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emilykaldwen · 2 days ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | FINAL CHAPTER

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Author's Note: WE ARE FINALLY HERE HOLY HELL! So much love and thanks to my wonderful beta and co-pilot, @foxinthegodswood. I would not have gotten this far without you. Thank you to everyone whose joined us on this journey. Stay tuned for the sequel!

Summary: Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Something Red, Something Dead

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Second Great Council

The room still held the earthy fragrance from the High Septon’s thurible as he blessed her that morning and it blended with the lighter fragrances of rose and bergamot from her bath. Abby sat on the stool before her dressing table while Wylla and Lythene gently combed her hair, their fingers rubbing oil through the curls to tame the frizz the damper air of the Riverlands had caused. Wylla, being someone who had her own head of frustrating ringlets that needed tending to and understood the maintenance required, held a pair of fine scissors in her hand to trim Abby’s waist length hair before they would fashion it into something appropriate for the ceremony.

“Oh!” Lythene’s startled exclamation brought a flush to Abby’s cheeks as she watched the girl notice the bruise Aegon had left near her ear.

It certainly wasn’t the only one left upon her neck and collarbones but so far, Abby had kept them out of view, not wanting to deal with any fuss. It wasn’t like every member of the realm was going to inspect her and Abby had far surpassed her limit of caring. She’d be married in naught but a few hours. It didn’t matter.

“Is there a problem?” came Lady Lysa’s voice from the far side of the room where she was overseeing the preparations on the queen’s behalf.

Abby caught Lythene’s wide eyes in the mirror, smiling conspiratorially back. “Everything’s quite fine, Lady Lysa,” she called back. Wylla let out a small snort and the three of them descended into a flurry of giggles. Abby squirmed in her seat, fingers knotting and twisting into the dressing gown she wore. “I just want this to be all done already.”

“Such impatience,” Wylla teased, shaking out the section of hair she’d just finished with. “Isn’t that one of the virtues of your gods?”

“And one of yours too,” Abby reminded her. “Patience for the long winters would be the first rule, would it not?”

Wylla’s brows raised and grey eyes met her own in the mirror. “The winters and you spending yesterday bowlegged are two entirely different matters.” Lythene snorted and dropped the comb as she clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to help herself and, considering herself the winner of which virtues were which, Wylla went to fetch what they’d end up pinning into her hair.

The apartments had quieted at least a little from that morning, when the troop of women had burst in to bathe her and feed her, chattering around offering advice and their two cents on things. Great Aunt Mya could not make it up the stairs that morning, but Cassana had, distracting Cory with the most important task of assisting the queen in her own chambers, as well as realizing very quickly that Abby was overwhelmed by all the attention and the noise. The chattering group had been shooed into the solar; Rhea Royce and Sarra Frey had left with several others to oversee the wedding gifts and where they’d go and who had gifted them.

Meanwhile, Deidre was tucking wrapped bundles of herbs beneath her pillows and under the mattress, much to Lady Lysa’s consternation. The elder had decided it wasn’t a battle she needed to engage in, and was presently giving orders to Cassana about how the accompanying gaggle of attendants who would follow Abby into the hall should wear their hair.

Desma and Merei were in charge of her gown, the pair of them carefully laying out her fine silk stockings and the lake blue garters, the latter which had been painstakingly embroidered with dragons shimmering in gold thread and chasing rabbits of silver. Blue was the color of the rivers and brides were often clad in gowns meant to evoke the waters of their land, the life giver that fed the body and fed the forests and the animals, that housed the fish that graced their tables, grew the reeds and rushes that were woven into every aspect of their life.

But Abby had been denied her blue gown, so she would wear the garters instead. It didn’t mean that she disliked her gown. Far from it; Abby was enthralled by it, although they had denied her seeing her reflection during the last fittings so she could only glean the view looking down at herself. The gown itself was currently folded and wrapped in a protective cloth, hidden away until it was time to put it on. It wouldn’t do to have something so painstakingly and delicately made accidentally ruined.

Her mother’s earrings sat on the silk pillow of the jewelry box. Little round rubies were wrapped in silver and from them, ruby teardrops hung, the silver wrapping they were set in etched like miniature flower petals. There was a matching necklace inside; a large, oval cut ruby inlaid into an ornate silver casing that would rest at the hollow of her throat with silver filigree spreading out on either side before attaching to a robust silver chain. A ruby teardrop hung from the center ruby, the Castamere jewels on full display.

Her gaze moved to the warm glimmer of Sunfyre’s scales set in their new home, the ruby on that necklace smaller but no less exquisite. Aegon had wanted her to wear it today. Abby wanted to wear it today.

“My mother’s earrings,” she whispered and took the jewels out to rest next to the scaled choker. Guilt gnawed in the hollow space between her ribs and stilled her fingers where they hovered over the box. She curled them in to keep herself from snatching the earrings, looking up as delighted shrieks and laughter filtered in from the solar.

“Your mother’s earrings,” Wylla said, wrapping her hand around Abby’s curled fist. She nudged at Abby to move over so she could sit on the stool beside her, taking the held hand in both of her own. “And Aegon’s necklace, your family’s maiden cloak. You don’t have to choose and the rest is lost forever if you don’t pick to wear them today. They will be there on the morrow and the day after and the day after that.”

“I don’t have to choose,” Abby repeated with a long exhale, her shoulders sagging as the tension eased. She batted Wylla’s hand when she reached up to pinch her cheek. She was about to say more when movement at the door drew her gaze.

Helaena stood in the doorway, exquisite in layered, sapphire blue silk overlaid with intricate silver appliques along her bodice, a silver belt heavy around her waist. Her pale blonde hair was held back from her face in a decorative net of matching sapphires winking from the delicate wirework. Her large eyes took in the room, her plump mouth pressed thin.

“Heleana!” Abby’s voice pitched high with surprise and she jerked from the stool, bumping into the dressing table and setting everything wobbling from the force of it. There had been little time to spend with the princess since arriving at Harrenhal. Abby felt as if she was standing at the edge of a great chasm that had grown between them, Helaena a speck in the distance on the other side.

“May I have a few moments alone with my sister.” There was no question, no request for permission on Helaena’s tongue. It was simple and soft, the command a gentle one but a command all the same.

Wylla rose with a final squeeze of Abby’s hand, and the women left the room, Desma and Merei closing the doors behind them. Abby tugged her dressing gown more tightly around her, fiddling with the ties about her waist, wanting to reach for the other but she wound her belt around her hand instead. The fireplace crackled merrily behind the protective screen, illuminating the cut out shapes of Children of the Forest dancing among weirwood trees.

Helaena turned to face her, her own fingers twisting together at her waist. Her gaze lingered over Abby’s shoulder before flitting away, absent of the gentle command she had just possessed.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Abby blurted out, lips pressed together briefly. “I’ve missed you and you’ve been avoiding me since you arrived, since we’ve all arrived.”

“You’ve been preparing for your wedding,” Helaena murmured, reaching out to trace her fingers along the bedpost and toying with the blue brocade curtains. “It’s strange here. The air tastes…” She shook her head. “You’ll be gone. I’ve had to get used to being without you.”

The stool teetered over as Abby knocked into it in her haste to cross the distance and the crash of it froze her in place. “Being without one another? Helaena, we agreed months ago that it would be of no issue to visit, that it’s only a short ride away-”

“But you’ll be too busy with Aeg-”

“Of course I’ll want to spend time with my husband, Helaena!” Abby picked around the fallen stool to approach the taller girl, her frustration rising. “And you have been spending time with Jace, so don’t turn this into my soon to be married life getting in the way of things.” Her voice hitched and grew louder with each word, her cheeks flaming, skin prickling with the uncomfortable conversation. Guilt clawed in her once more, but irritation crept in so unexpectedly that it had caught her unawares. Could she not have this one thing to be selfish for and not have it held against her? That wasn’t like Helaena and there had been a time where they’d known one another so closely that this wouldn’t have happened. Things changed and Abby hated it. Feared it. “Why have you pushed me away? Was it you watching from the gallery during the rehearsal?”

Helaena didn’t answer either question, her gaze roving from her face to over her head. Abby clenched her hands against her waist to keep from reaching out to pull her back from wherever she had gone in her head. She knew that it wasn’t Aegon who had spurred Helaena’s distance, as she’d been supportive after the initial shock of it all. Abby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I am sorry that I’ve neglected you these past months, Hel.” Quieter now. It wasn’t as if this had all happened overnight after all. “I’ve been so caught up in the wedding prepara-”

“Pink and red, might be dead.”

Helaena’s voice was harsh and whispered, a whistling wind through the cracks in the walls, the spirits come to speak of things that they shouldn’t be privy to. Her pale, lavender eyes bored into Abby’s and Helaena took her hands tight in her own, pulled her in closer, lower lip wobbling. “I don’t…”

‘A bride for Harrenhal. They leave quickly. Sickness. Water. Poison.’

“Who might be dead, Helaena?” she whispered, as if speaking any louder would shatter something delicate. She’d heard Helaena’s words before, so long ago, that day seared into her mind. Helaena had been staring out the window, refusing touch as Abby dressed her, before Otto came to tell her of her future. By the gods, it felt like years had passed since that day. The words remained, spinning in Abby’s mind with the prophetic warnings from the antlered priest in the godswood. “Helaena.” The princess still gripped her hands, fingernails pricking into Abby’s skin from the force of it. “Sister, please, tell me-”

Once more they were interrupted by the bedroom doors opening and Queen Alicent gliding in without invitation. She was beautiful in a gown of rich, deep green velvet, the square neckline trimmed with a wide, deeper green band embellished with pearls. Three heavy strands of matching pearls hung from shoulder to shoulder, pinned in the center at her breast with a brooch etched with the seven pointed star. A simple gold necklace with emerald tear drops adorned her throat. A five pointed reach-style hood studded with jewels adorned her head in place of a traditional crown, the finely made black veil hung from the back and covered the knot of auburn hair.

Abby wondered why she decided to wear green now rather than at Aegon’s nameday feast, and thought that perhaps it was her armor with Rhaenyra under the same roof.

The queen’s hands were clasped at her waist, color high in her cheeks from the long walk from her rooms to Abby’s chambers, and the amount of stairs she’d been forced to climb. The ever present tension lingered, but her smile was small, genuine.

“Your Grace,” Abby curtseyed a little awkwardly given that Helaena was still gripping her hands. Helaena looked down at the floor and pulled away after Abby rose, plucking at the cuffs of her deep sleeves, the cuffs folded and pinned back to keep her hands free.

“Helaena?” The queen’s attention immediately switched to her daughter, tone full of gentle concern. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?” Abby stepped back to give them space and allowed herself to breathe through the clawing sensation around her throat, as if Helaena’s prophecy had grown hands to wrap around her neck and wring the life from her itself. Gods above, this was meant to be a happy day. She was elated that in just a few hours, she would kiss Aegon and their hands would be bound and they could start their lives together.

“Why can’t this be simple?” she muttered, rubbing her fingertips against her temples.

She’d just have to make it simple. There was no getting around it. Abby poked her head into the solar where the gaggle of cousins and ladies had set themselves up in their preparations. “Please bring some tea,” she told Morya, who was closest. Her cousins’ wife looked up, startled at being addressed, and Abby immediately remembered she was kin to Lord Edmund. Not sister, but cousin perhaps? Abby smiled in what she hoped was a relaxed manner and the tension around Morya’s hazel eyes relaxed, returning the smile with a murmured, “As you’d like”, and went to retrieve the tea service. Tea would ease her nerves, would ease Helaena’s as well, she was sure.

She would not throw it in the queen’s face for forcing Cassandra Baratheon upon her. No, she’d bring that up later. It was her wedding day. Aegon was hers. No one was going to ruin that. Not meddling, mortal girls, nor the gods or demons of prophecy.

Was it too much to ask to simply have time to be happy and not have a force to do its best to ruin it?

Morya returned with the tea service, the scent of mint, ginger, and elderberry assaulting her nose and immediately easing the tension in her shoulders. Abby took it from her with a quiet thanks and returned to her room, setting the service down on the low table before the fire. Helaena sat on the edge of the couch beside her mother.

“You should not be doing this, Abrogail,” the queen said. “Where are those girls-”

“I sent them out, Your Grace,” Abby interrupted, handing the first cup of tea to her. “It was rather loud in here and if I could use the quiet, then certainly Helaena can as well.”

“Thank you,” Helaena said as she took the second cup of tea, finally meeting Abby’s eyes and the small smile that graced her face brought heat and tears to Abby’s eyes. “Your mother would not begrudge you a necklace, Abby. She is not that spiteful of a shade.”

“Oh.” Abby’s teeth clicked as she shut her mouth, busied herself with pouring her own cup of tea.

“What’s this about a necklace?”

“Abby was trying to decide if she should wear her mother’s necklace when she’d rather wear the one Aegon gave her.” Helaena sipped loudly and Abby hid her own smile behind the rim of her cup as Alicent winced ever so slightly at her daughter’s lack of manners but markedly said nothing. Instead, her large brown eyes found Abby’s, and instead of the judgement or wariness that Abby expected, there was a curious tilt to her head, gaze pensieve.

“The one you wore at dinner the other night.” When Abby nodded in confirmation, Alicent hummed. “Your mother…” Silence stole whatever the queen was about to say and filled the space between the three of them. Abby sat in a nearby chair and let the tea spread its warmth down her throat and through her limbs, focusing on the calming sensation it lent her, the subtle bite of the ginger root that tickled her tongue. “Your mother,” Alicent said, finding her words after her contemplation, “Would most certainly not begrudge you a gift from your husband to be. It would gladden her to know Aegon gave you such a token of his affection and that you have gladly received it.”

Relief made Abby’s heart stutter in her chest and she could only nod in acknowledgement of the queen’s kind words. She had made her decision, but the guilt had been acrid in her throat. There was an absolution in what Alicent said, and the fact that they reflected much of what her grandfather had told her all those moon’s ago about her mother wanting only her happiness, Abby felt that she could trust them.

“Helaena, darling, could you give us a moment? Are you feeling well enough to go to the solar?”

“If it’s too much for you, Morya could take you down to the gardens,” Abby offered. Helaena gently set her cup down upon the silver tray with a shake of her head.

“I’ll wait. I want to be here to help you dress. You’ve always helped me, and it’s my turn to return the favor.” Helaena rose and smoothed her hands over her skirts, gently maneuvering around the low table to drop a kiss on the top of Abby’s head.

The doors shut behind the princess, leaving Abby alone with the queen. Without being asked, she joined her on the couch and allowed Alicent to reach up to tenderly tuck a stray curl behind her ear. The queen was always affectionate with her when she was unable to be with her own children, but this time, Abby understood that the comfort was the intention, from the glossy sheen in Her Grace’s large, brown eyes.

Abby hadn’t just lost her mother. The queen had lost a dear friend. Things had changed when Celeste Reyne died, succumbing to years of illness not entirely dissimilar, from Abby’s understanding, to how Lady Alerie had been claimed by long illness as well. Her Grace had grown harsher, in little ways at first, until she became the anxious, fear and anger ridden woman she was now.

The Red Keep had twisted her. Abby knew that. The machinations, the politics, had wound like ivy around her limbs and her heart and trapped her in its confines. The same snarling vines had clung to Abby as well. She could feel it pulling and pulling until the stems had snapped when they’d gotten far enough away.

