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joontopia · 3 years ago

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Untitled Namjoon WIP

pairing: CEO!Dom!Namjoon x Rich Girl!Sub!Reader

genre: smut, heavy angst

au: strangers to lovers, dom/sub themes, Unrequited love

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

preview word count: 1.5K

preview warnings: heavy angst, dom/sub themes, cursing, hurtful name calling, sexually suggestive content, allusions towards a praise kink, allusions towards thigh riding, pining, reader is a brat, namjoon is an asshole, pet names, some manhandling (not abusive), possessiveness, reflection on self worth/self esteem

a/n: hi, here is a little Dom!Joon series that I am working on while rotating between my collab oneshots and my pre-existing series (i need to stop coming up with ideas). This particular scene actually falls in the middle of the series, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it and had to get it written out. It’s been a while since I have posted anything so I wanted to share this with you while you wait for my Jin one-shot that will be posted in the next couple of weeks. I have no idea when this series will see its official posting on Tumblr, but I hope it’s something you will look forward to!

“What is this?” You question, crossing your arms against your chest. The hint of snark in your tone is not lost on him as he juts out his jaw. His eyebrow raises briefly as he tosses a Manila folder on to his desk before sliding it towards you.

“A buyout offer, for your side of the partnership,” Namjoon states coolly, his gaze unreadable as he looks at you.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you think to yourself as you scoff out loud, shaking your head as you look past him and out the tall windowed wall in his office. You watch as the sun slowly disappears under the horizon much like your wavering patience. Tongue clicking against your teeth as your eyes flicker back to the man in front of you.

“So you’ll buy me out of my silent partnership, for what? All to keep me from marrying someone else? Are you that much of a narcissist bitch?” You bite out at him. A flash of irritation evident in his eyes at your choice of words has your nerve endings at attention. That look you know so well sends excitement up your spine. The sensation only to be quelled by your anger as you remind yourself of the conversation at hand.

It’s been weeks since you’ve let him have you, only seeing him sparingly at events or when he would visit your fathers office. This moment being the longest you've been in the same space as him and the closest to him that you’ve allowed yourself to be. You know he’s furious at you for that, the way you put his position as your Dominant at such a precarious spot at the level of disobedience you’ve shown to the rules and contract. The Brat in you is thriving, paralleled to the Subordinate part of you aching for him, craving for his attention. Wanting so badly to hear him say how good you are for him.

You swallow the rising want for him down. The desire is like a hard lump in your throat, choking you as you force it down and out of the forefront of your mind. You were careless. Foolishly acting like one of those ridiculous girls in romance stories as you let yourself fall for him. The uncharacteristic actions and emotions he showed you before you ghosted him bulldozing the heavily guarded walls of your heart. You hate how you allowed yourself to believe something more was blooming between the two of you, but you refuse to let him know he still has such a strong hold on you. Your pride working itself to exhaustion striking down every unwarranted feeling of need for the man in front of you.

“I’m not going to entertain this disgusting offer, Namjoon. The fucking nerve you have to disrespect me with such nonsense.” You stand, snatching the envelope in your hand before tossing it across his office, a loud thud echoing through the room as it hits the wall. You lean against his desk towards him, the both of you shooting daggers at each other with your glares. Your vision turns red as venom drips from your lips. “The simple idea of marrying me is so repulsive to you, but you can’t even stomach the thought of me marrying someone else. You pathetic piece of shit.”

You push off his desk, turning away from him and storming towards his office door. Your anger deafens your senses as you focus solely on getting out of there. So tunnel visioned on your escape you don’t register Namjoon calling out your name, let alone him getting up from his desk until he’s grabbing your wrist, pushing you up against the door. He traps you between his tall, intimidating frame and the heavy wood, eyes feral with frustration as he breathes in and out heavily. His other hand trails up your body as he holds your lower body against the door with his hips. Namjoon slips his left knee in between your legs, pushing up into your clothed core slightly, causing the skirt of your dress to ride up. You fight back the urge to grind down onto his tense muscles, hoping your arousal leaking from your center doesn’t betray you.

His hand’s journey ends at your throat as he harshly cups your chin, turning your head to the side so he can speak directly into your ear. “Who the fuck do you think you’re speaking to like that? After your behavior these last few weeks, you’re on thin ice, Princess. Don’t forget your place. You belong to me,” he growls into your ear before tracing his nose down the sensitive spot of your neck.

A delicious shiver crawls down your body, turning into a bitter poison as it reaches your stomach due to your conflicting emotions. You hate how well he can expertly navigate all the most intimate parts of you. How someone so perfect for you is so appalled at the thought of truly being with you. You want him. Right here, right now, and forever, but he’s made it clear he had no intention of ever fulfilling that final need.

You feel tears threatening your waterline as you take in a deep breath. Gathering up all your courage, you move your free hand up to his chest, throwing all your strength into shoving him off you. He stumbles back, dropping your wrist as a flash of surprise lights his features before he composes himself, tugging at his suit jacket to straighten it. His dark orbs glaring back down at you as you take a step away from the door, turning towards it again and grabbing the handle. The deep timbre of his voice halts you as he addresses you again, his tone so matter-of-fact, “You are mine, Y/N.”

You whip around and glare at him, tears pooling in your eyes. If the sight of you crying does anything to him, he hides it well. His stoic gaze observing you as you respond back to him through gritted teeth, “Contractually.”

You watch as his nostrils flare, fire burning in his eyes once again at your defiance towards him. Your grip tightens on the door handle as you continue. “You’ve made it very clear that we have an expiration date,” you spit at him as you yank open his office door. You turn and walk out of his office, barely making it past the empty receptionist desk before you hear his icy tone call after you.

“Then, contractually, I expect you to be at my place tomorrow night. No more disobedience, brat, or that expiration date moves up. You’re at your final warning.” Namjoon slams his door, causing you to jump where you stand.

You power walk to the elevators, thankful that his assistant had already gone home for the evening. Their absence leaves the lobby of the executive floor empty, saving you from the embarrassment of how much of a mess you must look like right now. You step into the elevator, stabbing the button for the main lobby harshly, begging the doors to close quickly in case Namjoon decides to re-emerge.

The moment the steel walls close, you fall to the back of the elevator, sliding to the floor as the tears start to fall freely down your face. The realization that you’re in love with someone who won’t return your affection settling into your heart like a parasite. His words from so many weeks ago are playing on repeat in your mind, reminding you of how little you truly mean to him.

“There was no jilted lover that made me lose faith in relationships. No broken childhood home where I use sex to fill all the empty pieces I couldn’t put back together...”

Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as you hold back a whimper, tears falling harder as your remembrance continues to torture you.

“...I am this way because I want to be this way. I choose not to love because it holds no worth to me. I’m not something that needs to be fixed.”

“I don’t have any intentions in wanting you more than just this.”

You hear the ding of the elevator, alerting you of your arrival at the ground floor. You take a deep breath as you stand up, wiping away the remaining tears as the steel doors open and you take your leave. You cross the lobby in a matter of seconds, the cold evening air greeting you as you exit into the busy streets outside. You walk up to a black sedan, your driver opening the door for you as you approach. Before stepping into the vehicle, you turn and look up in the direction of Namjoon’s office. The tint of the office windows prevents you from seeing in, but you know he’s standing there, watching you. You tear your eyes away, settling yourself into the backseat of the car. Closing your eyes, you let one last teardrop escape down your cheek as you make a decision. You won’t be showing up to your scheduled night. This will be the last time you will allow Kim Namjoon to hurt you.

#bangtanarmynet #bangtanuniversity #kwritersworldnet #houseofddaeng #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #bangtaninn #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon x yn #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better.

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you.

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you.

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind.

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea.

That is, until this very second.

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have.

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor.

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out.

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior.

What are you hiding from him?

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry.

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time.

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me.

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before.

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.”

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries.

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me.

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human.

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.”

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him.

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on.

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck.

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower.

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it.

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.”

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income.

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you.

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it.

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me.

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco.

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not?

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.”

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno.

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom.

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left.

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day.

Having him to talk to is nice.”

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him.

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on.

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal.

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory.

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco.

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment.

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion.

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation.

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for.

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--”

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore.

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath.

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that.

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity.

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted.

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either.

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up.

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?”

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight.

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

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deepperplexity · 4 years ago

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Title: A Bludger To The Heart [pt.3]

A/N: Part 3 of A Bludger To The Heart as requested by @witch-of-reblogs & @prinlee

[Part 1 // Part 2]

Imagine prompt by: @boodalinski-gifs "Imagine Severus meeting his future s/o when they (being a younger Malfoy relative) accompany Lucius to see Draco's quidditch match."

Pairing: Snape x Female!Malfoy!OC

Setting: Malfoy Manor, New Year's Eve Celebration -> Spinners End

POV: Third limited, Snape tilt.

Word Count: 6432

Warnings: Harsh language, mentions of previous violence

Ending recap: He leaned his head against the side of her's as his arms wrapped tightly around her lush body. She shivered and he sighed. So this is what you feel like, to hold... "Severus?" His breath caught as that was the first time she had uttered his given name; like fuel to the raging storm inside him, it made him tremble ever so slightly. It sounded otherworldly as it came from her. "Yes?" "Don't let go," she hummed and he hugged her tighter. Held her closer. Pressed her to himself as if life depended on it while that storm raged in his chest; a storm of thunder and lightning as burning as dragonfire. As he struggled to stay in reality and not cave to the fantasy that allowed him to be with her like this to the end of time.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

The end of time seemed to arrive swiftly. Too swiftly. Arabella leaned away from him and her hand gently got folded within his as he wished for nothing to be close to her. Her bright eyes gleamed at him with a reflection of the shining moon.

