Pairing: Idk yet x reader
Genre: 91 Mafia!AU
Warning: (Eventually) Lots of violence and strong language
Word count: IDK I CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO COUNT THE WORDS.
A/N: Let’s start with some character intros bc I haven’t even written the first chapter. FYI I don’t write smut, so don’t expect any. Also, idk where this fic will even go. Will there be fluff?? Will there be any romance at all?? Who knows. I just want a fic about 91 being badass mothafuckas.
Also, this is structured like the Italian mafia. I don’t know how gangs work in KZ and anyway, this is a work of fiction. K thanks bye. P.S. Gif owners are listed below the gif.
Summary:
Ninety One, the most powerful gang in KZ, finds itself on the defensive when a new gang appears threatening to seize Ninety One’s empire. Meanwhile, Y/n somehow becomes embroiled in the ensuing gang war while studying abroad in KZ.
Azamat Zenkayev: The Boss
Azamat leads the biggest and most powerful organized crime syndicate in KZ. He entered the business at a young age, building a reputation as a ruthless killer and moving up the ranks through manipulation and murder. He was only 18 when he became the leader, taking the place of notorious crime boss, Serikbolat Zhanibekov. He is calm, quiet, and exceptionally brutal, making him the most well-respected and feared man in Kazakhstan. He’s working to dissolve the entire organization so he can live a quiet, normal life.
Batyrkhan Malikov: Counsel
Batyrkhan comes from a wealthy family that disinherited him when he went to work for Serikbolat Zhanibekov. Serikbolat financed the rest of his education, allowing Batyrkhan to become a top-notch lawyer and Serikbolat’s counsel and confidant. He knows everything there is to know about the law, including how to get around it. His well-mannered exterior makes for a good cover-up, so when there’s a problem, Batyrkhan is there to take care of it.
Azamat Ashmakyn (ACE): Hitman
Azamat Ashmakyn signed up for compulsory military service immediately after he turned 18 to escape an abusive family. He trained in all forms of combat, but excelled in shooting, eventually becoming one of the military’s top snipers. After being recruited by Batyrkhan and promised a much higher salary, he abandons the Kazakh military and goes off the grid, taking the name, “Ace.” Ace has a strong code of ethics, but luckily, his assignments have not yet violated that code.
Dulat Mukhametkaliev: Underboss
Dulat is a childhood friend of Azamat’s. Growing up in poverty, they often had to steal to survive. They always had each other’s backs, so when Azamat became the leader, of course he brought Dulat in as his second-in-command. Dulat possesses both book-smarts and street-smarts, making him the smartest man on the team and the mastermind behind many of their plans. Azamat shows great respect for Dulat, so everyone else accepts his authority without question.
Daniyar Kulumshin: Interrogator
Daniyar was adopted by Azamat’s parents as a child. He and Azamat formed a strong brotherly bond that continues today. Daniyar always admired Azamat and wanted to be by his side in the gang business. He gathers information from Azamat’s enemies through interrogation. Though his methods are unorthodox and at times disturbing, he always gets results. Daniyar trusts Azamat and Azamat alone.
Otinshin Madiyaruly: Captain
Formerly one of Serikbolat’s captains and the first one to swear loyalty to Azamat. His willingness to follow orders and his success in executing said orders helped him gain Azamat’s respect. However, Otinshin is a charismatic and ambitious man and his ambitions often clash with Azamat’s. Otinshin’s soldiers harbor an almost cultish admiration for him, but as long as he gets the job done, Azamat doesn’t care.
Pairing: Idk yet x reader
Genre: 91 Mafia!AU
Warning: A lot of violence, some language
Summary: Ninety One, the most powerful gang in KZ, finds itself on the defensive when a new gang appears threatening to seize Ninety One’s empire. Meanwhile, Y/n somehow becomes embroiled in the ensuing gang war while studying abroad in KZ.
A/N: Here we go. Pls be brutally honest.
Azamat adjusts the cuffs of his expensive designer suit as he steps into the elevator. His hair is shaved at the sides with a mohawk loosely combed back. The jet black strands contrast with his skin beautifully, giving him an intimidating, almost ghostly look. His eyes are cold and unreadable and his overbearing presence is enough to make even the bravest of men cry.
He smirks at the younger boy standing next to him – Daniyar – who seems to be staring at the older in awe. Daniyar reminds Azamat of himself when he was younger – before his final shred of innocence had been taken away.
When the elevator doors open, Azamat takes the lead, confidently striding down the hallway with Daniyar following behind like a loyal little puppy. When he reaches the right room, he swings the door open without hesitation and everyone sitting inside falls silent.
