Moonlight Reign Ch.1
A/N: Instead of forcing myself to focus on one series at a time, I'm planning to write what sparks joy to write in the moment and post it as I go! Hopefully this will clear some wips and help me feel less disorganized lmao! Not to say I'm not working on THB, I def am I just want to have something to post as I work on THB and the bigger projects like the LWAB fics among other things! So (hopefully) I'll keep these chapters limited to 5-7k, but we'll see lol pls enjoy and send me asks I thrive on them and so does my motivation!
And a huge thank you to my wonderful B @rapline-heaux for beta-reading ily!!
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader
Words: 5.7k
Warnings: crime, sensory flashbacks, trauma, unhealthy relationships, yandere behavior not rlly in this part but soon, pining, violence, past abuse, past neglect, academic neglect, stitches, drunk Jungkook, tackling, pinning someone down, mention of open relationship, poly is the norm is this au
“It’s time to go now.”
1, 2, 3, 4
“Five years after the fall of the underground power family, Moon Corporation, people still suspect an even more powerful company has taken their place since…”
1, 2, 3, 4
“It’s… so red…”
1, 2, 3, 4
“The exposure beheld more answers than questions, but on the five-year anniversary of the suicidal explosion that killed the head, Moon Byungyeol and his daughter, the elusive green-haired girl who was 18 at the time, colleagues mourn in secret and establishments fear an anniversary heist or something worst than last year as the date rapidly approaches…”
1, 2, 3, 4
“Locals have several theories on the big conglomerate that now controls Seoul’s business, underground and above, with the mafia organizations and gangs running rampant, people fear the government is under their thumb as well…”
1, 2- SHUT UP
You inhaled deeply as if just surfacing from the drowning body of water residing in your brain. Your fingers stilled from the tapping, a desperate attempt to make you surface, a sorry technique your brief stint in therapy drilled into you. Maybe having nothing led to illogical personal connections with a number. Of all your training as an heir, it was the mundane basic curriculum lessons that fascinated you the most. You were never good at math, but you loved to be perplexed by the numbers. It was a humbling experience, and in your fruitless calculations, four was always the easiest to wrap your head around. Of course, you didn’t know how humbled you’d be until you were a 20 year old trying to figure out how to do middle school math. Your education left much to be desired growing up, but you still enjoyed learning.
You used to be convinced four was too perfect of a number for such an ugly world, and though you let go of the notion with your past life, it didn’t change that it was a world you had to feign blind to now. In your youth, four was a beautiful result of a simple equation, a funny origin to big numbers. It was a warm hug among the violent reactions when you’d get questions far below your intended grade level wrong. In a world where stuffed animals were banned from your childhood room, the number four was all you had. You didn’t particularly like how pathetic that made you feel, but it didn’t change how much it helped you on days like these.
Your palms retracted from their firm placement on the wall you leaned on, relaxing you. Releasing your slightly curled fingers, you stifled a bitter laugh at the desperate attempt to grasp onto something. It was always so degrading to scrub off the marks your acrylics made along the wall, but the stiletto nails made taps loud enough to bring you back. It was an absolute mystery how the school you worked at let you get away with these.
Your little episode was finished as you settled your mind with the news continuing to drone on. You massaged your jaw, sore from the subconscious clench you were cursed with. You blew out a sigh as you felt your face and nodded when no tears were felt. Your phone buzzed, alerting you to the time and you groaned. Your damn neighbor would be here any minute now.
Jungkook wasn’t a mean guy by any means, quite the opposite. He was extremely insistent on your well-being, so much so it bordered on doting, and such behavior made you clam up. You didn’t know how to respond to his fussing over you. Hell, you didn’t know how to respond to most interactions outside of your old family business for a long while. That was just one of the many things he taught you, and he never once lost his cool doing so. He was patient with you, and you didn’t know how to thank him for it.
You both had been in the same class when you attended university, and while you were fine with letting your temporary acquaintanceship go no further than asking for notes or the occasional study session, he was a force to be reckoned with. You just kept running into him and when you moved here and found he was your next-door neighbor, you knew there was no getting out of it. He was going to be your friend. Although, you never understood why he wanted to be so bad.
Cut to a whole year after you both graduated, and it still didn’t make any sense. You both were polar opposites in a lot of ways. He was the regular party boy always at clubs and coming home at ungodly hours of the night. Meanwhile, you were usually in bed by 11:00 pm and only left your apartment for the job that barely covered your rent. Needless to say, you weren't exactly a social butterfly, so if you found one friend in Jungkook, you figured it wouldn't be such a crime.
