Jung Hoseok is set to inherit infamous gangster empire, Gwangum-gu. Park Jimin is a prodigous rookie chosen to bring it all crumbling down. Things don't always go as planned.
"Babydoll, you knew the game. You played it pretty damn well, too. It sucks that I won, hm?"
hi!! i'm lucky~ after mulling over this idea for a fic, i've finally published the first chapter to a03. its a bts gang/mafia au because im a sucker for those. it was inspired by sugamin's house of cards, and you can probably tell it hehe.
this fic is my baby and means a lot to me, so i'd like if you checked it out! it's gonna be a longer fic, somewhere between 130k words and 260k words. its gonna be all angst and smut, no comfort (if you're into that).
if you like violence, smut, gang aus, dark/disturbing themes in a fic, this is definitely a good one for you~
(bonus except from the prologue):
“Alright, Park, we’re sending you in.”
Those six words sent shivers down Jimin’s spine. He felt his stomach clench in a way he thought he might be sick. Normally, Jimin was excited to be sent on a job. Traffic checks, missing pets, and random checks based on local reports were the normal job. But this job? This job made Jimin feel like the unluckiest man in Seoul. On the list of phrases Jimin didn’t want to hear, that should not have been so high up. The feeling Jimin had was like someone just told him he had cancer, or that his dog died.
The last time Jimin felt this hopeless was when his father passed in a car accident. Jimin had been 12 at the time, and felt like he would never recover. Obviously, he did, but he had never felt such agony as then. Except for now. Now, Jimin felt like “the same scared little kid. He turned around in his swivel chair and looked up at his boss, Seokjin, dumbly with his mouth agape. Seokjin stared at him in his usual, somewhat unnerving way. Jimin swallowed before mustering the courage to speak.
“Puh-Pardon?” Jimin bit his bottom lip and it felt like he was spinning so fast he might just die. Seokjin cocked and eyebrow and crossed his arms.
“You heard me. We’re sending you in. I got the higher-ups to approve everything.” Seokjin stated, matter-of-factly. He moved some papers that had been scattered on Jimin’s desk out of the way and leaned against it, the edge of the desk pressing into the back of his thighs and causing his trousers to wrinkle up. Seokjin shut Jimin’s laptop and sat a folder on top of it, motioning for Jimin to open it. He made no move to do so.
“I’ve been working on getting as much information as possible together for you. You probably already know all of this, since you’ve been meticulously following every move of Gwangum-gu for a year now, but I thought you might appreciate a ‘study guide’ of sorts,” Seokjin started, running one hand up and down his thigh absentmindedly.
Jimin very quickly decided that Seokjin purposely decided to be unprofessional in the fact he didn’t pull out a chair to sit, choosing to use Jimin’s desk. He felt so very tiny in Seokjin’s shadow, and it was terrifying. He felt his heartbeat quicken, realizing that he was like a tiny ant in front of a massive shoe; like any moment Seokjin would squash him under boot.
He looked over at the now-closed laptop he had been sat at for nearly 7 hours, scanning through security footage and interpreting intercepted messages. He had done all this in the hopes he would catch some sort of slip-up, something he could use to file an arrest warrant. But all of his efforts were for nothing, since every non-suspicious word in the Webster Dictionary was used as cover. Why did mobsters have to be so fucking tricky? Why couldn’t they just say ‘Hey man, be ready for the heroin shipment at noon today! How was that murder? Did you hide the body?” Sometimes it all made Jimin feel like slamming his head against the wall, because probably that would have better results than what he normally did.
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