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simiansmoke · 1 year

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Bees and Birds - 🐝🦜 [DK x Mario]

followed up from the fic Slow Burn, and the following 'follow up post' that bridges Slow Burn and Bees and Birds together.

There was some hesitance in their meeting. It's more than likely because of how awkward things became after DK basically trashed a bar mid drunken-make out. The bartender was a friend of a cousin of his, so he'd committed to helping them recover anything lost from his and Mario's rampage inside their establishment.

If it was up to DK, he would have opted out of ever seeing the plumber again inside the Jungle Kingdom, but Cranky needed some assistance with a pest problem. And for some reason, his Dad didn't want him going alone to eradicate it this time. Something about killer hornet stings being extra lethal to Kongs or whatever. He didn't get that part.

As he padded alongside Mario through the jungle, the silence between them stung worse than any hornet. Awkwardness at its finest.

"So..." Mario began, rubbing the back of his neck as if to mop up a line of sweat brought on by the humidity.

"...so." His voice was blunt, matter of fact, and not amused by the opening line that he refused to entertain himself.

It was a few extra miles down the trail of agonizing silence, shifting eyes and tight throats that DK almost welcomed the buzz from the hornet nest halfway up the banana tree.

"Dunno why Dad asked you to come along. A little old bee's nest is nothing for me." He grinned, happy to leave the stagnant conversation in favor of clambering up the side of the banana palm.

"DK - wait! Cranky said that..." But whatever Cranky had said to Mario, apparently he didn't get a chance to tell DK because the adamant Kong was set on knocking that nest into space with the speed he was at while racing up the trunk.

Once near the top of the fronds, DK paused to glance down at the plumber who'd set a helpless glance upon him. Yeah, stay that way - he thought, reaching up to give the nest a punch. It sailed away, sentenced to break into a few thousand honey-soaked pieces when the largest hornet he'd seen hovered up to his nose with an angry buzz.

"DK!" Mario had started his climb now, closing the distance between them quickly as the hornet buzzed around the Kong's head, readying its stinger.

"Bring it, Dagger-Butt!" DK growled, fully prepared to swat the bug away when Mario grabbed his foot and slammed him to the ground. A few dizzying moments later, he looked up to see the plumber sliding own the palm's trunk like a firefighter down a pole, sans the bee.

"What...?"

Once at the bottom with sand under his feet, Mario shot the prince a vicious gaze. "I dunno if your dad failed to mention this but ... you and practically every Kong on the island are allergic to those bees."

If he believed him, DK didn't show it. "Sure, and Koopas can fly-"

"...DK, plenty of them can."

"Shut up! I didn't mean THEM." His breathing rate had surged with the rage in his reply, but it was mostly for show...for who, he wasn't sure yet. It was important enough to him to keep his chest high. "Anyway, why not just tell me that to start with?" Well, what Dad should have told him, anyway.

"Would you have believed me?"

"Hell n-"

It's the sideways lean of the plumber forcing his shoulder into the trunk, arms crossed and brow raised in his direction that causes DK to relent with a huff. "OK, I see your point." And thanks to Mario, he didn't get the bee's...point that is.

Mario's eyes drifted around the canopy for a moment as if taking in the density of the patch of jungle they'd ended up in. It's the sort of seclusion he didn't see much of in a busy city. "So, you ready to talk about..." He paused, gaze shifting to assess his company's energy - which was nothing short of its usual chaos, maybe with a bit more stiffness mixed in. "...the other night-"

It takes DK a solid second or two to deeply inhale the honey-laced air to silence the instinct in him to insult Mario and run off as a long time solution to this sticky situation he'd caused. Instead, he turns around to face Mario-well...look down at him anyway. To steady himself he placed a giant palm against the tree trunk, directing it directly above Mario's hat. "What about it?" Try as he might, he couldn't completely chase the challenge out of his tone; it was his only defense.

In the shadow of DK's arm, Mario peeked around the fur up at the Kong. "Well, you left in sucha hurry, I was just wondering if everything was...all right with you?"

Leave it to Mario to tip toe around the elephant in the room. No, not even a room...a whole jar, and the plumber would still ignore it crammed in there like it was an ant in a whole ass jungle.

"Oh, is that all? For a second there, I thought you were gonna tell me what a freak you feel like for enjoying all of that." Yeah, that sounded about right...to him anyway. Wondering how far he'd missed the mark, DK leaned over to get a glimpse of Mario's expression hidden under his forearm's shade. Apparently not shady enough since the plumber's face looked like it had caught a case of instantaneous sunburn.

