Moonlight Reign (Ch. 1)
A/N: Okay, my first series (since Snowfall All Year is only a two parter
I need to finish) I’ve been wanting to write a mafia!au for the longest time, and I am crazy late on the trend but fuck it. Hope y’all enjoy and give me some love!
Pairing: Mafia boss! Yoongi x reader
(hopefully it’ll stay that way)
Word count: 2.7k
Genre: Angst, fluff, maybe some smut
Summary: Some things in this world are dangerous, and you, him, and the world you once lived in that now belongs to him are just some of many you can’t be free from, but do you even want to be?
“It’s time to go now, y/n.”
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
“The color red doesn’t suit this house well.”
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, Mun Byungyeol and his daughter, the, as ordered to remain anonymous, green haired 13 year old. Colleagues mourn in secret and establishments fear an anniversary heist…”
1, 2, 3, 4
“Locals have several theories on the big conglomerate that now controls Seoul’s business, underground and above, with mafias and gangs running rampant, people fear the government is under their thumb as well…”
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 therapy drilled into you.
Four was too perfect of a number for such an ugly world, a world you had to feign blind to now.
Your palms retracted from their firm placement on the wall you leaned on, relaxing you. Releasing your slightly curled fingers, you stifled a laugh at the desperate attempt to grasp onto something.
Your little episode was finished as you settled your mind with the news continuing to drone on. Looking at the time, you decided it was time to get ready for your study session with Jungkook.
Jungkook was a guy in the same university as you, he was older, but you were a year ahead, so you were in the same class. He was your neighbor in this adequate apartment complex that you kept via a crappy waitressing job. He was the regular party boy always at clubs and coming home at ungodly hours of the night.
You weren’t exactly a social butterfly, so if you found one friend in Jungkook, you figured it wouldn’t be such a crime.
You faced the mirror, patting down your hair, “The green didn’t suit me well at all,” You mused, fixing your natural shade of hair, “Although the forest green was a nice shade on my skin.”
After gathering your study material, Jungkook knocked on your door and you studied like usual. He would always get distracted halfway through, though.“Why do you still have the news on?”
You looked at the TV and shrugged.
“I guess I forgot,” You spoke, “Now what did you think this-”
“Mafias and gangs…” He mused, “Aren’t they the same?”
The pencil in your hand stilled. Absolutely not. Gangs were pawns, the mafias in this world were the players. As a little girl, that was the first thing you had learned, how to play chess outside a casual park bench, how to play chess crushing people in your hands as you moved them.
“Like I care.”
“You aren’t scared of these guys at all?”
“Failing class is scary, that,” You gestured to the TV, “Is a cheap haunted house in comparison to the hell of getting a D for my semester grade.”
Jungkook stifled a laugh, “I’m thanking every divine being if I pass, but it’s worth it as opposed to only studying and working.”
You rolled your eyes, “Sorry I’m not a child of the night.” Not anymore, at least.
A few days later exams went well for you, and you finished your semester and had a solid two months off. All was well and it was peaceful in the dead of night.Too bad your body rejected sleep.This week was a big week.
“Dad?” You whimpered as a strong hand patted your head to calm you, or soften the blow of what’s to come, “Tell me you didn’t.”
Mun Byungyeol was a rough man who took you in as a young child. His men killed your parents for revenge and a nearly-dead 3-year-old suffering from starvation and cigarette burns was found at the scene. Initially resistant to your arrival, he got right to training you to be the heiress to replace the heir he never received.
He may have been rough, but he was a caring dad, even if you had never been his priority.
Not unless you could be used as currency.
“Y/n, it’s time for us to go,” He sighed, “I let this greed consume me, and I’m afraid it’s begun eating me alive now.”
