1. That Night (BTS RM Sequel)
Y/N was the big-eyed, suffered child who shivered in the corner as life presented her with more and more pain, trauma after trauma until she cracked inside and burned in rage.
The night her world was destroyed for the last time clicked something into place, a piece of her soul that was lost. Between fear, despair, loneliness and the animalistic will to survive, her path crosses that of a man.
Namjoon, whose eyes burn with fierce hatred, lips drip with blood, and hands that carry more sins than he will ever be able to bear. Y/N and Namjoon were the children that life destroyed⊠Itâs time to fight back.
*****************************************************************************
âEven as she maintains her strength against his wrist, the manâs hand doesnât budge, resting heavily around her delicate neck but without applying pressure.
-Do you have any idea how simple⊠How easy it would be to take your life?Â
Namjoonâs whispered voice sends shivers that make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, sheâs shaking, heart beating faster and faster as he speaks.
-It would only last an instant and then⊠Dead, like the fragile and stupid creature that are humans, and I wouldnât be able to stop it⊠I couldnâtâŠ
Silence.â
Pairing: Namjoon x reader
Genre: Smut, angst, warewolf AU, slow burn, enemies to lovers.
Word Count: 1.3K
Chapter one: That night.
âŠ
A darting fearâa pompâa tearâ
A waking on a morn
To find that what one waked for,
Inhales the different dawn.â -Emily Dickinson, âA Darting Fearâ.
âŻ
The winter outside roars mercilessly against the windows. They are stained and fragile, creaking on the rotting wooden around them, and of course, they do a poor job at keeping the cold outside the small room.
Y/N drags callused fingers along the rough wall, eyes still closed, body perched on the top bed of the old bunk, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead and neck, leaving stains on the moldy mattress.
Though the temperature is painfully low, she tosses over, sobs under the covers, and mutters lost words, completely enveloped in a feverish dream. Her eyes sting as if sheâs about to go blind, her skin is hot and reddened as if her heart is a pressure cooker spilling boiling blood through her veins.
She can barely breathe in the heat, but at the same time, she canât get rid of the covers in midwinter without her toes turning bluish.
Once again, she unlocks her phone and is taken to her latest messages with Hoseok, nothing new seems to have emerged since her last reply.
The conversation started an hour and forty-two minutes ago with him asking if she felt any better since the afternoon, to which Y/N replied that there was still no improvement but that he shouldnât worry and should focus on his date that night.
He didnât take long before sending a selfie with his face very close to the camera, showing the flowers heâd bought. Tiny remnants of snow stuck to his black hair and navy overcoat, his eyes, as dark as his hair, reflecting the cityâs Christmas lights. Like small galaxies, infinite in the darkness of his eyes. The thought makes her heart clench.
Y/N reads the last text again: a bouquet emoji, a smiley face followed by "Good luck!!!â with exactly three exclamations. There was nothing to smile about. All she could feel was bitterness on her tongue at the thought of Hoseok entertaining some girl in a restaurant far, far away from her.
Her roommate couldnât have been more oblivious to Y/Nâs condition. Lying on the bottom bed, she absently twirls a strand of blond hair in her fingers as her boyfriend screams incessantly into the phone. As usual, something about posting pictures and comments and malicious DMâs⊠She never quite understood their relationship but, apparently, social media was 80% of all their problems.
Y/N was used to the otherâs indifference, and, in fact, prefers it over her colleagueâs rude comments and micro-aggressions.
However, Morganâs attention was finally captured when Y/N reached out from her bunk searching for the flimsy metal ladder. Descending each step with shaky legs and face completely washed of color, the blonde watches her, ignoring the boyfriendâs lecture.
-Where are you going? -Morganâs icy blue eyes appraise the girl from head to toe once, twice, sitting on the worn mattress of the bottom bed and covering her phone with her palm, pulling it away from her face as if sheâs being purposely interrupted.
Y/N is suddenly hit by a wave of disorientation, nearly loses her balance, and has to bend over her knees to keep her own vision from darkening. Stars sparkle and disappear before her eyes.
