens his grip, forcing Jimin to arch awkwardly to keep his hair from being yanked out. Suga lurches forward and Jimin nearly topples back, only manages to save himself by digging his fingers into Suga’s knees for balance.

The gun juts into his neck, right underneath his jawline. Jimin whines at the ache in his skull but quiets as Suga’s face nears his own.

“They threw you away Jimin, do you understand that? If I shot you right now—” Suga cocks the hammer back on his gun and Jimin swallows, tears springing into his eyes, “—do you think anyone would come stop me?”

Against the gun, an artery throbs and Jimin feels it all along his body. His face flushes, humiliated, as his cock pokes against Suga’s stomach with them so close together. He and Suga both know the answer to the question, but Jimin’s lips stay firmly shut.

If he has to die, he wants his dignity intact.

Suga clicks his tongue in annoyance, twisting Jimin’s hair harder. Jimin cries out, the burn just the slightest edge of sweet. His cock throbs, his slick has just about made a puddle on the floor.

“Well? Are you going to answer my question?” Jimin shuts his eyes and bites his lip. It’s as much of answer as anything.

Suga hums, releasing the punishing grip on Jimin’s hair. It’s hard to swallow, but Jimin’s almost a little…disappointed.

Suga stands abruptly and this time Jimin really does tumble off, hitting the floor on his back and smacking his head against the floor. Suga looms above him, the neon lighting painting him in shades of blue and purple, “Get up.”

Disoriented because of the fall, Jimin does his best to get his feet back under him but he barely gets onto his knees before Suga’s hand finds his hair again, yanking his head back.

“Ow—“ Jimin cries and Suga takes the opportunity to shove the barrel of the gun into his mouth. The metal tastes disgusting, bleeding metal and chemical taste down Jimin’s throat. He gags, flinching away but Suga follows him, keeping the gun in far enough so Jimin chokes on it.

“What’s the point of having such a pretty mouth if you aren’t going to use it?” Suga questions idly, tilting his head down. The gun leans heavily against the back of Jimin’s tongue, forcing him to continuously gag. It’s hard to breathe and Jimin starts crying, forgetting all his self-preservation skills and digging his nails into the hand Suga’s using to hold the gun.

Suga doesn’t feel it at all, hand immovable, and Jimin sobs around the gun, spitting drool down his chin as he gags for the fifth time, stomach clenching in a way that Jimin knows means he’s going to really vomit soon if this doesn’t stop.

“Let’s try this again.” Suga says, finally slipping the gun out Jimin’s mouth. Jimin crumples at his feet, hacking fiercely.

“Are you going to be a good boy and answer when I ask you something?” Suga asks and immediately, Jimin nods frantically. Suga’s tongue clicks in displeasure and Jimin’s mouth pops open, “Yes—yes! I’ll be good, I promise.”

Suga squats down to his level, the gun pointed towards the ground and shiny with Jimin’s spit. Jimin sniffles, throat burning, and flinches when Suga’s free hand lifts towards his face. Instead of slapping him like Jimin feared, Suga cups his cheek, circling his thumb into Jimin’s tears.

“There, there baby. I know you’ll be good. You just have to listen to what I tell you, alright?” There’s a degree of mocking in Suga’s tone, almost like he can’t help himself, but Jimin’s weak and leans into his hand anyways, desperate for a kind touch. Suga smiles, pleased.

Suga grabs at his bicep, tugging him up, and Jimin hurriedly gets his feet back under him. He’s plastered himself to Suga’s side, pressed there by the gangster’s hand on the small of his back. There about the same height but Jimin’s cowers, so helplessly intimidated.

“So you can dance and you can fuck.” Suga wonders and Jimin startles when he feels fingers dip into the cleft between his ass, “As nice as that is, I can get any other whore to do the same.”

A leg pushes between Jimin’s thighs at the same time that Suga hooks his fingers against Jimin’s rim, tugging gently. Jimin jolts, a breathy moan escaping him as he tries to fuck himself on Suga’s still fingers, desperate for some kind of relief. The tension feels like it’s going to snap Jimin in half.  

Suga taps the gun against Jimin’s naked thigh, almost like a reminder, “Tell me what you can do for me, Jimin. Why should I keep you alive if others are willing to see you dead?”

Jimin has a million and one reasons to live but Suga seems determined to see him fail, sliding in two fingers all the way to the knuckle. The wet squelch that echoes out makes Jimin’s tongue ties itself into knots when he tries to speak, and he babbles incoherently as Suga rubs inside, edging closer and closer to his prostate.

“Hm? Nothing to say?” Suga teases, sliding the gun higher onto Jimin’s hip. Jimin’s cock weeps pathetically and he grinds himself desperately against the rough denim fabric. I can be your bitch, he thinks but ultimately decides against answering that.

Suga fingers slid in and out, a constant steady rhythm. Jimin’s face colors when Suga begins deliberately avoiding his prostate, forcing Jimin to move his hips back, trying to get those fingers where he needs them.