Abby was not a foolish girl, however. The vines still tangled around their feet, hers and Aegon’s, and would for as long as uncertainty reigned.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Grace,” Abby said. “I know that she would not, but my heart is hesitant to agree. Your reassurance is a balm.”

“A bride needs such reassurances on her day. I was absent mine own mother on my wedding day.” Abby glanced down at the emerald ring the queen absently twisted on her finger, the spots of red along her cuticles. “I had my aunts and good sisters and cousins and… I had support, of course, gentle love and…” Her gaze grew distant as she stared into the fire, and Abby watched with alarm as tears pricked at her future goodmother’s eyes, her lower lip trembling before being pressed firmly to hold back the emotion. Abby said nothing and politely averted her gaze, allowing the queen her reflection on what was clearly a complicated memory.

“It was not the wedding to a knight of flowers and song that you had expected,” Abby whispered, recalling the words of attempted comfort Alicent had tried giving her, misplaced as it was. The queen scoffed and shook her head.

“It’s a great honor to be chosen to serve the realm, an honor that I didn’t expect but have done my best to fulfill.” She had provided the king his longed for sons, which was the first duty of the queen, and yet it had not gone how it was expected. Even if they had not been pressuring Aegon to prepare himself to be king someday, the insult done to House Hightower had been grave and still the king did not see. Everyone knew that.

It was all so very broken and it didn’t have to be. Now here she was, wading into the rising tempest. She would not let Aegon stand in it alone. She would not stand by while the rest of them tried to pull him under.

Abby only hoped they would be able to keep each other afloat.

“The king has granted you the title of princess in honor of marrying his eldest son,” Alicent continued, clearing her throat and smoothly removing herself from the emotion that had trapped her in memory. “You will, from now on, be referred to as Your Grace, as a princess of the realm and of House Targaryen. The expectation that comes with this title is more than simply being the lady of a house.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“You saw the concern that Lord Elmo and the other lords expressed with this marriage. However, Princess Rhaenyra has not raised any objections to the match, nor has the Small Council. That is all that matters. You will represent the crown with all the grace and wisdom that I have instilled in you. You will guide Aegon to break bread with the lords, and foster geniality and respect with House Tully. Lord Elmo will soon be Lord Paramount, and it is up to you to reassure him of the fealty owed to him.”

Fealty that would be fraught once her and Aegon took the seat of Harrenhal properly, years from now. Aegon was a prince of the blood, owed fealty himself, and yet would bow to a Lord Paramount. How was she to make that genial?

Lord Elmo had two sons.

Abby let out a long breath and smoothed her dressing gown over her knees. Not even a child quickened and already their future matches needed to be thought of.

“What if I cannot bear children, like my mother?” Her mother had struggled so much to bring her into this world, so much loss preceding Abby’s own tumultuous birth. It was quieter than she intended, more vulnerable than she wanted to reveal, but Alicent Hightower was the only mother she had now, known longer than the fuzzy memories of red hair and a wan, pale face tucked in bed. Alicent let out a soft sound and cupped Abby’s face. It took everything in Abby not to flinch and she gave in quickly to the gentle touch of a mother, gripping Alicent’s wrists for some connection.

“Abrogail, listen to me.” Voice gentle but firm, Abby’s eyes fixed on Alicent’s face, unblinking. “Maester Orwyle said you should have no issue. Your mother gave birth to you. You will not go through this alone. You are older than many mothers, older than I was, and you shall be safe. When you are with child, we will have the Grand Maester monitor you. I will send Septa Lyserra-”

“No.” Abby recoiled at that, pulled out of the queen’s touch with a sharp shake of her head. “That cruel woman will not stay under my roof, Your Grace. She has treated Helaena harshly, and myself. I will not have her around my children.” She could not deny Cassandra Baratheon now, but she would deny that awful woman. Abby didn’t know what recklessness had overtaken her to speak to her queen and good-mother in such a way, but she moved forward all the same, tempering her outburst to something more appropriate. “I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, and I do trust the wise council of the Grand Maester, but I will not have Septa Lyserra tend to me. I will speak with my aunt on such things should I feel it is needed.”

Abby should apologize but she kept quiet, running her tongue over her teeth behind her closed lips before she took another sip of her tea. Her mother had struggled to conceive her, to birth her, had died from her last miscarriage, it seemed, given that she had never recovered from it, growing more ill by the day. And of course, there were the whispered stories of how the last queen, Aemma, had suffered for decades to produce more than a single, living child.

Death was a bridal cloak around her shoulders, the shadow that followed her with each step, each breath, each blink of her eyes. It was not a legacy she wanted to pass down to her children. It was not a legacy she wanted at all.

“I did not know.” Abby looked at the quiet queen. Alicent was pensive, eyes downcast, focused on her hands, picking at her thumbnail. “You did not say anything.”

It was true, they had not. Abby didn’t know how to find the words to explain that they didn’t want to bother her with the treatment, and then eventually, didn’t think it would matter. She wanted to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t know, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Aye, I didn’t,” Abby whispered. “But I am now. Helaena will not say anything, so I shall.”

The queen nodded. “I will send the septa back to Oldtown with the rest of my family when they leave. Thank you for saying something.” She sighed and smoothed her hands over her velvet skirts. “I do mean what I said, Abrogail. We will ensure you have the best of care when you become pregnant. You will not be neglected, and you shall be safe. It is the most important duty a lady has.”

Rhaenyra had five sons now. Would they be disappointed if all Abby managed to bear were daughters? Would Aegon be upset? The thought made her realize that they had never really talked about children, only that they had wanted many before falling into one another’s arms, less concerned with the sex of said children and focused on the taste of one another.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Abby said, forcing a smile onto her face, desperate to remove herself from this conversation and retreat to the giggling from earlier. Or, better yet, move past this to the giggling of kissing Aegon as they were brought to their bedding.

The bedroom doors burst open and both of them looked up to see Abby’s grandmother, Lady Dalla Swyft, having pushed the doors open with Aunt Mya at her shoulder.

“Alicent, why on earth are you keeping the girl from getting dressed?” Lady Dalla clapped her hands and bustled in, her movements slow with her age. She’d been unwell for such a long journey in the previous months, and Abby was grateful that her grandmother had been able to make the journey for the wedding.

The queen’s mouth gaped, her words momentarily caught before she rose with hunched shoulders, brows furrowed as she processed being addressed so casually. “I was speaking with my good-daughter on reassurances of her wedding, Aunt,” she defended herself. Grandmother’s curls were pulled back, the strawberry blonde long given way to grey and snowy white, her small mouth pursed in assessment. She reached up to gently pat the queen’s cheek.

“Well, there’s a dear.” She hummed and turned her green eyed gaze upon Abby, her left eye rheumy but the right sharp as ever. “Oh, cub, you look positively frightened! Whatever for?”

“Just feeling lightheaded,” Abby said, her words rushed as her grandmother pulled her into an immediate hug, the scent of medicinal cream mixing with the violet perfume she wore. It was not entirely unpleasant, but unexpected. The hug was warm and reassuring and Abby clung to it, nestling against the softness of her grandmother as if she were a little girl once more.

“None of that now, dear. Let us get you dressed. Where are your ladies?”

The room descended into a flurry after that and Abby was guided behind the partition that had been set before her mirror to protect her privacy. There was little time to be drawn into her thoughts when her dressing gown was being pulled from her body to leave her in her smallclothes. The silk shift rippled over her body like a breeze. She could barely feel it on her skin as Desma slipped it over her head and Abby was so afraid of tearing the delicate fabric that Desma had to nearly lift her onto the chair so that Merei could slip on the silk stockings over her feet and tie the dragon-and-rabbit garters. Low-heeled silver slippers were carefully slipped on and tied, glittering with the dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny pearls that Wylla had affixed with much complaint. Abby smiled down at them, lip caught in her teeth at the way they shone.

The gasp that came from behind her pulled Abby from her admiration to crane to look behind her at the women gathered around what must be her dress.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Helaena said, the traces of anxiety and prophecy faded in her voice to be replaced by a girlish excitement.

“Good,” came her grandmother’s voice, awed and full of approval. “You used the silver I sent.”

“The silver and gold, yes, aunt,” Alicent confirmed. “The embroidery is quite exquisite. I’ve had the girl working on new dresses for Helaena now that this one is done, as well as something for myself.” The sounds of approval and discussions of the successful seamstress that Abby had found in the Master’s Market those months ago was amusing, although Abby was miffed that she could not bring the girl with her. She would, of course, have better fortune having her work seen at court. Abby hoped that she could at least secure more gowns from her in the future, if the work she had done was so masterful.

Helaena came to her with a smile, holding her hands out to help Abby rise from the chair and she gently tapped the tip of her nose. “Now, you must not look, Abrogail. Back to the mirror.” She held Abby’s hand as she stepped onto the low stool, her back to the mirror as instructed. Fluttering butterflies burst in Abby’s belly as she closed her eyes, for it was only then that Helaena would allow Merei to approach with the gown. The approving whispers and giggles had Abby shifting her weight from foot to foot, rocking on her heels until Wylla put a hand to her back to keep her from toppling over when she wobbled.

Instruction followed of how she should raise or lower her arms and the whisper of heavier fabric slid cooly over her, more sounds of awestruck glee slightly muffled until her head was free. She blinked quickly to let her eyes adjust back from being shut and her mouth went dry as she saw the look on Merei and Wylla’s faces both, the rest of the group still on the other side of the partition to await the full reveal.

“Stay still,” Helaena said from behind her, hands tugging gently on the back of the gown. Merei hurried to join her and Abby could hear the gentle scratch of the cord as they slowly closed the back of the dress. Wylla closed the distance, teeth scraping across her lower lip as she deftly adjusted the neckline so it sat low. Her brow furrowed with thought as her fingers tapped just to the side of the mark Aegon had left, the skin freshly darkened with no place to hide with the dropped shoulders of her gown.

“Ridiculous, he couldn’t just wait?” Wylla muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Abby smiled innocently, full of tingling giddiness at the memory, relieved that neither the queen, her aunt, nor her grandmother could see the evidence at this moment. Not that there was much to be done with it, but Wylla came back with the powder and carefully began dabbing it along the bruises, painstakingly blending it so the entire realm did not witness how wanton the chaste bride had been. Her face was lightly powdered, coral paint dabbed on her lips, cheeks pinched and dabbed with another powder to make them rosy, and the dragonscale choker was affixed, the silk ribbon tied just tight enough to keep it properly in place.

Merei held her hand as she stepped down from the stool and still with her back to the mirror, she sat back down once more and deft fingers freed the abundance of copper curls from where they’d been pinned up, shaking them loose. Wylla and Merei went to work pinning the golden netted cap to the crown of her head and twisting thick coils around it, pinning it in place with decorative pins tipped with jeweled flowers.

Her wrists were lifted, her blended rose and currant perfume oil gently dabbed along the soft skin and behind her ears, mingling with the bergamot scent of her bath oils. The trio stepped back to look down at her, smiling down at her with the satisfaction of a job well done and the giddiness of a surprise to reveal.

“Am I allowed to look at myself now?” she asked and lifted her hands to be helped from the chair, keeping so still, as if she balanced books upon her head as she’d done in her lessons as a girl.

“If you do,” Helaena said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Abby’s left hand, “There is no going back. I don’t think there are any other dresses that will do for today.”

Abby hummed thoughtfully, giving Helaena’s statement the consideration it deserved. Then, she dropped her hands and turned to look at herself in the polished glass of the mirror.

The breath left her, the rushing in her ears muddled the sounds of the other’s folding away the partition so the aunts and the grandmothers and the rest of them could see her.

The gown was extraordinary to behold that she could not believe it was her standing in it. It would be, Abby was certain, the finest thing she would ever wear. It was silver, as was common for brides to wear. The underskirt was surprisingly simple: a heavier silk that brushed down to her shoes just enough to hide them but not enough to fully impede her movement. The overgown was an exquisite example of talent. The overskirt was split, a much lighter silver silk that glimmered in the light as silver threads were woven into it, giving it the illusion of shimmering like the Blue Fork glittering beneath the bright, noon sun. The trim down the center was exactly as she hoped: seed beads were sewn into the shape of gold dragon scales like hidden coins amidst the folds of the fabric. There was a tiny strand of pearls beneath her bust, and the dragon scale pattern continued up on either side of the deep v-neck. Layers of lace filled the open neckline, appliques of ruby red weirwood leaves a burst of color over her heart and decorating her sleeves, from which bunched layers of silk poked out at her elbows and the tops of the sleeves where they’d been opened to show off the fine and delicate chemise underneath.

Her hair had been twisted from her face and wound around the crown of her head before falling in a rope down her back, leaving her face open, blue eyes bright and lined with light tracings of kohl, her freckles pale beneath the light dusting of powder. Her mother’s gold and ruby teardrop earrings tinkled at her temples, and Aegon’s necklace was bright around her neck, the large, tear shaped ruby nestled at the hollow of her throat, the jewels matching the red of the leaves at her breast, the gold and seed pearls both glimmering.

Helaena came up behind her in the reflection, her hands gently cupping her shoulders, cheek pressed to hers. Abby met her sister’s eyes in that other world of the mirror, a trembling smile on her face as she lifted her hands to clasp Helaena’s, squeezing them as she had done for countless years.

“You’ll come visit?” she whispered, voice shaking.

Helaena nodded. “As long as you remind him that he must bring you to me as well. I was your first kiss, after all. He does not get to claim that.”

Uncle Simon looked down at her with a warm and gentle smile on his aged face, his white beard and hair neatly trimmed. He wore a rich, velvet coat of deep blue lined with black fur, his brocade tunic beneath a deep shade of green, his golden chain scattered with rubies as was the buckle on his belt. To Abby, he looked far more like the Lord of Harrenhal than her brother, and in the shadows and torch light of the antechamber, her heart ached for how she imagined her father would look like now.

“A leanbh,” he crooned with a soft laugh, reaching up with the cuff of his sleeve to dab at the tear that had rolled down her cheek. “This is a happy day and you are happy, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she sniffled, clutching the gathered bouquet of flowers in her hands, wincing as she felt a hidden thorn on one of the stems prick her finger. The scent of roses and freesia, wisteria and myrtle made her head spin as she sniffled once more. “I…”

Uncle Simon made a clucking sound, humming and nodding as he understood what she wasn’t able to put into words. “Your parents would not forgive me if I escorted you down this aisle full of grief. They are with us, with you, and they are most proud, Abrogail. Most proud. You are here, where you belong.” He smoothed his hands over her shoulders and adjusted the cloak. It was long and heavy from the length, made of brilliant white velvet with three stripes of brilliant, gem toned silk slashed down the middle of sapphire blue, scarlet red, and emerald green and held in place by a chain of gold, the links reminding her of her father’s, although much smaller.

There were so many people in the great hall. The Second Great Council, she’d heard the maids whisper that morning in the quiet dark before dawn when she was supposed to be asleep. Her eyes glanced over the crowd as they walked, a gentle and practiced smile on her face. There were no banners here to mark who belonged to which house, just the realm that parted to let her pass and at the end was Aegon.

If only she could see him, but the beacon of him was blocked by her ladies, the septons, and the acolytes in the procession before her. Wylla, Lythene, and Sarra walked before her, their hair bound in braids woven with white silk ribbons, each one in a gown of either red, blue, or green, veils of Myrish lace held in place by simple, silver circlets. Behind her, Rhea, Merei, and Desma were dressed the same but holding the hem of her long cloak so she would not be weighed down by it.