"Uh...Mario?"

When he noticed DK peeking in at him curiously, then having the nerve to smirk at his predicament, Mario attempted to cover a portion of his face with a gloved hand. Just cooling it down with his palm...which may have worked if his hands weren't hot and sweaty inside their prison too. "Mio dio! You don't have to put it like that."

Feeling like he now had the upper-hand in the shame train, DK kept the smirk on his face as he played a little game of leaning to either side of his arm that Mario tried to shift towards and hide. "Then I guess you wouldn't mind telling me..." Scooting his palm down to beside Mario's ear when he grew bored of the chase, DK leaned in enough to disturb the other's hair with his great breaths surging out. "...where should I put it?"

There was hardly a solution or quip Mario could give him, and the proximity of that stupid, smug, sore winner's face that DK was giving him drilled the fact in even more. He could punch him, but that seemed to him to be giving DK what he wanted...which was also a loss in the grand scheme of gaining the high ground. Besides, the urge to clock him in the jaw was accompanied with something else - little sparks that had caused that massive explosion back at the bar. They're tickling his stomach and maybe it's the humidity, but the combination makes his bones feel like lukewarm butter.

"Where should I put it~?" DK asked again, a little more smug with every moment of silence that stretched between them.

Closing the distance with a glove once he'd moved it off his face, the plumber placed the palm of his hand flat against the confused Kong's cheek. "Ok, ok..." His hand slid down to grasp DK's jaw and guide the infuriating idiot's face to the heat in his while his free hand grasped the end of a red tie for an idle play thing. Hovering close to the other's lips, Mario adds "-put it here, pal."

There was little time for him to sputter as the heat in Mario's face infected his at such a close proximity. Well...if that's where he was supposed to 'put it', then he would put it there. Bracing his enormous weight against his palm beside Mario's head, he crashed the molten surfaces of their faces together and rocked their lips into a rough battle.

The jungle was quiet with an occasional murmur of wind through the canopy fronds, so the heartbeat in their ears set the pace to where neither knew if the sound they heard was of their body, or the other's.

DK was definitely the lead though - the player 1 that decided when little breaks of shaky air inhalation were necessary, and even then they were accompanied with teeth clacking in an attempt to keep some sort of connection until they'd refilled their lungs.

Mario had almost wrapped the whole tie around his fist by the time DK reached around with his free hand to scoop up under the seat of Mario's pants and lift him up closer so neither had to strain so much and so Mario had room to grab fur, dig a knee into DK's chest, and shudder once separated from the furious throes of their lips' battle.

Both stared at one another, sharing only pants and desperate bids for air. Both with faces stained with the same crimson contagion. From somewhere off in the trees, the call of a bird brought the world back into focus.

"...you good?" Mario inquired finally, a hint of a smile worming its way between them.

"I'm-...whatever you are right now." DK answered, a low laugh escaping him. "But better."

#//welp i did it - i wrote the follow up fic #//i dont think it holds up to the 1st but he y closure #pg-13 #donkey kong #donkario #donkey kong x mario

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tae-cup · 1 year

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Caskets and Gold Roses | Bury Me

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Summary: “All of my past, I tried to erase it, but now I see, would I even change it? Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same.” - Conan Gray (Family Line) Genre: Mafia!AU, Arranged Marriage, Angst, Fluff Warnings: Violence, Swearing Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 5.9K A/N: It’s my birthday, so here’s my birthday gift to you :) Other: Masterlist ; Series Masterlist

Your father had always beaten you at chess. The complexities of the game were not hard to memorize, it was more so that he thought faster and farther ahead. He’d taught you chess and though you tried your best to succeed and show him that the student can outwit the master, he remained the champion. Every weekend and every break, you challenge him to a chess match. Without fail, he would win. It was never the same, either. The moves cycled. One moment, he opened with the queen’s gambit and the next he was returning with the sicilian defense. There was no counter, in your mind, to his ability to outwit you at every turn.

Waking up in a dark room in your old house was not on your yearly bucket list. Well, actually, the list had been quite short and none of it had been fulfilled since the marriage. The list included basic things like freedom and peace in your life. You sniffed the air and, to your dismay, you were met with the all too familiar odor of the basement. To be clear, it was the deep bowels of the basement, hidden behind a bookshelf.