"Arabella, I-" but words eluded him as she was breathtaking and Severus struggled with words worthy of her. Words he could speak most gently and endearingly to her were not so easily found. "Yes?" she prompted and the corner of his lips tugged slightly in a tiny smile. "You are most beautiful," he said with that rumbling voice of his, "sweet and gentle," he continued and she giggled.

Severus arched his brow at the giggling beauty. "I may be many things, Severus, gentle is however not one of my qualities." Her left hand rose to her mouth to stiffen the giggle. As she did so a ring caught his attention. It looked misplaced and in all ways wrong on her delicate hand.

The ring was bold and the ruby too big for its band. The many little diamonds covering the golden band made it look as out of place on her as if it were placed on the head of a pixie as a crown. Arabella noticed his disapproval of the jewelry and something about her changed. Noticeably so.

"You do not approve I take it?" Arabella said and her voice seemed stiffer than he had ever heard it. "I do not, no." "Well, you're not wrong," she said as she looked at her hand with a harsh sigh, "I don't really fancy it, nore do I enjoy seeing it on my finger. I don't really like it all. Or what it stands for," she stated and it puzzled him. He looked at the ring and then at her.

His blood kept heating by her proximity and had it not been for the possibility of getting caught he would have ventured to kiss her. Yet he held the yearning at bay as her words had caught his attention. "Do tell," he murmured in a thunderingly low voice. At that, she looked up at him, somewhat hesitantly and the feeling felt misplaced in her. HE did not see her as hesitant or unsure, the very opposite actually.

"I'm to be married," she stated flatly. His heart nearly stopped at those words. As if the world stood still, frozen in its rotation. He could not quite understand what she was saying. "I'm sorry?" "Married, I am to be married, Severus." This time he heard her perfectly as his heart silently broke and crumbled in his chest that in an instant felt as empty and cold as it had before she had entered his life that day on the quidditch pitch.

He took a step back, involuntarily, and the pain in his chest intensified at the loss of contact with her. "Severus, I-" "Married? You are engaged, to be married?" She nodded and he stiffened, hardened. His posture became rigid, his eyes cooled to ice and it felt as all warmth left his physical body as cold stone overtook his mind and soul.

He could not for the life of him understand the situation. Usually, he was quick in thinking, impossibly fast in his reactions and utterly careful to show no emotion he did not choose to showcase for others. But at that moment, he was without words, without control, his emotions clearly visible and he had not the slightest chance at reeling them in while in her presence.

"You toyed with me," he whispered in a growl. She shook her head profusely. "I did no such thing, Severus-" "You did. You are engaged, to be married yet here you stand. Clinging to me, overpowering me, engaging in my emotions." His words were harsh, cold and lingered in the air as thunderclouds. "Severus, please I-" "You do not get to use my name, Miss Malfoy. You do not-" "I don't love him!" she nearly screamed and it made Severus go utterly silent and still.

"Can't you tell by this hideous thing?" She held up her hand and the disrespectful ring gleamed in the moonlight. "Can you not tell that this man does not know me? Can you not tell that I hate this? Can't you see that I want to part in-" "Ah, there you are. I was starting to wonder my dear."

Severus looked at Arabella as her eyes readjusted to the man entering the balcony. The man Severus not long ago wanted to end for simply kissing Arabella's cheek. "Mr Dox," she said with a slight courtesy towards him. To any other, it might have looked respectful and friendly, even as if she were pleased to see the revolting man that was walking towards them.

He saw it was not. The shine in her eyes was gone. The softness to her stature had perished and she looked cold. Nothing like the woman he knew her to be. Nothing like the woman she was in only his presence. "Mr. Snape," Mr. Dox said and Severus turned towards the man with the smallest of nods. "Pleasure to see you here, I was afraid somebody might have run off with my beautiful girl," he snickered with a snake-like grin.

Severus merely contained his fury at the man. At the engagement. At it all. "Mr. Dox, you are to be married to this woman I hear?" Dox smiled widely and that harshness in his eyes lacked all comforts of humanity. "Indeed, I'm a very lucky man," he said and stepped closer to Arabella as Severus stepped back a step. Dox was not a man to be taken lightly after all. Despite his young age.

"Arabella, my dear, come join me for a dance before the fireworks," Dox said and it took everything within Severus not to lunge at the despicable excuse of a man. "Of course, Mr. Dox," Arabella said flatly before looking at Severus, "I'll see you later, Mr. Snape." Severus bowed deep for her but Dox laughed loudly. "What could you possibly have to bother Mr. Snape with, dear?" "She does not bother me in the slightest," Severus stated with a monotone voice that revealed none of his fury.

Dox smiled wickedly, "Mr. Snape, surely you have no interest in this girl? She's of little importance and low stature, not to mention she's low of age and merit. Beautiful, but that will fade," Dox stated as his fingers graced Arabella's cheek softly but with a domineering dominance.

The words the man described Arabella with made his blood boil. It took every ounce of his strength not to haul her away from him and end the miserable lifeform that stood by her. "You ought not to speak in such manners of your future wife, Mr. Dox," Severus stated with such coldness it was a wonder his mouth didn't freeze from them. "Come now Mr. Snape, women are for men to have and own. They are great distractions-" "If that is your view of women, Mr. Dox, I see no need for marriage. Especially with a woman such as Ms. Malfoy here," he said with a nod towards Arabella and she seemed to soften as their eyes met for a moment.

"Well, that's not for you to think about," Dox said, "I mean, you have no interest in fleeting feelings like love or lust. I've never known you to be with a woman. Besides, you are a little old to admire such a beauty as this, are you not?" "And you are a little young to know of love and lust, Mr. Dox," Severus countered harshly before giving Arabella a swift glance. He was searching for what she wished him to do - but there was nothing there to show him.

"Good one, Mr. Snape," Dox laughed with a shake of his head, "well, as amusing as this is we should go back inside. Come now," Dox said as he placed his arm around Arabella's waist and steered her away before another word could be spoken. They closed the door behind them and left him alone with only the moon for company. Its white light looked as empty and cold as his chest felt.

He stood utterly still, have I lost her before I even ever had her? And tot hat, that vulture? He will break her... He thought as his shoulders sank and his stance loosened. It was nearly midnight and soon the fireworks would light up the dark sky with colour and sparkles. He wanted no part of it.

It took him a mere moment to decide. He would leave. He would leave and never see her ever again. That was the only option. He could not trust himself with her. He could not trust himself around Dox. He could lest of all trust himself around Arabella with Dox by her side. So to leave was the only option. Dox had nothing to do with Hogwarts and there was no danger of seeing either of them at the school or his own home.

He would keep to those places for the time being. Until he felt, dead or nothing at all. For what he felt now, was nothing but the purest of torture and agony. Hate and dread, fear and pain, longing and hurt. To be broken so utterly was perhaps irrevocable. Perhaps he would have to adjust to this new sense of being as a crushed man with nothing but fear for the one woman he had otherworldly feelings for.

Was this love? Was it really love when all that came with it was pain? He could not answer that as he had no idea how to deal with the only possible answer. To admit it would be the last attack, the last crack, the last fracture in him. If he admitted that love was only meant as pain for him in life he might as well end that life. And he could not, would not.

Something in him told him to hold on, that at some point things would be different or perhaps some time she would need him. And never would he leave the world if that ever was the case. How could he?

But for now, he would leave. He would go away and stay away. For as long as possible. There is no other way, he thought as he took the stone stairs down from the balcony, crossed the lawn and stepped away from Malfoy Manor. Stepped away from Arabella. Stepped away from the hollow pain that only seemed to echo louder in his cold chest for every step that separated him from her, from his love.

Time passed as Severus focused on work. He focused so hard that the days blurred together, the student's face's meant nothing and he rarely spoke a word outside of the classroom. He was not known for speaking, nor for remembering students but not a single person could have missed the change in him from before the Christmas break and after it.

January passed as he dulled the banging in his chest with planning his year's work. February passed as he caged his feelings with late-night patrols. Mars passed while he buried himself in essays and homework corrections. April passed as he did all he could to not think of the marriage taking place. May passed as he shut down in all ways possible as he became more stone than human. June passed as he corrected end of term papers, essays, tests and graded students without ever knowing who he graded as hiss students by then were a mere mess of endless faces with no significant meaning.

When the school was empty and summer had arrived fully at the end of June he left Hogwarts. He arrived late afternoon at his own home and it was as dirty and empty as he remembered it. If anybody had asked him about the time at Hogwarts he could not have given them an answer even if he tried. He remembered barely anything from it and the exhaustion that filled him was as close to death as he had ever been physically.

He simply dumped the little bag he had with him in the hallway and stepped into the little house. Barely had he made it to the bedroom before he sat down on the side of the bed and felt the exhaustion overcome him in a way that he could not keep at bay. He fell backwards and closed his eyes; asleep before he took a second breath.

He slept until the sun had set for a second time. He felt numbly refreshed yet as tired as ever when he woke up in darkness. His back was stiff, his neck sore and he desperately needed a shower and change of clothes.