The acolytes were young, clad in deceptively simple robes of rich ivory samite glimmering with threads of gold. Thuribles heavily swung from thick chains, the heady incense meant to cleanse the bride’s way to meet her bridegroom. Before them, seven members of the Most Devout glided, clad in vestments of cloth-of-silver embroidered with the seven pointed star and crystal coronets that threw dancing rainbows across them when they passed through the long shafts of light.

From the gallery, hymns fell down upon them like leaves from the trees, praising the Father and Mother, asking for the Maiden’s blessing of the union, and the echo of their sweet voices washed over her, pushing away the melancholy thoughts of all that was absent. Butterflies fluttered furiously in her belly as giddy excitement washed over her the closer they came to the front of the hall. She could just see the canopy of black and red velvet over the heads of those in front of her but not King Viserys and Queen Alicent themselves where they sat overlooking the ceremony. Soon, and yet not soon enough, the faces on either side of the aisle became familiar and the crowd before her began to part as the Most Devout streamed on either side of the second dias, and then…

There was Aegon.

He stood beside the High Septon who dressed to draw all attention in his imposing, crystal and gold crown and cloth-of-gold vestments, but Abby could only look at Aegon and his bright, relieved smile, as if he wasn’t sure she would be there when the crowd parted. Her breath caught just as their eyes met and Aegon’s own widened, his features softening into something aching as he took her in.

Aegon was so handsome; not like some unknown and impossible knight from a song, but her love from her dreams both sleeping and awake. Utterly imperfect and entirely hers. For his selfishness and his devotion, for his kisses and his shadows, and she would have all of him. His pale hair gleamed warm beneath the shaft of light, curling softly around his face and just past his chin, a golden crown encircling his brow. His jerkin was grey to better show the scaled texture of it, edged in glittering gold piping. The shoulders tapered into thick black padding embroidered with gold thread, and the black leather sleeves were slashed along his biceps, allowing the rich, scarlet velvet of his shirtsleeves to poke through. His belt was black leather decorated with circles of stamped gold, the buckle a dragon curled in on itself in an ouroboros. His groom's cloak was affixed by a black strap embroidered with golden dragons affixed over one shoulder and stretched down across his chest, the black velvet lined beneath in more brilliant, scarlet silk. His trousers were a similar shade of grey as to his tunic, tucked in tall boots of gleaming black leather. Aegon’s hands were folded in front of him, his many gleaming, golden rings glittering on his fingers as he tapped his fingers against his wrist in a familiar manner. She could not tap her own in return, but she smiled more brightly to him in answer.

She meant to step closer, but the hold Uncle Simon still had on her reminded her to stop, and she stood still as the long maiden cloak was lifted from her shoulders. Immediately, Abby felt as if she grew two inches from the freedom of it, and her ladies carefully folded it away as her uncle brought her up the stairs to the dias before the High Septon.

Briefly, Abby looked over her shoulder to where Larys stood next to Aunt Mya, a coat of heavy, dark maroon velvet swamping his slim figure. He had made no move to greet her when she arrived, inserting himself into the crowd as another family member and not her guardian.

The disquiet she felt from her brother’s continued distance vanished like smoke as soon as her hand rested in Aegon’s, a smear of crimson streaking across his hand from her cut finger. She handed her bouquet off to Wylla, striking in her crimson gown. Abby held Aegon’s hand and her glittering silver skirt in the other as he helped her up the few stairs to the High Septon. As they came before the purple and mahogany kneelers, Abby looked at Aegon.

He looked at her; bewitched,the warmth in his lilac eyes blooming, the awe in his expression brightening as his gaze roamed over her. She noticed how the touch of his wonder settled at the dragonscales collared around her throat, the curve of her bare shoulders and the dips of her collarbones, the golden dragons so carefully, painstakingly embroidered along the trimming of her gown. Only once before had Abby felt as seen, as treasured and cherished by Aegon as she did now, here before the realm, before their families, before the old gods and the new.

She could count the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose, see the fine, golden hair that he had not shaved from the top of his lip, and the warmth of him, the scent of mint and lavender, intoxicated her through the incense of the thuribles. His mouth was red, inviting, so soft-

“Lords, ladies, noble bannermen!” boomed the High Septon, shattering the pull between them. Aegon’s gaze cut to the man, annoyance plain on his face while she straightened, tapping her fingers reassuringly against his wrist. “We are gathered here today beneath the grace of the Seven to stand witness to the joining of two great houses! The flames of Old Valyria join the steadfast strength of the rivers of Westeros! Aegon, Prince of House Targaryen, and Abrogail, of House Strong. Today, in this hall, we celebrate the union of fire and water, of sky and earth. We pray.”

Together they knelt upon the purple brocade pillows of the kneelers, heads bowed and hands clasped before them. The acolytes continued to swing their thuribles just to either side of them, the incense lending a haze as Abby looked down at the High Septon’s feet just poking out beneath the hem of his vestments.

The first prayer rang through the great hall, so loud that Abby flinched and from the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon do so as well. “Father Above! Hallowed be thy name…” The hall answered in a rumble louder than the dragons roosting on Dragonstone as the guests followed the intoned instruction, sending shivers down Abby’s spine from the vibration of it all. “Mother Above! Mercy and grace are thee…” and when the prayer was done, the High Septon traced the a line of the star upon their brows with strong smelling oil - steeped in the same incense, Abby surmised, before Aegon took her hand to help her rise and sing the hymn to the almighty power of the Father and Mother.

Then they kneeled once more for the Maiden and the Crone, for courage in her marriage, for wisdom for their future. Anointing oil. Rising. Another song. As they knelt again, Aegon did not let go of her hand and Abby smiled at him and he returned it while they shared their tender defiance. The prayer barely registered and the words were merely movements of her mouth, silent as she went through the motions of singing the final hymn.

They rose for the final time, Abby’s heart pounding in her chest and she watched Aemond mount the stairs, the black velvet bridal cloak, the tri-headed dragon of House Targaryen red as blood, held in his arms. She smiled at him as he held the cloak out. Aemond looked very handsome in his black velvet and leather waistcoat, the buttons gleaming gold, Valyrian braids in his long, silver hair. His mouth twitched in return as Aegon pulled the heavy cloak from his brother’s arms.

Heavy black velvet unfurled like a banner, the Targaryen Dragon glittering in red silk and chips of rubies. Like Aegon’s own cloak, it was lined in the same crimson silk, the chain that would hold it made of gold links. She turned and pulled her hair out of the way while Aegon closed the distance and she could feel the heat of him, wanting to lean back and let his arms wrap around her. Aegon lingered longer than he needed to and she didn’t mind, his arm reaching around her to clasp the chain so the cloak was secure before he stepped back and she could turn to face him once more. Aegon’s right hand held her left and the High Septon wound a long length of embroidered ribbon around them, the seven pointed star shining in golden thread.

“Let the Seven bear witness to this sacred bond!” The High Septon’s voice boomed through the hall as he wound the ribbon around their joined hands. “May the fire of House Targaryen always burn bright, and the strength of House Strong never falter. Let it be known that Abrogail of the Houses Strong and Reyne, and Aegon of the Houses Targaryen and Hightower are now one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

He tied the ribbon and raised his arms high. Abby met Aegon’s bright, lilac gaze, lips slightly parted, the heat of happy tears pricking her eyes.

Abby would swear that she thought Aegon’s voice trembled as he spoke, but it was as clear and loud as a song itself. “With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.”

She squeezed his hand in hers, voice cracking as she in turn answered, “With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

With hands bound, Abby sighed in relief as their lips met, and although the hall echoed with cheers so loud it shook dust from the rafters, her world in that moment was only Aegon.

“Pity we aren’t sitting with the High Septon.” Aegon drank deeply from the heavy golden wedding chalice, its more delicate twin before her own setting. “I wonder if he’d blush easier than you.”

“Are you certain that the High Septon is such a wilting flower?” Abby asked as she nibbled on brown bread spread with a chicken and pork pate flavored with ginger. “Perhaps he would welcome such attempts from you.” Aegon laughed into his goblet and she watched her husband. Oh, how giddy it felt to now have it as truth, not simply just their hope for the eventual future.

He leaned in, hand braced on the back of her chair and his lips brushing the shell of her ear and Abby shivered. “Why, Princess,” he murmured, “Are you insinuating that the High Septon himself not only gives in to pleasures of the flesh but buggery as well?”

“Why, Prince,” she whispered, reaching for her goblet, eyes demurely downcast. “I would never start such gossip, especially when sitting next to the king himself.” Abby watched him over the rim of her goblet and sipped the fruity, white wine paired with the course before them. Aegon pressed a brief kiss to her temple before he occupied himself with some of his own buttery sliced mushrooms in their salad of leeks and onions.

Abby looked at the platter of haddock before them, the sauce vibrant and red from the dragon pepper and carrots, the scent of allspice mingling with it, mouthwatering in how delicious it looked.

Pink and red, might be dead.

Nausea curled in her gut and she watched as Princess Rhaenyra took a large bite of the flaky, white fish, humming in pleasure. Abby tried not to stare as the woman chewed, swallowed down and took a healthy gulp of her own wine before leaning over to speak to her husband in Valyrian. She did not turn pale or mottled red, did not clutch at her throat and keel over.

Abby drummed her fingers on her goblet, fingertips dancing over the embossed dragons over the cup. The stem was thick and knotwork similar to the Riverlands knot that she’d given Aegon for his favor wound around the stem, embedded with small rubies that also glowed in the eyes of the dragons. It was a heavy thing and her hand struggled to hold it, but it was beautiful to look at. She took another sip of her wine and finally plated some of the fish and hearty sauce onto her plate.

Excited applause echoed through this half of the hall as the entertainment for this course came out. The first course had the fools, Lolly and Butterbee, performing. Rhaenyra had brought Mushroom, who had left with her when she’d gone to Dragonstone, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen. The king’s speech was a distant memory. Abrogail had been relieved he had not dwelled upon the absence of her parents and looked more to the future, and not the shadows and ghosts of the past.

Now, Pentoshi dancers rushed to the open floor beneath the dias, clad in long tunics of red with black belts, draped in chains of silver and gold with bells on their wrists. Strong men of the troop balanced the slighter figures on their shoulders, performing feats of tumbling that left Abby gasping and clapping in delight. They looked as if they were flying, bright red birds jangling with music of their own. Drum beats sounded from the gallery above as their own music accompanied them, a type of flute that Abby hadn’t heard before that held its own entrancing melody.

“In Pentos,” Rhaenyra said beside her, goblet clutched in her bejeweled hand. “They drape silks from the rafters and swing in them, roll themselves in the cloth and perform death-tempting feats.” She shrugged a shoulder, the purple and red silk of her gown sumptuous, her low neckline edged in gold and silver threads, her thick, silver hair a crown of braids woven with gems and pearls. Her ruby and obsidian tiara glittered in the candlelight. “It’s a pity they could not orchestrate such things in this hall.”

“That’s because the rafters are likely to give way,” Daemon yawned from the other side of his wife. He scraped his fork against his plate before stabbing a mushroom. “Though perhaps that would be considered a small mercy in putting an end to the evening.”

Abby’s neck and cheeks prickled uncomfortably with heat while Rhaenyra shot him a look. “We appreciate your part in our happy day in spite of your misgivings, Prince Daemon,” Abby said as Aegon shifted beside her. She leaned forward a little to look past Rhaenyra to the languid, bored visage of Daemon Targaryen. He watched her, pale, violet eyes unblinking and heavy lidded as she spoke, not quite a smile crossing his narrow face. She had the distinct sensation of being watched, the way that she had seen the slight Tessarion watch sheep be brought before she was given leave to consume.

“This hellish place is supposed to be cursed, is it not? Best to not tempt fate when such superstitions keep repairs from being made with any urgency. A death is not what most people find entertaining at a wedding.” His features animated then, a thoughtful downturn of his mouth, a cock of his head, silver braids like Aemond’s tinkling with Valyrian runic charms woven through the strands. “Although perhaps that would liven it up all the same.”

‘Then you can just go back on your dragon and leave’, Abby thought, leaning back as the servant cleared her plate. Aegon made a sound beside her and she reached down to palm at his thigh reassuringly, a little distractingly, both for him and herself. Mercifully, before further barbs could be exchanged, upfront and backhanded, the performers finished and the hall erupted into cheers. She gestured to one of the attendants who stood at attention, beckoning them closer.

“Please ensure that in addition to what they’ve been paid, another quarter of it for such joy. Also ensure their bellies are well filled.” The black garbed servant bowed with a soft, “Yes, Your Grace,” and hurried away to ensure her instructions were met. Soon, the next course was brought out. The wedding pie required four livery men to carry it in to much fanfare, and they rose to clap their approval.

“Ser Gwayne!” Aegon called to where his uncle sat nearby with the rest of the Hightowers. Gwayne rose smoothly, handsome in a tunic of deep green, finely embroidered with silver flames. His grin was broad as he basked beneath the attention, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“My prince!” he called back, tossing back his auburn hair and giving a bow. “Congratulations on your happiest wedding to you and our beautiful new princess!” Another wave of merry shouts and cheers filled the hall and Abby demurely inclined her head in thanks.

“In honor of my Riverlands bride, cut this magnificent pie! Your prince commands it!” He held up his goblet in toast as Gwayne gave a shout, drawing his gleaming steel and cutting into the great wedding pie. Doves burst forth in a flurry, another shout from the crowd at the spectacle.

“Let’s hope they don’t shit on our heads or in that damn pie,” Abby heard Daemon mutter loud enough that she knew it was on purpose. Privately, she hoped it would happen to him since he was so intent on wishing it into existence. The pie was cut, overflowing with all kinds of meat, carrots and leeks, sweet onions and the heady scent of cinnamon. The plates were piled with cuts from the stuffed boar, its tusks gilded with gold, and the spectacle it made brought much laughter. On its back was a cooked chicken clad in a little cloak of red with a tiny lance tucked beneath its wing and a shield in the other. Daeron shouted that he wanted the knight amidst the din, bickering soon ensuing between the younger boys.

The entertainment was much closer to home. A troupe of dancers merrily stomped their feet and spun around as the traditional music of the Riverlands played, the hurdy-gurdys, the fifes and the drums striking up a merry tune that had them both tapping their feet and the crowd clapping their hands in tune. Even Rhaenyra smiled, clapping her hands in time with the music.

The further the afternoon went, the less Helaena’s prophecy lingered in Abby’s mind. Perhaps not a prophecy as feared, but simply a bad dream. The venison in the wedding pie was magnificently tender, and the boar, with chestnuts and chicken meat, with fragrant cheese and ginger and dragon pepper, nearly melted in her mouth with each bite, the plum wine exquisite. The fresh peas with parsley and mint cut through the savory food and she was grateful for the plate her and Aegon shared.

“Your Graces.”

Abby looked up from her plate. Before the table stood the newly made Lord Blackwood, Willem. Abby smiled at him warmly, if a little confused. “Lord Willem, it is good to see you again. We hope you are enjoying the feast.”

He was not an overly tall man, his deep red cape pinned to his shoulders with iron raven pins, his grey doublet understated but fine. His beard was generous, so much so that Abby did not immediately see his mouth until he spoke once more.

“It is good to be here. House Blackwood thanks you for the welcome to your festivities. May your marriage be long and fruitful.” Another shallow bow. “Welcome to the Riverlands, Prince Aegon.”

