Chapter Text
The Bulletproof Men weren’t, well, bulletproof per se, but after years and years of notoriety and organized crime, the syndicate and the people in it might as well be, well, bulletproof. Stalking the streets, day or night, just hearing the names of the gang’s top seven members could send chills down your spine.
That is, if you were their enemy.
The Bulletproof Men was founded some fifty years ago, breaking away from the main branch in Japan after one of the heads came to Korea as a means to spread their influence. After a while, however, conflict arose, and the Bulletproof Men broke away completely from its parent house, becoming its own organized crime syndicate.
Brothels, drugs, illegal weaponry; the Bulletproof Men’s influence reached far and wide; even going so far as to own several large legal companies on the surface. Police feared them, but held a grudging respect for them. They were considered one of the more morally upright gangs in Korea, ironic as that sounded.
There were several times where the police and the Bulletproof Men had joined hands to bring down any other gangs that were getting too big to ignore, gangs that didn’t know the delicacy of keeping a fine balance between illegal and legal, hidden and not. The police didn’t interfere with the Bulletproof Men, turning a blind eye to their illegality, and in return, the Bulletproof Men kept their illegal business well-hidden and to a minimum, tipping off the police with any important information about any turf wars or happenings that might affect the citizens of Seoul.
It wasn’t only Seoul, however. Despite the fact that their headquarters were on the outskirts of Seoul, where they were less likely to be bothered, the Bulletproof Men’s reach extended out way down south, and even over the sea, all the way to Japan and China.
It was tough work keeping such a large organized crime syndicate, and the previous Godfather had told Namjoon admiringly that he was one of the best, if not the best, Godfather the Bulletproof Men ever had the privilege of following. Of course, Namjoon couldn’t keep the gang up and running like a well-oiled machine by himself; thus came the top seven that were in charge of several factions as well as the different aspects of the gang.
The strictly hierarchical structure that they functioned on included, first and foremost, the Godfather. The current Godfather was Kim Namjoon, a twenty nine year old man well versed in the on goings of the yakuza life. He was the hardiest and most experienced one out of the top seven, starting directly from the bottom and then working his way up over a very short span of three years. When he was eighteen, he had joined as a street runner, the lowest of the lows, a foot soldier.
Through the first three years of unwavering service and dedication, along with a cunning and intelligence that was unmatched, Namjoon shot through the ranks right up to the third seat; the left hand man to the previous Godfather.
Namjoon was skilled at using guns, especially hand guns, but not so much a hand to hand combater – Yoongi had tried teaching him once, but the man had ended up at their doctor with a slash through his abdomen from his own knife. Up till today, Yoongi has no idea how that happened.
The man was in charge of the overall running of the gang; seeing to their businesses (both legal and not), making sure they were ‘clean’ and good to go. The police commandant took special liking to the silver haired mob boss – Namjoon was one of the most easy going and calm Godfathers out there to ever exist and work with, and the man had co-operated once or twice with the police.
Of course, that co-operation wasn’t without rewards. Namjoon swallowed the overthrown gangs’ turfs, claiming them as Bulletproof Men’s own, expanding their control even wider. Namjoon had discussed the possibility of betrayal before to Yoongi – betrayal on the police force’s part, but Yoongi had simply smirked and waved it off. “We have weeds amongst the roses,” He had said cryptically, cracking his neck to ease the tension.
“They’re enough for now, and if anyone were to think about betraying us, well,” Yoongi’s eyes glinted, dark, dangerous, and Namjoon had shuddered, feeling slightly petrified at the absolute murder on his face. “Jimin can go hunting.”
Min Yoongi. He had broken tradition this time round when he’d approached his grandfather, conceding the position of Godfather to Namjoon easily without a fight. “He’ll make a better Godfather than me, gramps,” he had grunted. “I’m contented being second.” His grandfather had approved, and thus he had kept his position of second, whilst Namjoon rose from being third to the coveted first.
In private, when asked about it by the curious Taehyung, the man simply downed a shot of vodka and grunted, stating that he was just “too tired to deal with all this shit you motherfuckers, Namjoon is the better number one.”
The previous Godfather’s youngest grandson, he had fought a bitter, bloody battle to win his grandfather’s favour. It actually wasn’t that difficult, he would say. “My elder brothers preferred partying and drinking and clubbing to actually, y’know, doing things.”