As he was sat by the kitchen table, dressed in black linen pants, a white shirt and black socks, he sipped a cup of black strong coffee. His home felt, for the first time, as a sanctuary. It was a place where he had no connection to her, to Arabella. She had never set foot in his home and despite the horrid memories of hurt the place held, that pain was nothing in comparison to the loss of her.

The darkness surrounded the world and he felt as if it suited the darkness within him perfectly. Before Arabella, he had never considered that his life could get worse. Or better either. But apparently, both things could happen. Unfortunately in the wrong damn order. "Perhaps, she's happy..." he pondered as he drank the last of the coffee and set the cup in the sink to be cleaned later. The thought made him feel better and worse at the same time as it didn't sit right. Her being happy with that vulture felt as wrong as it could. But he hoped he was incorrect. Hoped she was happy. Hopped everything was good with her. Hoped she had a good life; even if he had no part in it.

There was a pounding at the door and Severus sighed deeply as he was in the middle of cooking dinner. the house was filled with the scent of spices and he had no intention of opening the door. Nobody had any business with him at this time or his home. He determined that it was most likely kids banging on all doors to rile up people. So e promptly ignored it as he kept stirring in the pot.

The loud banging was heard again shortly after, it sounded more urgent and harsher so he slammed the lid on the pot and took off the white apron before throwing it over a chair. He would never let anyone see him in a fucking apron, that was sure as hellfire.

He hadn't reached the door when someone tugged at the handle and banged again, even harder. "What in the-" He unlocked the door and pulled it open harshly as a small, pale hand hit his chest in a knocking motion. The person's head was turned away and clad in a hood of darkest black. But he knew. He would have known anywhere who was hiding beneath the billowing fabric that swallowed her like a shadow.

"Arab-" he caught himself, "Mrs. Dox," he corrected and he nearly died as her face turned toward him. "What did he-" "Please, let me in Mr. Snape, please I-" she cried and he grabbed her thin arm and yanked her into his hallway before the door was slammed shut with a loud bang that made Arabella jump slightly.

He was furious, absolutely enraged by the mere sight of her. She was thin, too thin. Her beautiful face marred and marked by bruises in varying shades of purple and green. Old and new bruises. He was outraged beyond compare with any other feelings he had ever felt related to anger. He was literally shaking, his hands flexed as they hang by his sides. His heart pounded as if he had run hundreds of miles.

"I'm going to kill him." The words vibrated out of him and hung in the air with promise. The only other sound was Arabella's hushed crying. "Arabella, I will end him for this," he said and it was as if all the time she had been away from him came crashing back in his memory.

When he had graded essays, had she been beaten? When he went on nightly patrols, had she been crying? When he held lectures on potions, had she been abused? When he had suffered from the loss of her, had she suffered from the loss of safety and freedom?

He could not think straight, could not grasp how badly the man had treated her. He could not stop blaming himself for it either. He had known, from the beginning, what kind of man Dox was. How he treated women. And the way he had spoken of Arabella that night on the balcony had irreversibly shown that he harboured the same feelings towards her. Meaning none.

"Mr.- Mr. Snape," Arabella pleaded and his eyes found hers. They were empty and there was a clear loss of the joy that had lingered so openly there before. "I think..." she mumbled feebly and her face turned ashen as her knees buckled. He caught her before she fell to the floor. Her breaths were shallow and short, she felt too light in his arms. What has he done to you... The thought echoed as he carried her up the stairs and placed her on his own bed, gently.

The hood fell back and revealed her tightly skinned face as her cheekbones, jaw and temples were to defined along with her collarbones the protruded harshly. He caressed her cheek softly with his cold hands and felt tears prick in his eyes. He felt as if he had done this to her, in some way, he was responsible. It burdened him more than he could bear.

He placed a blanket atop her before he closed the door and left her to rest alone - despite wanting to be as close as possible it felt wrong in her unresponsive and unaware state. So he went down to the kitchen again and busied himself with the rest of the cooking.

He had just finished setting the table as a scream was heard from upstairs. His heart skipped a beat and he dashed towards his bedroom while calling Arabella's name. He found her pressed against the furthest wall in the room with fearful eyes and panting breaths.

Severus stepped into the room and she found him with her large eyes. "S-severus-" she breathed and in an instant, they met in the middle of the room. He buried her in his arms as she sobbed into his chest with mumblings of his name, over and over. She cried and held on to him as if her life depended on it. He held her tightly and let her cry as much as she needed no matter how badly it made him hurt to see her in such a way.

After a minute he kissed the top of her head, her platinum blond hair tattered and unwashed. "He-, he wanted me to-, to make an unbreakable vow," she mumbled between sniffles. He stiffened around her. "I, I didn't know where to go. I, I ran away, I-" she said as she was shaking violently in his embrace and he hushed her. Tried to calm her as best he could.

"What unbreakable vow?" he asked after a moment. She sniffled again. "To be with none other," she whispered as if the words were strangling her. "And you ran?" "Yes, I, I can't be with him, I don't want to be with him..." Severus felt both hope and dread, pain and joy at the same time. The feelings were very much at war within him.

He was at a loss for words. What could he say? What could he do? What he wanted to say was of no use, what he wanted to do was abhorrent to do in her current situation at that moment. So he just held her. Closely.

"I didn't know where else to go," she whispered on a shaky breath. "You are always welcome here, Arabella," he murmured with that husky voice that vibrated through him. He felt as though she smiled for a moment, but dismissed the thought. The words of Mr. Dox clung in his mind no matter how hard he tried to banish them. He was too old. He was not good enough for such a beauty as Arabella.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, despite not wanting her to break away from him. "Very," she said, "something smells wonderful," she continued and looked up at him. He felt both joy and pure fury at that moment. As she saw the latter emotion she looked away. He took her chin in his cold hand and steered her face back to his.

"You are beautiful," he said, as softly as he could. She just blinked at him. "But you do need to eat," he continued, "and never be within reach of him again." Severus studied the blackened eye, the broken lip and bruised jaw as rage boiled in him. "I'm sorry-" "It is not your fault," he said before she could finish whatever nonsense apology she endeavored to disclose. She had nothing to apologies for.

"Come, let's eat." She tilted her head and looked with a puzzled look at him. "What is the matter?" "You cook?" she asked in disbelief. He simply arched a brow. "Well, do you?" she pressed again. "I cook, I cook very well I would say. It's much like potions and I would say I am rather accomplished in that field," he said matter of factly as he offered her his arm. "So, shall we?" she nodded and took his arm.

"You weren't lying," she mumbled between bites, "you do cook very well," she continued as she cleared a second plate of the food. "Thank you," Severus said as he placed his cutlery on the empty plate. He studied her for a moment as she gulped down food as if she were truly starving. Has she been starving? The thought felt strange as she seemed to love food and Dox had no shortage of money so food should have been provided for her.

As Severus cleared the table and did the dishes with help of magic she sipped a cup of green tea. The silence felt oddly good but he missed hearing her joyfully playfully voice. He had not heard it in many months now. Not since the balcony.

They were seated in the living room, he in his chair and her on the small couch. They had been silent for a long time, Severus had heated the living room with a pleasant fire and it was now a comfortable temperature but Arabella seemed a bit bothered and her cheeks had a bit of colour to them.

"Severus?" "Yes?" "May, can I use your shower?" she said as her eyes seemed fixed on the tattered rug by his feet. "Of course," he said and rose from the chair, "this way." She followed as he led her to the first floor and the door opposite of the bedroom. "Here, there are towels in the cabinet, let the water run for a moment before you step in. It's usually cold for a moment," he said and she nodded. He left her to take a shower and returned to the living room and sipped on a fresh cup of tea.

The pipes rustled for a while and then went silent. The door opened, another door opened, a slight ruckus and then a door closed, softly padding feet was heard and the bathroom door closed again with its distinctive squeak of the top hinge. What is she doing?

He went back to his reading and tea as he waited, and waited, and waited. When he finally heard the bathroom door open and the padding of soft feet down the stairs he straightened, put away his book and looked towards the door opening.

His breath caught in his throat as she stepped in. He stared at her. Dumbfounded. "Sorry, I hope it's okay?" She said and pulled a little on one of the hems of his white shirt. She was drowned in the fabric. Her legs bare and the shirt reached almost to her knees. Further down was a pair of his black socks, so big that they just bulged around her ankles. She looked as beautiful as he had ever seen her and he was in awe of the emotions that raged within him.

"Severus? Is, is it okay?" "Yes, yes it is," he said and rose from the chair to walk over to her. He just wanted to hold her. And she walked straight into his arms, no hesitation or restriction. He held her close and she smelled of his shampoo and soap. The scent mingled with her own and it felt heavenly for him.

"Can I stay?" she asked while her cheek rested against his chest. "Yes," he simply said. He would never turn her away. Never. That feeling he had had so many months ago blossomed; she had needed him after all. Had he not stayed in the land of the living she would have not had him to turn to at that moment and it gave him great joy that he could, after all, be of some use to his love.

She laid in his bed, he had given her the main bedroom despite her trying to refuse. He could not sleep down the hall when she was so close. He stood in the doorway and looked at her. Moonlight danced over the naked skin of her shoulder where the bruises of a man's hand stood out in purple shades against her pale skin.