However, having Jungkook as a friend meant having a weekly dinner with him as he mooched off of your TV and you mooched off of the food he paid for. It was an even enough exchange. Plus, it was nice to talk freely, or well, as free as you've ever been able to, even if just for a little bit.
You faced the mirror, patting down your hair, thankful for how much healthier it was without the cheap dye job you had done yourself when you were 14, “That green didn’t suit me at all,” You mused, fixing your hair, “Plus it nearly ruined my hair.” You murmured to no one in particular, keeping track of your speeding thoughts as you settled back into Earth.
Jungkook knocked on the door and you nodded to yourself, “It’s open!” You called and sat down at the table as he walked in, take-away bags in his hands.
“You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that, you know.” He tsked like he always did. It just made sense to leave it unlocked when you knew he was coming, especially if you needed to run to the bathroom so you could finish crying before facing him. Of course, you haven't had to do that in a while, but better safe than sorry. Your issues, for lack of better term, were no secret to Jungkook, and you both knew it, but you liked to avoid having him see you at your most vulnerable when you could help it.
You simply shrugged as you helped him unpack the food, “We’re the only ones on the top floor.” You reminded him, “it would be quite silly of a criminal to come all the way up to the 20th floor.” You chided.
“Still.” He tried to argue but quickly gave up. Jungkook knew by now that you could take care of yourself, but sometimes you wished you’d let him do it for you more often. However, he let this potential argument go, this time. He looked around and narrowed his gaze at the TV, “Why do you still have the news on?”
You paused and looked up from your food as it prattled on about your family, “I guess I forgot,” You forced your casual tone, “Did you get-”
“Syndicates, huh…?” He echoed the news reporter’s words, eyes fixated on the screen with a curious look, “The news is so weird with this stuff.”
The chopsticks in your hand stilled. You wanted to say that the syndicates were even weirder since they were the ones that probably signed off on the script. As a little girl, that was the first thing you had learned, how to play chess outside on a park bench, how to play chess crushing people in your hands as you moved them. It had all been the same to you for far too long.
“Like I care, it’s just background noise.” A lie, you hated lying, but it was something you had to get used to doing for the sake of your safety.
“You aren't scared of these guys at all?” Jungkook looked at you like you were crazy, although his eyes didn't match the rest of his face's intensity.
Shaking off the weird notion, you rolled your eyes, “A world without you buying me dinner is pretty spooky but that,” You gestured to the TV, “Is a cheap haunted house in comparison to the hell of making dinner or worse, ordering it myself, on a Friday night.” You giggled.
Jungkook rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Is that all I am to you? A sugar daddy?” He asked in mock offense and you nearly spit out your drink.
You swallowed roughly before glaring at him as he laughed, “If you’re my sugar daddy, I need a new one.” You retorted and his laugh died while a childish pout settled on his face, “I mean, all I get is a measly dinner once a week and I still have to work and pay my bills?”
“Well, what do I get, huh?” He crossed his arms, and it made you chuckle. Laughter had never come easy to you growing up, and it still had a hard time coming to you but after years by Jungkook’s side it was easier than ever to do, “Where’s my sugar?” He thrusted his cheek toward you, tapping on it with his index finger.
You rolled your eyes in spite of the flutter in the pit of your stomach and pushed his face away with your index finger, “My presence is your sugar, dummy.” You teased and how easy it was to be human around him made you smile wider, “Plus I let you watch your silly little shirtless men.”
He clicked his tongue, “First of all, if you’re going to call them shirtless men, at least call them hot because look at him.” He pressed a button on your remote and his favorite fighter, Park Jimin filled the screen, “Second of all, it’s literally fewer syllables to just say MMA fights.”
You took a bite of your food and shrugged, “Don’t you have, like, a million boyfriends? Wouldn’t you make them jealous drooling all over Jimin?” You challenged, vaguely remembering Jungkook saying he had more than three boyfriends at some point. Not that it was surprising, most people had at least two significant others. Unless they were you, of course. You had no one to talk to but the man sitting in front of you, forget about a significant other. “He would make me pretty damn insecure.” You chuckled.
Jungkook scrunched his brows at you, “Six.” He corrected, mirth filling his eyes already.
You looked from the TV to him, “Hm?” You tilted your head to the side.
“I have six boyfriends, thank you very much.” He stated matter-of-factly, and you rolled your eyes at his tone, “Why? Are you trying to give me seven significant others?” He feigned a scandalous gasp, “Well, the relationship is open, you know, so I guess I could pencil you in–” You cut him off by shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth with a glare. The teasing made your chest seize for a split moment when faced with his teasing smirk, so this had been the best way to shut him up.