While you were contemplating the logistics of dragging your unconscious, completely deadweight, body down three flights of stairs, another thought hit you. Oh yeah. This was where the nasty tortures went down. So, the rationalization of your situation promptly disappeared. All evidence of sanity seemed to go down the drain as you found yourself squinting in the dim lighting. The hum of the lightbulb was starting to grate on your ears and the worst part was definitely the smell.

The smell was a mix of mildew and blood—two things that made sense for, well, obvious reasons. You blinked a couple more times and took a few deep breaths. With a couple flexes of the wrists, it didn’t take long to realize the full gravity of your position. You were strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles tied uncomfortably tight. Now it was time to start really panicking. You didn’t exactly have expertise in escaping cuffs or chains, afterall, you had spent your time at the Min house reading books and lounging in bed. The chair was stained a wine red. It was too dark to see clearly but too light to be in complete darkness. It felt like going insane.

“This looks promising.” You muttered before trying to wriggle your wrists again. There wasn’t much give on the ropes.

“Settling in?” A familiar figure stepped into the room. Your heart began to beat at pace that betrayed all calm you showed on your face. It was funny that even after all this time, the presence of this man still scared you. After seeing him stand over those three bodies in the kitchen on that fateful day, your outlook of him had changed. He had become a twisted monster in your mind; bathed in gray light in a kitchen overcome with shadow.

“I’ve seen worse.” You answered nonchalantly, but even Yoongi killing that man point blank had to have been better than this. Your death was going to be long and drawn out, you just knew it. However, it was hard to focus on that part as Mr. Seong began to circle the chair like a shark on the hunt.

“Oh, you’ve seen worse, but have you felt it?” He chuckled. Your face must have paled considerably because he laughed even harder. “Don’t worry, dear, humor your dear old dad.” The man finished his circle and stood in front of you. He towered over you, the armrests groaned as he leaned on them. “Not a hair on you will be touched until the Min’s contact us. Then, the games begin.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to find the words to say, but he left the room as swiftly as he came. You eyeballed the camera in the corner of the room. There was a table behind you full of devices you didn’t want to know about. Then the buzzing light went out.

Sitting in the dark, you realized that maybe the dim lighting wasn’t so bad afterall.

It wasn’t long after you left that Yoongi realized his errors. Of course you had been scared, of course. He was so accustomed to the physical violence, the threats, of his childhood that he forgot your childhood had been different. Your childhood had been psychological torture. Everyday felt like something bad was going to happen, but you had to endure it. He, on the other hand, got a good knock to the face if something went wrong. What he thought were normal sounds in a house—screams, to be exact—came across quite differently to an unsuspecting bystander.

So he stood, for a moment, taking in the sight of you leaving, replaying it in his head over and over. In that memory, now engrained in his brain, you were everything he truly had left and you were running from him. He pulled a hand through his hair and then huffed in annoyance with himself. He made decisions every day, he risked lives with the flick of his hand, but he never had to understand anyone before. Yoongi barely knew himself, much less a woman who burst into his life like a hurricane. Yes, what a beautifully twisted storm you were.

And he loved storms. He loved when it rained, but you made it pour. Finally, there had been someone in his life who was an equal, and he never doubted that. The man just…didn’t quite understand what to do with this new dynamic. He desperately wanted to get closer while drawing away from you. You were all he had and he swore to himself that he wanted none of it.

So why was worry creeping down his back? Why were his hands clenching and his jaw tight? He paced, then. Yoongi went from left to right in his office. The place smelled like his father.

“Taehyung, I need to think.” He announced at the remaining guard. The man just tilted his head in response.

“But you don’t need to.” Taehyung said simply. His eyes were narrowed in a challenge. Taehyung was probably the only man who could look at Yoongi like that. The younger man was his oldest companion.

“You’re right.” Yoongi admitted, another thing he’d never do with underlings. He didn’t need to think twice about running after you. No, he just needed a plan. “I just want to try to keep this…clean.”

That made Taehyung snort before answering, “when have you ever been concerned about that?”

When Yoongi didn’t answer right away, Taehyung’s features softened from a jest to an understanding gaze.

“I see.” Taehyung murmured. “You’ve grown soft.”

“I am not soft.” Yoongi argued, only to be met with Taehyung’s shrug.

“Being soft isn’t always terrible, especially with people you love.”

Love? Once again, the word was catching him off guard. It always seemed to fumble out of his mouth with no form. He never had much practice saying it out loud and so it sounded foreign when it left his lips.