“Willem Blackwood?” Rhaenyra asked, tapping her fingers against her cheek, an amused look on her face. “Why, when I last saw you was in Lord Boremond’s great hall with a blade in your hand.” Even with the amused look, her tone was neutral if cordial. Abby raised her eyebrows as she watched Lord Willem look bashful at the remembrance of pulling live steel in a Lord’s hall and killing another boy over an insult.

“Your remembrance of a young boy who steadfastly upholds your radiance honors me, Your Grace.”

“Aren’t I radiant too?” Aegon said softly, just loud enough for her to hear before taking a gulp of wine.

Abby hid her smile with a bite of the delicious boar. “You are most radiant, Prince Aegon,” she whispered and he preened into his goblet.

“Killing a man in our cousin’s hall over Princess Rhaenyra’s hand. Why, I do recall hearing this tale,” Daemon said, snapping his fingers. “I believe the princess was most amused at a young lad’s attempt at someone far out of his reach.” He smirked. “Right for the thigh. Well, you wouldn’t have been able to reach much higher. Such a mess. Because he called you - what was it again?”

Willem’s smile grew tight. “A cunt, Your Grace.”

“Thank you for coming to give us your well wishes, Lord Willem,” Rhaenyra interrupted Daemon, who was leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes, a cat who had found prey and could no longer wait. The lord gave another bow, more well wishes and departed with a dramatic swish of his red cape.

“Jacaerys wears his cape better,” Abby told Rhaenyra softly. The other woman snorted in amusement.

Abby was nearly too full for the next course, but there was no helping the cry of excitement as the food was brought out. A vegetable pottage of cabbage and carrots, small pies of beef and currant, delicious looking puddings with figs and dates and the centerpiece. A large, marchpane Sunfyre rose from the table, his wings spread, the almond and sugar dyed with saffron and red berries to bring the glow of gold and pink to the dragon’s form. Moreover, there was a sculpted maiden holding the dragon’s snout, her long hair dyed with red berries in an emulation of her own.

As they indulged in lighter fare, a bard took the audience, singing sweet songs of young love, of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne’s elopement in the face of their mother’s refusal, and a melodious poem about the Maiden and her falling in love with Galladon of Morne and gifting him his sword. They were all lovely, the singer’s voice clear as water and delicate, surprisingly robust in such a great hall.

The dancing commenced as the desserts were brought. A platter piled high with golden honey cakes glistening with syrup was set before them, their delicate crusts flaking. Abby immediately took one as a platter of roasted quinces were set, the flesh turned a deep, dark red from cooking and piled high with cream and red berries, the juices streaking the cream pink. Aegon tugged the platter closer, shoving his spoon excitedly into the dish, licking cream from his thumb as he dug in.

“Don’t eat too fast,” Abby laughed, biting into her cakes slower. “I don’t want you getting sick as we dance.”

“I have paced myself quite well, hunītsos ñuhu.” He waved her off and she contemplated the dessert he was so ravenously eating, popping some of the berries in his mouth and the juice staining his fingers, a smear of pink cream across his knuckle.

Abby didn’t think she could finish the honey cake after her third bite and she settled back in her chair with a groan, hand pressed to her middle. No, she should definitely stop. She gestured for the attendant to fill her goblet with lighter fair than the sweet drinks they’d had over the course of the feast, needing to cut the taste in her mouth with something else. “Aemond promised that he would not let them become too exuberant during the bedding, right Aegon?”

Aegon didn’t answer.

“Aegon?” He was leaning on his elbows at the table’s edge, his face flushed deeper than it had been before, his lips parted in quick breaths. Aegon wasn’t looking at her, he didn’t respond to the repetition of his name.

Her fingers went cold. It was such a strange thing to notice, but it’s what happened first. Louder, Abby cried, “Aegon!” rising from her seat and grabbing Aegon’s shoulders to look at her. For the first time that afternoon, she heard the king pay attention to them, asking what was the matter.

The voices of Rhaenyra and the queen both rose, “Aegon?”

Pink and red, might be dead.

He was trembling, gasping, his hands clenched and she tried to heave him from his chair but his heavier weight sent them tumbling back, his chair falling as they hit the floor. Aegon shook as if he were cold, sweat pouring down his temples, soaking his hair, the black of his pupils eating the color of his eyes. Abby gripped him, hauled him into her lap, pushed his hair from his face. There was another pair of hands, auburn hair.

“Orwyle!” She didn’t know who had yelled for the Maester.

“Aegon,” she breathed, shaking him, his gaze going to hers. Her arms felt cold, her heart beat pounding in her ears. “No… no no… Aegon…” Abby clutched him tighter and she could feel his arm fumble, his fingers clumsily trying to grip her forearm.

“Abs,” he gasped. “Ab-Ab.” But he couldn’t form her name, panting, his skin going from deep, flushed red to something bluer, his lips losing their color.

Hands gripped her shoulders but she leaned forward more, trying to see Aegon more clearly but for some reason, it was as if looking at him underwater, both of them drowning and trying to reach for one another. Heat coursed down her cheeks, and there was water splattering on his face. Where did it come from?

“Aegon… Aegon, no please, please you promised,” she cried, shaking him. “Aegon, no! No!”

What was happening, what was going on? He was fine. He was fine. They were going to dance.

Pink and red, might be dead.

Who might be dead, Helaena? Who?

“Aegon, please don’t do this. I love you, Aegon, you promised. Aegon, Aegon…”

They were married now. Everything would be better.

His eyes were rolling back, his body seizing in convulsion.

“Aegon!”

He was shuddering, his fingers gripping her sleeve so tight the delicate material tore.

“No no no, I love you, Aegon stay here stay with me you promised you wouldn’t leave me stay, Aegon, stay.”

The gasping stopped. He went still.

Abby screamed.

Aegon and Abrogail will return in The Princess and the Dragon Knight

And we made it! You all made it! And it's going to be okay! This is a Fix It Trilogy with a Happy Ever After but damn, it's gonna take our kids some work!

Thank you all for reading, for your encouraging comments, for your support, discussions, and investment in this story and journey with me. I treasure you all, silent or otherwise, but know that I would love to hear from you.

Keep a lookout later this year as I'll be doing a giveaway for a handbound copy of this first installment <3

Reblogs are how tumblr works! If you enjoyed this story, please reblog! I always read your tags and my askbox is open!

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writella · 1 day ago

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hi writella!! i love your writing sm <3

Is there anyway you could do a pervy!daryl or stepdad!daryl x reader?? or maybe a pervy!negan or stepdad!negan x reader??

💗💗💗

Hi and thank you!!!! I’ll do some perv!daryl headcanons for now. And if you’d like me to do negan, just ask again, but also read this Negan headcanon I wrote because I think it also gives “pervy” vibes since he’s daydreaming about the reader.

Here are some perv!daryl + weird boyfriend!daryl headcanons:

- Okay, so to start, I believe Daryl is more of a freak in his mind than in reality– there are some things he’d only ever do or reveal once he felt very comfortable and accepted in his relationship.

- This is because he’s a late bloomer and it takes him a long time to open up— we all know this.

- But it’s also because he would always be very concerned with treating you right; trying to be very gentle and caring even though he’s extremely awkward, doesn’t know his strength, and doesn’t see himself as a gentleman type like his friends, etc, etc… so he’s always trying to be good to/for you, but here are some things he would do if he 100% acted on the weirder parts of his mind:

-If this is before you started dating, everything would be very secret, with lots of daydreaming:

- Listening in while you masturbate when you think you’re home alone, of course; Stealing panties from your drawers or laundry bag, of course; Smelling them or going in the closet to smell the center of your jeans to see if your scent is there too, of course... basic stuff.

- Moving on, the first time you’re on the back of his bike, he tells you that it’s dangerous if you don’t hold on tight and lean into him, so you’re basically squeezing his waist with your core riding up on his lower back and ass, and he always tells you to move in more from time to time so he can feel the friction of you moving against him— even if just for a moment.

- He always wondered if it made you wet, and it did, but you’d never tell him. You thought you were the freak for thinking that while he was just trying to make sure you’re safe.

- Sometimes, when you have to go on his bike again, you’d do a little prayer, hoping it wouldn’t happen this time, and sometimes it doesn’t, but most of the time, it always does.

- And while you would go to the bathroom as soon as you got home to clean yourself and try not to think about it because Daryl was just the nice man who brought you home to Alexandria just a few months ago, he was jacking off in his room trying to remember exactly how your front felt against his back as if it were still happening.

- If you were dating someone else, he’d silently hate them and just daydream of you coming to him at night and telling him that they can’t satisfy you, and he fucks the daylights out of you instead.

- He also loves daydreaming about you needing to sleep next to him one night for whatever reason and he either hears you have a sex dream he needs to alleviate, or you are asking him to hold you because it’s cold and you keep moving and it just ends with you having sex, or him waking up to you stroking his dick through his pants and that ends with you bouncing on him, or you’re cuddling while sleeping in what he imagines and calls your “girly” pajamas, and he slides his thigh in between and out of nowhere you start grinding on it. Literally, anything that has to do with you looking all clean and cute and fucking in bed is all he thinks about when he’s either going to sleep or waking up in the morning.

- He also fantasizes about eating you out on your period. He’s never done it before and wants to so bad.

- One time you wrote him a letter to say thank you for bringing you here and giving you a home, saying how “I owe everything to you and if you ever need me, I’ll always be there for you,” and of course that became one of his favorite things to read to masturbate.

- Also, if you liked women as well, I think he would just be into the fact that you like pussy or that you’ve eaten pussy before, and the thought makes him super hard.

- He imagines he’d have a threesome with you and a woman but only if you really wanted to. He’d most likely just ended up pleasing you though. That’s really all he wants, to see you satisfied, that’s the part of the fantasy that really gets him off, seeing you happy and seeing a part of your true self he hasn’t seen before.

- Now, after you two start dating:

- Daryl would ask you not to flush the toilet after you go to the bathroom just because he wants to smell it– he never tells you that part, though. He finds all your smells extremely intoxicating for some reason.

- You’re always just confused, but you’ve come to terms with the fact that you have a weird boyfriend. I mean, he showers weekly, not daily— he only does so daily when you tell him to, especially if he plans on sleeping in your bed that night— he collects random rocks and knows the names for all of them, has random animal teeth in his pocket, barley talks, is a starer, one time wore walker ears around his neck like a chain, and can shoot any animal, or person, if he needed to, straight in the head at nearly any distance. He could be quite unsettling to many people. You loved him though. And so did Rick and everyone in the group.

- But thank goodness they didn’t know some of the other things he does when alone.

- Like there was one time he just randomly sniffed your armpit, like a long ass inhale, during sex and you didn’t get why but you were too in the moment to question it. You just started laughing and then he started fucking you harder until you shut up because he got embarrassed.

- He really wants to do it again though, he just hasn’t yet. But he’s thought about it. More than once. He liked the smell. A lot.

- He also asked you to ride his arm (think of it as an alternative version of this story) because he knows a lot of people in town say he has nice arms and looks very strong so he feels confident about them and thinks you wetting his arm up with your slick is hot.

- Daryl somehow always knows when it's that time of the month. It honestly scares you how accurate he is. Again, another thing you’ve just decided to accept about your weird boyfriend.

- He’s always asking how your cramps are because if they’re bad he’s taking you to the bedroom and fucking you, and most importantly, eating you out.

- The first time it happens you’re absolutely shocked. Having sex on your period is one thing, but oral sex? You never knew someone could be into that, to desire the taste of your literal period blood, but here’s Daryl being as slobbery as ever, and even more of a mad dog honestly than when you’re not on your period.

- But there was something about him doing it, the way it happened so fast, how horny he was, that was just so fucking hot you simply couldn’t stop him when he took off your panties and dived in. You were so surprised by his forwardness and that’s another reason you could not resist him.

- You were moaning so loud; he had never heard you like that, but it just came over you and it made his confidence sky rocket. You didn’t even hear when Rick came in downstairs in the middle of it….. you were so embarrassed later, but it was one of the best heads Daryl had ever given you. That man was hungry for it.

- You told him it was very good and that you liked it, but you’ve never asked him to do it. At this point, you just always know it’s going to happen at least once when your period comes, and you just get secretly excited about it. You’ll never let him know. You want him to think he’s the weird one but in truth, you dream about any time he’s done it when he’s gone on a trip and he is just happy he finally gets to do what he always fantasized about and you didn’t think he was strange for it.

- One of the first times you had sex, Daryl pushed your panties to the side and fucked you while you were still wearing them. It was one of his favorites that he liked smelling from your drawer before you dated so he asked if he could keep them now and you were almost speechless as to why— especially because it’s hard to find good pairs in the post-apocalypse— but you just said yes because the sex was good, and because again, he was your weird boyfriend and you secretly liked that about him.

- Sometimes he’d put them back on you to fuck you the way he did the first time.

- If you think about it too hard it kind of grosses you out because you could only imagine how dirty they are— you knew he he probably never cleaned them— so you just try not to and just focus on the fact that stoic and grumpy mister Daryl is unabashedly grunting and groaning on top of you just how you like.

- Daryl hardly does his laundry— Carol is very kind, only because they’re best friends, and still helps him out with it when he actually gets around to wanting to clean it or doesn’t want to bother you that day— but one time he tells you he’s doing it and wants to help you out with yours. Once again, you are shocked, but you happily give it to him— one less chore for you so you take it.

- Little do you know he’s obviously sniffing all your panties and specifically looking for the ones that might be a little hard at the center so he can suck on them.

- God! These things are so much easier to do now that you’re a couple. He loves it. 😁

- Alt!timeline– If you were dating Rick instead of Daryl:

- Obviously, he’d like to listen in on Rick fucking you, making love to you, anything.

- And maybe he even kind of like and was turned on by the fact that it was Rick fucking you specifically. Something about it made him jealous in a way that he secretly liked. But he keeps that in the back of his mind and just focuses on your voice.

I know this is probably nothing to some of you but I’m Daryl’s good girl! I’m Lana Del Rey Ocean Blvd era! I can’t believe I thought of some of these. I feel like the girl in my last fic who felt dirty calling him daddy… excuse the crashout. :’)

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zae-heeyyy · 23 hours ago

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AAAAAAHHHHHH YEEESSS THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS

"None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him."

Sweet sweet boah, gotta go out of his way to make sure things are perfect, even his clothes 🥰

Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else?

This this this this this this this this. It is a VERY STRONG HC of mine that he'd never propose with a ring he stole from someone. He'd want something special for just the two of you ❤️

Hehehe his conversation with Hosea is so him. All the grunting and acting blasé.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance.

Oh Hosea, you'll be back with her sooner than you know. 😭😭😭

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

This whole interaction was so cute; I couldn't stop smiling! I love when the camp girls are added in to stories. They all have such unique relationships with Arthur, like little sisters, but they'd 100% be on board and happy and teasing just the way they were hahaha

*Sigh,* the whole scene at Montana Ford was so beautiful. Them wading in the water and all 🥰 He's the sweetest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

I literarily felt my heart shrivel up a little. Poor thing is so scarred, he didn't even think for a second that they'd be happy tears 😭

"You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss."