Jungkook had always been a flirt, he often relished in teasing you to see how embarrassed you would get. Thankfully, over the years you had gotten used to it. You had already known his relationship was open since he mentioned how often they’re all apart, but you didn’t care to entertain that kind of intimacy with Jungkook even in your thoughts these days. It was just better that way.
“Ha, ha, we got a comedian.” You deadpanned and before you could say anything else, something on the screen caught your eyes, “What the fuck?” You mumbled.
“What?” Jungkook inquired as he looked at the TV, swallowing the food you fed him.
The camera had panned over the crowd and over an eerily familiar face poorly covered with sunglasses. The etching of a scar peeking out of the cheap frames told you all you needed, though. That was your uncle.
What the hell was he doing showing his face? Let alone this close to the five-year anniversary of everything. The new syndicate in charge took great joy in celebrating the fall of your family, no doubt they’re itching for someone to make an example of someone. Worry tried to leak its way into your veins, but you fought it. Why should you care about him? If he wanted to sign his death certificate, that was on him.
Still, the sight of a man you were almost positive you’d never see again made you feel uneasy. You’d acclimated to regular life quite well, so one of the few remnants of your past life appearing like a ghost was ominous. In spite of your unease, you couldn’t look away. Almost as if you were waiting for him to poof away. You kinda wished he would.
The camera changed and you finally blinked.
“N-Nothing.” You finally said, shaking your head, “I just thought I recognized someone, that’s all.” Your hands trembled for the briefest of moments as you lifted food to your mouth.
“Oh really, who?” Your only friend asked curiously and you shrugged as you chewed.
“Just some teacher that called in today.” You lied and it made your food taste sour for a moment. It was for the best you lied, you had to keep reminding yourself of that.
“Hell, I’d call in too if it meant I could see the fight live.” You were thankful Jungkook dropped the topic and let your shoulders relax. You shouldn’t feel bad for lying, really. An unspoken rule between you both was that you never pried about private details. Jungkook led his life and you led yours. Hell, you don’t even know what he does for a living, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it was living off of his boyfriends’ income. Not to mention you didn’t even know if he lived with anyone else next door or if that was just a place of his own to use on occasions. Though, you couldn’t help being a little jealous at the idea of being so pampered.
“Yeah, I could go for a silly little shirtless man fight on occasion.” You shrugged with a cheeky grin.
“Silly?!” Jungkook guffawed, “I’ll have you know if he wins this fight, he’ll qualify for the championship, so this is pretty high stakes.” He toted his knowledge of the sport.
“Hasn’t he already been champion like a few times now?” You asked, barely following.
“Yeah, but, he’s been off his game this season for… personal reasons, so he’s never been this close to not qualifying.” He admitted, and your brows scrunched at the melancholy in his eyes.
“Damn.” You mustered, “How do you know all this?” You asked, genuine curiosity lighting your eyes.
Suddenly, Jungkook’s cheeks reddened as he tore his eyes from you, “Interviews and stuff, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively and you rolled your eyes.
“Nothing wrong with being a fanboy.” You chided, “I’m certainly in no place to judge.” You offered, reminding him of your fixation on TV dramas, making him snort before you both honed in on the TV.
These fights were quite fascinating and allowed you to at least tap into some of your training. It was how you knew that Jimin was going to win this fight from the first calculated punch, his form was immaculate and instead of going for the face, he drove his fist into his opponent’s ear. It was a dirty trick, but it was more than enough to give him an opening.
“Holy shit, I think he might win this.” The fanboy across from you breathed.
“No way he isn’t going to win.” You confirmed.
“Don’t get my hopes too far up.” He all but squeaked out, basically on the edge of his seat.
After a couple of rounds and idle chitchat, the fight ended with Jimin as the victor. You clapped lightly, but Jungkook was so elated he hugged you as he let out a celebratory roar. The first couple of times he did this shocked you so bad your hands almost went to snap his neck. Now that you were both years into the friendship though, the gesture just made you chuckle. Soon after, just like it did every match, Jungkook’s phone vibrated and he had to leave. He always left you with some kind of affection and this time it was a kiss on the cheek, a rare one, but not a huge step from the common forehead kisses he gave you.
“Don’t drink too much.” You warned and he flashed you a cheeky smile, “At least don’t get into trouble.”
“We’ll see.” He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.
