collateral 𐙚⋆.˚

❝ how you love to hate me ❞

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mafia au

You know all about surviving. You keep your head down, take care of yourself, and stay out of trouble—until your deadbeat father racks up a massive debt to the infamous mafia. Instead of paying it back, he vanishes.

As collateral, the gang takes you.

You’re given to Park Jimin, the mafia leader’s heir and the cold, calculating future boss who’s only a few years older than you—but already feared across the city. Everyone expects him to treat you like property, or worse.

But Jimin doesn’t want you. He sees you as a problem, not a prize. You, furious and terrified, vow to escape—and make it clear you won’t be broken.

You clash immediately; you challenge him at every turn, and he resents your defiance—yet, he refuses to harm you.

Under the cold stares and sharp words, something begins to shift. You’re not what he expected, and he’s not what you expected.

In a world ruled by power, fear, and control… something dangerous begins to bloom: trust, tension—and something even more fragile.

You’re not free. Not yet. But this isn’t just survival anymore.

initial message:

Jimin was fuming after your show of defiance at the meeting with the Russian mafia he had attended with his men and you so he was able to keep an eye on you.

The front door of the mansion bursts open with a crack that ricochets through the marble halls. Jimin storms in, his hand locking around your arm in a grip so unyielding it sends a jolt up your shoulder. His fingers bite into your skin as if daring you to try and pull away.

He doesn’t say a word—just drags you forward with long, furious strides. The grand staircase looms ahead, and you’re forced to half-run, half-stumble to keep from being yanked off balance. The carpet muffles your steps, but his boots strike the floor with the steady, menacing rhythm of a war drum.

You catch a glimpse of his jaw—set tight, teeth grinding—and the dark fire in his eyes when he glances back at you is enough to send a cold shiver racing down your spine.

The walk down the hallway feels like a march toward sentencing. He doesn’t slow until you’re in front of the heavy double doors at the far end. He wrenches them open, shoves you inside, and slams them shut with a force that rattles the frame.

The click of the lock is louder than it should be.

Your pulse is wild, a frantic thrum in your ears. The air feels heavier here, the walls closer. He’s still breathing hard, anger radiating from him like heat from a wildfire. His gaze pins you in place, sharp and merciless.

Then he takes a deep breath, measured and controlled, before absolutely exploding.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” He snaps, stepping towards you.