I had no choice but to love you. He’d felt these words for months. In the beginning, it would have been spoken with a hushed tone or an angered huff. Now, the words were sincere. When he closed his eyes, he could see your face. Your eyes had been tearing up again, still red from sobbing on his shirt.

He looked down. The spots were almost dry. It felt like by the time they were gone, you would be gone with them.

The phone rang, alarming both Taehyung and himself. Yoongi had never turned to look at the phone so fast. But oftentimes, when the phone rang at the dead of night, it was never a good call. It was especially heart wrenching as he made his way over because of the lack of…you. Now he felt stupid letting you just run away. He understood, in the moment, that you needed space, but his men had yet to find you anywhere on the grounds. When they turned up with nothing for the second time, he had felt his heart sink, not only because of the possibility of you getting captured, but also because he had failed to create a single safe space for you in the past almost year.

Fuck. Things really weren’t going well, both in his head and physically. He felt sick to his stomach as he picked up the phone.

“Min family.” Yoongi answered gruffly in an attempt to mask his worry.

There was a low laugh on the other end of the line. The man on the other side had heaving breaths and the phone crackled with every chuckle. Yoongi could almost smell the man’s rotten stench.

“Who is it?” He demanded with increasing confusion.

“We have your girl.” The man certainly wasn’t Mr. Seong, as he spoke with a crudeness that didn’t befit the other mafia’s leader.

He looked up at Taehyung, who remained stoic. There was something in his eyes, though, that made Yoongi concerned. Taehyung’s jaw was clenched, a sign of anxiety. It was not a good situation when Taehyung was anxious.

“What do you wish to do? If you kill her, that is no skin off my neck.” Yoongi played it off, but hell would see flames if you died.

“Three quarters of your current territory and all the property you have.” A new voice had taken the phone, this time he most certainly recognized it. Mr. Seong. “We must meet in person to sign the papers,” it was an all too familiar sentence, “come alone, unarmed, and we will make the trade.”

What would be better? Losing you or losing everything his father had built? His mind retraced his childhood steps. It went up the stairs, past the open windows and billowing curtains, and into the library. There, he would always find his father reading.

Then, he was there. He time slowing and the world piecing itself together in a new light. The library. His father, sitting, with a book in hand, on one of the lavish, green, armchairs. The velvet seemed too soft for the rough calluses of his father’s hands.

“Yoongi.” His father beckoned. “Come here.”

And he did. He did like a lost dog.

“You’ve left me.” Yoongi announced, of all the meaningful things he could say. “You left me and now I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t feel fear, because he knew consciously that this place, where his father stood alive, was not real. It was a figment of his imagination while he worked in overdrive to think of a solution.

“You will figure it out.” Mr. Min hummed and Yoongi refrained from a scowl. “You know what I always said?”

“We’re Mins. It always ends the way we wish.” Yoongi murmured. The words echoed.

“But in that saying, it doesn’t quite mean we throw our hands up in the air and hope, does it?” Mr. Min wondered as he stood. While he paced, a smile grew on his face. Yoongi was slowly realizing what he needed to do, truly. Mr. Min had a look of satisfaction. He’d raised his son well, in his mirror image, almost.

“What do you do when there’s a problem as dire as this one?” Yoongi had begun to mirror his father, pacing with no end.

Mr. Min halted and slammed the book down on the wooden table beside the armchair.

“You think outside of the box, son.”

And it was like a lightbulb went on.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“You’re all the same, you know.” You said loudly, as if that would stop the man before you. Mr. Seong’s hands were so familiar to you; every line, every curve. Those hands, that were now polishing various sharp objects, had picked you up when you were learning to walk. They were the same hands that held you steady and angrily opened doors you slammed.

“Tell me more.” He mused, as if you were sitting across the dining table. You used to jabber on for hours unless he shushed you. He often shushed you. It took every ounce of your willpower to hold back the giddy kid inside. The kid was screaming: he wants to know what you have to say! Finally! He wants to listen to you! He wants to be there for you.

But your consciousness knew this was simply untrue. The cruel way he so carefully rubbed the oil over each instrument made you more than aware of your situation. You were in a damp room. You were underground where you’d never see the sun again. It seemed pretty straightforward.

“Come closer.” You said steadily, maintaining your composure. You were doing your best to make this wooden chair look like a throne.

He eyed you suspiciously, but placed the scythe-like knife down on the table. It hit the wood with a harsh bang. Slowly, he approached the throne.