He fisted his hands as he crossed his arms over his chest. What could he do about Dox? What could he do for Arabella? What should he do? What should he not do? What was possible? What was impossible? He tried to sort it all out but his mind kept strolling off to her. The need to hold her close made his skin crawl with want.

"Are you just going to stare at me or come over?" The soft yet high-pitched voice sang out the words and he had no time to think before he walked over. "Come, sleep here," she said and opened the cover to reveal her body clad in one of his nightshirts. He crawled in, fully clad. She snuggled closer and he felt oddly content. Despite the situation and circumstances of her being with him.

He couldn't remember falling asleep but he woke up from Arabella's voice. She was softly and silently singing. A lullaby if he were not mistaken. Her fingers stroked his hair and cheek as he stayed still with his eyes closed. She sang of love and adoration, of soft meadows and singing stars, of dancing rain and flying clouds.

It wasn't until she went quiet that he wanted to open his eyes to look at her. But right as he was about to do so, a sob escaped her. Yet she kept stroking his hair and he could not bear the thought of disturbing her in her sorrow.

"You never replied to my letters... You never came to the wedding... You never came. You never answered." Severus stiffened as she spoke of him, to him. "I love you, and you never came. I waited, but you never came," she whispered with shaky breaths and he cursed himself. "I wrote to you, I asked you to help... I asked you to save me. Help me," she whispered as her hand stopped stroking his hair and cheek. He missed the touch instantly.

He had never opened the letters. He had never looked twice at them. Had had simply tossed them in the fire as his chest felt tight with cold and empty from that hollow feeling she had left him with at the balcony. Foolish, I was so foolish... Selfish. At that thought of a word, she kissed his temple so softly and he could not find the strength to open his eyes and face her allegations.

He woke up in an empty and cold bed. He looked around as he jerked upright. "Arabella?" he called with gravelly morning voice, no reply. He left the bed instantly. "Arabella?" he called again as he stepped out of the bedroom. Again, no replay. "Arabella?" he called louder as he took the stairs in fluent strides. "In here, Severus!" she called and he steered towards the kitchen as he could smell coffee brewing and something burning.

The kitchen was nearly half-filled with smoke as he entered and Arabella seemed to try and air it out with an open window. "What, do tell, are you doing with my kitchen?" he asked with amused severity. She sighed and her cheeks turned a little red. "I was trying to make breakfast..." He arched a brow and loomed into the kitchen.

Indeed, it seemed as if she had been trying to make pancakes. He gave the burnt batter a sneer and shook his head. "Sit," he said and tossed the whole pan in the sink to be dealt with at a later time. He twirled his wand and created a gust of wind that cleared the smoke out through the window. Arabella sat with a cup of coffee with some milk in it. Severus poured a cup for himself; black. As he sipped it he easily made a new batter and fried some pancakes with ease.

He served the pancakes and caught Arabella smiling fondly at him. "You look good in the kitchen," she said with a wide smile. He scoffed and sat opposite her with his coffee cup. "Truly, you do. I'd like to see you cook every day," Arabella said and moved a pancake to her plate. "Do you?" "I do," she answered, "I can't cook worth shi- Umh, at all," she corrected herself and Severus laughed. Yes, he laughed, for the first time in a very long time.

"I love that sound." Severus went quiet immediately as her eyes found his. He disliked his own laugh but it made her eyes twinkle, so perhaps it was not so bad a laugh? "Well, I believe I do not want you in my kitchen after this so feel free to leave that cooking to me," Severus said softly as he moved a pancake to his own plate. "Does that mean I can stay? With you?"

It took a moment for him to answer her as his thought were at war yet again. "Do you want to be with me?" he asked, "I'm an old man, Arabella, and-" She smacked his shoulder. "Severus, please, you know of my feelings and I know you feel the same damn way so don't pretend. Just don't," she said with a harsh look at him. "Forgive me, but you married. You married and were not to be mine ever." His words made her shrink as if he had physically hurt her.

"Did, did you not read my letters?" Severus stiffened, he had wanted to avoid that subject for all eternity if he had had the chance. "I, did not. No," he said in a low growl. "If you had read them... You would have known that I was forced to marry him for the money he promised my family. For the step-up, he offered in society by just being connected with him. IF you had read the letters, you would have known what he was doing to me, what he forced me to be for him," tears stung her eyes and she seemed so little and frail.

Severus looked at her. "Had I know, I would have come." The words were stated clearly, "but I could not bear to read your letters, your words, when I had no hopes of being with you," he said and guilt ate at him. He felt truly terrible. "It was selfish, I am aware of that-" "You were hurting," Arabella interrupted and it took him off guard. Nobody ever validated his feelings or understood them. Or even acknowledged they existed.

"Do you have the letters?" He shook his head. "I burned them," he said honestly and she looked both glad and sad at the same time. "Well, let's leave that then," she said and Severus nodded. "There is something else I-, I want to ask you about," Arabella said. "You should eat, and then we can talk." Arabella smiled tightly and shoved a piece of pancake in her mouth with a delightful humming.

She tried to talk a few times but Severus just arched his brow until the pancakes were gone and he was on his second cup of coffee. "Done," Arabella declared with a content smile. Severus hummed and nodded. "What did you want to talk about?" He asked as he topped off their cups with more coffee.

It took a moment, a moment he spent just looking at the beauty that was Arabella - despite the thinness and the bruises. She was all he could have ever dreamt of, and she was sitting in his shirt in his kitchen sipping coffee from his cup - yet she was not his. "I want to run away," Arabella said. "Run, away? You have?" "No, silly, I want to run away with you. Away from here and away from, him, and be with you." Severus just stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Severus, I love you. You know this." "I'm, just, shocked. I," he said softly as his mind raced. She wanted to be with him? Wanted to run away with him? Leave her husband for him? Be his instead? Was that even possible? "Arabella, you do realize what you're saying?" "Yes, I am saying that I love you beyond compare and I am asking, very selfishly, for you to help me and be with me because I love you." "And I love you." She smiled at his words.

"I know it's sudden and selfish, Severus, but my feelings for you have not changed since the first time I met you." Severus looked at her and soft warmth spread through that hollowness in his chest. "You, Arabella, are not selfish in any way." He reached for her hand and she gently placed hers in his. "I love you, deeply. I've, I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you," Severus said softly as his thumb stroked the ridge of her knuckles. "I may not have the best reputation, in romance, or other things. But, I do not want to destroy your reputation darling."

She stared at him. Just stared. For a long moment and he became restless from her look. "You're afraid to ruin my reputation?" Severus nodded. Arabella laughed. "Severus, I am Arabella Mal- Arabella Dox, married to Rovius Dox. I think my reputation is the least fo my worries." "Still, I do not-" "Enough!" Arabella slammed her hands on the table as she stood up, "Enough Severus, what are you so afraid of? Why won't you just fucking be with me?!" She glared at him and he looked at her.

"Do you not love me?" "I do." "Do you not want me?" "I do." "And do you, or do you not want to help me survive this shitstorm my family fucking forced me into?!" "I do..." "Then what, by Merlin, is your fucking problem?!"

Severus stared at her as she seemed to be ready to explode, or perhaps she was exploding? "Arrrgh! What is wrong with you?!" she screamed with her hands thrown up towards the heavens and Severus could not for the life of him figure out what he had done. "Well, that depends on who you ask," he drawled as he slowly rose from his seat. "Well I am asking you what is wrong with you!" she screamed back and Severus took a step back.

Not for fear of her, but she seemed more intimidated by him as he rose to his full height. "Would you like me to sit down again?" "No, what, why?" "Well you, you shrunk and stepped back as I stood..." Arabella seemed offended by the thought but she smiled at the same time. "Arabella, how badly did he hurt you?"

His heart twisted at the view of her. She looked broken. From thunderstorm to softly falling rain on a dull day. "Darling, please," he said as he took a slow step towards her, "tell me." She looked at him as her arms hugged her own chest and tears started to fall. "I'm sorry, Severus, I'm so sorry. I, I'm not mad at you. I'm just-" "In pain," he finished for her and she nodded. He reached for her and she stepped into his embrace.

"Let's leave. We'll go somewhere nobody will find you." She looked up at him as he spoke and her smile, her smile broke every barrier and coldness that had built up. "Where do you want to go, Arabella?" "You mean anywhere?" Severus nodded and he felt her relax. As if he had relieved her of some sort of burden. "I want to go, where you will be." Her answer made something in his stomach flutter and that boiling heat that roiled and coiled in his veins seared him violently.

"What, what do we do about Rovius?" she asked with a shaky voice and Severus stiffened ever so slightly. "He's not to be taken lightly. You are aware of his connections and status. And I fear, he will use that to find you." "I know, he's, he's not a man that lets things go. Ever," she whispered and her thin arms shook as she clung to him. "I won't let him have you." The words were as clear as the first light of dawn on a winter morning after the darkest of nights.

He would live by them forever. He would live by her side, for her and with her for as long as she allowed him to be. If the day came, when she did not want him any longer, he knew he would be ruined and ended at that moment. But for the time being, he allowed hope to enter his heart and love to fill the empty void she had once left him with.