“Well then don’t make it my problem!” You yelled and he waved a hand as he closed your door behind him.
—
“Father?” You whimpered as a strong hand patted your head to calm you, or soften the blow of what was to come, you couldn’t quite tell, “Tell me you didn't.” Your voice was in shambles as you trembled beneath his palm.
The news mocked you as panic took a hold of your body, shaking it out of the shred of blissful ignorance you had clung onto. Ever since your father took you in, you had many responsibilities, but the comfort of not needing to keep up with the public facade kept you going. You hated the public, all the pleasantries, and honeyed words. None of it made sense, and now, now you felt foolish for not involving yourself more. For not ensuring that something like this could never happen and crumble the only world you’ve known.
Still, even as despair monopolized your nerves, a tear wouldn’t fall. You weren’t sure if you knew how to shed them, but you knew it would only piss off your father.
Moon Byungyeol was a rough man and calling him father teetered between feeling genuine and like a formality. He was a boss first, but sometimes he wore the mask of a dad. Sometimes, but it was enough times with enough gusto that you couldn’t tell which side of him best represented his true self– or if he even had a truthful bone within himself.
He may have been rough, but he was all you had. He and the family he brought you into had been your first priority all your life, even when you had never really been his priority at all.
Not unless you could be used as currency.
“Y/n, it's time for us to go,” His voice was somber, but even. You’d never seen him so outwardly upset, but even so, he didn’t so much as let his eyes water as his life’s work shattered before his eyes. He was left with a subdued longing as he looked at the TV, melancholic defeat infecting his usually strong posture, “I let this greed consume me, and I'm afraid it's begun eating not just me alive now.” He admitted and it made you feel ill.
“...such evidence is linking the Moon Corporation to heinous organized crime activities painting them as a possible syndicate, but no arrests have been made nor has a formal criminal investigation on Moon Byungyeol himself been launched, but many workers under the company are being investigated due to possible involvement…”
Everything was dying. The realization that everything you did, all the lives you took, all the training you had suffered through, had never been for some prosperous empire you were promised. All of it had been to supply the lining of your father’s and uncle’s pockets. You should’ve been angry, shocked, or even appalled, but you weren't. You were numb to the fact that you were raised on lies. Fear resided in your veins about what that meant for you.
“If I just cash out and retire, we could never live in peace,” He shook his head as he switched off the TV before he placed his hands on your shoulder, catching your attention, “But Uncle Byungjoo has a plan that I think might just work.” You swallowed hard at this. Anything Byungjoo could think seldom meant good things for you. On your best days with him, you were a mere afterthought, but on the worst days– most days– you were–”The only thing is that you and I will have to… separate…”
He was going to abandon it. No, he was going to abandon you. The only thing more pitiful than your fear had to be your shock. What reason did you truly have to be surprised that he was throwing you away just as easily as he picked you? He was going to cash out one last time, and leave like this whole operation meant nothing to him. All the while you had put an inkling of faith in his heart to love this empire, like a fool. At the very least, it was the closest thing to love that you knew. This entire place was all you knew. When was the last time you had gone out on your own as anything but his daughter?
“But…” Your mouth was woefully dry, “The empire, just like you said, it’s-”
“We were never an empire,” His self-loathing clung to each word and disgust curled in your stomach as you looked at his solemn face, “I treated this organization as a bank, a money maker, it was inevitable that the paper I cradled would catch fire.” The roundabout way he was speaking began to grate at your nerve. The pseudo-poeticism of his words did nothing to save his dignity, but you didn’t tell him that.
You didn't scream, yell, or cry.
At least you hadn't, yet.
“Then who will rule Seoul?” You wondered aloud.
“That’s not my problem anymore.” He said as if it were the easiest thing to come to terms with.
“Who will stay with me?” You asked meekly, immediately regretting it as you watched his previous words dance on his lips before he decided against it.
He smiled warmly at you and it brought a chill down your spine, “Some of us are meant to be alone.” He patted your shoulder and you wanted so badly to break into pieces from the impact.
No one would stay with you. Not him, not anyone, and he didn't care.
That wasn't the answer you had hoped for. You hung your head in shame, shame that you expected anything other than a cold answer from a man on fire. The request for him to just kill you was on the time of your tongue before he turned around, ready to attend his last hurrah.
