Mafia AU

The air in the Stray Kids’ main headquarters was thick with the scent of expensive gunpowder and old mahogany, but for Seungmin, it felt suffocating. He paced the length of the living area, his footsteps heavy against the polished hardwood. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked to the heavy iron-reinforced doors, then to the digital clock on the wall.

It had been four hours. The mission was supposed to take three.

Felix, the newest recruit to the inner circle, sat on the velvet sofa, nursing a glass of water. He had been with the organization for only a month, and while he had seen the ruthless efficiency of Bang Chan and the tactical brilliance of Changbin, he hadn't yet encountered the shadows that lived in the wing at the end of the hall. He watched Seungmin with a mix of curiosity and concern. To Felix, Seungmin was always the calm, collected sniper—the man who could hold his breath for a minute without a single tremor in his hands. Seeing him this agitated was jarring.

"Seungmin-hyung?" Felix asked softly, his voice barely rising above the hum of the air conditioning. "They’re professionals. Chan-hyung said they’re the best."

Seungmin didn’t even look at him. His jaw was set tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Professionalism doesn't stop a bullet from finding a gap in a vest, Felix. And Minho... Minho gets reckless when he thinks Jisung is taking too much heat."

"And Jisung?" Felix asked, tilting his head.

Seungmin stopped pacing and finally looked at the younger boy. There was a flicker of something dark and possessive in his eyes. "Jisung doesn't care about the heat. That’s the problem."

Before Felix could ask what that meant, the heavy locks on the front door groaned and clicked. The heavy slab of metal swung open, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Two figures stepped into the light. The first was Minho, his tactical gear splattered with dark crimson that wasn't his own. He looked weary, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room like a predator returning to its den. Right behind him was Jisung.

Felix froze. He had heard stories about the man they called 'The Squirrel'—not because he was cute, but because of the frantic, twitchy violence he unleashed when he was bored. Jisung was taller than Felix expected, his presence filling the foyer with a suffocating, heavy aura. But it was his face that stopped Felix’s heart.

A jagged, silver-white scar sliced across the right side of Jisung’s face, starting at the corner of his lip and tearing upward all the way to his ear. It gave his mouth a permanent, ghastly half-smirk, a physical manifestation of a scream caught in time.

Seungmin didn't hesitate. He moved across the room in a blur, latching onto Jisung’s arm with a desperate strength. He didn't check for wounds; he simply pressed his forehead against Jisung’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of smoke and metal.

"You're late," Seungmin hissed, though his grip was trembling.

Jisung tilted his head, his dark eyes landing on Seungmin. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, gravelly rasp that sounded like stones being ground together. "We had to take a detour. Someone thought they could hide in a crawlspace. I had to pull him out piece by piece."

Minho stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup Seungmin’s nape, pulling him into the space between the two of them. "He’s fine, Minnie. We’re both fine."

Minho leaned in first, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to Seungmin’s lips, a silent promise of safety. When he pulled away, Jisung took his turn. He hooked a finger under Seungmin’s chin, forcing him to look up into that scarred, terrifying face. Jisung’s kiss was different—harder, more demanding, tasting of iron and adrenaline.

Felix watched, wide-eyed and paralyzed. He felt like he was intruding on something primal.

Jisung broke the kiss and looked over Seungmin’s shoulder, his gaze landing on Felix for the first time. The look was cold, devoid of any human empathy. It was the look of a man who viewed people as anatomical puzzles to be solved with a blade.

"Who's the stray?" Jisung rasped.

"Felix," Minho answered shortly, not bothered by the intensity. "Chan’s new shadow. Ignore him."

Jisung hummed, a low vibration in his chest. Without a word, he reached down and hooked his arms under Seungmin’s thighs, hoisting the younger man up effortlessly. Seungmin wrapped his legs around Jisung’s waist, burying his face in the crook of Jisung’s neck. Minho placed a protective hand on the small of Jisung’s back, guiding them toward the hallway.

They disappeared into their private quarters, the heavy oak door slamming shut with a finality that made Felix jump.

"Don't stare too hard next time," a voice said from the shadows of the kitchen.

Felix spun around to see Bang Chan leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. The leader looked tired, but his eyes were grave.