“I know a lot—“ Suga jabs in a third finger and stretches them wide. Jimin keens, mouth going numb around the words in his mouth. He’s so close.

His legs are shaking, thighs aching. Suga’s holding most of his weight, still plunging his fingers into the wet mess slipping out of him. He moves the gun back, the barrel sliding right up against one of Jimin’s cheeks.

Jimin clamps down on Suga’s fingers, afraid to move with the gun so close to him but Suga isn’t having it, spreading Jimin’s legs open further with his leg and curling his fingers to finally  press against Jimin’s sweet spot.

“Time’s running out.” He says and Jimin knows it’s true, can feel that little seed of pleasure in his gut blooming into a mess of pulsing heat in his abdomen, can feel the pleasure flood through his veins.

“Information!” Jimin chokes out and Suga grinds his leg up against Jimin’s cock, three fingers fucking into him faster and faster, curling cruelly right against that spot that makes Jimin’s vision white out for a few seconds.

His orgasm hits, and Jimin shakes – maybe screams – through it, hips jerking as he spills all over the gangster’s thigh.

When he’s done, Suga lets him go and Jimin’s legs buckle underneath the weight. He nearly falls into a puddle of his own slick but catches himself on his hands just in the nick of time. When he glances up, Suga’s got the gun pointed between his eyes.

Jimin licks his lips, mouth suddenly going dry. It’s inappropriate on a certain level, Jimin thinks, to point a gun at someone whose slick is covering your fingers. Jimin’s mind clicks into overdrive, adrenaline flushing into his system so quickly it almost feels like a second orgasm.

Jimin kicks up, balancing his weight on his arms and swinging his legs around. He manages to catch Suga off-guard and kicks the gun straight out of his hand.

The gangster raises his eyebrows in mild surprise, watching as the gun flies to the other end of the room, “You can fight too.”

Jimin makes sure to keep the distance between them, wary that Suga looks so calm even after being disarmed. The hairs on his arms and nape stand on end, the chip in his brain warning him of impending danger.

Instead of trying to fight, Jimin kneels fully, bowing so his head touches the floor.

“I-I know a lot of information about this place and the owner. I know the company she keeps and the connections she runs to the underground.” He says quickly, heart pounding a mile a minute. The bubbly feeling of his orgasm and the adrenaline is slowly starting to fade, cold sweat building all along his forehead.

Suga doesn’t say anything for a moment and even with his head bowed, Jimin keeps his ears perked for any movement. If Suga goes for the gun, then he’ll throw himself out the window if need be. He’s heard rumors about gang torture and brutality and he’s not willing to confirm them.

Thankfully Suga seems interested in the bait, “And just how do you know such sensitive information?”

“She demoted me from a whore to a servant and routinely had me clean her main office. Thought I was too stupid to read the files she got.”

That gets a little laugh out of Suga and Jimin prays that it’ll be enough to convince him.

“You’ve got five minutes to gather whatever you need.” Suga says and Jimin jerks his head up, eying his face for any form of deceit. Suga’s face has settled back into indifference and Jimin throws himself into motion.

He slips on sweats and a hoodie, not bothering to clean himself up. He can feel slick drying up on the inside of his thighs, his cum crusting up around his cock but a little filth is nothing in the face of survival.

Suga walks over to his gun and picks it up. Jimin freezes where he stands, holding his breath, but Suga doesn’t even acknowledge him, simply slipping it back into the waistband of his jeans before disappearing into the bathroom.

Jimin runs around his room, filling a bag with the few essentials he’s managed to keep over the years. By the time Suga comes back out, hands clean but jeans still wet with Jimin’s cum, Jimin’s already waiting by the door.

“Good boy.” Suga coos and Jimin ducks his head, embarrassed. Suga takes the lead, opening the door and stepping out. The floor is completely devoid of life, even the usual security guards meant to keep the whores safe are missing. Jimin swallows back his fury, hands balling into shaky fists before he hides them in the pockets of his hoodie. The gangster hadn’t been kidding; no one would have been around to hear Jimin’s pleas for help.

They take the elevator down to the main floor and the entire trip is spent in silence. Jimin carefully keeps still, worried that if he fidgets too much it’ll make Suga trigger happy.

Instead he keeps his eyes on the floor counter, watching blankly as the numbers decrease. His limbs feel heavy now that all the excitement has flushed out of his system and Jimin’s almost embarrassed at his low energy drive before reasoning that being held and fucked at gunpoint would stress anyone out.

“When we get off, stick close to me. Don’t make a sound, got it?” Suga says suddenly and Jimin nods hesitantly.

“Words.” Suga snaps and Jimin startles out a weak, “Yes, Suga.”

The elevator stops at the main floor and Suga walks out as soon as the doors slip open, Jimin hot on his heels. Two men dressed in black from head to toe fall into step behind them, and Jimin swallows nervously, sticking as close to Suga’s left side as he can.

