bonnie and clyde(s) | pt. i
› pairing: min yoongi x original character x jung hoseok › 2.1k words. › criminal!sope › two petty thieves and a bartender in the search for revenge and money find something much more valuable with each other. › parts: i | ii
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cry in desperation.
Your heart is pounding against your rib cage, threatening to leap out of your chest. The sound of blood rushing to your head thumps loudly in your ears, muffling the world around you. There’s an excruciating pain in your head, as if a thousand needles are prickling it at the same time. Perspiration sticks to the perimeter of your face, a small droplet of sweat hangs from the tip of your nose. You wipe at it and see red. Fuck. The back of your hand is smeared with blood, the sight of it is so nauseating it rips a sob from your throat.
There is blood everywhere and it is slowly becoming all you can see. Your white fitted dress pants are morphing into a dark crimson color as blood continues to leak out of your partners wound. Everything is coming back to you now, like a role of film flashing in the back of your mind; the money, the motel, the cops, the gunshots, the blood.
The three of you were supposed to have more time, more time to plan, more time to enjoy your victory, more time to…simply more time. You’d skipped three towns and there was no way the police could’ve known about your whereabouts unless…no, that couldn’t be. He was dead and didn’t matter anymore. The probability of you being completely safe was slim to none, but still, it was your only chance, it was do or die.
“H—how bad is it?” You hear your partner ask in a broken breath. He is sitting down on a wooden crate, back pressed against a wire fence. His perfectly tailored suit a wrinkled mess, his tie is undone and his shirt is untucked and soaked in blood. You gently push your hand against his temple, mindful of your bloody hands, forcing his head back to prevent him from looking at his wounded thigh.
“You’ll be fine, you’ve had worse, don’t worry,” You babble, tenderly cupping his cheek in your left hand while keeping the pressure on his injury. “He’ll be here soon and we’ll get you help and you’ll be fine,” You say, like a charlatan, spewing lies left and right for your own benefit.
Without the proper treatment, his wound can get infected or he can simply bleed out and die. There are too many scenarios that result in Yoongi’s death given your circumstances. At night, when sleep eludes you, you allow your mind to wonder. Who will be the first one to walk away, who will be the first one to talk, who will be the first one to bite the dust? When you visualize the way you’ll meet your maker you always imagine it will be through a selfless act or old age, you can never make up your mind.
But never like this.
You just needed more time.
Yoongi’s pale face is looking disturbingly sallow against your swarthy complexion, eyelids fluttering as they fight to stay open, and you feel the hot liquid slide down your thighs. You can make out the faint network of blue and red veins underneath his transparent dark circles. He isn’t looking too good. You lick your dry lips and search for something to say, something to keep him engaged.
“I hear Spain is really nice this time of year,” You murmur softly, hoping to draw his attention away from the small puddle of blood forming on his left side.
He needs help before he bleeds to death— no, he wasn’t going to die hiding away in some dirty fucking alleyway filled with trash and filth, not on your watch.
“Yeah?” he mumbles quietly, the single word is faint, less than a whisper. You keep applying pressure to his thigh, the amount of red liquid leaking from his wound is less and less with every passing second but you have no idea if that is a good or bad thing. Before parting ways, Hoseok told you that as long as he didn’t lose more than three pints of blood he would be fine. That would have been solid advice if you knew how much a fucking pint was, fuck.
“Oh yes,” You continue. “Perfect weather for swimsuits, mojitos, and poker matches. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Yoongi’s lashes flutter slowly, he looks the way he usually did when he was trying to stay awake late at night to finish watching whatever late night rom-com you were into, except on this occasion his nodding off didn’t make you want to cuddle him. You take his face in both hands, giving his left cheek a couple of faint slaps.
“Hey! Hey!” You exclaim lightly. “Keep your eyes open and look at me Min. I’m gonna need you to put pressure on your wound for me.”
Despite his ill state, the bleeding man in front of you did as he was told, long thin fingers moving to his thigh, pressing down on the injury. You remove your white suit jacket and shiver as the wind brushes against your bare skin, the thin lingerie one-piece you are wearing does little to shield you from the unfriendly breeze.
You extend the material in front of you, “I’m going to wrap this around your wound—“
“I want you and Hoseok to take the money and leave,” The words leaving the dying man’s mouth making you halt your actions, hesitantly you turn to him, his tone unsettling you. “You leave and never come back here, do you understand me?”
Your distress morphs into anger, rage quickening your blood. Neck and face heating up at what he is trying to indirectly convey. Snapping out of it you shake your head, choosing to not respond in fear of divulging your true feelings. Your emotions aren’t appropriate given the situation and your line of work. There is no room for sentiment when his life is on the line and the police are looking for the three of you. You signal at him to remove his hands and furiously fasten the jacket around his wound in a tight knot, ignoring his pained wince.