"He... his face," Felix stammered. "And the way he looked at me. It was like he wasn't even seeing a person."

"He wasn't," Chan said, taking a sip. "That’s Han Jisung. To the rest of the world, he’s a high-functioning sociopath with a sadistic streak that makes the devil look kind. He doesn't feel pain the way we do, Felix. Physical, emotional—it’s all muffled to him. The only things that keep him tethered to this world are Minho and Seungmin."

Chan walked over and patted Felix’s shoulder, his grip tight. "They are a closed circuit. They protect each other with a ferocity that borders on insanity. If you ever find yourself between them and a threat, run. Because Jisung won't just kill you. He’ll enjoy the process of finding out how much you can take before you break."

Felix swallowed hard, looking back at the closed door. "And the others? Minho and Seungmin?"

"They’re the only ones who can handle him," Chan whispered. "And they’re just as dangerous because they’ll do anything to keep that monster fed and happy. Stay out of their way, Felix. For your own sake."

The night passed in a heavy silence for the rest of the house, but the walls of the master suite were thick enough to muffle the sounds of a different kind of violence—one born of relief and a desperate need to feel alive.

The next morning, the sun was barely peeking through the high windows of the common area when the door to the trio's room finally opened.

Felix was already up, sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal, trying to shake the unnerving images from the night before. He froze when he heard footsteps.

Seungmin and Minho emerged first. They were both shirtless, wearing nothing but loose cotton shorts. Felix felt his face heat up, but his eyes were drawn to the marks. Both men were covered. Their necks and chests were a canvas of deep purple hickeys and bite marks. Dark bruises in the shape of large, powerful fingerprints were burned into the pale skin of their waists and inner thighs.

They looked like they had been through a war, yet they moved with a strange, languid grace.

"Water," Minho muttered, his voice hoarse. He leaned against the counter, his movements stiff. He looked over at Seungmin, who was already at the fridge, pulling out a gallon jug.

Seungmin filled two glasses, handing one to Minho. As he reached up, the light caught the raw, red marks around his throat. He looked exhausted, but there was a serene, satisfied glow in his eyes that hadn't been there the night before.

"Rough night?" Changbin asked, walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee maker, completely unfazed by their appearance.

"The usual," Seungmin replied, his voice a low hum of contentment. "Jisung was... energetic."

Five minutes later, the man himself appeared.

Jisung stepped into the kitchen, wearing only a pair of low-slung black sweatpants. He looked different in the morning light—less like a ghost and more like a predator at rest. He headed straight for the pantry, but as he turned his back to the room, Felix dropped his spoon.

Jisung’s back was a map of agony. Long, angry red scratch marks ran from his shoulders down to the small of his back, some of them still weeping slightly. There were teeth marks on his shoulders, and the skin was mottled with bruises.

Yet, as Jisung turned around with a bag of protein jerky, he wasn't wincing. He wasn't limping. He looked perfectly at peace.

He walked over to Minho and Seungmin, sliding into the space between them. He wrapped an arm around each of their waists, pulling them flush against his sides. He pressed a kiss to the side of Minho’s head and then bit gently at the bruised skin on Seungmin’s shoulder.

"You two are leaking," Jisung rasped, gesturing to the water they were drinking. "Hydrate. I want to go again before the briefing at noon."

Minho laughed, a soft, melodic sound that seemed at odds with the bruises on his throat. He leaned his head back against Jisung’s shoulder. "Give us twenty minutes, Jisungie. Some of us actually feel our nerves."

Jisung’s scarred lip pulled back into that terrifying, lopsided smirk. He looked at Felix again, his dark eyes tracking the younger boy’s trembling hands.

"Something wrong, kid?" Jisung asked.

Felix shook his head rapidly, looking down at his cereal. "No, sir. Nothing."

Jisung let out a low, dry chuckle that sent shivers down Felix’s spine. He ignored the pain of the scratches on his back, the same way he ignored the blood on his hands from the night's mission. To him, the marks on his boyfriends and the wounds on his own skin were just proof of their existence—a bloody, beautiful tether to the only two people who made his hollow chest feel like it held a heart.

He pulled them closer, his fingers digging slightly into the bruises on their hips, and for a moment, the most dangerous man in the mafia looked truly, terrifyingly happy.