Stray kids mafia AU

The sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse office, casting long, golden streaks across the mahogany floor. It was a silent, peaceful afternoon, save for the rhythmic scratching of a marker against skin.

Seungmin lay flat on his stomach on the plush rug, his legs kicked up behind him. He looked like a picture of innocence in his pleated white skirt and a soft, lavender crop top that exposed the pale skin of his waist. His feet were bare, toes wiggling as he focused intensely on his task. In his hand, he held a fine-tipped permanent marker, carefully filling in the intricate linework of the black dragon tattoo that wound around Yang’s forearm.

Yang sat perfectly still in his leather chair, his other hand buried in Seungmin’s short, dark hair. He stroked the strands gently, his thumb tracing the shell of Seungmin’s ear. To the rest of the underworld, Yang was a cold-blooded titan who had built an empire on bone and steel. To Seungmin, he was the sun, the moon, and the man who had bought him back from the edge of the abyss.

Seungmin paused, tilting his head. He looked up at Yang, his large, dark eyes shimmering with a fractured sort of light. He pointed a finger—its nail a permanent, bruised black—at a specific curve of the dragon’s tail.

"Blue? Red?" Seungmin whispered, his voice a raspy, broken thing. The jagged scar across his throat rippled with the effort of the two words.

Yang smiled, a soft expression he reserved only for the boy at his feet. "Let’s do blue, Minnie. Like the ocean."

Seungmin nodded vigorously, a giggle bubbling up from his chest. It was a high, sweet sound that didn't quite match the madness lurking in his gaze. He began to color, his movements precise. He was a perfect weapon, a killing machine that Yang had refined, but in these moments, he was simply a child playing with his favorite person.

"Good boy," Yang murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Seungmin’s head. "You’re doing such a good job staying inside the lines."

Seungmin preened under the praise, his chest swelling. The voices in his head, the ones that usually screamed about water and electricity and the smell of ozone, went quiet when Yang spoke. He leaned his cheek against Yang’s knee for a moment, seeking the grounding warmth.

"Love... Yang," Seungmin croaked, looking up with a toothy grin.

"I love you too, Seungmin," Yang replied, his voice thick with genuine affection. He reached down, hooking a finger under the leather collar that circled Seungmin’s neck—a permanent reminder of who he belonged to. "Are you hungry? I have some peaches."

Seungmin’s eyes lit up. He dropped the marker and scrambled up, moving with a feline grace that betrayed his lethality. He didn't sit on a chair; he climbed directly into Yang’s lap, settling himself comfortably. He tucked his head under Yang’s chin, smelling the expensive cologne and the faint scent of gunpowder that always clung to the man.

Yang picked up a slice of fruit from a silver plate on his desk. He held it to Seungmin’s lips, watching as the younger boy took a small, delicate bite. Seungmin chewed slowly, his eyes closing in bliss. He only ever ate when Yang fed him. It was a rule, a sacred ritual that reinforced the fact that his very life depended on the man holding the fork.

"Sweet," Seungmin whispered.

"Very sweet," Yang agreed.

The peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the soft chime of the intercom. Yang’s expression shifted instantly, the warmth vanishing, replaced by a mask of cold indifference. He didn't push Seungmin off; instead, he tightened his grip on the boy’s waist.

"Speak," Yang commanded.

"Sir," the voice of a panicked underling came through. "We have a breach. A group of eight. They took out the perimeter guards in less than thirty seconds. They’re... they’re professional. They’re heading straight for the private elevator."

Yang didn't look worried. He looked bored. He looked down at Seungmin, whose head had snapped toward the door. The boy’s pupils had dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. The playful child was gone; the predator had woken up.

"Minnie," Yang said softly. "Some bad men are coming to try and take me away."

Seungmin’s lip curled back in a snarl, showing his white teeth. He touched the scar on his neck, his breath hitching.

"No... take," Seungmin hissed. "Kill... them?"

Yang stroked Seungmin’s cheek, his fingers trailing down to the lace of his panties peeking above the skirt. "Yes, my darling. Kill them all. Protect me."