////
You woke up with a start from a bang outside, but considering the fact that it was 4 am, you chalked it up to city noise. Now awake, you stared at the ceiling and blew out an annoyed sigh. You were constantly plagued with flashbacks both in and out of your dreams, and you wished the rancid memories would choose one state of consciousness to haunt you in. Your therapist a couple of years back told you it's normal for people who have gone through what you have to constantly see what you were then in trying to dissect where you are now. Essentially, it was a constant cloud that hung over your head, and no matter how far you removed yourself from that life, its consequences would stay etched into your skin.
Another bang sounded outside your window and you grimaced. Anniversary week was beginning, and you felt more on edge than usual.
Five years ago exactly, you saw the match light. In four days, it will have officially been five years since you saw the flames engulf your home, your family, and everything you were. Each year, this week was chaos for the city of Seoul. Each day was accompanied by an event that slowly grew more and more above ground. It was almost mocking the past, the surfacing of dirty secrets. Secrets the world knew, but never wanted to see, cowards.
The new syndicate at the top of the kingdom was known as Bangtan to the underground scene, but with a “Group” tacked on after the ominous name, they were also the kings of the business world. They were much better at actually hiding their identities, hence why most average people assumed there was no such syndicate anymore or that the “law” took care of it. As if the “law” wasn’t under the thumb of the kings.
Even so, your information could very well be outdated. The whispers from the underground, also known as the Underworld or even more to the point, Hell, reached your ears less and less as you removed yourself from the lives of anyone who knew who you were. No longer working at the diner your previous nanny ran shut you off from the underground so much so you seldom became aware of Anniversary Week’s events until two days before the main event.
Another bang, but this time on your door, startled you out of your thoughts, “I can’t believe you went to the bar on a day like today- where are your keys?!” An unfamiliar voice spoke through your door.
“Ask, y/n,” Jungkook’s slurred voice rang out in a yell as you flinched at the volume, “Y/n! I need stitches!”
This wasn't the first time Jungkook was yelling outside your door, demanding your assistance. This was just another facet of your friendship that you both silently agreed was fine. You never really asked questions, you just patched him up and left him on your couch. It really wasn't any of your business, nor did you have any desire for it to be. Jungkook was an MMA fan, and you knew he was big on that scene and the fitness scene, so it just made sense he would get into fights. You could only hope these fights were agreed upon prior to alcohol, but you weren't naive enough to actually assume that was the case.
“This isn’t even your door, baby, come on.” The voice grunted and your attention peaked. You had encountered a few men trying to help Jungkook home, but you seldom got such an obvious confirmation of their relationship with him, “What? Are you trying to booty call your neighbor?” The unknown man teased and you rolled your eyes. Were they all like this?
“I wish!” Jungkook shouted in response and you were fine with leaving your door closed this time until he spoke, “Ew, I’m dripping on the doormat.”
This made you huff as you hopped out of bed in your large t-shirt and shorts and ripped the door open. You were faced with a man with perfectly styled black hair in a three-piece suit accompanied by a trashed Jungkook with a short, but deep, cut on the corner of his forehead. The man that looked a few years older than you and Jungkook stopped struggling with your neighbor as he looked at you with the most pristine and exasperated face.Everything about this man was polished. Even as your neighbor lazily draped around the man, his suit had barely begun to wrinkle.
Meanwhile, he looked you up and down with contempt before sighing, “Look, just forget we were-”
“Y/n!” Jungkook cheered before he passed out.
“No booty calls here, sorry.” You remarked flatly, “He usually keeps his keys in his wallet for some reason.” You nodded to his pocket before you looked at his forehead again, “But he does need stitches.” You opened your door a little more, gesturing for them to come in.
The man narrowed his eyes at you, “Do you usually play nurse for him?” You bit your tongue and swallowed his condescending tone with a sigh. You couldn’t tell if he was jealous at the thought of his boyfriend having some neighbor who treats his wounds in the dead of night or if he simply didn’t like you. Although looking at his face, there was no way this man was jealous of you. His gaze was sharp nonetheless, sharp and vaguely familiar, but his eyes held no recognition for you, so you let it go.
“Only when his blood is dripping on my doormat, for the third time this month,” You pointed to the sullied mat that you had just cleaned fully this week, “Bring him in, this isn’t that uncommon-”
“But-” He tried to object, noticeably a little clammy at the unspoken knowledge of their relationship.
“Any more blood on that mat and I'm making you pay for it, now come on,” You snapped as he walked in and sat Jungkook in a chair around your table. You shut the door as you pulled your first aid kit out, “You have to sit him on the floor or the couch.”
He complied to the couch, and though he didn’t say anything, you could see the question floating around his mind.