Hey guys! :D Hope you enjoyed this third part! :D I am currently running a high fever so if it’s not adequate I apologies! :P Hopefully you liked it! I actually had trouble writing this one, I hade so many thoughts but could not fit them all so I am wondering, would you guys like a part 4 as well or are you satisfied with this ending for Arabella and Severus? ;P

Please like, comment and share - it means so much to me! <3

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scriptaed · 8 years ago

Text

The Labyrinth Chapter 26

Genre: Gang AU/ High School AU

Pairing: Reader/Jimin || ft. all the members

Length: 8.1k

Summary: Looking back on your past, your life has never been anything out of the ordinary. Although your parents had left you on one mysterious night, leaving you little to no explanations, you live out the rest of your years residing in a new town under the custody of your aunt. That is, until you return to your hometown to investigate your parents’ whereabouts. It is this fateful decision that leads you to find a boy collapsed on your front porch one night, wounds gaping and life fading, as your entire life is spun out of control. Somehow being dragged into a life of crimes in the underground business of his, you discover the twisted secrets hidden behind the world you thought you had known all along.

A wisp of cold air brushed against your bare collarbones, sending shivers down your spine as your widened eyes stared in awe at the expansive room below you. The second the force of Namjoon’s swift kick triggered some sort of switch of a device, the shelves began to move by itself, gliding down the thin metallic tracks nailed to the floor and setting itself aside where it now rested next to the doorframe, behind the opposite side of the hallway’s walls. The blast of the basement’s contrastingly cold temperature only made you the more stunned, your gaping expression prompting a chuckle from Namjoon.

“That much of a shocker, huh?” Namjoon acknowledged your state of awe. You could only turn and simply nod your head with several jerky movements. Seeing how speechless you were caused Namjoon to smile even harder, the dimples on the corners of his lips deepening and his cheeks lifting. The childlike smile of his overshadowed his intimidating appearance, revealing another side to him in which it contrasted your first impression of the headstrong leader of a gang. It was impossible for you not to reciprocate the youthful smile, giving him a small, nervous chuckle before he nodded his head towards the room and gestured for you to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He stepped onto the first step of the flight of stairs, his broad, sturdy back turning on you as the following quick light footed steps of his tapped against the glossy wooden steps and gelled, combed back blond hair bopped up and down. As he lowered himself into the basement, lights high on the ceiling began to flicker on automatically, illuminating the once dark basement. You followed along, though quite hesitantly, the thin wooden platform underneath you stayed firmly in place without any creaking and allowing your heart to calm itself down. In between each plank of wood, you could see through the slit of empty space, giving you a glimpse of the floor far below you.

“Is this your first time going down the stairs, or am I mistaken?” Namjoon quirked a brow at you when you finally came down from the twenty stepped staircase.

“I don’t know who built that,” you breathily pointed at the stairs accusingly, “but whoever did, made it awfully scarier than necessary. I mean, the basement is built at least fifteen meters off the ground, and all they use is a thin piece of wood?!”

You whirled around to take a look at Namjoon’s surprisingly blank expression. He blinked at you a few times, trying to comprehend what was so frightening about falling fifteen meters to your death, before breaking into laughter. “So you’re willing to rummage through abandoned sites, jump off a train, and commit thievery, but you’re scared of falling and breaking a few bones or two?” he observed, a wide smile plastered over his face.

Namjoon raised his hand, his pointing forefinger redirecting your gaze to the flight of stairs behind you. Turning around just in time, you caught the shelf running down the tracks once again to close the entrance, returning itself to what it was originally disguised to be, a storage room. A split second later, the staircase sprung up from the ground, the bottom of it rising from the ground at a faster speed than the rest of the staircase. The top of the stairs was held attached to the center of rotation, right under the entry way, until the rest of the steps was leveled with it. The entire staircase had transformed into a ladder as it was now parallel to the ground. The ladder hovered above the air as it jutted out from the wall. Your jaws dropped in shock, but what came after made you all the more stunned. The bottom of the ladder, or what was the bottom steps of the once staircase, slid down the sides of its steel railings, pushing whatever wooden planks it ran into along with it. Before your mind could even register the event that had taken place right in front of you, the entire ladder had receded into the slit of the wall right below the hovering shelves, making its disappearance as swift and silent as possible.

“I built the stairs so that I could program it to do that,” Namjoon firmly explained, blinking at you with a blank expression that greatly contrasted yours, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

“Oh,” you uttered, gaping at him as your lips made a small ‘o’ shape. Namjoon laughed lightheartedly, finding amusement in your overwhelming amazed expression as he waved his hand into the room and ushered for you to follow him.

“How long did it take you to build that?” you asked, your eyes wandering around the room to take in your new surroundings.

The vast room was rather bland, the walls and floor were made of concrete, the entire room overflowing with a shade of dark gray and the occasional red and peach colored carpets. A few couches were placed off to the side of the room where it surrounded a coffee table, whereas television sets hung on the walls or sat on the floor with wires sprawled across the floor, just waiting to be used.

“Maybe…” he hummed, the particularly deep register of his voice resonating in the rather empty span of the room, the lack of flooring causing it to bounce of the walls and echo off into the distance. “Two days or so?”

“Two days?” you repeated, your voice coming out louder than intended, “not two months?”

“Oh no, ma’am, we don’t have the luxury of two months to spend on something as silly as that,” Namjoon teased, glancing over his shoulder to look back at you with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips spread into a smirk. Your eyes widened as you gulped at the thought of even coming up with such a complex idea and managing to build all that within a span of two days.

As Namjoon led you across what seemed to be a replica of the living room above, he walked past a long rectangular table with seven chairs sitting on its four sides. Off to the side of the simple version of a dining room was a mini kitchen, except a whole lot less fancy. A red pot rested on the gas powered stove that had been placed on the ground. Other than the two bright red bags of instant noodles placed to the side and two footrests, which you assumed were used as chairs to operate the machine, the entire kitchen was empty.

“Why is it so empty down here? Shouldn’t you decorate it? You know, make it a bit more lively?” you quirked a brow, following Namjoon down the hallway. The fluorescent lights began to flicker on, lighting the dark path as the two of you made your way to the room at the end of the hallway.

“We don’t usually spend our time down here. It reminds us too much of the training centers we had grown up in under our Fathers, so we prefer to spend most of our time upstairs where it’s less… gloomy,” Namjoon flatly explained. Unlike most of the members, Namjoon never hesitated to refer to the founders of their organization as “Fathers,” but his choice of words made it evident to you that he felt nothing but hatred towards them. It was just that being the leader of the pack, Namjoon had learned how to keep his emotions under control.

“All the more reason to decorate it, right?” you insisted. Once the two of you had reached the room located at the very inside of the headquarters, he came to a stop and whirled around to face you.

“Unfortunately, we’ve grown too accustomed to the environment. We’ve lived and trained ourselves for years in a place like this that we can’t seem to concentrate or work efficiently anywhere else. Even I can’t think clearly without stepping into my room down here,” he said so matter-of-factly that you nearly missed how heartbreaking the undertone of his statement meant.

The boys had been trained to work in a place as dark, gloomy, and depressing as this, and sadly after growing up in such an environment, there was no where else they could properly function in society. Your heart wrenched for the boys at the mere thought of this. It was a miracle they were so kindhearted and playful on the outside, when in reality, their state of nature was to be locked up in a place resembling a prison cell.

“Ay, don’t be so down, Y/N. Even though the strength of our mentality has been grinded ever since we were kids, we’re all still humans on the inside, don’t you agree, Y/N?” Namjoon smiled at you, his lips in a thin line and his cheeks rising. You nodded in agreement. “So, I make sure they get enough time outside, whether at school or in the backyard. Although I can’t protect the physical health of our boys, I can say that I’m doing my best with their mental health. So don’t worry, the boys and I are more than fine. I got us all under control.”

“Ah… I see,” you nodded, looking down at the ground and sympathizing for the boys.

“Really, don’t worry,” Namjoon chuckled at you, smiling ever so sweetly that you had to force yourself to reciprocate it and reassure him of your more than evident worrying.

He gestured for you to enter the room first, so you obliged, catching yourself in surprise when your bare feet sunk into the soft carpet of the room. Namjoon reached over to the side of the wall behind you, turning on a switch and lighting up the dark room with a warm, golden radiance of two lamps, one sitting on a wooden desk in the back corner of the room and another on another wooden, rectangular coffee table sitting in the middle of the vast room. Placed before the coffee table was a maroon colored couch, its shade matching the color of the walls and the dark, calming theme of the room. Lined up against the walls were at least five bookshelves, each one of them filled with countless books, some left opened with a bookmark resting in its pages and others thoroughly annotated with sticky notes sticking out from its sides. The overall aura of the room exuded of serenity and lavishness.

Without another word, you made your way across the room and plopped yourself onto the couch. It had been an extremely long day, and as much as you were starting to get used to it, you still couldn’t fight off your natural urge to take a nap, especially not in a serene room like this. Namjoon softly laughed at your actions, making his way to the burgundy wooden desk in the corner of the room on your right.

“So what’re we doing today?” you questioned gleefully, glad that your training didn’t seem to require a lot of movement.

“Not much,” he nonchalantly answered, chuckling when you sighed in relief. “Since I spend most of my time with mechanics and technological things, I can’t teach you much in a day… unless you want to learn how I programmed the stairs?”

“No, no thanks,” you immediately denied the offer, shaking your head repeatedly.

Namjoon grinned widely at your response, nodding his head as though one of the boys had requested to be taught by their leader only to react the same way as you had. “I’ll teach you how to use some important devices I’ve made. The Fathers probably won’t let you use them in the trials, but it’s crucial you learn how to use these tools just in case they come in handy in the future. I’m sure you’ve seen one of the boys use them before.”