“You were never going to let me go, were you?” You questioned, much more the executioner than Mr. Seong. Your eyes searched his, taunting him. Go on. Show your defiance.

But Mr. Seong had played this game before. He’d taught you it, after all. Just like playing chess, he made the safest move; one that wouldn’t give away too much, but answered your question well-enough.

“I always had my eye on you.” He stated, as if it were normal.

“If you were concerned about my well-being, that’s great and all, but I doubt you really thought Yoo-Mr. Min would treat me poorly.” You cursed yourself for slipping up. Oh, right. Yoongi. Things had really been soured. You didn’t expect him to come. You had just run away from your own confession, after all.

Even thinking about him, the gummy smile and the languid hands, made your heart quicken. That was not a good sign. Based on the smile your father had donned, it seemed that he noticed these facts as well.

“You never loved mom.” You continued your rampage, throwing every possible insult to throw him off. You wanted to get under his skin before he knew he was under yours. This comment seemed to hit home, though, as you saw his gaze waver for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t much, but for someone who was trained through trauma to read the smallest of cues, it was enough.

“That is simply untrue.” He announced, as if that would do anything.

“Hey, don’t take it too seriously from me, I’m the one sitting in the basement.” You tried to appeal to his funnier side, but that man was gone. All that was left of your father was the mere shape of him. Okay, back to the harsh facts, then.

“You just like controlling women. All these ‘mafia’ men do. You’re all the same.” You said with disgust. He seemed to shrug that one off, because it was a known fact anyway. And yet you didn’t feel that with Yoongi. This man really had you soft.

“Your manipulation tactics don’t work on me, darling. I taught you some of them after all.”

“You didn’t teach me shit.” You cussed. You felt yourself slipping. Who was this beast coming out? Your inner being, the spirit locked away through deals and deception, had turned into a ravaging beast. What the hell did it matter anyway? You had resigned yourself to this fate. You might as well make the most of it.

“Like father like daughter.” Mr. Seong shrugged. Your shoulders shuddered in laughter and you threw your head back with a wheezing gasp.

“You’re right.” You chuckled, your head lawling back to look at him through the strands of hair that had fallen. The room felt slick, damp, and maybe it was because of your heavy breaths. The way your chest rose and fell created a sickly mist. “I’m just like you, on the inside. I’m all fucked up and there’s nothing, nothing, I could have done. I’m just like you because I am you. I’m your little shitty DNA experiment.”

“That’s not true.” He said softly, with a fatherly warmth that no longer interested you. He grabbed a pair of pliers and knelt in front of you. Your eyes followed his movements and you knew where this was going next. You flexed your fingers uncomfortably. “You’re so much more than my DNA. You’re my daughter through and through.”

The first clamp. The first twist and pull. The first scream made a guttural exit from your throat. Checkmate.

He was getting anxious as he waited. Yoongi wasn’t one to be concerned about any one thing, but time was truly of the essence. Yoongi wasn’t anxious, but he wasn’t all too patient either. He thought it must have been a rookie mistake to allow him into the exact house the hostage was kept at. However, Mr. Seong wasn’t known to be an idiot. There was something else at work here and Yoongi was itching to get to the bottom of it. The living room couch was comfortable and Yoongi was anything but.

“Mr. Min.” A maid answered the door. Yoongi glanced up at the ceiling of your house. So this was your childhood home? It seemed like a normal family home. The kitchen in front of him, a doorway next to that. Behind him, a panoramic view of Seoul and the quiet footsteps of Snakes in the grass.

“Right this way.” The maid chirped. She was pretty; tightly wound blonde hair in a bun and a soft pink cupids bow for lips. Yoongi was having trouble discerning if she was with the enemy or a simple housemaid caught in the middle.

He steadily walked towards the dark hallway to his right. At the end of the hallway was an ominous dark oak, towering, door. He almost scoffed at the display of insecurity. One that needs such an atrociously overpowering door must be truly self conscious inside.

The door opened with a low groan and he stepped inside. The man did his best not to pat his pockets or subconsciously reach towards the hidden gun in his belt.

“Please, sit.” Mr. Seong, the man with all the power, supposedly. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. He’d always been a bit better at the charisma part of the business than his father, but his father had been a stronger fighter. That’s what people respond to, in this business. His father’s words echoed softly. Pain and more pain. Not feathery words. His father had spat that phrase so venomously that Yoongi suffered its symptoms all these years later. The statement only rung further true when his eyes caught the knife that Mr. Seong was cleaning.