So romantic. Not a care in the world, just happy to be with each other. Got a little misty eyed there. 🥹

Well done, Cas! It was so nice to see your idea come to life! I absolutely loved the characterization of him, especially how his demeanor changed depending on who he was around -- kinda grumpy with the tailor, playing dumb with Hosea, a little more vulnerable with the women, and a stuttering love sick puppy with his love. As you might know, high honor Arthur has my heart, and I adore what you've done with him here, Thank you so much!

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

#red writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #high honor arthur morgan #fic rec

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anyamaris · 2 days ago

Text

Title: Antithesis

Pairing: Serial Killer!Hoseok x F!Reader

Summary: Your dream of seeing the glorious capital city has long been snuffed out as you find yourself outside the walls. Lawlessness and chaos reign as you find yourself imprisoned by the very people you thought you could trust. A fated encounter with a mysterious man sets you on a path that is much different than you ever could have imagined.

Word Count: 18742

Genre/Trope: Dystopian horror au-smut/angst

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: VERY heavy dark content trigger warning. This is a villain collab so read at your own risk. Adult language, vulgarity, blood, murder, captivity, dystopian themes, lawless society, graphic descriptions of torture and murder, allusions to a multitude of past traumas, mentions of human trafficking, very vague allusions to mistreatment of innocents (women and children), mentions of rebellion, reader is a bit of a masochist, unprotected sex, blood play, I mean he's a serial killer...obvious MDNI

A/N: This fic is my contribution to the Year of the Snake collab I was lucky enough to get an invite to! Thank you to @sanjoongie for including me and to all the other authors for this amazing and fun experience! I'd work with all of you again without hesitation.

Also, thank you so much to @pars-ley @frenchkisstheabyss @yoonguurt and @potatomountain for beta reading and helping me along the way, I couldn't have done this without you. @daemour is the genius behind the gorgeous banner as well. Thank you so much! And my always lovely @cafekitsune for the dividers.

I listened to alot of dark themed music for this, but especially Man On Fire by Ateez, it fits this Hoseok perfectly.

Consciousness permeates the deep black of sleep in the form of screams.

Wet, ripping noises cut through the fog.

Your head throbs in time with the steady thump of your heart, the desperate cries and pleading surrounding your entire being.

I’m too tired to beg anymore, you think.

So just stop.

Yet, the shrieks grow in volume, an almost eerie music blended with the low, soft humming beneath it all.

A soggy plop fills the room around you and the screams are cut off with harsh gasping.

I can’t-

Wait.

Your throat works as you slowly open your eyes to the truth.

I’m not the one screaming this time, your brain informs you.

It takes long moments for you to process the insanity playing out before your dry, bloodshot eyes.

The normally dark room is illuminated by a three legged lamp, acting as a spotlight.

The scene it’s currently lighting up defies logic, your brain unable to comprehend what it is that’s happening.

The long, lean form of what you assume is a man hovers over a larger form, his back to you.

Rivulets of liquid trickle from the blade gripped in his hand as he lowers it over and over.

“You FUCK-” the prone form cries out, then the knife descends again, coaxing out yet another scream.

What the hell was going on?

“Fuck you-” the large man, who you now recognize as your captor, screeches.

Throat tight, hands clenching, you can only watch with a numb fascination as this unknown man wreaks havoc on this disgusting monster.

Again, you think, as the blade plunges down.

Again, as an arc of blood paints the walls crimson.

AGAIN.

How is he still alive? You wonder, astonished at the weakening pleas.

“Just…kill….me….”

“Kill you? How boring.” the soft voice of the armed man fills the room around you.

Even in your starved and beaten state, you can’t help but admire the musical quality beneath the raspiness.

“Bastard.”

“Tch, such a mundane insult.”

The arm wielding the blade finally halts, the tall form crouching down to start working at something on the injured man.

You try to crane your neck to see what he’s doing, but his back is blocking your view.

Gurgles and moans echo within the room as you watch his back work, seemingly pulling something from the man.

“Fuck-” cuts through the disgusting noises, “Just…take…her then-”

“Her?” your savior halts his movements, and you can see him cock his head at the man he’s looking down at.

Time seems to still as the room goes quiet.

This is the moment that will stay with you until the day you take your last breath.

This moment.

As if in slow motion, his head slowly swivels around, following the gaze of the horrid man who's held you here for who knows how long.

Damp tendrils cling to his forehead, trickles of red coloring his face.

The gleam of his white teeth all the more prominent with the carnage painting his skin.

“Well, well, well…I didn’t know I had an audience…” he whispers as his dark eyes meet your own, “Seems I’m not the only monster in the house.” he hums melodically as he studies your form.

Hands bound behind your back, lying on your side, he scrutinizes the variety of cuts and bruises littering your body, eyes narrowing at each new discovery.

“Tch…how pathetic.” he whispers, the depth of his eyes seeming to take on new life as his smile fades.

“What’s that?” he asks, finally breaking the hold he has over you with his gaze as he turns back to the gurgling mess of a man before him.

I should be feeling fear, you think.

Terror at what this butcher is doing right before your eyes.

Yet, you can only watch gleefully as he yanks and tears at one of the horrible men who put you in your current situation.

Someone you once called “friend”.

Even if you die in the next few moments, you refuse to deny yourself the pleasure of listening to this monster’s screams and pleas.

Not once when you begged for mercy did they ever relent.

Elation thrums through you as his watery screams fill your ears in a heavenly song.

A harsh sound joins the chorus as your body jerks, straining to see the performance going on before you.

The unknown man’s head swivels back to you, eyes curious as a lopsided smile twitches his mouth.

It’s then that you realize that croaking laugh is your own.

The streets of this forsaken city were narrow, the nauseating scent of debris and rot pungent as the filth called humans brush past you.

Shaking off the haze of your vision, you choke down the bile threatening to rise up at the disgusting smells around you.

For all you knew, all you did was add to the stench.

Rubbing your chafed wrists, your eyes stay locked on the solitary figure ahead of you as he brushes past the bustle around him.

For some reason you can’t understand, the murderous deity that unlocked your cage and freed you simply walked away without a single word to you.

Perhaps it’s because he rescued you…perhaps it’s just the lack of having anywhere else to go, but here you are; following a man who just eviscerated a living being right in front of your eyes.

You blink as he turns down a narrow alley in the distance, breathing ragged as you rush to catch up.

You’re unsure what you hope to accomplish in trailing him, you had been lucky enough to not have become his second victim of the evening when he turned his back and walked out.

Rational thoughts don’t exist in this horrible world, you think, reaching out to steady yourself on the jagged rock wall of the alley as your head swims.

It’s a struggle just to keep your eyes open as you slowly make your way down the darkened path, straining to find a glimpse of that white jumpsuit.

The lack of dirty yellow street lights down the narrow alley doesn’t lend to accomplishing your goal, and you find yourself sinking to your knees on the wet pavement as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

Closing your eyes in agony, grimy liquid seeps into the fabric of your pants as your legs finally give, feeling the rush of the void coming to claim you.

Here it is, freed just to die in the streets-

You barely register the footsteps accompanied by the deep, weary sigh before everything goes black.

“Well…fuck.”

Your first sense of the afterlife is the sound of a soft humming fan, a cool breeze washing over you as sharp pain rips through your skull.

Confused, you wrench open your eyes, grateful for the dim light as you take in a deep, relieved breath.

Obviously, pain doesn’t exist in death, or so you hope-therefore, you must still be amongst the living.

Reaching down to push yourself up into a sitting position, you register the soft feel of the surface you’re resting on as you glance at your surroundings.

Rubbing your hand down the thigh of your pants, you are stunned to find them almost dry.

The memory of the fabric soaking through as you fell is pretty vivid in your mind, the knowledge that you should be shivering to death in a frigid, grungy alley making your head spin.

Swinging your legs off what appears to be a narrow cot, you push down the thin blanket that is covering you as your gaze brushes over the sparse room you’ve come to occupy.

Well, you aren’t chained up or incapacitated at all, so that is a good sign already.

The glow of a soft light is coming from the half open door across from you, and as your vision clears, you take in the crate perched next to the cot that the fan sits upon; the thick little throw rug that seems so out of place as your bare feet sink into its plushness.

For a moment, you just stare down as your toes wiggle in the soft fibers, blanking out as you take stock of the state of your feet.

What a strange thing to concentrate on, you think.

Their ragged appearance helps you focus, though, pondering things as you take stock of every cut and bruise.

Someone definitely brought you here, and while this looks like a cell of sorts, the open door goes against that idea of confinement.

Slowly drawing yourself back to reality from your wandering daze, you bring your hand up to your aching head.

Curiously, your fingertips brush over the rough surface of what seems to be a bandage, causing even more confusion to race through your mind.

Someone had come across you in that alley and had brought you back to a clean, quiet room.

Instead of assaulting you, or murdering you, they’d administered first aid as well.

What the fuck is going on? You ponder, inhaling deeply to calm yourself, then letting it out gently.

Curling your toes once more in the lush rug, you take a moment to listen to the noises surrounding you.

Or lack thereof.

Apart from the soft hum of the fan, you can’t hear anything but tranquil silence.

You lick your parched lips, ignoring the scowls from your stomach from hunger; lack of food isn't a new difficulty for you.

This silence is though.

Silence like this was eerie, almost deafening relative to the cacophony you are used to in your daily life.

Ignoring the variety of aches and pains from injuries you’ve long gotten used to, you make your way slowly to the door and whatever lies beyond it.

Tentatively, you peek through the opening momentarily before slowly opening it the rest of the way.

Confusion and relief wash through you simultaneously as you take stock of your surroundings.

The large open area is clean, sparsely furnished and void of any living creatures, two legged or more.

What appears to be an abandoned subway car sits across the room, drawing your gaze as you make your way into the huge space.

Glancing back, you notice that the door you’ve emerged from is one of two doors next to one another and the large area appears to be kind of like a common area.

Your feet make tiny little slap noises as you pad across the cold tile, avoiding the small areas that are carpeted as you don’t want to dirty them.

Whoever lives here seems to value their cleanliness and you aren’t going to tread upon their seeming kindness by not murdering you or worse.

With that thought, you take stock of your soiled and tattered clothing along with the lack of any footwear.

“Great.” you mutter, wiping your palms along your thighs just to frown at the way the dried mud flakes off.

Before you can process how to clean the little mess you just made, and eventually yourself, the door to the subway car creaks open with a metallic groan.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you recognize the man standing in the doorway staring back at you.

Freezing in place you can only gape, eyes wide, at the man who just a day ago was elbow deep in that scumbags entrails.

The murderer who tortured your captor and ex-friend until his screams finally faded into nothingness.

He looks much different without the bloodspattered white jumpsuit, wearing a dark hoodie and beanie and a normal pair of jeans.

Time seems to still as he studies you, his stoic face not giving away any emotion as you struggle to figure out what to say to him.

Swallowing heavily, you feel your cheeks heat as you finally sputter out, “I’m sorry about the mess….”

His eyes follow your hand as you gesture at your appearance, your clothing and the flakes of dirt on the floor before you, yet he gives you no reaction.

“There’s a shower over there,” he flicks his hand to your right, drawing your attention to a door leading to another room, “Food is in the fridge. You can find something to wear in the closet here.”

He jerks his thumb behind him, into the railcar he had emerged from.

You merely nod, a bewildering mess of emotions swirling within you.

You didn’t feel any fear in his presence, only the obvious wariness of the unknown and it confused you greatly.

This man had killed right before your eyes and seemed to enjoy it…yet he’d also saved your life twice and was now offering you the simple comfort of food and cleanliness.

“Clean yourself up, get your energy back. I’ll be out for a bit and I expect you to be gone when I get back.”

His words are terse, but not angry.

Clinical, simple, detached.

You hesitate, but then give him a single nod before he turns on his heel and leaves back through the door.

He wasn’t what you’d expected based on your first impression of him.

To be fair, he was elbow deep in entrails as he tortured your captor before snuffing his life out.

A few moments pass as you listen to his footsteps recede after another door opens and shuts, then you bring your hand up to touch your probably filthy face.

Gross, you think, finally finding your feet turning towards the prospect of a hot shower.

At least you hope it’s hot.

The room you find yourself in is completely tiled, both walls and floor, and there’s a drain in the center.

A partition leads to a sink and a toilet and you make quick use of both before taking one of the fresh towels from a small shelf before shedding your disgusting clothing and bandages before turning on the water.

After a moment you tentatively stick your hand into the flow of water and you sigh happily at the warmth.

Stepping into the glorious stream, you let out a shameless moan of pleasure as layers of caked on mud and filth begin to wash down the drain.

You almost revel in the way the hot water stings each and every little cut and bruise, reminding yourself that you’re safe and alive and that’s all that matters.

Spotting a little shelf with soaps and such, you set about cleansing yourself without any haste, wanting to prolong the inevitable.

Steam fills the room as you ponder what in the world you’re going to do when you leave here, given everything that has happened.

Prior to finding yourself in that cage, your life didn’t look so bleak.

Well…not as bleak as being told you’re going to be forced into paying your debts with your body.

Forcing down the anxiety that keeps trying to crawl up your throat, you focus on scrubbing yourself thoroughly.

It’s been ages since you’ve gotten a true shower, without disgusting calloused hands washing you, or their prying eyes gazing at you full of lustful thoughts.

When you’d decided to come to the city from your rural home, the last thing you expected was to be where you are now, running from the very people you called ‘friends’.

What kind of friends convince you that their ‘help’ is from a place of care, only to use basic human needs against you?

When they’d set you up with a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear you truly believed the best of them.

You’d trusted them, leaned on them naively and really thought despite the squalor of it all that you could make a life here.

It wasn’t the glamorous life that you’d been told about back in your childhood, it was nothing like what you’d read and dreamt of.

Yet, you found people you thought you could rely on.

Memories of the night you’d been awoken by them, yanked out of your tiny room to be told that it was time to pay up flit through your mind.

Tears prick your eyes to mix with the moisture in the air as you hum softly to yourself, trying to soothe away the terrible thoughts.

Lathering your hair, you find comfort in the way the soap streams down your face to sting your eyes.

It was better than hopeless tears that did nothing for you.

Pushing away the useless thoughts, you focus on cleansing each and every crevice as if it’s a sacred ritual before you sacrifice yourself to your fate.

By the time you’ve finished, the water is going tepid and you let out a soft sigh as you reach out to turn the water off.

Slowly, you grab a fluffy towel from a shelf and slowly dry yourself as you try to make your mind blank enough to enjoy these small moments before you have to leave.

Once you’ve dried your hair enough, you wrap the towel around yourself and make your way out to the main area.

Picking through the tangles, you go over to the door that leads into the area the man had said clothing could be found.

Opening the heavy door, you step into a long room furnished with shelves and a large closet at the end.

There’s a desk at the other end, with a computer and some technological devices you don’t recognize.

It’s not abnormal, given your upbringing in the country, there are many things you haven't seen before coming to the city.

Ignoring the unknown items, and not wanting to snoop in someone else's space, you head to the closet and open it up to find a neat array of clothing stacked and hung.

You take a moment to admire how meticulous and neat this man is, in such opposition to how you first viewed him, kneeling and covered in your captor’s entrails.

Shaking away the memory, you reach out to touch various items, finally settling on a soft pair of jogging pants and a black tshirt.

Hopefully it fits, you think, dropping the towel to pull on the clothing.

The pants easily slide over your once well shaped ass, drawing a frown from you.

You’d lost weight from being starved and while you never cared too much about your body, it was obvious that prior to coming here that these pants may not have fit.