But Namjoon wasn’t so quick to write off the man’s achievements; he knew about the assassin and the sorry end the guy met when the eldest brother had set him on Yoongi. The boy was only nineteen, and in his first year of being the right hand man to his grandfather when he fended off the assassin easily, killing him with ease.
The man’s knife skills were legendary, but his favourite knife was the Karambit, a cruelly curved knife the length of a fully grown man’s palm. It was tiny, but extremely effective, made to slash at tendons and pressure points. Yoongi could take a man down within three quick moves, had proven his worth in fights over and over again. Hapkido, Silat, Muay Thai, Yoongi’s parents hadn’t spared any expense in sending the boy to these kinds of classes.
Rival gangs had snorted at his tiny stature right before a fight before; and it was always amusing to watch Yoongi get angry about it. Gang Legend says that he once slayed an entire enemy gang of twenty seven men by himself without any help; but if you asked he would scoff and say “it was only twenty, don’t be ridiculous.”
Apart from fighting, however, the man was a glib and calm talker, able to assess things from a different point of views than Namjoon. They made for a lethal combination, Namjoon and Yoongi.
Everyone however, knew that he exerted the most influence on the gang. It was an open secret. Many found Yoongi more frightening than Namjoon, even though Namjoon’s temper was quicker than Yoongi’s. When Yoongi did get angry, god bless whoever he was angry with. Yoongi just had that aura around him that warned people off. Namjoon worked well with Yoongi, however, regarding the man with an amused face whenever he began to pace and mouth off to Namjoon about the happenings in their gang.
It was no secret that Namjoon held the most affection for Yoongi since they’ve spent the most time together. Even if he did hold the most influence over the gang, he was content to just sit back and relax, diligently doing his work quota properly.
The third, the left hand man of the bulletproof seven was a man named Jeon Jeongguk. The youngest out of them at age twenty two, he had been adopted by Yoongi into the gang some seven years ago. With his big eyes and soft features, one would expect him to be the gentlest, but that was a downright misnomer.
In front of the henchmen, the man was stern and unforgiving, someone who rarely smiled, but when it was just the top seven, he relaxed somewhat, though he never gave up his stern front completely. He laughed, but he would laugh at the weirdest things, like the one time Namjoon got his hair stuck in a hair dryer and had to chop it all off (Taehyung’s convinced that Jeongguk’s the spawn of satan). Jeongguk had laughed, laughed about it to the Godfather’s face, tears coming to his eyes whenever he saw the cropped hair.
The man was one of the scariest people in the Bulletproof Men, having been trained under Yoongi to fight. He also had the greatest number of tattoos, spanning the entirety of his body, far outnumbering the combined amount of tattoos the top seven had. They included a wide variety, going from a sprawling, extensive masterpiece of an Oni covering the entire plane of his back, demonic smile bared into a maniacal grin, with flaming fists and crimson eyes, to a tiny cartoon seagull just under his ribcage.
He also had the top seven’s names tattooed on different parts of his body – Taehyung had requested his to be on his butt cheek, so Jeongguk had rolled his eyes but went with it.
All his tattoos were all done the traditional way, set of needles painstakingly inking into his skin over a span of several years. The tattooist was a friend of the previous Godfather’s, an old man nearing the age of sixty. Imagine the tattooist’s shock at watching Jeongguk strip his pants off in front of him.
Jeongguk was a wild tornado. Even Yoongi could be afraid of him sometimes, when he got truly very angry, obsidian black hair and even darker eyes glinting dangerously. He always sat, prim and proper, with his tattooed arms folded across his muscular chest. The man was a force not to be reckoned with, and some hooligans from a co-operating gang had learned that the hard way when they had sniggered at Jeongguk’s age right in front of the man himself. Jeongguk trounced their asses so thoroughly he was asked to pay their hospital bills by the other gang.
Most of the seven had pretty ambiguous backgrounds, but Jeongguk’s one was considered one of the saddest. Abandoned by his parents at the age of eleven, he roamed the streets, fighting for food, occasionally stealing so he could eat. He had wandered into the middle of a gang fight, when Yoongi was fighting, and the man had grouched toward him immediately after it ended, noticing the hungry look in his eyes.