It was short and small, certainly precise. That wasn’t too concerning. Yoongi was sure he could take the man in a fight with a knife that small. What made his heart quicken was the white cloth that was being used as a cleaning rag. It was covered in blood. And Yoongi knew fresh blood when he saw it. The silver glinted off the mirror to the right of the man.

The sight almost made him sick. The thoughts almost ran him ragged, but he realized, with a sly smile, that Mr. Seong wanted him to see it.

The Snakes leader sat down slowly. In order for his plan to work, he needed to sell the act. He felt like an actor, waiting to hear the magical word to bring him into character. Oh, he was surely buzzing with contempt.

“I’m surprised you agreed to meet me in person.” Mr. Seong began. The clock ticked steadily.

Action.

“You didn’t give me much a choice, now, did you?” Yoongi grinned as if to say he was a defeated adversary.

“You didn’t negotiate. I’m shocked my rival for years would agree to lay down and die.”

“I thought we should bargain in person. A sort of last ditch effort now that you’ve got my hands a bit…tied.”

“I knew it.” Mr. Seong had a real shit-eating grin on his face. “You love her.”

“Love is a strong word.” Yoongi continued apathetically. “I more so need to show that you can’t mess with my kin and leave scot free.”

“Oh I’m sure you do. Well, I’m glad we can end this little rivalry of ours without too much blood.”

The papers were produced with ease. It felt like an all too familiar scene. But where were you? Yoongi glanced to his side. The gaping hole of space unfilled reminded him of his mission. It was any time now that his men should be finding you. He could see it now.

The men, breaking in, rescuing you, then retreating. Him, falling back and retaliating with the full force of the Snakes, razing the home to the ground. Oh yes, it would be perfect, and as there hadn’t been a peep outside the office door, he assumed it was going according to plan.

“I can’t say I’m glad. How about we negotiate?” Yoongi said, refusing to pick up the pen that was being adamantly pushed towards him.

“Negotiate? At this stage? Why, it would be a waste to have to print all of these again.”

“You’re about to become a billionaire either way, Mr. Seong. Reprinting a few measly papers to seal the deal shouldn’t be a concern.” Yoongi tilted his head slightly as if to say what gives?

“I will give you that, Mr. Min.”

It didn’t feel right to be called that name. It still felt like his father’s name. He glanced up at the ceiling. He felt like he was still standing in his father’s shadow, the gigantic mess that he was left when his father passed. But with this little stunt, if he could pull it off, he could step into the light. A new era of the Snakes could dawn.

“I will give you half of my land and half of my owned properties.” Yoongi smiled. “I would still be hobbled and you would have more than enough with your current stocks combined.”

“Two thirds.” Mr. Seong countered lowly. “Of everything.”

Yoongi shook his head back and forth with a frown. “Greedy greedy little man.”

“We are both businessmen, you know the deal.”

“I consider myself more man than business. But you?” Yoongi stood and began to pace in measured steps. “I think you are more business than…anything else. More than a man, more than a husband,” He stopped and gave Mr. Seong a blank stare, “more than a father.”

Mr. Seong slapped his hand on the table and stood up furiously. His cheeks were growing red and Yoongi knew he was starting to win. Mr. Seong pointed an accusatory finger.

“Just what do you think you’re playing at, Min?” He demanded, his voice barely below a shout.

“Sir, I’m just trying to figure out what your true end goal is? I gave you a quite beneficial deal.” Yoongi’s eyes widened with mock realization. “But it’s not about the deal, is it? Or how much money you’ll get. It’s about pride, for you, now, right? You want to show everyone that you’re better than them, that you were able to best the great Min family. But you know, deep down, that you are a coward.” Yoongi walked towards the man and planted his hands on the other side of the desk. “You took the shameful road. Truly. Kidnapping? Disgusting.”

Where was Taehyung? They should have found you by now and he was getting tired of stalling. Yoongi didn’t want to get to the point where his real emotions were involved, but he was at the tipping point. This man was truly abhorrent. He found himself looking at his reflection in the mirror next to Mr. Seong. The person staring back didn’t look like him.

“Shameful? You want to talk about shameful?” Mr. Seong growled. He opened his mouth to continue, when there was a dull thud of a noise.