Shrugging the thought off, you toss on the shirt, lamenting the loss of undergarments.

There was no way you were putting back on the filthy torn panties or remnants of a bra that now lie in the bathroom.

On that note, you rush back to clean up your mess, too thankful for your host’s hospitality to leave any mess in your wake.

After a bit of rummaging, you find a small trash bag to dispose of your old clothing, vowing to return these clothes once you’ve made it safely somewhere you can start over.

Your stomach rumbles loudly as you tie off the bag and set it near the door to take with you when you leave.

“Right…food…” you hum after returning to make sure the shower area is cleaned out.

A small fridge sits in a small kitchen area in one corner of the room, and you smile softly as you peer inside.

Everything is so neat and orderly, just like everything else in here.

You grab the closest thing to your outstretched hand, grasping something cylindrical and closing the fridge before making your way to the little table nearby.

Unwrapping it, you don’t even hesitate before taking a large bite, eyes closing as the taste of spices, meat and veggies wash over your palate.

It has been ages since you’ve been able to enjoy the simple act of eating, bathing, just breathing freely and you find yourself wiping at your eyes as you make your way through the wrap.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish the meal, sniffling a bit as you clean up and finally look around the place your savior calls home.

It was a very simple living space that was uncluttered, neat and clean.

In your mind, the most lavish homes described in the books you’ve read can’t compare to how safe and secure this place makes you feel right now.

It was going to be horrible to leave this behind.

Swallowing heavily, you drag your feet as you venture back into the room you’d awoken in, making the bed and checking to make sure you haven't left anything out of place.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t do much about your filthy state before you bathed, but you didn’t want to take too many liberties with trying to strip the sheets or anything.

You have a suspicion that the kind killer that brought you here isn’t going to want you snooping around, even if it is for the purpose of trying to launder some dirty bedding.

You make a point to take a cloth near the sink over to wipe up the dried mud you’d trickled onto the floor before disposing of it.

Hesitantly, you eye the door leading back into the long room, and to the door that leads out of this sanctuary.

“It’s okay, it’ll be fine.” you self soothe, rubbing your palms over your thighs as you linger a moment longer.

Gathering your courage, you suck in a breath and walk decisively to the door, grabbing the bag with your old clothing as you make your way out.

Thrusting open the outside door, your breath catches as you realize that it’s not a door to the outside.

You stare at the abandoned subway station platform, pillars casting shadows as far as you can see down each side before terminating in a dark stairway upwards to the horrible streets above.

Your heart thrums in your throat as you contemplate what awaits you.

Vision swimming, you suddenly sway on your feet, hand still clamped onto the door handle as ringing in your ears threatens to overwhelm and deafen you.

A strangled cry erupts from your throat as you stumble, doing your best to steady yourself against the doorframe before you’re bolting back into the living area.

You barely register the heavy slam of the door as you rush back inside, dropping the trash bag as you find the nearest corner to slump down in a heap.

Closing your eyes, you bury your face in your hands as you do your best to hold back panicked tears.

You know you need to leave but…

You’d almost rather suffer an unknown fate from the man who resides here than return to the streets above.

You have no idea how much time has gone by when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing once more.

Your body aches from being curled up tightly on the floor, trying to force yourself to get up and leave yet being unable to.

The thunk of the inner door sounds, then the sound of footsteps coming closer before halting nearby.

“Tch...I thought I told you to leave?”

His raspy voice greets your ears, and you finally raise your head and remove your hands to peek up at him.

Taking a deep breath, you try to muster your thoughts, glancing towards the exit before settling your eyes back on him.

His dark eyes study you, but you sense no malice in them as he takes stock of your state.

He crouches down beside you, tilting his head at you without saying another word.

Hesitantly, you try to wet your chapped lips, frantically searching for a way to respond.

“I…I tried…” you whisper, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears.

His lips twitch down into a deeper frown as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You tried? Interesting.” He says, his eyes lingering on your bare, injured feet, “I’d think a captive little bird would want to fly away at her first chance.”

Letting out a resigned sigh he pushes himself back to his full height, towering over you as he seems to ponder what to do.

“Thank you for the food and the shower and-” You start to ramble, desperate to convey your gratitude for everything he’s allowed so far.

He hums and waves off your stuttering thanks, glancing around at the state of the space.

“At least you’ve cleaned up after yourself.” He says, toeing the trash bag filled with your discarded clothing.

You can only stare up at him as he looks around, then settles those curious eyes back on you.

“One night.” He all but growls out, holding up a finger to punctuate his words.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the offer.

“One night, then you’re gone. Don’t make a mess. Don’t touch what you shouldn’t.”

Eagerly, you nod at him, scrambling to your feet as he speaks.

A brief respite before the inevitable yet any time you can put between you and the real world is gladly accepted.

You lean over to grab your bag of soiled clothing, clutching it to your chest before rushing to the door of the room you’d awoken in.

His soft yet stern voice halts you before you can hide away.

“And one more thing, little bird.”

You turn to stare at him, ignoring the way your hands shake at his tone.

“If you don’t leave tomorrow…I’ll kill you.”

There’s a weight to his words that freezes your tongue momentarily, only allowing you to nod briefly before giving him a small smile.

His face is stoic, yet there’s a glint to his eyes that tells you he’s not making an idle threat.

“Thank you.” is all you say, turning with tears in your eyes before retreating into the little room you’ve already come to cherish.

Hoseok just stares as you disappear into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

“Thank you?” he grumbles, shaking his head in confusion.

What a strange creature, he thinks, heaving out a weary sigh as he turns to grab some food.

When he’d gotten the alert earlier on his watch that the outer door had been breached, he’d been certain that you’d left and he wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.

Yet, there you were, crouched in a corner like a broken animal.

He’s witnessed this city breaking some of the hardest hearts, and here you were, invading his private world like a wounded dove with a broken wing.

People like you didn’t belong here, and the sooner he could chase you out, the better.

Fighting against the pity he feels when he comes across your kind, he focuses on eating then heading into his makeshift office to check in with the others.

The last thing he needs is some innocent, fragile bystander getting in the way of the bigger objective.

She’ll be gone tomorrow, he thinks, sparing one last glance back at his bedroom before returning to his routine.

After waking from a long, restful sleep, you go through the motions to leave.

Trying to psych yourself up, you barely make it to the outer door before rushing back in once again.

“Looks like I’ve chosen death.” You whine to the empty room as you force yourself out of the corner you find yourself in yet again.

Trying to shake off the anxiety lingering from the prospect of going back home, you find yourself looking around a bit more.

He said don’t touch what I shouldn’t, you remember, poking around a bit.

Certainly he wasn’t implying everyday things within his home.

You aren’t disrespectful enough to go opening drawers and snooping, but you do take stock of things that are on display.

Not that it’s much; he seems to live fairly simply.

There’s a couch and a chair in the common area, and the kitchenette area is clean and neat.

It’s such a stark contrast to what you’re used to.

Your own rented room is barely the size of a closet, you think idly as you wander into the bathroom area to clean up a bit.

By the time you finish washing up, you find yourself eyeing the door that leads into the subway car.

“I’m not going to touch anything, just look around.” you say out loud, as if asking for permission from the air around you.

Hesitating for only a moment, you open the heavy door and step into the room.

It appears that he’s converted the car into an office area of sorts; the area where you’d gotten the clothes has a very organized area for shoes, clothing, supplies and storage.

It’s the other end that makes you realize this is likely what he was referring to.

You still have no idea what they are for, nor do you plan on going any closer to figure it out.

What makes you curious though is that he’s obviously set himself up below ground, in this abandoned area yet he has equipment that looks as if it’s not easy to come by.

Mind your business, you chastise yourself, turning to go back inside.

There’s no reason to cross any lines here.

Besides, you need to steel yourself and attempt to finally leave.

Just the thought has you almost spiralling back into a panic attack, and you close your eyes and breath slow and deep.

This is definitely not the life you had planned for yourself.

Back in what you used to call home, the books you’d grown up reading had spoken of the iconic city life and the luxuries that were abundant if you were only able to get there.

It had glossed over the fact that it was basically impossible to get inside the city walls.

These writings had omitted how the world that went on outside this utopian city was filled with lawlessness and chaos.

Your naivety had driven you to leaving behind the tiny, simple world you’d known up to that point into a nightmare of violence, fear and anarchy.

You can only mourn the innocence you once possessed before your world was upended by coming here.

It has been only a year, you think, yet how different I am from that horribly gullible girl.

You could make silly wishes about doing things differently, if only you had the chance; yet deep down you know that it’s just the way it is.

Never meeting the group of people you’d once called friends wouldn’t matter as you know inherently that everyone you may have fallen victim to would be the same.

Your heart still pangs at how easily you’d trusted.

At least back on the farm with the other orphans you had people who were like you.

Unfortunately you fear that you’re becoming more and more like the hollow husks of people you live amongst now.

Why in the world would you ever want to leave this safe haven you’ve stumbled into?

The moment you begin to think of the man who’d brought you here, it’s as if you’ve summoned him.

Your stomach drops as you hear the sound of the outer door opening.

Would he follow through and kill you?

Honestly, that scares you far less than the fate you’d suffer outside of here.

The inner door opens and you’re instantly struck by his sharp gaze as his eyes meet yours.

He’s wearing a dark jumpsuit this time, but the fine blood spatter on his face alludes to what the darker patches are on his clothing.

Yet, you can’t help but ogle his unique good looks.

Of course I’m crushing on a murderer, you think grimly, I’m that fucked up.

He pauses, tongue in cheek as he studies you, tilting his head as if observing a specimen.

You have to remind yourself to breathe as he finally moves, making his way over to set down a bag he’s carrying.

“You don’t listen well.” He finally says, back to you as he goes into the kitchenette area to wash his hands.

You take a moment to think about your response, wondering if they might be your last words.

Honestly, for some reason, you didn’t feel terror or regret.

At least I can look at his handsome face as he eviscerates me.

Pushing away your dark, twisted fantasies, you mentally slap yourself and finally answer him.

“I don’t. I…” you start, but find yourself fumbling for a valid reason.

At least one that could spare you another day.

He turns and takes stock of you, looking you up and down before just clucking his tongue and giving you a small shrug.

“You’re lucky I don’t like making a mess in my own home. Just stay out of my way.” he tells you, giving you a stern look before he’s walking past you into the bathroom.

As the door shuts, you breathe out a sigh of relief and retreat into the bedroom, eager to not squander the time he’s given you.

Tomorrow, for sure.

For a week, the days play out much the same.

You attempt to leave, you have a panic attack, you hug the corner you’ve now come to call your home.

In an interesting twist, the man has provided food, tossing a bag at you each day he’s come back.

He’s stopped threatening you, seeming to begrudgingly be giving you the time you need to leave on your own.

You’ve made it a point to clean up after yourself, of course, even going so far as to deep clean the areas you make use of.

Life is pretty boring yet that in and of itself is a relief.

It’s much better than the living above, running errands and trying to make any kind of earnings only to be locked in a cage and told you’re going to be sold for your body.

He’s even left what seems to be his own clothing daily in the bathroom for you, and he’d even shown you a small little area behind the kitchen area that housed a laundry room.

How the hell does this man have so much and how did he even get it in here?

Those are questions you leave unasked for the time being, not wanting to push it.

He’s already done so much for you.

There is one question you need to ask, even if he refuses to answer you.

You tentatively approach him one evening as he sits on the couch, fiddling with your hands as he turns to eye you, seeming to sense your presence.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice raspy and tired.

You wonder offhandedly what he does when he goes out.

Besides the whole cutting people up part of course.

Clearing your throat, you take a breath and finally ask.

“What is your name?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, frowning in thought as he studies you.

He’s not going to tell me-

“Hoseok. My name is Hoseok.” He says easily, turning back to type on his phone.

“Hoseok.” You repeat, appreciating the name.

The silence stretches as you ponder what other little things he may be willing to answer before you feel him staring at you.

“Interesting…and here I thought you’d offer me your name even if I didn’t ask, little bird.” He muses, tilting his head in curiosity at you.

“Oh…I-” you begin, yet stop yourself, shaking your head.

Thoughts of the woman you used to be has you answering honestly.

“I don’t want to use that name anymore. I...there are things I want to leave behind.” You finally answer.

He just hums, then nods slightly as if in thought.

“Fair enough…it’s not as if you’ll be sticking around for me to use it.” he says, returning to looking at his phone.

He’s right, you think.

“I don’t mind ‘little bird’ though.” You tell him, drawing his attention again.

“Also, I wanted to thank you for being so kind-”

He makes an almost disgusted sound in his throat, shaking his head and motioning for you to stop talking.

“Don’t pull that ‘you’re my savior’ bullshit on me. You can’t be delusional enough to think I’m anything but another monster in a sea of monstrosities. Just don’t get in my way.”

His words seem harsh, and you recognize their objective truth, yet you still are beyond grateful to him.

Perhaps it’s remnants of your once trusting nature, perhaps it’s that small glimmer of hope that not everyone in this disgusting world is an uncaring beast.

You just silently agree, wandering off to make yourself scarce but you can’t help the little smile that curls your lips.

“Fuck, don’t you get bored?” Hoseok asks, plopping down his bag as he spots you cleaning in the kitchen.

The only thing helping you keep time with the days passing is his coming and going, and at this point you’ve been lingering here nearing two weeks.

You turn to look at him, using your forearm to wipe at your nose.

Tonight he’d chosen the white jumpsuit and you take a moment to admire the artful pattern of crimson he has spattered all over himself.

Pushing away how fucked up that thought is, you just shrug.

“I used to read all the time, when I was back home.” you respond, finding yourself thinking back on the days spent losing yourself to colorful stories and imagining what the world was like.

He lingers at your words, watching you quietly as you continue.

“I grew up on a farm, lots of orphaned kids who worked the land. It was pretty boring outside of the daily chores...I wasn’t aware of how hard it is to actually come by books. One of our overseers had a small library and I would sneak them out sometimes.” you ramble, reminiscing.

He doesn’t encourage you to continue, yet he doesn’t stop you nor does he walk away.

Taking that as a cue, you just go back to cleaning the counter as you talk.

“It’s funny, though, the way they portray the city. I came here thinking that it was a wondrous and glamorous world, so much better than life in the country. I suppose it still could be inside. They don’t go into what it’s like on the outskirts.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you look over at him in curiosity.

“Just because something is glamorous doesn’t mean it’s not rotten to its very core. You’d be surprised at how pretty the most rotten fruit can be.”

He seems to catch himself after he speaks, huffing in annoyance as he turns and leaves the room to go into the subway car.

You ponder his words, wondering what he knows about it.

You don’t mean to eavesdrop on Hoseok, yet it seems he’s slowly lowering his guard around you; that or he just doesn’t care about you listening.

On occasion, you’ve overheard him speaking to someone as you go about trying to stay out of his way.

Or a number of someones, you think, picking up what appear to be names here and there.

Joon, Yoongi, Tae-something…each time you hear him speaking, you catch a hint of them making some kind of plans.

For some reason, you’d assumed by his reserved nature that he functioned alone, yet apparently he has contacts of some sort.

You do your best to retreat either into the room or into the bathroom to shower at these points.

There’s no reason to give him the impression that you’re nosy; until you can muster the courage to leave, you want to do your best to be non intrusive.

He could still end up killing you in the end, waiting until you’ve left only to follow you and kill you away from his sacred space.

It only gives me even more reason to stay.