Seungmin slid off Yang’s lap, his movements silent. He didn't reach for a gun. He reached for the twin combat knives hidden under the desk, their blades matte black. He stood by the door, his posture hunched, his head tilting at an unnatural angle. He looked like a broken doll brought to life by a dark spell.

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged. Heavy footsteps approached.

In the hallway, the air was thick with tension. Bang Chan led the way, his hand on his holster, his eyes darting to every corner. Behind him, Hyunjin had his sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, though he carried a submachine gun for the close-quarters breach. Changbin and Felix followed, their faces set in grim masks.

"Two years," Chan whispered, his voice cracking. "Two years of searching. If the intel is right, he’s behind that door."

"We’re getting him back, Chan," Jisung said, checking his magazines. "No matter what."

Minho and Jeongin stayed back to cover the rear, their eyes scanning the vents and side corridors. They had lost Seungmin once during a botched raid against a rival family. They had spent every waking hour since then tracking the ghost of their youngest member. They had heard rumors of a 'Pet' kept by the rising boss, Yang, but they refused to believe their Seungmin could be reduced to such a thing.

"On three," Chan signaled.

They blew the hinges. The heavy double doors burst inward with a deafening roar.

"Stray Kids! Nobody move!" Chan yelled, storming into the room with his weapon raised.

The office was vast and opulent, but their eyes immediately locked onto the figure sitting behind the desk. Yang sat there, casually sipping a glass of scotch, looking entirely unbothered by the armed men invading his sanctuary.

"You must be the legendary Stray Kids," Yang said, his voice smooth. "You’re louder than the reports suggested."

"Where is he?" Hyunjin growled, his eyes scanning the room. "Where’s Seungmin?"

"He’s right here," Yang said, gesturing to the shadow beside the door.

A blur of white and lavender moved.

Before Chan could react, a weight slammed into his side. He was thrown off balance, a sharp pain lancing through his shoulder. He rolled, bringing his gun up, only to see a small figure crouched on top of a bookshelf, hissing like a feral cat.

"Seungmin?" Felix gasped, his voice trembling.

The boy on the shelf didn't look like their Seungmin. His hair was short and choppy, his skin was pale and marred by faint scars, and he was wearing... a skirt? But the eyes—those were the eyes that had haunted their dreams. Except there was no recognition in them. Only a cold, psychotic hunger.

"Stay... back," Seungmin rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. He leaped down, landing between the intruders and Yang’s desk. He held his knives with a reverse grip, his black-nailed fingers twitching.

"Minnie, it’s us," Changbin said, stepping forward, his hands open in a gesture of peace. "It’s Binnie-hyung. We came to take you home."

Seungmin tilted his head. "Home?" He looked back at Yang, who remained seated, a faint smirk on his lips. "Yang... home."

"No, Seungmin," Chan said, his heart breaking at the sight of the leather collar. "He bought you. He’s holding you prisoner. We’re your family."

Seungmin’s eyes narrowed. The voices in his head were screaming now. *Lies. Liars. They want to take the sun away. They want the water. They want the sparks.*

"Bad... men," Seungmin whispered. He pointed a knife at Chan. "Hurt... Yang?"

"We don't want to hurt anyone if we don't have to," Chan pleaded. "We just want you."

"No!" Seungmin shrieked. The sound was soul-chilling, a raw expression of agony and rage.

He moved like lightning. He lunged at Changbin, the brute of the group. Changbin was twice his size, but Seungmin was faster. He dodged a heavy swing, slid between Changbin’s legs, and sliced the back of his calf with surgical precision. As Changbin stumbled, Seungmin used his back as a springboard, launching himself at Hyunjin.

"Seungmin, stop!" Hyunjin cried out, refusing to fire his weapon. He tried to grab the boy’s wrists, but Seungmin was like grease. He twisted in mid-air, his knee connecting with Hyunjin’s jaw.

Seungmin landed gracefully in front of Yang’s desk, shielding him with his own body. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his eyes darting between the six men. He looked terrified, yet utterly lethal.

"They want to take you, Yang," Seungmin whimpered, not looking back. "I... kill?"

Yang stood up slowly. He walked over to Seungmin and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy immediately leaned into the touch, his aggression wilting into a desperate need for comfort.