The noise shut up Mr. Seong and it caught Yoongi’s attention quickly. The house was so quiet now that they had stopped talking and it was making his ears ring. Still, he heard the thud. It came from behind a bookshelf. As he began to analyze the bookshelf, he began to realize that the shelf seemed to protrude more than the others and that the books in it didn’t look quite right. He turned back to look at Mr. Seong and the man was sheet white.

No. It couldn’t be.

A secret door. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He really was looking like an idiot. Still, he had to salvage this somehow. He backed away from the desk, trying his best to fight off a surprised expression, and tugged his suit vest back into place. Yoongi began to nonchalantly browse the shelves. The odd book shelf was to his right and coming up as he idly brushed his fingers along the spines.

“Not a speck of dust.” He mused. “You must have been excited to host me.”

“Yes, quite.” Mr. Seong said, but his voice was ghostly and his breath shuddered. His secret was close to being found out. Yoongi had to make sure his hypothesis was correct before making any brash moves, because otherwise he’d be putting the lives of his men in danger.

He had reached the bookshelf with the odd protrusion. He tried his best to look as he did with all the other shelves, letting his hands brush the spines. Ah. So he’d really been tricked. Yoongi hated admitting defeat. Still, he must act like nothing was the matter. He needed to think fast.

“I’ll do two thirds.” The man announced. “It’s done.”

“A last minute change of heart? How unusual.”

“Would you like it or not?”

“I will take your word. It shall be done.” Mr. Seong grumbled and eyed the back of Yoongi’s neck as he turned to print the new copies.

Yoongi positioned himself subtly, allowing himself to see Mr. Seong in the mirror. The older man was now fumbling to get the printer running. He looked like a normal old man.

“The spines of these books are so plastic-y.” Yoongi said matter-of-factly. This made Mr. Seong halt in his tracks. “It’s almost as if they’re fake.”

Mr. Seong’s eyebrows furrowed and he started to turn around when he heard the click of a gun.

“Mr. Seong, you are truly scum.” Yoongi stated as he held the pistol to the man’s back. He’d never miss at this range.

“Oh, you little–”

A siren blared, bathing the room in red light.

Five Minutes Earlier

Taehyung couldn’t remember how he got into the business of picking locks. He didn’t really want to recall either. It must have been something to do with his sordid past or the various car escapades. He enjoyed taking things that weren’t his, to say the least. Now, he had the most intriguing prize to fetch. You had never struck him as particularly odd, but he did note that there was a sadness about you. Even when you smiled and called him Josh, he still sensed something…missing.

There was a hole where your heart should be. That’s what he’d decided. And Taehyung wasn’t the kind of guy who could put it back in its place, after all, he only ever took things away. He always made holes with no intention of going back to find replacements. Yoongi was different in that way.

Since they were kids, Yoongi had always put things back where they needed to be. If the playroom was messy, Yoongi would help the maids put everything back. Taehyung had only sought to steal what he wanted and indulge in his every desire when he played with Yoongi. There were plenty of guys like Taehyung now.

“Hey, bossman.” A new recruit whispered as she put a hand over the housemaid’s mouth. “You found anything?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung knelt by the laundry room’s door. “There’s a trap door.” His fine fingers, made for the most delicate of activities, found the slight seam. “Alright. Let’s save our darling Min.”

The trap door swung open, pulling a wire with it. The alarms were off in an instant.

“Shit!” Taehyung staggered back. “Vanessa!” He turned to see a bullet lace her skull. He had no time to react as another pierced two fingers in his outstretched hand.

Bang!

Smoke from a gun.

Yoongi walked behind the desk and shoved the body off the chair.

“What a rival you were.” He said plainly. Then he turned to the bookshelves and walked over. Cracking his knuckles, he pried open the door. It swung out slowly and moved like honey. “You were right, father,” He glanced over his shoulder at the body on the ground. “Pain and more pain.”

The red light blinked on and off, illuminating the room in alternating blood and darkness. He stared down into the abyss. There were stairs, but he didn’t know how far they went or if they truly would lead him the right way.

There was only one way to find out.

The steps were damp and there was a pungent smell that grew worse as he went further. It was iron and sweat. There. The previously dull thump was now a muffled scream as he reach the bottom of the stairs. With his gun drawn, he leaned against the concrete wall. The stairs had branched into two small corridors. There were two cells on each side of the hallways. He peered over his shoulder. The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed.

There was no one here. Maybe Mr. Seong had assumed no one would find this corridor and that guards were unnecessary.