Once your jacket is wrapped around his injury, you place your hands on your lap and eye your handy work. Anger is still boiling hot within you at his audacity. What type of woman does he think you are? What type of man does he think Hoseok is? Granted, you hadn’t met in the nicest of places and you didn’t know about Hoseok’s feelings towards the two of you but you knew you all shared a rock-steady loyalty. Moreover, it is trust that allows the three of you to share a bed without harming each other, it is the type of fidelity that only people who have lived their entire life in the gutter can bother to have.
It has to count for something, right?
Although the sound of cars and pedestrians passing by can be heard, both of you sit in complete silence. Neither of you uttering a word. The prolonged silence eats at your brain, nick picking every part of it until you are aware of your every limb and breath you take. The silence is tiring and your mind races, thinking of ways to fill the void between the two of you. Too many unspoken words are housed inside the shared silence, begging for release but being held back in apprehension. Yoongi places his large hand on yours, unwrapping your fingers and interlacing them with his. A low gasp escapes your throat at his action, your hand tingles. You feel like a school girl holding hands with her crush for the first time, utterly pathetic. The rough callouses of his palm caress yours, subconsciously, you wonder if Hoseok’s hand will fit just as flawlessly, you really hope it does. Fuck it. Throwing your pride out the window, you open your mouth to speak but a ruckus of hurried steps interrupts you.
You quickly reach for the back of your pants to retrieve your gun. You adjust your position and crouch, angling backward in an attempt to catch a look at whatever idiot decided to cross your path. You curse at yourself internally, both of you are about to be found out and it is all going to be your fault. This was the exact reason why you never allow yourself the freedom of fantasizing about the three of you in a romantic sense. Besides, what kind of person fell in love with two people at the same time? You were being a brat. Giving into your selfish desires will only interfere with your survival and endanger not only your life but Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s even more, you couldn’t do that them, they needed you sharp and ready.
You needed to get it together.
The piece of metal felt heavy in your hand, your grip was tight and steady. You’d fired a gun before but its weight always unnerved you. The device in your hand could malfunction at any moment, it was a man-made machine after all. A damaged cartridge, a dud round, a corroded chamber could all come in between you living another day. Furthermore, such machines invoked sheltered violence inside men’s hearts; instigating them to push their earthly power. You’ve seen men play God thanks to the piece of metal you now possess between your fingers and it pains you to know that you are playing a hand in the same game.
Your internal turmoil must be apparent in your face because Yoongi gives your hand a gentle squeeze. You turn to face him and your eyes meet. He doesn’t speak but you understand the look in his eyes. Both of you’ve had a good run and if this is your last shared moment, you’d go together. You offer him a nod, projecting all your emotions into your eyes, hoping he can see.
You just needed more time.
A contorted shadow came into view, becoming more prominent as it nears the corner. Releasing a heavy sigh, you cock your gun, a few more steps and it will reach you. The steps become louder, you see the outline of a man as he steps out of the darkness, you aim, one, two—
“Whoah there, princess!” in front of you stands all five foot ten of a clearly suicidal man, arms stretched out in front of him in an inoffensive motion.
“For fuck’s sake, Hoseok!” You swear. Is he out of his mind? “I could’ve shot—” your words die in your throat when you see his features dull with something you’ve never seen in his face before.
Fear.
Running towards the two of you, he kneels at Yoongi’s side, eyeing his wound.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a rough breath. You feel your guts twist as you witness Hoseok’s eyes darken with something between anger and remorse.
“Fuck,” he croaks. If you weren’t seeing him with your own eyes, you would think he was the one who’d gotten shot.
You’ve never heard him speak in that manner, the otherwise confident and arrogant man was no longer present. The vulnerability and tremor in his voice made you want to hit something, you retreat your gaze from the two men adjacent to you, unable to look at them any further.
“Enough,” Yoongi commands gruffly. Shot or not he was still the oldest and it was his job to make sure the both of you are thinking straight. You and Hoseok look at him, giving him your undivided attention, ready to move at his command. “Get me the fuck up from here, I ain’t dying yet, understood?”
As if drenched in cold water, you both spring into action. You hook Yoongi’s arm over your shoulder and wrap your other arm around his waist from one side as Hoseok does the same on the opposite side, hoisting him up.
“The car isn’t far from here,” Hoseok informs. “I managed to lose them right before entering the highway so we’ll have enough time to get you somewhere safe.”
The injured man simply nods, the last few sentences draining his remaining energy. You have so much to say to him, to them, so many things you want them to know. While you carry Yoongi to the car you come to the conclusion that whatever it is that the three of you share is too meaningful to lose, you’ve lost many things in your life but this isn’t going to be one of them.
The youngest of the bunch seems to be feeling the same way. His face is set with determination and you know that look. You’ve seen it in the faces of the men that play at your table, waiting for you to deliver the card that will complete their flush. His emotions are written all over his face. His squared jaw, drawn brows, and tight lips foreshadow danger. It is the look of an apex predator whose territory has been tampered with and is out for revenge.
“You’re going to be fine hyung,” he says firmly, “I swear it.”
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