“What’s this?” you ask, eyeing the box Hoseok pushes into your arms one day.

He looks away, not meeting your eyes as he shrugs and answers, “Sick of you wearing my clothes. Just some shit I found.”

You watch him as he wanders off, unable to conceal the way your heart leaps into your throat.

Gradually, he’s seemed less annoyed at your ongoing presence; even if it is delusion, you’ve started to fool yourself into thinking that maybe he’s even come to enjoy seeing you.

As much as his forever humourless face can depict any happiness.

Rushing off to the room, you gleefully pick through the contents, cooing over the items within.

They're nothing fancy but the clothing is wearable and there are even undergarments within that appear to be new. Cheap, but unworn.

Folding them as if they’re the finest silk, you place them aside and continue to look through the box.

There’s even a dress within; a cute little spring green dress with a black bow.

It reminds you of the vibrant grasslands back home.

Quite opposite of the dingy browns and greys of this grimy city.

Smiling, you set about folding each item reverently before picking out a pair of pants and shirt, scurrying off to shower and change.

You don’t notice the pair of eyes following you, softening at your apparent delight before he’s disappearing into his office.

Every day that passes, you linger longer.

Every night that you don’t leave, Hoseok seems to accept your presence even more.

Your interactions are short, simple yet you’ve found yourself talking to him more openly.

He rarely shares anything, but he never stops you from chattering at him.

It’s been almost a month now.

Since when did it become less about fear and more reluctance? You think, slipping out of the bed you’ve come to start calling your own.

Less and less do you find yourself afraid of going back to your old life.

Your attempts to leave are failing simply because you long to stay.

That was a dangerous prospect, you ponder, yawning as you open the door to the room.

Your foot connects with something on the ground and you halt, frowning as you look down to see what you almost kicked.

A small tattered book lay on the floor, looking as if it had been propped against the door before you opened it.

Your heart pitter patters as you kneel down to pick it up, barely noting the slight tremble of your hands.

Studying the cover, you smile at the faded picture, then turn it over in awe.

A book.

He’d gotten you a book.

It doesn’t even matter what it’s about, you think as your throat closes and your eyes sting with grateful tears.

“I don’t know how you can stay here, without being bored.” He’d said multiple times at this point.

He remembered.

He remembered the conversation about how you used to love to read.

Books are so hard to come by in this place…the last time you’d been able to actually read a book was long before you’d made your journey here.

Clutching it tightly to your chest, you stand slowly and wander into the little sitting area in a daze.

Settling yourself onto the couch, you just take some time to admire the gift he’s left for you with open appreciation.

You can feel your cheeks heating and you place your palm against one side of your face as you realize that you’re blushing.

Oh no, you think, shock coursing through you.

Am I…falling for him?

Physically, you recognize his attractiveness despite how he tries to cover himself with baggy clothing and his shaggy hair covering his face.

Yet, you know all too well what it means to trust someone with your emotions.

Still, he has given you shelter and has saved your life more than you could ever repay.

The internal war going on right now isn’t good for your anxiety, so you refocus on the precious gift.

Realizing that he may come back at any time, you decide to try to do something for him in return.

Placing the book ever so delicately on the makeshift table in front of you, you can’t help but smile happily as you head into the kitchen.

He’s always bringing home bags of food from his delivery job, so-

Home?

You blink in terror at how your mind has twisted itself so easily into never leaving this place.

Staying.

Forget it, I’ll leave soon enough.

For now, just focus on making something nice for him.

Your cooking skills have always been above average, it’s one of the few things you’ve always taken pride in.

Growing up in the countryside on a farm, you definitely know your way around animals and gardens.

You halt, turning on your heel to rush into your room, rummaging through the box of clothing he’d brought to you and fishing out a dress from the pile.

You push away the thoughts fighting against this decision, and quickly change into it before heading back into the kitchen.

It’s just a cute little green dress with a bow.

Just another piece of clothing, nothing special.

Sure, of course, you think, shaking your head as you set back to your task.

Gathering what items he has within his pantry and fridge, you turn to pull a large kitchen knife out of a knife block.

“Ohhh…” you murmur, admiring the glinting blade.

Of course all of his sharp objects are honed to perfection, smiling at the thought.

You return to your humming as you set to preparing the ingredients for your meal.

Not long after you start, you hear the tell tale sign of the door opening and closing, signalling Hoseok’s return.

You take your time finishing the current vegetable, a simple green onion, before turning to see what he’s doing.

Hoseok just stands looking at you, his face unreadable as he stares.

A moment of panic threatens to overwhelm you before you gather your best smile for him.

“I hope it’s alright...I wanted to make a meal for once. I promise I won’t burn anything or make a huge mess. I’ll clean up as I go and it’ll look…perfectly…”

Your rambling trails off as he slowly makes his way into the little kitchen next to you.

“You can cook?” He asks, eyeing the neatly chopped onion that you just finished working on.

Your heart lurches at his curiosity, elated that he’s interested and not threatening to kill you for staying yet again.

You just nod as you push the onion to the side, grabbing a carrot as he watches.

He looks so good, you think idly as you try not to stare at him.

Why am I suddenly so nervous near him? You wonder, unable to help glancing at him from the corner of your eye as you start cutting.

“I used to cook all the time before I came to this city…” you tell him, finding yourself rambling on about the mundane life of a farm girl.

He slowly slips around the little counter, seating himself on a stool as he watches and you find yourself just talking to distract yourself from your inner thoughts.

Yet, they just keep breaking through even as you speak faster, scrambling to distract yourself.

How the tendrils of his hair brush against his cheek, the bow of his lips curve downward, his dark eyes fixated on you as if he’s hanging on every word.

Swallowing heavily, you shake yourself out of those kinds of thoughts and turn the conversation to something more important.

“Thank you.” you tell him, the heat creeping up your neck from showing as you duck your head a bit while you prep.

At his curious head tilt, you rush on.

“For the book. I…it’s been so long since I have even been able to hold one, and you…remembered that I mentioned…”

You shrug a shoulder as you fumble for the right words.

“And the clothing...I mean, I know you don’t really want me here, and you don’t want me to wear your clothing and I know I’m sleeping in your bed and I’ve been nothing but-”

Your stammering just makes the heat flare up in your cheeks even more, and you wince at how stupid you likely sound.

Your hand seems to move on its own as you try not to panic.

It was just supposed to be a simple thank you-

Then it happens.

You’re unsure what caused it, whether it was how silly you sound, or how ridiculous you look panicking and trying to distract yourself.

Hoseok is smiling at you.

Your heart seems to drop out of this universe into oblivion as your entire being turns inside out.

You can feel your entire body tense at the sight, his already handsome face lit up brightly with one of the more gorgeous smiles you’ve ever been witness to.

The transformation is so insanely drastic that you lose track of what your hands are doing and you feel the knife start to slip from your grip.

Without thinking, you scramble to grab it with your other hand, resulting in the stinging pain of the sharp blade against your inner palm.

“Oh fuck-” you gasp, stunned as it clatters to the counter, blood welling up quickly and rushing from the wound to drip onto the counter before you can cover it with your other hand.

The sound of the stool crashing to the ground startles you from your shock, then Hoseok is beside you, grabbing your wrist as crimson wells up through your fingers.

“”Sorry, oh no-I’m so sorry, I made a mess, I will clean it-”

“Shut up. Calm down.” He all but growls, his eyes locked onto your clasped hands.

“Alright.” You say tightly, heart beating in time with the pulsing in your hand.

You’re more concerned over upsetting him than you are any pain right now.

Did you just fuck up so badly that he will really force you out this time? You worry, feeling your entire body start to shake.

It’s enough to distract you from just how close he is, how he’s touching you right now.

“You’re going to get it on your dress…shit…” he hums, slowly prying your hands apart.

You can only stand still as he looks your palm over, getting his own hands sticky with your blood without any hesitation.

“I ruined the food-” you say softly, sadly looking at the carefully cut veggies that are now splashed in red.

“Why are you worrying over the fucking food when you’re hurt?” Hoseok snaps, yanking your wrist to turn you towards him, pulling you closer to stare into your eyes.

Blinking at him, even in his apparent anger and concern, you can’t help but admire him.

Fuck he’s so gorgeous.

What is wrong with you? You chastise yourself, even as you revel in how close you are to one another.

“I wanted to thank you by doing something nice, and I only made a mess.” You whisper, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him.

His eyes drift from yours to your wounded palm, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he loosens his grip.

You immediately think he’s going to release you and push you away, but instead he slips his bloodied fingers into your hand, teasing at the injury.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice low and rough as he lightly traces the lines of your palm with his fingertip.

Dizziness threatens to overwhelm you as your entire body heats from his touch as the pain radiates right down between your thighs.

He seems to notice the momentary swaying as he slips his arm around you, tugging you flush against him without taking his eyes from your hand.

“No.” you finally answer, tightening your thighs together as the press of your bodies give away something you never expected.

Hoseok is hard.

Your body reacts instantly by pressing closer to him before you can think clearly, distracted by the deep need blooming within you.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he shudders, and before you can recover from that, he’s bringing his finger to his mouth.

“Oh god-” You blurt out, clenching so abruptly that you’re grateful for his arm around you or you swear you’d be falling over.

All of your senses rocket into overdrive at this, breath hitching as you slip your free hand up behind his neck.

Finally his gaze flicks back up to your face, his eyes gleaming brightly as he licks the blood from his fingertips.

The sight of his eyes darkening from the taste, his erection pressed against you and throbbing, your blood staining his bottom lip as he sucks on his fingers…

You throw all rational thought out the window and allow your more base desires to take over.

Not taking your eyes from his, you force your injured hand between your bodies, and into the front of his pants.

You’re grateful that he’s wearing something loose as you bloody his naked lower stomach, eagerly seeking his cock.

An almost animalistic noise forces its way out of him as your wet sticky hand finally encircles his dick, immediately stroking along the length.

“Fucking hell-” He growls, thrusting eagerly into your hand.

The motion brings forth more hot blood, coating his cock and stinging your wound.

Your panties soak through in the confusion of pleasure and pain, causing you to moan loudly at the sensation.

“Goddamnit-” Hoseok rasps, turning and lifting you onto the counter and forcing your legs open.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he pushes down his pants, exposing the crimson mess of his cock you jerk him off.

He lets out a guttural groan and you can feel him throbbing in your hand as he pushes your thighs further apart.

The sounds of your combined heavy breathing, moans and cries fill the room as he yanks your panties to the side, his eyes frantically flitting between your face, his bloodied cock and your exposed pussy.

His breathing hitches as the motion of his hips stutters at the sight and without thinking, you slide your hand around his neck to wrap your fingers around his throat.

“Come-” You command, and a string of curses greet your pleas before he’s gripping your hips and crying out as he bursts all over you in a hot flood.

Your motions don’t stop even as his entire body begins to shake from the sensation, basking in the feeling of him coming all over you in spurts of white.

Your grip on his throat loosens as his shaky breathing starts to slow, his eyes hooding over as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours.

A moment ticks by, then another as you both hover in the aftermath.

Before you can say another word, Hoseok seems to come to his senses, pushing away from you abruptly.

“What the fuck-” He stumbles back, and you’re momentarily distracted by the red stain your hand left on his throat.

“Hoseok-?” You ask in bewilderment, the sudden shift in the mood startling you.

“Why…what the fuck….?!” He snaps, bending to yank up his pants, eyes wild as he looks at you.

A pang in your chest threatens to suffocate you at his reaction, rationality finally returning as he hastily turns and rushes out.

The sounds of the doors slamming mark his exit, and you’re left seated on the counter, legs spread wide, covered in a mess of sticky come and blood and shaking from this senseless lust.

You feel the tears wet your cheeks before you realize that you’re crying, reaching up to brush them away, only to leave behind a sticky mess of blood in your hand’s wake.

What the hell did you just do?

What happened?

A flood of emotions crashes into you all at once; disgust at your actions, humiliation at his reaction to you, shame threatening to drown you in all of it.

You slip off the counter, lower lip quivering as you feel your legs wobble beneath the sudden weight.

Steadying yourself, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, mind racing at what to do.

You didn’t expect any of this, you only wanted to thank him.

Yet all you did was act like a common whore, letting lust get the better of you and ruining everything.

Tugging down the hem of your dress, you grit your teeth and try to bite back the tears that threaten to overwhelm you.

Right now, you have to do the right thing and get the hell out of here.

Forget the mess you’re leaving behind, all you can think of is fleeing right now, getting as far away as possible.

There’s no way you can face him when he comes back.

This time, it's your fault and the disgust you feel at yourself right now is more powerful than any fear.

You blindly make your way out the doors, finally stepping onto the platform and letting the door close behind you.

Panting heavily, Hoseok finally gets his wits together enough to look around at his surroundings.

He rests a hand against a crumbling brick wall, glancing around the dimly lit alley he’s currently standing in.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he leans over and closes his eyes to collect his racing thoughts.

An overhead light hums as it flickers on and off, the cacophony of people and vehicles from the main drag almost comforting at this point.

At least it’s something normal, he thinks as he blows out a harsh breath.

“Fuck.” He curses, balling his hand into a fist and hitting the wall.

He’s not sure what is pissing him off more; that his emotions are so twisted he can’t get ahold of them, or the fact that he bolted immediately after…that.

He isn’t a stranger to physical exchanges, but that’s all they ever are.

A means to an end, a quick nut, then moving on.

It was never anything like what he’d just experienced with you.

Not even burying his blade into the gut of someone inconvenient had ever given him the rush he’d felt with you spread out before him, the delicious noises you were making from just touching him, your bloody hand coating his-

“FUCK!” he shouts, startling some kind of rodent living amongst the trash down the alley.

Normally he wouldn’t be lingering in such a disgusting place but he isn’t in his right mind at the moment.

A flash of your crestfallen face causes him to sink into a crouch and tug at his hair wildly.

Why did he just run out like that?

He can still smell the coppery scent of you on him, his hands tacky with your dried blood.

He stares down at them, flexing them open and closed as he tries to figure out why the urge to scrub it off isn’t overwhelming him right now.

A shudder rushes through him as he raises his hand to trace where your fingers squeezed his throat, his cock stiff and throbbing already at the recollection.

He’s always in control.

Always.

Except with you.

He’d lost complete control of himself, submitting to his desires…giving in to you.

Impossibly he didn’t loathe it at all and that shakes him to his very core.

He’s suddenly brought out of his spiral by the chime of his watch, indicating that his outer door has been breached.

Spitting out a string of obscenities, he quickly rises to his feet, hand dropping unconsciously to squeeze his crotch to quell the ache.

Surely, you just tried to leave again but probably panicked.

The idea of you crouching in that corner, fear forcing you to make yourself small has his feet moving before he even comprehends what he’s doing.

Certainly, you haven’t left.

Yet with each step, doubt creeps down his spine and before he knows it, he’s all but running back home.

You’re gone.

You’d actually left.

He halts, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes stock of the empty bunker.

The ruined remnants of the dinner you were preparing lay amidst dark red and brown stains of your drying blood.

The stool he’d knocked over still lay on the floor, and his eyes catch sight of little drops of blood he’d missed as he rushed in.

The trail leads right back out the door.

She’d fucking left.

Emotions he’s not familiar with threaten to send him back into a spiral as he spots the tattered book he’d gone through so much to get for you.

Jaw clenching, he forces everything down, setting his mind to what his next steps are.