There it was again, the term “Fathers.” He could’ve used the Founders, or the head of the association, but the way he referred to them as Fathers, even after all that they had done, irked you the wrong way. “Namjoon,” you furrowed your brows and shook your head in confusion, looking at him from across the room. He glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, his widened, circular eyes beckoning for you to continue. “...why do you always call them your Fathers? They ripped you away from your parents, they disrespect you and force you to do the most grotesque and dehumanizing things. Even Yoongi and Jin hold some sort of grudge against them… so why are you still holding them with respect when you’re leading these half broken boys?”

Namjoon pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding as he twirled his pen in between his long, sturdy looking fingers. “I see where you’re coming from, really,” he acknowledged, his head slowly bobbing up and down and his eyes glancing at his bookshelves before returning to yours, gazing into you ever so firmly. “I don’t respect them at all, in fact, I despise them. I fucking loathe them for ruining our lives and leaving us with gaping scars… but what can I do? I’m the leader of this group. I have monthly reports to make and evaluations to pass, and as the leader of this unit, I’m the one most closely watched over. I’m held responsible for the group, and the mere thought of dropping formalities can lead to the death of me, the death of the boys, and the death of anyone even remotely involved with us, including you. So I force myself to instill these formalities until they’re nothing but reluctant instincts of mine, because I can’t afford losing you guys over one slip of the tongue.”

Your lips parted in shock, you were stunned with the overwhelming list of responsibilities Namjoon had as the leader. Maybe Namjoon wasn’t as involved with physical combat as the other members were, one could argue that he was in the least amount of danger when compared to the others, but that was the exact opposite, it was far from the truth. You could practically feel the burden, the burden he had carried on his shoulders for years, sink its way onto your now tight chest. He couldn’t speak his mind, he had to monitor his own behavior in fear over the member’s own safety, and he was held responsible for six, now seven, lives every second of the day. One mistake, one word, and he, along with you and the boys, would be exterminated. Their existence would dissipate so quickly, so instantly, that no one would even recall the unit known as the Bangtan Boys. And yet, through it all, Namjoon still remained alert for the sake of the boys. If that wasn’t what made up a leader, then there was no way else to become one.

“So I apologize if my choice of words make you uncomfortable, Y/N, but just know that I hold nothing but hatred for these damn Fathers of mine,” Namjoon forced a smile, both corners of his lips curving upwards as his eyes became just slightly slimmer than they already were. “Don’t worry though, you’re safe here in our headquarters. I’ve checked every nook and cranny, no one but the boys even knows this place exists. You’re free to talk however you’d like, but I’ll keep my disgusting habits in check to keep you all alive.”

You nodded your head obediently, immediately understanding why Namjoon’s formal and respectful language differed so much from the rest of the boys. Namjoon was the leader, he represented the group and must have been under constant watch all this time. Your stomach turned and your chest twisted just thinking about how much pressure he was under to perform as the leader and as the mastermind behind the plans of each and every mission of theirs. Just thinking about all the scars and trauma the Founders had inflicted upon the boys made you fume, your blood boiling with anger and your teeth gritting against each other.

“Feel free to take a short nap after playing around with some of these gears. There’s some blankets under the coffee table,” he insisted, cutting through your stream of thoughts. Namjoon opened a few of the drawers in his desk, rummaging through them to grab a few palm sized devices and throwing them over to you. To your surprise, you managed to catch each one of them before placing them down onto the coffee table to catch the next.

Holding each one of them in your hands, you noticed how the black and sleek design of each one not only made the device camouflaged into the pitch black darkness of the night, but it also made the machine all the more accessible. The hand devices were coated with wax in just the right places, letting your fingers glide through the switches and levers with ease, whereas the friction induced grid of the handles allowed you to grip onto the gears where and when it mattered. Some devices were rectangular shaped, some resembled that of a daily necessity, such as car keys, and others were spheres. One thing for sure was that none of them were as big and intricate as the one Hoseok had used to bypass security.

“These are relatively small compared to the ones I’ve seen the boys use before,” you recalled, turning the spherical device in your hand. You raised a brow at Namjoon who looks up from his paperwork to glance at the device you were referring to.

“Ah, I’ve only handed you the important ones for you to learn how to use. The ones that Hoseok and Yoongi have used won’t be very important, they’re usually for specialized missions,” Namjoon’s eyes lit up as he explained his creations.

“Oh… I see,” you mumbled, nodding your head before the both of you returned to focus on your own work.

Leaning forward and reaching down, you grabbed the red plaid, wool blankets from under the table and draped them over your legs. You glanced over to receive further instructions from your trainer, but to your surprise, Namjoon was already lost in thought as he could focus on nothing but the paperwork before him. Chuckling to yourself, you decided to get to work yourself.

Turning the mini sphere in the palm of your hands, you noticed two circular outlines on the top and bottom of the sphere, both of which resembled buttons. You pushed on one of them, the button sliding into the sphere before clicking into place and coming to a stop. Suddenly, the entire sphere unfolded itself, lines crossing the axis of the sphere and running across its surface detached from the top, where as the button you had pressed held each petal-like surface of the once sphere together.

There was no other way to describe it than the sphere unfolding itself like a blooming lotus, evolving itself from a closed bud until it revealed its inner colorful beauty. As the outer surface of the sphere laid surrounding the sides of the circular button, holding an uncanny resemblance to the petals of a flower, a bright, fiery flame ignited from the gas emitted by what you figured, the inner side of the button. The orange, red ball of fire gave a nice contrast to its black outer surface, it illuminated the room and shone life into the enlarged irises of yours. It was an absolutely stunning design. A gorgeous, simplistic design not only meant to serve its purposes of acting as a light and heat source, but also meant to appeal the human eye.

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered under your breath, the words slipping from your lips subconsciously, rendering a bashful chuckle from Namjoon.

Carefully cupping both hands on the sides of its petals, you pushed them closer together in an attempt to return the device to its original spherical shape. To your relief, the device did just as you intended, the petals snapping upwards and coming together at the top like a flower budding but in reverse order. The petals clicked together as the button on the bottom sprung out to restore the original shape of the sphere. Smiling to yourself with pride, you decided to venture into the mysteries of the device before you. Your finger glided over the second of the two buttons before pressing down on the top button only to find yourself staring at a motionless ball.

“You have to press both of the buttons down for it to work,” Namjoon laughed lightheartedly, peering up at you from his work.

“Ah, really?” you muttered, averting your eyes from Namjoon and back to the device. But just as you were about to follow his instructions, your trainer cut you off before you could proceed any further.

“Don’t do it now, though,” he said, emphasizing his words in a way as though he couldn’t believe how obedient and naive you were.

“Why?” you quirked a brow.

“It serves two functions. One, as you saw earlier, provides light, heat, and energy. The other…” his voice trailed off as he gradually immersed himself into his paperwork. “...acts as a bomb. A grenade, more specifically.”

“Oh,” you uttered, your eyes widening as you hastily placed the device back onto the table. “What’s it called? I heard you name every one of your inventions.”

Namjoon looked over at you, both of his brows raised, clearly surprised that someone had actually inquired for more information about his machines. After all, you wouldn’t be too surprised if the rest of the boys held little to no interest to his intricate and complicated devices. “Lotus,” he said in a firm, clear voice, “Lotus v.2.6.”

“A fitting name for such a beautiful thing,” you softly smiled, causing Namjoon to go speechless and giddy over your endearing comment.

He tugged on the sleeves of his sweater until they nearly swallowed his hands, his eyes glued to his paperwork and his chins lifted as he smiled so gleefully. Judging by the way his eyes lit up and the curvature of his lips danced with pride, you could tell he held such a fervent passion for his works.

“I guess you really are as innocent minded as Jin said,” Namjoon cackled at your heightened caution regarding the device, the playful grin of his that you had came to adore plastered all over his face.

“He said that…?” you cocked your head to the side, frowning at the comment. “Am I supposed to be flattered or offended?”

“The boys have been reporting back to me about your training, so only naturally I found out more about you through them. I suppose he was stargazing on the rooftop as usual when he came to me and gave me an overview of your progress. He seemed pretty down that day, not sure what you two discussed, but whatever it was, I think you managed to tug at his heartstrings… in the best way possible,” Namjoon chuckled at your gaping expression, “don’t worry, he told me you were a great student. He said although you’re simple minded, you’re also a compassionate girl. You’re more intelligent and intuitive than most beginners… oh, but he also complained about how you’d never laugh at his jokes.”

You cracked up at his last statement, rolling your eyes as you did so. “Sorry, some of his jokes aren’t exactly… amusing. I can’t fake a laugh all the time,” you remarked, a bright smile making its way to your lips. “And Yoongi…?”

“Yoongi?” Namjoon raised his eyebrows before understanding what you meant. “Ah, he didn’t say much. He said you were, quote-on-quote, “alright” or “not too disappointing.” Yoongi did say that he was impressed with your determination and stubbornness, though. I know he was a bit harsh on you, but I’m more than sure he just doesn’t want to see an innocent girl like you corrupted by the things that we do.”

“And what do you think…?” you hesitantly questioned, sighing at Yoongi’s less than surprising report.