Jimin’s boss comes into view on Suga’s right, face greasy with nervous sweat.

“Have we come to an agreement, then?” She asks, face twisting when she spies Jimin, alive instead of riddled with bullet holes.

“I guess you can say that.” Suga answers disinterestedly. Jimin’s boss soaks up the answer, a relieved grin splitting across her face, “I’m glad you got use out of the gift my club so graciously provided you.” She says, eyeing Jimin pointedly. Jimin nose scrunches up, upper lip peeling back in a scowl. It takes all he has to keep himself in check, remembering Suga’s order.

Suga doesn’t answer, signaling something with his hands to the two men following them.

Jimin’s boss wrings her hands and carefully asks, “So, just to make sure, the debt is cleared?”

Again, Suga doesn’t bother acknowledging her. They reach the front doors and Jimin falters, knowing he won’t be able to walk through without the chip shocking him into unconsciousness. A defense mechanism for some of the more rebellious whores who try to escape their contract.

One of Suga’s men comes forward, a white plastic pistol with a needle at the barrel in his hands. Before Jimin can question it, Suga grabs him by the nape, forcing him to bend at the waist. The needle slides into his skin, right where his chip is embedded. With a swift click and a puff of air at his skin, Suga slips the pistol away and tosses it carelessly.

Jimin straightens out, hand immediately going to his neck. He touches the area gently, confused when he still feels the outline of the chip through his skin.

Suga pays no mind to the look Jimin throws him, walking through the front doors with the men in black close behind. Jimin turns around, seeing his boss and her whores looking just as confused as him. He gives them one last goodbye in the form of his middle finger and goes through the doors, pleasantly surprised when his chip stays inactive.

Suga is on the phone outside, fingers flying over the screen. Parked near him is a beautifully polished hover car, the engine virtually silent. As pretty as it is, Jimin can tell the metal has been carefully reinforced, the windows thickened and tinted dark – he abruptly wonders just what he’s gotten himself into before pushing down the anxiety. All he can do is move forward, waiting by Suga’s side for instruction.

“Get in.” Suga says without looking at him, tilting his head towards the car. One of the men move forward and pull open the door obediently. Jimin spares a look at Suga before stepping in.

The inside is nice, all soft synthetic fibers and automatic sensors adjusting the seat for maximum comfort. It’s rich, filthy fucking rich.

Suga taps on the window from outside, calling for Jimin’s attention. Jimin lowers the window, ready for another order but Suga simply points back to whorehouse. Jimin glares at it, the huge circular building that had served as nothing but a shit-infested cage. If he was outside, he might’ve just spat in front of it, just to get the disgust of his tongue.

He’s outside now, that’s all that matters. He’s free.

“Look.” Suga orders with a hint of a smile.

Jimin does and everything is relatively the same – the tacky neon sign, the ugly bland color, the scum of the earth that loiter around – and then Jimin hears a sound like a boom of lightning and a second later, the entire building erupts in a flash of blinding light.

Jimin squeezes his eyes tight against it, but Suga reaches in and yanks him so he’s halfway out of the car, shaking him hard enough to rattle his teeth. Jimin ignores the window pane digging hard into his stomach, mouth popping open in horror as Suga forces him to watch as the entire building begins crumbling in on itself.

The sound of glass breaking and cement cracking is almost loud enough to drown out everything else, but still Jimin hears the screams echo out, whores and clients alike yelling in terror as the floors collapse into one another.

The destruction shakes the ground and Jimin nearly thinks they’ll be crushed under the rubble how close they are but it never touches them. It feels never-ending but it takes only a few minutes before the entire building is in ruins at Suga’s feet.

He lets Jimin go then, satisfied, and walks to the other side of the car where the second man in black opens the door for him. Shakily, Jimin falls back into his seat, the reality of the situation a hard knot in his throat.

The two men enter in front, starting the car, and pulling them away from the mayhem. It’s eerily silent, like the world is still trying to restart.

It hits Jimin as they’re pulling away into the main hub of the street that he would have died in there if Suga hadn’t gotten him out. He owed his life to Suga and the gangster wanted him to know that.

Jimin jolts when Suga’s hand to finds his thigh and grips it possessively. He’s still hard, the outline of his cock thick and heavy where it rests against his leg, but Jimin doubts he’s still the cause of it.

Something like fear grips tight to Jimin’s heart, squeezing it so Jimin can feel how hard it beats. It comes with the knowledge that he’s escaped from one prison into another, and that this one comes with much more deathly consequences.

“Hey,” Suga suddenly says, voice smooth like he didn’t just make Jimin watch as he leveled a fifteen-floor building, killing thousands. Jimin faces him numbly, entire body acting on autopilot. Suga’s eyes smolder, the hint of a smirk on his face when he sees how terrified Jimin is.

“Let’s talk business.” He says.

It’s the equivalent of a death sentence.