Azamat and Daniyar’s footsteps sound against the polished wooden floor as they enter. Out of the corner of his eye, Azamat can see Daniyar’s face turning slightly red. He knew the younger hated to be the center of attention. Azamat sits down at the head of the table, Daniyar sliding into the chair next to him. No one dares to speak.
Azamat’s eyes wander around the room, looking at each person. Most of them stare at the table to avoid his gaze, but a few dare to lock eyes with him. Azamat’s eyes linger on theirs a bit longer until the once-brave souls regret everything and quickly look down at the table. He says nothing, his glances getting his point across more clearly than words ever could. Daniyar observes the other men, wondering which one will finally speak up. Sweat glistens on their foreheads and a couple of them are even shaking in fear. Fear that they will draw their last breath at any moment.
The door opens again, but no one except Daniyar looks to see who it is. A dignified man calmly saunters into the room and takes the other empty seat next to Azamat. As he sits, he adjusts the sleeves of his navy blue suit jacket and pulls a pair of glasses from his coat pocket. His profile is harsh, with a strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones, but there is kindness in his eyes. Thick, black hair sits atop his head, styled in the most pristine way.
The man leans in and whispers something to Azamat. Azamat’s authoritative eyes do not move from the others in the room. As the man finishes, Azamat finally locks his gaze on the man sitting on the other end of the table. Azamat clears his throat and everyone snaps their heads up to look at him, ready to hear what he has to say.
Azamat does not speak. Instead, he raises his arm and extends one finger toward the man across from him. The sweat on his brow begins to drip down the side of his face as a he hurriedly stands. Azamat nods slightly. The man tries to stifle every emotion that’s fighting to come out. He takes a deep breath and closes his before beginning with a squeak.
“Ahem.” He clears his throat to try again. “L-l-last night, uh, a rival gang…that is, the Russians – ahem, they disrupted our heist and um…they--”
The man’s voice trails off as he struggles to find the words. Azamat merely raises his eyebrows in quiet concern.
“They took the goods from us and…um…th-they…ahem, killed our guys.”
The room falls into silence again and everyone looks at Azamat uncertainly, afraid of how he’s going to react. Azamat remains motionless for a few moments. A small, seemingly amused smile crosses his lips and everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief. Just as they’ve all calmed down, Azamat stands up, grabs a glass of water that’s sitting on the table, and throws it at the nearest wall. It shatters on impact, causing everyone to flinch. One of the men begins to whimper. Despite his actions, not a shred of anger shows on his face. Even when he threw the glass, he appeared cool and collected. Unfortunately, Azamat is most dangerous when he is quiet. The men know they will be punished to the fullest extent. After all, they’re indirectly responsible for the failed heist.
Azamat sits back down and points at the whimpering man next to Daniyar. The man scrambles to his feet, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his sweat-ridden face. He licks his lips a few times in an attempt to collect himself, but his voice quakes as he speaks.
“Yes, s-sir?”
Azamat’s piercing eyes meet his, like two swords entering a person’s flesh slowly to cause greater pain.
“Do you know how I got where I am today?” Azamat’s gravelly voice crawls out of his mouth, flat but firm, like a snake strangling its prey. With every word, the men feel like they’re being choked. The man manages to nod weakly. Azamat continues, his voice never changing in volume.
“Of course you don’t. I’ve never told anyone. But now I’m going to tell you everything. All of you. Maybe then you’ll understand why failure is not an option. Sit down.”
The man hastily takes his seat, nearly tripping out of nervousness. Azamat stands up and begins wandering around the room. Every so often, he stops to look at the paintings on the wall, but for the most part, he circles the table, staring down at each and every person.
“My parents were simple people. They worked hard to provide for their children. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. At the time, Atyrau was controlled by the Zhanibekov family. Dishonest, evil people, the lot of them. My parents paid them every month in exchange for protection. Not that they had a choice.”
Azamat pauses to scan each man, making sure they’re listening. He smirks at the fact that he has their undivided attention. He could recite poetry and they would still hang on his every word like their lives depended on it. Azamat continues.
“Food prices went up and wages were low. My parents chose to feed their children first. Yes, they had every intention of paying the protection money. It was one day late. One day. They shot my father first. Then my mother, who was crying over his dead body. But they never even acknowledged us. You remember that day, don’t you, Daniyar?”
He stops behind his younger brother, who seems to be angered by the story. Daniyar’s lips tighten as he nods.
“When I turned 14, I joined that sick family as a serving boy. The leader…ah, what was his name?”
The man in the suit and glasses speaks up suddenly, without looking up from his notes.
“Serikbolat Zhanibekov,” he says.
“Yes, thank you. Serikbolat Zhanibekov. He loved me like a son and I pretended to love him like a father. Until one day…”
Azamat drags his finger across his throat, his face remains stoic and his voice eerily soft.