“I don’t particularly want to involve you in such dangerous matters, but what can we do? Jaebum and his gang caught us, he told our Fathers, and now we have no choice but to train you and prepare you for the Final Initiation Test… unless our plan goes through,” he mumbled the last phrase, confusing you for a second before changing the subject, “don’t worry about Yoongi, though. I could tell he was immensely impressed. He looks at you in a different way than I’ve ever seen him look at anyone. The look in his eyes when he talked about you… the way his eyes glowed like fire and the corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, as though to keep his smile hidden… There’s definitely something different about you, and Yoongi can see that.”

Eyes widening in shock, you were struck silent when you discovered what had happened behind the scenes between Yoongi and Namjoon. Namjoon knew the boys well, extremely well, he knew them inside out and he could read them like an open book. So the way he described Yoongi’s expression, his fascination when he recalled you with the mere mention of your name, it only reminded you of the momentary time you had mistaken your infatuation for love. It panged against your chest, especially now that you were officially with Jimin.

“Y/N?” Namjoon called out to you. “I’m sorry if I’m mistaken... but is there something going on between you two?”

“What?” you uttered, staring at him wide eyed before snapping back into reality and immediately shaking your head. “No, no, it’s not like that!”

“I see,” he nodded with a reassuring smile, “then Jimin?”

You lips slammed shut as you recalled your agreement with Jimin and your plans to reveal your relationship status to the rest of the members with Jimin. How did Namjoon see right through you? You knew he could read through the boys, but you were shocked at how explicitly well he could decipher them, especially Jimin, the most clueless boy when it came to love.

“Yahhh, that’s good, that’s good!” Namjoon chimed, tossing his pen down onto the tabletop and leaning back into his chair with his hands rested behind his neck, “you chose well, Y/N! Yoongi isn’t good for you, you two don’t match,” he shook his head with his nose scrunched. “Fire with fire only results in mayhem. Jimin might have a bit of a temper, but he’s a soft, tender boy on the inside. I’m sure you’ve seen it before if you’ve fallen for him, it’s his charm after all.”

“Um…” you hummed, your eyes skittering around the room, looking at everything but the giddy Namjoon’s playful gaze. What were you supposed to say? You wanted Jimin to be right next to you right now, to cover up for you or to use his usual temper and get you out of this somehow, but all that you could do was burn bright pink, cheeks flushing with an unbelievable amount of heat. You twiddled your thumbs in an attempt to rid yourself of your nerves, but your efforts were in vain. “We’re not dating… yet.”

Namjoon cackled, his hand patting his stomach as though he had such a good laugh. “Alright, alright, Y/N,” he sing-songed, amusedly watching your ears and cheeks turn red. He laughed and gave you mercy, switching the topic back to its original one. “Innocence… it’s better than you think. We’d all love to be as pure as you if we had the chance to.”

“I see…” you mumbled, taking deep breaths in and out in order to calm your racing heart down. Namjoon just chuckled at how you were placing your comparatively cold hands against your burning cheeks. Taking one last breath, you sighed and continued to look through the machines scattered across the table before you.

Next up was what closely resembled the switch knife Hoseok had used to smash the lenses of the building’s VCRs. The black, rectangular grip of it encompassing the hidden blades. You had recalled how sleek Hoseok’s switch knives were, the curve of the blades so sharp that it intimidated the hell out of you. With your hands trembling and your mind cautious, your hands slowly approached the knife. The second your fingers wrapped around the rectangular device, shaking in between your fingers as you did so, a half foot long blade flicked out of the grips, nearly cutting off your fingers before you screamed and dropped the knife onto the floor.

“Holy shit,” you cursed, checking your fingers to see if they were still attached, which to your relief, they were. Namjoon scooted his chair backwards, immediately standing up in alert and calling out to you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?!” Namjoon cried out before running to you. He took your hands into his large, rough ones, his long fingers grazing against yours as he checked for any wounds. “Thank God,” he sighed, placing your quivering hands back into your lap, “Jimin would’ve killed me if you were hurt.”

You nervously laughed and gave him a gentle, lopsided smile, while you fumbled with your hands, trying to use up the peak of adrenaline running through your veins after nearly cutting yourself open. “I’m fine, really. You should get back to work. I’ll be more careful now.”

Namjoon lowly chuckled, his deep, sultry voice catching you off guard now that he was much closer in proximity to you. He picked up the switch knife, gripping the handle so firmly and confidently, unlike what you had done just a few moments ago. “I craft a lot of switchblades for Taehyung. He particularly likes using this one, so I figured you should get a head start and learn how to use it… or at least try to use it.”

“What makes this different from the others? Other than, y’know… popping out unexpectedly and almost chopping off my fingers,” you sarcastically said, pressing your lips into a line and frowning at Namjoon.

He peered up at you from his squatting position on the ground before breaking into a bashful laughter, his right hand reaching up to cover his sheepish smile. You couldn’t help but grin at how shy of a boy Namjoon seemed to be. He was intimidating, responsible, and wise leader, but now that you were up close to him, you could tell he was much more than that. He was a gentle, soft hearted boy who had unfortunately been exposed to the harsh reality of life, or rather, the life the Founders had condemned him to.

“Actually, that’s exactly what makes it different. It senses your fear, it can detect your anxiety levels and it’ll know if you’re not its true owner. I programmed it so that no one but Taehyung, and hopefully you or the other boys, can use it. You just have to overcome your fears,” he stated as a matter of factly, placing the blade down onto the table. He then proceeded to clasp onto the device laying right beside the switchblade on the tabletop, raising the device that resembled a key in between the two of you, a rubber bow to hold the key and a strangely straight edged blade where it would usually have protruding ridges to slide into its appropriate keyhole.

“Now, what do you think this is for?” Namjoon questioned, his voice calm, low and collected, yet encouraging like that of a teacher. Now that you thought about it, Namjoon would’ve made a great teacher. Compared to the last three teachers you’ve had so far, Namjoon was the most supportive one, he guided you towards the answer, but he believed in you to make the final steps.

“Um… keys to a car? Maybe Jin’s truck?” you frowned, quirking a brow at it before running the tip of your forefinger along the its smooth edged metallic blade. “Although it is quite unusual, there are no cuts to the key.”

“Well, close. Good guess,” Namjoon pressed his lips into a line, both corners of his lips curving upwards as he gave you a cheeky, encouraging smile. “I guess you could say it’s the keys to a car, but it’s so much more. It’s the keys to a car, to a house, to a lock, it can allow you access to anything for as long as this,” he regripped the key in his fingers to reaffirm his emphasis, “fits into its keyhole.”

“Ah… so is that how Hoseok could’ve unlocked the vault room?” you mumbled to yourself, nodding at Namjoon’s innovative gears. “That’s more useful that I’d imagine.”

“Wait, what did Hoseok do instead?” Namjoon frowned, raising a brow at your rhetorical question.

“He kicked the door down.”

“Of course he would, where else would he use all that energy of his,” Namjoon sighed, shaking his head as he slid the key back onto the desk and got up from his previous squatting position. “Well, I’m assuming you don’t know how to break down doors yet, so use this if you ever need access to something like a car or some shelter.”

“Shelter?” you repeated questioningly. As you watched him make his way back to his desk, you couldn’t help but notice how broad his back and shoulders were, how tall and well postured he was, and how his slim, long legs perfectly topped off his nice proportions.

“A house, I mean. If you’re ever in danger and need to borrow some shelter, feel free to use it at your own disposal,” he gestured to the small device, causing you to narrow your eyes at him over how casually he essentially encouraged you to break into someone’s house for the purpose of your own comfort. Seeing how you were glaring at him, Namjoon’s lips formed a small ‘o’ as though a light bulb had flickered on as he registered what he had just said. He raised both his hands, as if trying to defend himself and his words. “What? You never know when you’ll be in danger! Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

“Alright… but I’ll probably use it more for jacking cars than houses,” you mumbled, still in disbelief that you were really immersing yourself into their world now. The only people you wanted to steal from were Jaebum and his gang really. Even ‘til this day, you still had occasional nightmares of the night Jaebum had captured you, his silver hair flowing in the hair and his foxy smile sending chills down your spine.

“Sure,” Namjoon chimed, plopping back into his chair and scooting forward, “whatever pleases you, Y/N.”

Another hour or so passed by, you continuing to play around with the devices scattered across the table and Namjoon persisting to scribble down whatever he was working on. Before you knew it, your eyelids felt heavier and heavier, as though weights hung from them, as you struggled to keep your eyes open. In fact, you could have sworn you had dozed off a few times here and there. The clock displaying the time 3 AM only confirmed your suspicions. It really wasn’t surprising when the calming, dark atmosphere of the room managed to lull you into deep slumber.

Attempting to wake yourself up, you shuffled around, sitting up from your previously laying position and looking over at Namjoon. He was still hard at work, crossing, scratching, and drawing at the blueprint laid out before him. Judging by the way his eyebrows were furrowed and his plump lips rested in a straight line, you could tell he was so immersed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed that you had awoken. You wondered how he could work so late into the night. He was acing his tests at school and he had been awake for at least 20 hours as he guided the boys throughout their day from school to sending them out on a mission at home. Namjoon was indeed a leader to be reckoned with, a leader who gave his utmost, selfless efforts to benefit his boys, because whatever he was working on, it must’ve been extremely important.