“Oi, you brat,” Yoongi had said, holding out his bread. “Want some food?”
Needless to say, Jeongguk had taken Yoongi’s hand and had never looked back. Yoongi was given responsibility of the boy, the previous Godfather entrusting Jeongguk to him. From hand to hand combat to hand guns to rifles to shot guns. Jeongguk was a jack of all trades. He was a born sniper, the only one out of the seven who could sit still for more than three hours, patiently waiting for his prey, training his scope and relaxing his body to ensure a hundred percent hit rate. Even though his affections lay with sniper rifles and shotguns, he was still a mean hand to hand combater, able to take out enemies with little effort.
As compared to Jimin and Yoongi however, they were still above him when it came to hand to hand fighting. But his skills at using the sniper gun was unrivalled.
After that came the unranked few amongst the top seven, the people not labelled in their rankings.
Kim Seokjin was the one who kept the seven of them up and running almost all the time. All six of them frequently forgot to eat, engrossed in whatever they were doing, so the man had taken it upon himself to care for them. The broad shouldered man was one of the gentlest out of the seven of them – Hoseok being the other. He had a frilly pink apron with alpacas printed on it, and he was a mean cook, whipping up delicious dishes for the bulletproof seven with ease.
He was, also the seven’s personal doctor. In charge of patching them up whenever they came home injured, he was impeccable with sewing needles and medicine, capable of restoring split flesh with graceful ease.
Ironically enough, Seokjin was also the go to man in the bulletproof seven for poison. His poison brewery, set up for him by the previous Godfather, put men to permenant sleep by the dozen. His ability to create lethal poison out of most everything and anything was unparalleled, seriously; “Anything in the kitchen can be used to brew poisons,” he had said with a bright smile the first day he met Namjoon, Yoongi and Jeongguk, laugh lines appearing at the corner of his eyes. Jeongguk had immediately stuck fingers down his throat to vomit the very nice egg omelette Jin had fed him. The previous Godfather had initially brought him in with the intention of utilizing his poisons; and he utilize he did, dispatching off entire gangs by the truckload with clear vials of untraceable poisons.
After the previous Godfather retired and died, however, he gave up that particular hobby, the guilt of killing people too much to bear. “But I would do it again if necessary,” Seokjin would say, stroking a hand through Taehyung’s hair. “If it meant saving you all, I would.”
Namjoon never really took him seriously about his oath to never harm people again, but after one encounter that left him too close to the edge of dying, had always assigned one of the younger henchmen to guard him and keep him safe. Many gangs wanted his abilities to brew poison. The bodyguard implemented for him was practically moot; to be honest. Namjoon spent most of his time with the doctor anyways, and Namjoon was a better bodyguard than anyone could have hoped to have. Seokjin always spent time either in the den, or at the warehouse, or at the local hospital, volunteering for the people there.
Jung Hoseok was the gang’s resident bomb expert and escape artist; once he and Yoongi had been taken hostage, but the man had broken them out of their holding cell within minutes with nothing but tomato juice and a Swiss Army Knife. The rival gang had snorted at first upon seeing the toothy man holding a bottle of tomato juice, but Hoseok was the one who got the last laugh, hurling urine bombs at their captives with maniacal laughter echoing through the warehouse. Up till today, Yoongi still doesn’t know how he did it – “And to be honest with you, I don’t really care,” the man would grunt.
True, they escaped with Yoongi’s fighting skills put to the maximum test, but Yoongi would definitely and readily admit to the fact that it was Hoseok who had saved their lives by getting them out in the first place.
The man was something of an enigma; nobody knew exactly where he’d come from, just that the Godfather had pulled quite a lot of strings to get him to come over to the dark side. Because you see, he used to be in the Korean Special Force Unit that specialised in defusing bombs, not making them.
The ever cheerful man was always whizzing around the den, or in his basement workshop, trying out new things almost every day. Taehyung was enraptured with him, always following him about with wide eyes. Yoongi had a field day that one time Taehyung got the idea that emulating Hoseok was a great plan, and had ended up tying the boy down to the boy so he would stop flinging ginger bombs at the henchmen for fun.
Kim Taehyung – alias V.