Your mind couldn’t comprehend his words. The news was drowning out the comfort he attempted to give you. “…such evidence is linking the Moon Corporation to heinous mafia activities painting them as a possible syndicate, but no arrests have been made or criminal investigation on Mun Byungyeol himself, but many workers are being targeted due to possible involvement…”
Everything was dying. All your training was never for anything but fuel for his greed. You should be angry, shocked, appalled, but you weren’t. He’s been cashing out for so long on the blood of his family and foes that you didn’t even flinch when he said it. You did, however, flinch when the whole world highlighted it.
“If I just cash out and retire, we could never live in peace,” He shook his head as he switched off the TV, “But Uncle Byungjoo has a plan that I think might just work, but you and I won’t meet for a few years-”
He was going to abandon it. Cash out one last time, and leave. You were too surprised, you had put an inkling of faith in his heart to love this empire, like a fool. Your eyes widened at the notion of him abandoning you too. All you knew was his presence. All you knew were your father figures, “But the empire-”
“We were never an empire,” His self-loathing clung to each word, “I treated this organization as a bank, a money maker, it was inevitable that the paper I cradled would catch fire.”
You didn’t scream, yell, or cry. At least you hadn’t, yet.“Then who will rule Seoul?” You wondered aloud.
“A real syndicate.”
“Who will stay with me?”
He smiled warmly at you for the third time in your life, “One day, a real human.”
You woke up with a start from a bang on the door, but considering the 4 am hour, you chalked it up to city noise. Five years ago today, you saw the match light. In two days, it will have been five years ago 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.
The only reason you were aware of their presence was because getting out of the game was easy, but you could never fully burn the console.
Another bang on your door startled you out of your thoughts, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone to the bar before such a big day- 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, most likely bleeding on your doormat. You never really asked questions, you just patched him up and left him on your couch.
“Is this even your door?! Did you lead me to one of your whore’s places?!”
“Bangtan!” Jungkook chanted in response.
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 blonde haired man in a three-piece suit accompanied by a trashed Jungkook with a short, but deep, cut on the corner of his forehead. The blonde-haired handsome man stopped struggling with Jungkook as he looked at you with the most pristine judging face, “Look, just forget we were-”
“Y/n!” Jungkook cheered before he passed out.
“He lives next door,” You remarked flatly, “No, I’m not one of his whores, more like one of his classmates, but I’ve seen those lines get blurred with him a lot, so I understand the assumption,” You looked at his forehead again, “And he does need stitches.”
The man narrowed his eyes, “Do you usually play nurse for him?”
“Only when his blood is dripping on my doormat, for the third time this month,” You angled your head down for the man to see, “Bring him in, you aren’t the first friend of his I’ve met-”
“Anymore 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,
“Why does he-”
“When he wakes up, he attacks whoever is in front of him,” You spoke, preparing the needle and thread, “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, “The only thing that scares me are failing grades.” You chuckled, “Plus Jungkook hurting me? Yeah, right. He has the fight of a peanut.”
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 stated.“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, “Concerned for my floor I mean.” You clarified, “The other two told me their first names at least.”
You thought back to the much pluckier and grateful Taehyung and Jimin as they smiled at you before taking Jungkook away.
He sighed, “Namjoon-”
You were tying the final knot when Jungkook snapped his eyes open. 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. Namjoon was trying to find an opening to cut in between the struggling 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 Namjoon ended up watching in awe as you fearlessly slammed 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 gash the length of a half ruler, it was shallow, but still dripping blood, but you didn’t flinch, “Wonder who made me hurt both my arm and their head, jackass,” 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.”
Namjoon was beginning to suspect you were more than a college student. With the sheer fearlessness and those fighting skills, you had to be something or someone who was anything but a regular student. Upon this realization, he then felt enormous regret wash over him for telling you his name. Yoongi would be livid if the empire was affected by Namjoon’s poor judgment, even in the most minuscule of ways. 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, “Don’t ever manhandle a lady, Namjoon,” You seethed as you released him, “Care to explain yourself?”
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, “Now take your sloppy friend, an alcohol pad and go-”
Your anger was cut short by a cloth that smelled an awful lot like chloroform engulfing your senses and releasing you from consciousness.