As you gazed at the intellective man before you, the golden color of the light radiating from his lamp on his desk captured the jaw dropping visuals you had never managed to catch before. The light accentuated the utmost warmth of his dark, chocolate brown eyes which contrasted the nearly black hooded eyes of the intimidating leader you had once misunderstood. Everything of his presence was warm, from his dimples to his sun-kissed skin, he truly was a sight to behold.

Unlike Jimin’s usual fair skinned and black clothed appearance, Namjoon was truly the essence of warmth. His eyes held a tint of darkness, some intimidating scars that you knew he had endured throughout his childhood under the Founders, but at the same time, he radiated off a welcoming aura in which it had successfully made you feel at calm around the boys.

Luckily before you could doze off gazing at Namjoon, he looked up from his papers to check up on you, causing you to jump in place as his eyes locked with yours. “I see you’re awake now, Y/N,” he softly smiled. You were just about to hastily check for any drool hanging from the corner of your lips out of embarrassment when he continued to make you feel more at home. “Did you rest well?”

Raising both brows in surprise, you nodded once, your hands gripping the edge of the couch as your eyes glued to the floor in embarrassment. Namjoon had caught you napping when you were supposed to be training and educating yourself over his devices that may very well save your ass in the future, so all you could do was duck your head in shame.

“Ay, don’t be so embarrassed. Rest is important for the body to catch up. Your brain might be working, but your body still needs time to adjust to all the training you’ve been doing. You’ve been working so hard these days, I’m sure you deserve it,” Namjoon winked at you, giving you one last reassuring smile before getting up from his desk and walking over to one of the bookshelves placed next to the couch you were sitting on. “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

His fingers skimmed through the endless books, papers, and files aligned on the shelves as he mumbled to himself until he found what he was looking for. Sliding the navy colored folder out of the shelves, he walked on over back to his desk and gestured for you to follow. Obediently, you got up from the couch, your feet staggering as you took a few seconds to adjust to the drastic change in positions and waiting for the blood to rush down from your head and to the rest of your body, and strode over to the opposite side of his desk. Following his actions, you sat down into a chair across from him and watched him as he lightly dropped the folder containing heaps of paper onto his desk. Written over the folder in large, silver ink were the words “CASE 151020.”

“Your parents… I heard they left home when you were still very young?” he inquired, peering up at you.

“Yeah,” you uttered, shaking your head as you stared at the folder, “I can barely remember them even now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Namjoon said sincerely, taking a deep breath and sighing as he leaned forward. “Well, I sorted through the thousands of missions we’ve been assigned to before… and if I’m not mistaken, Case 151020 should be the case involving your parents. I looked into it, and even though it’s been at least three years since we were first assigned the case, I can remember it very clearly.”

“What… happened to them?” you asked, voice brittle and hoarse.

“We’re not sure,” Namjoon bluntly answered, shaking his head as he pressed his lips into a line in frustration, “the case was always left unfinished. We were instructed to find your parents, we weren’t given further instructions. But we could never find them. We looked everywhere, but they were gone, as though they never existed.” He looked up at you, his dark, warm eyes checking your slightly gaping expression before continuing. “I highly doubt that though. After some research, I discovered that your parents are, or were, a part of our association. They ran away from the training center right before their the Final Exit Examinations and have been on the run ever since.”

“They were… a part of your organization? Why’d they run?” your brows knitted in confusion, struggling to comprehend the sudden discovery. They had hidden such a crucial, dangerous secret from you your whole life, and now, only by chance, did you discover such a thing.

“Well, it was a time before the boys and I were even born, but there’s a certain rule we have instilled in our program,” he sighed, rubbing circles into his temples, “we’re not allowed to be romantically associated with any of our trainees. I’m guessing they ran away to live a better life on their own, together, and to eventually have you.”

You were rendered speechless. You couldn’t believe it, how could such a dark secret have been successfully hidden for so long? They risked it all to spend the rest of their lives in danger, hidden in the dark, and all for what? To have a child and disappear without another word? Although you couldn’t quite remember them very well, as they had left you when you were still a child, it was still a cruel thing to do and it only infuriated you to think about it.

Seeing how silent you were, your hands balled into fists and teeth gritted against each other, Namjoon proceeded to explain further. “Please don’t condemn their decisions, Y/N. After all, they risked their lives to have you. Sure, it might have been foolish to run away from top organizations with hundreds of assassins on the run for you, but love makes you do crazy things. We humans like to disguise ourselves as rational beings, clear headed and calm minded, but are we really all that? Underneath it all, we’re just as irrational and lustful with desire as another. It all comes down to how much we’re willing to strive for our dreams, and to what extent we’re willing to risk it all for those dreams that seem so far away and make it truly become reality.”

Eyes looking into Namjoon’s, whose eyes were glancing in between the tabletop and you, you couldn’t help but become awestruck by his words. They flowed so elegantly, so effortlessly, that you couldn’t believe Namjoon was stuck in this basement living out his life in crime, when all that potential could’ve gone into amazing works to be studied over throughout the ages.

“And what has love done to you, Namjoon?” you asked, your voice raspy and thin as you struggled to keep yourself from breaking out into sobs. You could feel your voice hitching in the back of your throat and tears threatening to slip from your eyes, just thinking about your parents and the stolen childhood of yours made you fume with both sorrow and anger.

“Love? This crazy thing we all call love, this concept that makes us all crazy?” he chuckled, his hand cupping his chin and pondering over how to deliver his next few words. “I’ve loved before. I don’t know her name, but I loved her.”

“And why did you love her…?” you asked, suddenly immersing yourself into Namjoon’s story and forcing yourself to shut down all the stream of thoughts and worries running through your head right then.

Namjoon looked at you, brows raising as he considered your question. “I loved her because she was fierce and smart, she had flames in her eyes that told me she wanted the entire world to fear her, to recognize her power and confidence… but I didn’t fall for it. I could tell she was brittle, she was self conscious and scared on the inside, and I loved that about her.”

“Did you ever confess to her?”

“I did,” Namjoon simply stated, causing you to be taken aback. “But she didn’t love me back.”

“Why not?” you accidentally raised your voice thinking about the absurdity of it all. “You’re amazing, you’re charming, you’re smarter than anyone I know!”

“Hm…” he hummed, giving you a lopsided smile to thank you for your compliments, “she didn’t like that part about me. You see, we have these examinations to not only test our physical capabilities, but also our mental capabilities. I always held the highest score, and she held the second highest score. I figured she despised me for that very reason.”

“That’s so petty of her,” you scoffed.

“I guess you could see it that way. But if you consider it more, we were all in a life or death situation. One place lower and you could be tortured with endless training, locked up in a cell and forced to read up on books, books about stories and the outside world we had never seen and would never actually live in. It’s reasonable if she hated me for that. I put her life in danger, because I simply wanted to stay alive.”

Ah, so this is the type of man, the type of leader, Namjoon was, you thought. Selfless, considerate, open minded, scarred, understanding, and most of all, beautifully, yet painfully and sweetly, poetic.

“But no more about me,” he waved it off, the void look in his eyes disappearing as he returned back to reality. He forced a smile and grabbed the folder off the desk, slipping it under the blueprint he had been working on for hours.

“What happened to her?” you blurted out, the words slipping through your lips before you could even take them back. You covered your mouth with your hands, surprised at your own actions, but you were relieved to find Namjoon’s taken aback expression as he smiled with the deep dimples of his.

“Same as what happens to everyone,” he muttered, smiling bittersweetly as he gazed into your eyes with a pained expression in his, “she failed the Final Exit Examinations and disappeared into the thin air right before my eyes.”

“She failed…?”

“She placed second, behind me, and I guess that was the final straw for the Fathers,” Namjoon said so matter of factly that your stomach twisted and your heart wrenched for how numb he was to all of the pain. Your blood was practically boiling, just thinking about how the boys and your own parents had to go through such torture made you fume. You dug your nails into your palms and gritted your teeth as you watched him rub his eyes suddenly, perhaps to wipe away his tears, and taking a deep, shaky breath before sighing and bobbing his head up and down.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. I really am… that’s terrible, I can’t believe they’d do something so cruel…”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. You don’t have to pity me. It’s just the cruel reality the boys and I had to face, and that’s why we’ve all been working so hard lately to change that fact for countless kids locked up in those training cells right now. I’m here, and I’ll use these scars,” he pounded against his chest, and giving you a large smile, “to guide you and the boys to safety.”

“What exactly…” your voice trailed off as you tried to decipher his words before your eyes found what was written all over the blueprints. You gasped as your eyes widened at the countless lines, crosses, squares, circles, and sketches lying across the large map before you. “What is this?”

“These are the plans Jin and I have come up with throughout the past few weeks,” he explained, “Jin scouted out Jaebum and his gang’s headquarters, and as the leader, I looked over his plans, made sure they were secure and safe, and approved them.” He then picked up the blueprint and tossed it to the side, revealing yet another even larger blueprint underneath with an incredibly intricate, complex outline of a building sketched onto it. “Yoongi told me about what you two had found on one of the Father’s cargos. They’ve been tracking us down for all these years, every single one of our movements, and if we go on any longer… I’m sure we would be the next ones to be exterminated.”

“So…?”

“So, Y/N,” he said, looking up from the paper to firmly lock eyes with yours, “you’re not going to the Final Initiation Exam.”

“I’m not?!” you nearly yelled in shock, jumping up from your seat as you stared at him wide eyed.

“You’re not, but instead...” Namjoon smiled at you.

“...we’re going to start a rebellion.”

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