The man behind the computer, the man behind the security hacks and their thrice locked database. Filled with both inane general knowledge – “Hyung, did you know that the Romans used to make toothpaste from urine?! I wonder if Jin hyung knows the recipe for that-” “No, Taehyung-ah, you are not going to try to coerce or trick all of us into using urine toothpaste-“; as well as invaluable information that tided them through the darkest times, such as when their “fool proof” database had been hacked the first time through with another man on the team.
The previous Godfather had brought him in, and the then teenage Taehyung had swept through the gang like a tornado, immediately focused on feeding false information about the gang to whomever hacked into it, working tirelessly for three days and nights straight to close their data behind locked doors again.
He had even managed to find out who was responsible for the leak – their first Brainiac himself, and who the information was going to – the previous Godfather was so thankful for Taehyung that he was immediately promoted to the ranks of the top seven. It was a well-deserved promotion – Namjoon would say with a soft smile, back when he was number three and taking care of the boy.
After that there had been attempts to break into the information, but Taehyung always managed to fend off those attempts. Jeongguk would regard the man quietly with a cocked eyebrow in the middle of the dead night, two cups of steaming coffee kept beside the both of them, Taehyung pushing his glasses up his nose every few minutes even as he muttered under his breath the whole way through. Jeongguk would keep him company, keeping silent vigil beside the man.
Jeongguk had taken an interest in the boy; and would follow him like a dogged shadow. Yoongi thinks that it’s because Jeongguk never went to school, which is why he looks up to the elder so much. The information and knowledge Taehyung spewed was interesting to Jeongguk. The duo, along with Jimin, were almost always seen together, Jimin and Taehyung giggling together whilst ribbing Jeongguk, the stoic man rolling his eyes but giving in to their teasing.
Taehyung’s hair was as colourful as his personality – and through the years he had never stopped dyeing it the different colours of the rainbow. Orange, brown, blonde, silver, purple, but his favourite so far was the faded lavender – mixed with silver. It suited him, Yoongi would chuckle, patting at his head fondly.
Last but not least, Park Jimin.
The brunette man was all baby fat and chubby cheeks, soft smiles and the light of practically almost everyone’s eyes (especially Min Yoongi), but there was a rather bizarre and twisted reverse charm to him. See, Jimin was the top seven’s assassin, the one doing all the dirty work. It wasn’t rare to see him dragging a body through the house day and night, smiling face uncharacteristically grim and splattered with blood. The previous Godfather had brought him in when he was twenty, and the Jimin then had already been trained in the arts of silent killing, going out on orders to bring back heads or pinkies.
Namjoon had initially been suspicious of the boy; he was simply too smiley for his own good, but Jimin, like always, had charmed his way into Namjoon’s good books, and secured an invaluable place of trust in his heart.
Whatever the situation was, Jimin made a very good killer, what with his ripped muscles, steady small hands and rock hard thighs. It wasn’t only his physical attributes, however, the man had a quick brain and fast reflexes, able to think under the most stressful of situations to ensure the best possible outcome.
Whenever he wasn’t on killing duty, however, one would mistake him for a kept pet by the gang. The boy wandered around in nothing but big sweaters, mainly stolen from Seokjin and Namjoon and Jeongguk, all who towered over him, curling up on the sofa with his head pillowed on Yoongi’s lap, engaging in a game of chase with Taehyung or just cuddling with Hoseok and Taehyung whenever he fancied it.
The younger initially tried pushing him away, but after months of dogged begging and pouting (God, how could anyone resist that pout), Jeongguk would give up and concede, wrapping his muscular arm around Jimin’s waist, splaying a hand against his stomach possessively, the front of his body pressed firmly to Jimin’s back.
Rival gangs who didn’t know better tried kidnapping him once; and amused, he went along with it for the fun of it, struggling and crying weakly in the bonds they put him in to hoots and cries of excitement from the rival gang members.
He made his way back by himself four hours after he was kidnapped to chaos in the house, the rest of the top seven panicking, thoroughly soaked in blood with several scratches all over his body. The next day, Jeongguk and Yoongi went to hunt down the rest of the rival gang, only to find all of their members’ heads stuck on poles outside their base warehouse. Not a single one was spared.
Grisly, frightening, but everyone absolutely adored the boy. He was their precious lamb.
-
It wasn’t a secret, to be honest with you.