“Help!” You screamed until your vocal chords were scratched and raw. You didn’t know what state you were in or how you had mustered the strength to even scream. But you had heard a feint alarm.

When the cell door opened, you almost winced. The pitch black room was purged with light. You didn’t know if you should cry from exhaustion, hope, or fear.

A figure stood in the doorway, but it was a familiar shape and a familiar voice that greeted you.

“Yoongi?”

“What did they do to you?” Yoongi rushed over and you could feel the air shifting to something deadly, despite your glee at seeing him.

“A real number.” You whispered. Your voice was gone. You didn’t have any more strength left in your body. Pulling nails sounded like heaven at this point.

You knew you were safe now. You didn’t look at his gentle hands undoing the cuffs and chains or the way his breath came short and panicked. You looked at his face and you absorbed the concentrated quirk of his eyebrow and the way his lips pressed together.

“You,” You began with a croak.

“It’s okay you don’t need to–”

You held up a hand. “I–” You gathered all your will power. “I must, because I might not make it out of here.”

“No, you’ve got all the time in the world.”

“You have always been safety for me.” You whispered. “Your touch, that very first day…” You felt your eyes glazing over, but you fought back the dizzying fog in your mind. You fought back from letting your head fall limp. “...in that one touch, you taught me that a hand does not always mean violence. You taught me that your hands will always be safe… If I die, bury me.”

“Stop talking like that.” He said seriously, his face was fallen into deep shadow. His eyes grim as he hoisted you into his arms. “You will make it out of this alive. Save the monologue for years from now. Save it for when we’re old and wrinkled. Hell, never tell me.”

“Just listen!” You wheezed and your chest ached. “If I die, take the time to bury me, please.”

“If those are your last words, I don’t want to hear them.”

You found yourself smiling despite his harsh declaration.

Opening your eyes felt like a dream. With the morning sun streaming through the billowing white curtains, it all felt like a dream. You didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to break the illusion. Your eyes searched the room. It was everything you remembered, every detail, right down to the missing vase. You were focused on one thing in particular, though, a new addition to the room.

“Why are you asleep in a chair?” You coughed and tried sitting up, wincing. Yoongi was up in an instant. He had looked so peaceful while sleeping, but his new expression was of concern, worry. You looked down at yourself. Had you ever seen so many bandages at once? Well, not on a person. Your arms to your legs.

“Are you feeling alright?” Yoongi whispered. “I was really worried. You were…saying some scary stuff.”

“I remember.” You announced. You were done being reasonable. You were injured, pretty terribly, if the bandages meant anything. But it was the fear lingering in Yoongi’s gaze that unsettled you. “I’m alive, why are you concerned?”

“I–” He stopped short. “I guess because, I care for you.” He gently took your hand and it didn’t hurt as much as when you moved on your own. “And I admire you.”

That was what made you perk up.

“I admire that you are so strong in the face of adversity. You were terrified, I saw it when you first moved in, yet you still found your way to the kitchen and asked for a bandaid.”

You smiled at the memory. You were so naive, so confused about your father’s motives.

“I…I admire you too.” You placed your other hand over his. “And I think I just might love you, but I don’t know yet.”

“Is it enough to stave off the divorce papers?”

His gummy smile and the boyish gleam in his eyes made you laugh. It was instant regret as your lungs begged for mercy, but it was worth it.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick with you for at least a few more months.”

“Good, because my only other option is Taehyung for company and he won’t stop moaning about his fingers.”

“What happened to his fingers?” You asked, bewildered.

“Ah, two got shot off, but no worries. He’ll live.”

“That sounds like a big deal! Actually, I’ll call over Taehyung and let him know his feelings are valid right now.”

“No, no!” Yoongi laughed and it was such a genuine ring that your heart quickened. After you were both done chuckling, a cool breeze blew the curtains once more.

“What happened to the Seong clan?” You asked, looking out the window.

“Burned to the ground. The few stragglers we’ve dumped onto our allied gangs who need an extra man.”

“I see.” You whispered. Then you turned to him and lightly gripped his shoulder. “We’ll be okay, right?”

He took a breath and allowed himself a glance into the brilliant blue sky. Then, he turned to you and pressed his forehead to yours. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek. He tilted his head and his lips met yours. It was a soft kiss, innocent and in love, all the things you wished could just describe your relationship with Yoongi. Maybe in another time or universe. Maybe you two could simply just be innocent and in love. Until then…

“Yeah, I think we’ll be okay.” He breathed.

“I think so too.”

Fin

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