"You see?" Yang said, looking at the stunned members of Stray Kids. "He doesn't remember you. He doesn't want you. He is mine. I fed him when he was starving. I clothed him when he was naked. I gave him a voice when his was stolen."

"You brainwashed him!" Jeongin shouted from the doorway, his eyes red with fury. "You turned him into a toy!"

"I saved him," Yang corrected coldly. "The people who had him before... they broke him. I simply put the pieces back together in a way that serves me. And he loves me for it. Don't you, Minnie?"

Seungmin turned around, wrapping his arms around Yang’s waist, burying his face in the man’s stomach. "Love... Yang. Only... Yang."

Chan felt a wave of nausea. He looked at the walls, seeing the childish drawings of flowers and sunshine pinned up next to maps of assassination targets. He saw the coloring books on the floor. He saw the black nails and the jagged scar on the neck of the boy he used to call brother.

"Seungmin, please," Felix sobbed. "Look at me. Remember the dorms? Remember the brownies? Remember... Lixie?"

Seungmin peeked over his shoulder. For a fleeting second, a shadow of confusion crossed his face. A flicker of a memory—a warm kitchen, loud laughter, the smell of chocolate. But then, a sharp pain spiked in his temple, the remnant of the electroshock therapy his previous captors had used to shatter his ego.

He winced, clutching his head. "Hurts... head... hurts!"

Yang immediately pulled Seungmin closer, his eyes snapping to the intruders. "You’re upsetting him. I suggest you leave before he decides to stop playing with his food."

"We aren't leaving without him," Chan said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. He raised his gun, aiming it directly at Yang’s head. "Step away from him."

Seungmin’s reaction was instantaneous. He didn't think; he simply functioned. He snatched a heavy glass paperweight from the desk and hurled it at Chan with enough force to shatter bone. Chan ducked, the glass whistling past his ear and smashing against the wall.

In the distraction, Seungmin drew a hidden pistol from the small of his back—a gift from Yang. He aimed it with a steady hand at Chan’s chest.

"Go," Seungmin ordered. His voice was no longer childlike. It was flat, dead, and full of a singular purpose. "Go... or... die."

The members of Stray Kids stood frozen. They were elite soldiers, some of the most feared men in the underworld, but they were paralyzed by the sight of their own heart pointing a gun at them. They saw the whip scars peeking out from under the hem of his lavender top as he moved. They saw the burn marks on his thighs. They saw the ruin of the boy they loved.

"Chan, we can't," Minho whispered, grabbing Chan’s arm. "Not like this. He’ll kill us, or we’ll have to kill him. We need a better plan."

Chan looked into Seungmin’s eyes. He didn't see a brother. He saw a loyal hound guarding its master. He saw a soul that had been burned away and replaced with a devotion so deep it was indistinguishable from madness.

"We’re coming back for you, Seungmin," Chan said, his voice trembling. "I promise. We won't leave you like this."

They began to retreat, moving slowly toward the elevator, their weapons still raised but their spirits broken.

As the elevator doors closed, the last thing they saw was Yang picking Seungmin up and sitting back in his chair, the boy curling into a ball in his lap.

Once the room was silent again, Seungmin let the gun fall to the rug. He began to tremble, the adrenaline fading and leaving behind a hollow terror. The voices were loud again, screaming about the men in the black vests.

"Shh, shh," Yang whispered, rocking him gently. "They’re gone, Minnie. They can't hurt us."

Seungmin looked up, his eyes wet with tears. "They... know... me?"

Yang wiped a tear away with his thumb. "They were just ghosts, darling. From a long time ago. They don't matter. Only I matter."

Seungmin nodded slowly, his breathing hitching. "Only... Yang."

"That’s right," Yang said, reaching for a blue marker. "Now, why don't you finish the dragon? I think it needs some more color."

Seungmin took the marker, his hand still shaking slightly. He looked at the tattoo outlines on Yang’s arm, the only map he had left in a world that made no sense. He began to color, the rhythmic motion soothing the jagged edges of his mind.

He was safe. He was loved. He was a good boy.

And if those ghosts ever came back, he would make sure they never spoke again. After all, Yang had taught him that the only way to keep the world quiet was to make sure it stopped breathing.