Hoseok adored Jeongguk, and often taught him how to make his own bombs, the two of them squirrelled away in Hoseok’s basement workshop. Seriously though, Jeongguk’s fart bombs were lethal. Yoongi would discuss fighting strategies seriously with Taehyung over coffee, the two of them capable of planning out an entire scenario and the possible outcomes that came along with the scenario.
To Namjoon’s absolute aghast, Jimin had offered to teach Seokjin how to spar, and those lessons usually took place in the living room – “Fuck guys, that was a coffee table that cost over a few hundred thousand- I just-“ Seokjin would always fuck Namjoon later on into the sheets, pounding relentlessly so that the younger man would spurt untouched against the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Taehyung and Jimin would often play computer or console games in the living room, their happy laughter loud enough to be heard right at the top rooms. The two of them made for a lethal cuddling combo; god bless those that got caught in their hands right before they went to sleep. Most of the times though, they were content to sleep beside each other (Although Jimin keeps wondering how the fuck is Taehyung so flexible in his sleep; it’s quite common to wake up to Taehyung’s foot on his face).
Seokjin would often wake up in the middle of the night to Taehyung’s sleepy kneading against his stomach, a gentle “Hyung, I’m hungry. Can you cook for me please?” right after the man finished encryption codes for the gang’s files. Seokjin would carry the boy into the kitchen, hands under the boy’s bottom, Taehyung’s legs and arms hooked around Seokjin’s waist and shoulders like a Koala, lips pressed to the side of Seokjin’s neck. It was ridiculous; they were both roughly around the same size, but still Seokjin could throw him around like he weighed nothing.
An open secret, the henchmen would grin and say, shaking their heads fondly. “I bet the sex is really good,” the men would sigh, eyes trailing over all seven of them.
Yoongi and Namjoon would often trade lazy kisses in the early morning sunlight, both of them with sleep-swollen faces rolling around on Yoongi’s huge bed. Seokjin liked to cuddle post-coitum, running lazy fingers through Hoseok’s sweaty hair, peppering kisses to the man’s face that left them, more often than not, going for a second round.
Jeongguk was more physical, liking to shove Taehyung or Jimin or just about anyone up against a vertical surface, necking them, leaving blooming bruises around necks like a ring of possessive roses. Namjoon liked fucking Jimin in obvious places, like the living room, where anyone could see. All of them particularly liked watching, and ended up joining most of the time, eyes dark with hazy interest.
Seokjin liked being held from the back whenever he cooked, and Hoseok would often indulge him, back hugging the man easily. Taehyung would often steal kisses (and food) from the both of them, slipping into the kitchen during breaks whenever he worked.
Hoseok particularly liked spanking Yoongi, a cheeky hit or two when he managed, or even a full blown out session that usually ended in awesome cuddles. The elder’s pout was always worth it; since he rarely pouted.
Taehyung would often stick his entire hand down people’s pants to leave it there whenever they watched television as a whole group – “What? It’s comfortable,” he would grumble whenever they gave him an incredulous look. Namjoon would just shrug and let it be, but Seokjin hated it, since Taehyung never knew how to keep his hands still.
Hoseok would often pin Taehyung down onto the wooden floor of the living room, rutting his clothed dick over the swell of his ass until he came into his pants. Seokjin liked sitting on Namjoon’s lap, grinding down with a playful tongue licking over his lips.
The younger boys really liked tag teaming any of the hyungs playfully, and the elder people would let them do so, complete with eyes rolls and “Are you fucking serious right now, Park Jimin that’s my favourite underwear you little sHIT-”.
They had spent a total of four years all together; ever since Jimin joined. It was hard to deny the relationship between the seven men who had bonded over their job; they enjoyed the physicality and pleasure the sex brought, they enjoyed the tingly feeling of love in their stomachs and toes whenever they spent time together. All were quite open about their feelings for each other, seeing no reason to hide it since it was quite plainly obvious.
None of them could actually imagine life without each other.
And those were the seven people that made up the head of the Bulletproof Men. After that came the divisions and the factions of the Bulletproof Men, the street runners, and brothel keepers, the youngest brothers that helped run businesses of the Bulletproof Men. At the end of the day however, the seven men was what kept the gang up and running. Business was booming, their rivals were always afraid of them, and life went on as per usual.
They were well known. They were lethal. They were not to be played around with. They were the Bulletproof Men.