“I killed him.”
Terror grips the men around the table. One man cups his hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. Another loses all color in his face. The other man starts whimpering again, this time much louder. Azamat continues to circle the table, staring at each person like a predator stalking its prey. The whimpering man has now lost all control of his emotions. Azamat offers him a tissue and he nervously accepts.
“I wanted him to know who was killing him. More than that, I wanted him to suffer. So I stood behind him.”
Azamat stops. The whimpering man can feel an overwhelming presence behind him, but he doesn’t dare look back.
“I made him look me in the eye.”
Azamat reaches a hand to the man’s head and grasps his hair. The whimpering man inhales sharply as tears stream down his cheeks like waterfalls. With a sharp tug, the man finds his eyes fixed on Azamat’s emotionless visage.
“And I stuck him like a fucking pig.”
Mere seconds pass as Azamat draws a switchblade from his pocket and shoves the knife into the man’s torso. Red liquid spills from the wound as the former soldier struggles to catch his breath. The entire time, Azamat keeps his eyes locked on the man’s, watching as the life painfully leaves them. He lets go of the man’s hair and the man slumps into the table with a loud thud. Daniyar lets out a gentle laugh.
Azamat cleans his blade on the man’s shirt and sheathes it for now. As he returns to his seat, he notices some blood staining his hand. It’s been a while since Azamat literally had blood on his hands. He savors it for a short while before speaking again, his tone unchanged.
“And what became of the Zhanibekov family?”
Azamat turns his palms upward and shrugs.
“They don’t exist anymore. I have taken their place. Azamat Zenkayev, the poor boy from Atyrau, single-handedly seized control of the most notorious crime family in Kazakhstan. I ended them.”
Daniyar smiles, flashing his brilliant teeth. He always looked up to his older brother, but this story made him especially proud.
“Batyrkhan.”
The bespectacled man looks up from his notes, turning his head toward Azamat, his sculpted features more visible straight-on.
“Tell me, where would I be if I had failed such an important task?”
Batyrkhan does not hesitate. He curtly replies, “Dead, sir.” Azamat nods and the man returns to his notes.
“Daniyar. Where would you be if I had failed?”
Daniyar’s smile grows. He tilts his head downward and casts an eerie glance at the remaining two men.
“Dead.”
Azamat nods his head fervently and points at the two gentlemen on either side of him – his younger brother and trusted advisor.
“Exactly right,” he mutters. “Now, with all that said, how do you think this meeting is going to end?”
He darts his eyes back and forth between the remaining soldiers who have lost all color in their face by now. Daniyar fidgets in his chair and begins tapping his fingers on the table. Before long, he is bouncing up and down like an impatient child waiting for ice cream. Azamat simply ignores and waits for one of the men to answer.
“Well?”
Finally, one speaks up. Cold sweat drips from his face onto the table. He struggles to find the words, the mere sight of Azamat sending shivers up his spine. The shivers cut like a thousand knives and the man reaches a hand behind his back to make sure he wasn’t impaled.
“Mercy,” he breathes, the mere utterance of the word nearly draining the life out of him.
He was once a skilled assassin, successful in every endeavor and ready to die for honor – now, reduced to a sniveling, pathetic excuse of a man, begging for mercy like a dog begs for food. For a moment, the man remembers who he used to be and tries to be strong. But once he looks into Azamat’s cold eyes, he slips back into a trembling mass of flesh.
Azamat pulls a handgun and sends a bullet straight through the man’s head. Without hesitation, he points it to the other man and ends his life with one shot as well. Azamat stands, wearing the same emotionless expression as he begins to exit the room. Batyrkhan gingerly places his notes back in his briefcase and follows, while Daniyar nearly trips over the chair trying to keep up with his older brother.
Back in the elevator, Azamat loosens his tie and casts a sideways glance at his lawyer, Batyrkhan. The man somehow manages to maintain an air of poise despite the events that just transpired.
“Any plans for this evening, Batyr?” Azamat asks, his tone more casual now.
With a firm nod, Batyrkhan answers, “No sir.”
“Good,” Azamat replies. “I’m calling another meeting tonight at my place. I want you there.”
Batyrkhan offers another nod. Even if he had plans, he would have to cancel them. The business comes first and he must be available for his boss at a moment’s notice. It’s the price he must pay in exchange for Azamat’s trust.
“Are you gonna kill some more people?” Daniyar asks, sounding like a child.
Azamat continues to look up at the elevator display, watching the numbers gradually count down to one. Azamat doesn’t turn to look at his younger brother, but he knows his answer will draw a crazed smile from Daniyar’s lips.