As she draws big gulps of cold air into her lungs, Morganâs eyes widen and she huddles against the wall, moving as far away from her roommate as possible.
After the initial shock over Y/Nâs condition, the blonde straightens up again and adopts her characteristic disapproving and slightly disgusted expression.
-I swear if you vomit in here, IâllâŠ
Without any disposition for Morganâs abuse, Y/N reaches the bedroom door. Her eyes catch her own reflection in the dressing mirror across the room. Just as she expected: eyes sunken, hollowed out by dark circles, collarbones etched into bony shoulders, her hair is tousled and tangled like a nest after tossing and turning in bed.
She steps out into the hallway with a staggering walk. Her head is hammering, muscles protesting every step, but she still insists that a glass of water and some aspirin will -maybe- lessen at least a fraction of her symptoms.
Once in the sororityâs shared kitchen, she sits at the long wooden table in front of the large first-aid box, pressing a glass of water to her forehead, muttering to herself about how most boxes are expired or completely empty.
A crash comes from upstairs, like a piece of furniture falling heavily to the floor. Y/N turns in alarm, her heart pounding in her ears.
After a few seconds of silence in the dark kitchen, she turns her attention to the small pills she had been looking for. They are at the bottom of the kit, and she lets go of a long sigh, pulling out two white pills from the card, the veins in her hands form greenish rivers under pale skin.
The thuds and crashes are no strange sounds to the sorority. In reality, the house was rarely quiet, as somehow someone was always awake.
Whether it was groups of girls having fun in the most forgotten rooms at dawn or couples meeting in secret in the ward gardens where nuns donât roam boringly in the middle of the night.
It is the nature of children to not notice, and the teenagerâs not to care with the noises throughout the nights and, therefore, the sorority couldnât do anything other than get used to it.
Feeling slightly better knowing the drugs would take effect in a few minutes, Y/N paces the main room, silently calculating the time for the pain to subside.
She reaches the stairs and takes it one step at a time, saving any unnecessary effort, but eager to lie down again. As the ancient wooden stairs creak as she climbs, a door opens at the end of the first-floor hallway, and one of the nuns who run the sorority spies outside.
The black habit blends with the gloom of the hallway and makes the ancient face look like a carved wooden mask, floating in the dark.
-Go to your room immediately, noise is forbidden after ten! -She scolds, curling her hands like claws around the wooden third resting on her chest, her thin, wrinkled mouth curves in displeasure like a crowâs beak.
Y/N lowers her head quickly and, as usual, stutters out a nervous explanation.
-Sorry sister, I wasnât the one whoâŠ
The sister interrupts the teenager by placing a crooked, stained finger over the slit of her lips, signaling her to shut up. She then points across the hall, ejecting her stiffly from the top of the stairs.
The girl hurries to her room, legs still weak and now filled with anxiety. Behind her, the door to the nunsâ north wing clicks the locks, and Sister Hildaâs steps fade away.
Y/N reaches for the handle and absently pushes the door open, sighing in relief, lost in her own thoughts about how she escaped the sermon.
However, as Y/N takes the first step into the room, the scent that surrounds her is so intense and repulsive she feels the nerves in her nostrils burst and fat tears form in her burning eyes.
She feels her own insides twisting and instinctively clenches her jaw, trying to stop the mixture of sulfur, necrosis, and rot from invading her lungs any further.
After the first shock wave, another sense is completely taken: all she can see is an overwhelming glare, yellow and reddish lights turn into huge, disconnected blobs, an unbearable heat seems to have forced the winter out of the room. She is bewildered, ears ringing.
Far too late, her eyes find balance with the light, and she finally realizes that the lights arenât lights, theyâre flames.
Licking the wooden walls, crumpling the rug, rising in great columns to the ceiling, and terribly consuming every object at its disposal.
However, what makes an absolute terror seep through the blood in her veins is the gigantic grotesque creature that faces her, sitting on the wreckage of the bed, waiting in the flames, waiting for her.
âŻ
(Once again, sorry for the broken english, second chapter coming soon! -Lou)