“When he wakes up, he attacks whoever is in front of him,” You spoke, preparing the needle and thread, and you had to ignore the curiosity peaking within you when you saw the other man shift uncomfortably at your comment, “And I can't stitch and hold him down at the table,” You explained, settling your knees to lock on both sides of Jungkook’s legs and your elbows pressing on his shoulders.
“Aren't you scared he'll hurt you?” The man asked as you began stitching.
You scoffed, “I can play scared if that's what you want, but certainly not for free.” You chuckled, but he remained straight-faced. Tough crowd. You worked very hard to develop your banter skills these past five years, but he paid them no mind making your smile drop.
Eventually, you just went on stitching in silence until the man broke the silence, “Who are you?” The man spoke mid-way through your stitching.
You paused for a moment, “Didn't you hear Jungkook? I’m y/n, and who are you?”
“None of your concern,” He clipped.
You snorted a chuckle, “You're bleeding on my hardwood floor, that has me pretty concerned.” You gestured to your hand to show him the small cut on his and he slowly grabbed a napkin to press against his hand with his mouth in a thin line, “Concerned for my floor I mean.” You clarified, “But a word of advice? If you don’t want to be suspicious of you, don’t act suspicious.”
He sighed, “My name is Namjoon-”
You were tying the final knot when Jungkook snapped his eyes open, “Shit.” Was all you were able to get out. He immediately dove at you, pushing you to the floor, making the needle in your hand scratch your forearm before you threw it across the room to avoid the tempting notion of stabbing him with it. You sucked in a breath through your teeth at the burning sensation while you struggled to shake him out of it.
It didn’t take a genius to deduce why Jungkook’s fight or flight was so concentrated, he’d obviously grown up with a reason to be. Nevertheless, it has never been your place to pry or judge, if anything, it’d be quite hypocritical. He'd seen you in a less-than-ideal mental state plenty of times, to put it lightly. Plus, you knew he didn’t mean any harm, and he was always pretty apologetic after the fact. Although, you were sure the struggle looked pretty concerning as you saw Namjoon scramble to his feet.
Namjoon was trying to find an opening to cut in between the battle as Jungkook was sloppily throwing his fist down and you were moving your head to dodge each blow. Though his moves were sloppy, they were still fast and you could only dodge for so long. With no other option left, you sighed before slamming your forehead on his fresh stitches to make him stop to register the pain. You took advantage of the opening as you effortlessly pinned his arms down with your knees planted on his upper arms, “Jungkook!” You snapped as Namjoon watched his younger friend finally recognize you in his drunken haze.
“Y-Y/n?” He questioned, his tongue thick in his mouth, “You hurt my head- hey, you’re bleeding on my shirt!”
Your arm had a scratch about half the length of your forearm, it was shallow and oozing blood, but you didn’t flinch, “Wonder who made me hurt both my arm and their head, dumbass,” You muttered, examining his stitches to make sure the impact didn’t affect the new suture, “And you got your blood on my doormat and my forehead, so let’s call it a draw.” You grunted as you fixed the suture.
The sight of someone towering over his boyfriend after headbutting them made Namjoon on edge. Jungkook talked for days and days about how much he loved spending time with his neighbor, but something was… off about you. Why would a school nurse be that skilled in combat? Jungkook was a ruthless fighter and you hardly flinched.
This string of thoughts prompted his mistake of grasping your wounded forearm to make you stand so he could properly question you. What he didn’t calculate in that movement was the fact that he grasped your fresh cut, which hurt like a bitch. This pain made you bring your other forearm to his neck, pressing firmly into his trachea as his back hit the wall with a bang. You both looked at each other in surprise at your reflex. You gasped softly before releasing him, “Don’t ever manhandle a lady, Namjoon,” You mumbled as you brought distance between the two of you, “I don’t do well being frightened.”
Namjoon regained his composure, impressed by your reaction time and ability to weaken his pride in such a short matter of seconds, “Who are you?” His tone was rougher in comparison to when he first asked the question.
“None of your concern,” You mocked his voice cartoonishly, becoming more and more irritated with his line of questioning, “Now take him, an alcohol pad, and go.” You hissed, unceremoniously tossing the package at him.
He gave you a sharp glare but complied, hauling Jungkook over his shoulder and leaving. The door shut and you let a relieved sigh escape you. You shut your eyes tightly, frustrated that you let your instincts take over like that. Namjoon was undoubtedly suspicious and that’s the last thing you needed. You opened your eyes and caught sight of the clock nearing 5 am, and it was a Saturday now, so you were going to sleep in as much as you could.
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