Day after day, he’d made it a point to tell you to leave, yet now that you’d actually found the courage to do so…

Anger wells up inside of him, making quick work of showering and changing before he’s hastily rushing back out.

He needs to get to the one person he can trust to find you.

He has to find you.

He will tear this city apart to do so.

You keep wiping your hands into your eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, yet all you do is make them sting painfully with the mess on your hands.

Blood and come, the combination both causes your stomach to flip delightedly but also forces sharp pangs from your chest.

By the time you come to your senses, you’re far from the safety of Hoseok’s place, deep in the mania of the lawless city you’ve come to hate.

Lecherous eyes are everywhere you look, dark scowls and lewd grins threatening to send you screaming back to the security of the bunker.

The problem is, you have no idea how to get back.

Nor do you want to right now, the panic setting in from being exposed like this warring with the humiliation of what just happened.

You can’t deny how much you wanted just that to occur, to be touched by him, to be wanted…

The feeling of being discarded and abandoned hurts you to your very soul, feeling like a lost broken puppy roaming the chaos of the streets.

Increasingly familiar surroundings finally lead you to the tiny little room you called home for the last year.

The fear of your old ‘friends’ finding you is temporarily overridden by the need to get off the streets; at the very least, it’s been long enough that they likely won’t be posted there waiting right now.

Still, you are cautious as you approach the dilapidated building, slipping quickly yet hopefully stealthily inside and making your way inside through the side door.

As you finally twist the knob to your room in the way that will jiggle the lock open, you shut the door behind you and press your back to it.

Glancing around, you frown at the mess left behind by the people looking for you.

The small room is barely a closet, and you didn’t have much to call yours, but they’d found a way to basically destroy it all.

Locking the door behind you, you slowly approach the torn pad you called a bed, sinking down to sit on it.

Exhaustion washes over you as you look down at yourself, eyes welling once more at the pretty green dress that is now spotted with dark stains.

Cursing yourself for not cleaning up before leaving, you idly finger the specks as you ponder what the fuck you’re going to do now.

There’s no way you can stay here or you’ll just end up right back where you started.

Surely, your reappearance will be noticed.

Yet, you have literally nothing but the clothing on your back.

Your gut wrenches at the predicament you’re now in, distracted suddenly by the semen caked over your thighs and dress.

You don’t know what’s worse; fear of being caught and forced into whatever the hell they wanted to do with you, or the pain of not being near Hoseok anymore.

Rationally you know that your very survival should be a priority, yet the agony of never seeing him again eclipses every other emotion right now.

Falling onto the ruined bedding, you curl into a ball and try to disappear, deluding yourself that the abyss of sleep will reset this grim existence.

“Hmmm…” Yoongi hums, tongue in his cheek as Hoseok gives him your description, nodding as he takes note.

Any other person might pry into why he’s looking for you, yet Yoongi is ever the professional.

He knows better than to question anyone’s motives or anything beyond the necessary information he needs.

He wouldn’t have survived the chaos and anarchy outside of the city proper if he did.

Yoongi eyes the man before him, eyes flicking over his current state, his unusually controlled demeanor seeming to be falling apart as the moments tick by.

“I’ll prioritize it. The moment I get any info, I’ll ping you.”

Hoseok just nods curtly, pulling his hood back up before he’s making his way out the door.

Of the small group of contacts he has, Yoongi knows these streets better than anyone.

He’ll find you; he has to.

He suppresses the urge to go stab someone to vent his frustrations, focussing on scouring for any sign of you.

He has no idea what your life has been like, what brought you to being locked in that cage the night he found you.

He’d never bothered to ask nor had you offered the information.

Regret fills him as he stalks intently through the narrow, winding side streets, barely noting the way people give him a wide berth.

Fingering the knife in his pocket, he clenches his jaw in determination, ready to draw it on the first person that gets in his way.

Fuck it, he may not even have the patience for a blade.

Whoever manages to get between him and his goal tonight will be choking on the limbs he rips from their body.

The first thing you are aware of upon awakening is the pulsing heat in your hand.

The burning sting slams you right back into the reality of your situation.

Moaning softly in pain, you try to unfurl your contorted body, wincing at how sore your limbs are.

The disparity of waking up back here fills you with regret, cursing your impulsive past self for fleeing without thinking things through.

Your stomach growls loudly, reminding you that you have nothing to eat, nor do you have any way to clean yourself up right now.

There’s no way you can just languish here, starving and wallowing in your own filth.

Already the scent of dried bodily fluids and old blood taint your nose as you sit up slowly, glancing around the dark room with a sinking stomach.

The state of the room when you've returned lets you know that the likelihood of finding anything to change into is off the table.

Unless you leave here, you are doomed to wither away wearing the reminder of your reckless decisions.

Maybe….maybe it’s not too late to return.

If there is a chance to find your way back to his bunker, perhaps he will at least give you the possibility of finding something else to wear…

Burying your face in your unwashed hands, you try to compose yourself enough to get the courage to do something, anything to move forward from here.

Hiding away until you turn into a pathetic corpse isn’t an option.

Standing wearily, you take a few moments to breathe deeply, collecting your thoughts, you slowly make your way to the door, sliding your bare feet along the debris on the floor.

Idiot, you chastise yourself, not even grabbing the soft slippers Hoseok had given you before you’d fled.

The door creaks as you open it slowly, peeking out to gauge if you can slip out unnoticed.

If you remember correctly, nearby was a small shop that you used to frequent and it was possible that the clerk might allow you to use the bathroom there to clean yourself up.

It’s wishful thinking but at least it was something to aim for.

At least the dark cover of night somewhat helped conceal you.

By the time you find the particular building, your feet are already cut up and aching from the uneven pavement.

It didn’t help that you are drawing stares, arms wrapped around yourself as you rush past people who stop to stare as they bump into you.

A litany of “Watch it, bitch,” and “Hey, come here,” comments have you mumbling apologies, doing your best to dodge the meaty hands that snag at you before finally spotting the familiar sign.

Hastening inside, you let out a sigh of relief at the familiar cramped space that you’d often visited.

“Hey you can’t-” a male voice says as they spot you, but quickly he recognizes you and you give him a tentative smile.

A look of concern crosses his features as he takes in your current state.

Before you can say anything, he’s rushing over, gently guiding you away from the door, glancing out worriedly before turning back to address you.

“Look, I dunno where you been, but people been askin’ after you. You gotta get yourself scarce.” he whispers harshly, his gaze pausing on your scraped up bare feet.

“I dunno what kind of trouble is chasin’ you, but nothing good ever comes from their kind when they come askin’.”

“I…I know…I wanted to know if…perhaps I could simply use a sink to wash my hands?” your voice is shaking, thin and trembling as you do your best to tamp down the fear at his words.

“Quickly, girl, but then you gotta go. Far from here.” He states, pointing to a small door near the back.

Nodding as you rush quickly into the tiny bathroom, you swallow down the panic threatening to choke you.

Relief mixed with pain wash over you as the tepid water rushes over your hands, and you use your thumb to tentatively clean the knife wound on your palm.

Mind racing as the grime sluices off your skin, you try to focus on your next steps from here.

You know you want to find your way back to Hoseok somehow, yet your mind wars with that idea.

What if he finally decides to follow through with his threat and cuts your throat open at your audacity?Worse…what if he just turns his back on you and tosses you back into the streets to be found by your pursuers?

Splashing your face with the water, you finally look into the cracked and dingy mirror in front of you.

Your reflection just stares back, eyes full of fear and hopelessness.

“Oh fuck off.” You hiss at yourself, making quick work of doing your best to clean up.

You return to the shop proper finally, the kind shopkeep bending down to grab something before he’s returning to your side.

“Get yourself out of this place, girl.” He says, sympathy in his eyes as he drops a pair of slides on the floor before you.

Your heart pangs at this act of kindness, your eyes pricking with heated tears as he pushes a small paper bag into your arms.

“I ain’t gonna say you were here, but you make sure you don’t come back, yeah?” He whispers as you step into the slightly large sandals.

Your throat closes at the surge of gratitude, choking out a thank you before he’s pushing you back out onto the street.

“Don’t let me see you back here.” he hisses before shutting the door behind you, gesturing in a shooing motion before you’re slinking away into the nearest alcove to peek into the small package.

Two buns peer back at you and your stomach loudly screams in joy at the prospect of food.

Sniffling, you wolf down the offering, rolling up the small bag and discarding it in the nearest trash can, trying to decide how to make your way back.

Yet, before you can even make it a few steps, an unsettlingly familiar voice calls out your name across the passersby.

“Well well well, look who it is. I’ve been looking all over for you, sweetheart.”

The hard, dark eyes in that deceitful face freeze you in your spot, cursing your horrible luck.

There’s no mistaking that voice, that very particular scar on his mouth marring his otherwise handsome face.

A man you once called a friend, who betrayed you and is the reason you ended up in that horrid cage weeks before is flanked by two of his goons.

As they start towards you, your stomach twists into a knot before you can get your mind to work.

Panic has you contemplating what to do, throat tightening before your flight response kicks in and you’re fleeing down a side street then into an alley nearby.

“Get back here, you little bitch!” His scream echoes behind you, the sound of their pursuing footfalls barely audible over the sound of your heart beating out of your chest.

No, no, no, you brain chant like a mantra to some unknown deity, please no-

It has been hours combing the main areas Hoseok is familiar with, each area presenting its own disgusting flavor of filth.

He is grateful that he’d brought his motorbike, making the search faster, yet he’s had no luck spotting you at this point.

He has no idea what he expected.

It’s not as if you’re just going to be out wandering the streets.

Yet he makes it a point to search each little alley and alcove; memories of the first night that you’d tried to follow him has him redirecting to find that particular area.

A chime from his watch alerts him to a message and he stops his bike, yanking out his phone to talk directly to Yoongi.

“Did you find anything?” He asks, discarding any niceties.

Unbothered, Yoongi just lets out a weary sigh in response.

“Not her exactly, but word is out that those trafficker fucks have been asking about her. Doesn’t sound like they want to have tea and a nice chat.”

Baring his teeth, Hoseok’s face contorts in anger at the words.

It makes a bit more sense now, how he’d found you, the connection.

Their gang was well known and feared even amongst the shitty population outside the walls for indebting naive men and women into all kinds of gruesome work to pay them back.

It was all a front for human trafficking and Hoseok’s hand tightens around the phone as he tries to keep himself in control.

“Give me a location.” He demands, then his watch is chiming not even a moment later.

“Done. And Hoseok…be careful.” Yoongi’s voice drops into a warning tone.

“Yeah yeah, I know. I owe you one.” He responds, already starting his bike back up.

“You sure as fuck do.” Yoongi says before ending the call, and Hoseok can’t even laugh at the man’s normal sign off.

He only has one thing on his mind and that’s finding these assholes before they find you.

Somewhere during the pursuit, one of the sandals had slipped off, then another and you find yourself running barefoot through the darkened, winding arteries of the city.

Bursting out onto the main street, you grit your teeth as you stumble into passersby, followed by the curses of people as you ping pong through the crowd.

You barely feel any pain from your wounded feet, the fear of being caught numbing them as it demands your full attention.

As you make your way into another narrow alley, you round and corner only to find yourself faced with a dead end.

The brick wall ahead of you mocks you, as you hear the pursuing footfalls behind you slow, then stop before laughter fills the little area.

“Fuck-” one of the voices pants as your mind races for any option to get yourself away from here.

Your eyes dart back and forth, cursing your horrid luck as you finally turn back around to face your pursuers.

“Think you’re cute, huh?” Jugeum says, spitting to the side, then wiping his mouth as he stalks towards you.

The man behind him chuckles, catching his breath and pulling out his phone.

“I’ll call the car.” He announces, but Jugeum waves him off, never taking his eyes from you.

“Take your time, she’s not going anywhere. Her and I need to have a little talk.” He says, a sinister smile creeping over his lips as you back up slowly.

Your entire body feels like a wound up spring, adrenaline and terror causing every part of you to shake uncontrollably.

“Please-” You try to speak, but he shakes his head, the nasty grin never leaving his face.

“It’s long past the time to be begging, don’t you think, sweetheart?” He hisses, closing the distance between you in a moment.

Your reflexes are too slow to dodge the hand that snakes out to grab you by the hair, the other gripping your upper arm painfully.

Letting out a sharp cry as he twists his fingers and yanks your hair, he shoves you back into the brick wall that cuts off all hope of escape.

“I don’t know how you managed it, but killing Hyun was a mistake. Now you’ve got me in a predicament.” he whispers as he presses his lips to your ear.

Your scalp protests as he tugs your hair, then he loosens his hold to pet you.

You close your eyes as if it’s going to help you in any way, trying to deny the reality of your circumstances.

His hot breath dampens the side of your face as he continues, “No, now I just want to tear you apart for the audacity. And running from me?”

His laugh is filled with spite, drawing away to glare at you.

You can’t even swallow as he finally lets go of your hair, his palm slipping down to cup your cheek gently before grabbing your face and squeezing hard enough to make tears spring into your eyes.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back-” You manage through the fear, but this only seems to amuse him.

“And here I thought you were at least mildly clever. It’s not about the money, sweetheart. I’ll make more off of you than any measly ‘payment’ you could ever make.”

He leans in, eyes flitting back and forth between yours as your noses almost touch.

You attempt to struggle, but his hand is like a vice on your arm, despite twisting to get out of his grip.

At this, his amused face contorts into a look of pure rage, his scar stretching and only making him appear even more monstrous.

He finally releases your face, but the momentary relief is only eclipsed by panic as his large hand settles over your throat, squeezing tightly.

“Though, you’re quickly trying me, and I may chalk you up to a net loss.”

The loud din of the distant crowds fade with the ringing in your head as he lifts you enough so you’re barely able to feel your toes scraping the jagged pavement, his fingers tightening as he watches your reaction.

You grab his wrist with both hands, attempting to pry him off you, but it’s wasted effort and he laughs without any humor.

“How in the world did a weakling like you manage to overtake Hyun? I’ll make a deal with you, sweetheart.” He snarls, loosening his grip to allow your airway to open up again.

Sucking in a deep breath, your throat burns with the effort, causing you to cough uncontrollably.

“Why don’t you tell me how you got out and overpowered him and maybe I’ll go easy on you, huh?”

Hopelessness overcomes you, thoughts of what brought you leave momentarily flashing through your mind.

Your stomach twists as you think about the what ifs.

If only you hadn’t left without thinking.

If only you hadn’t done something to make Hoseok leave like that.

At least I had a moment of happiness, you think before you abruptly bring your knee up between Jugeum’s legs.

The kick is weak, as you knew it would be, yet you are tired of begging and pleading to this horrible man.

“Bitch-” he growls, but he’s cut off as you gather all the moisture you can in your mouth to spit right in his face.

The sudden shock on his face would make you laugh if his hand didn’t immediately squeeze around your throat once more, tight enough this time to cause bright light to play at the edges of your vision.

Your hands claw at his arm, feet kicking wildly as he hoists you up by your neck and you resign yourself to meeting your end here in this disgusting place.

“Tell me, slut, or you’re fucking dead-” he hisses as you struggle against him.

But his words are cut off abruptly as a deep, harsh voice answers.

A voice you thought you’d never hear again.

“It was me, asshole.”

Your heart leaps in your chest even as you barely make out Jugeum’s throat opening, a sudden hot spray of fluid spurting all over you.

You fall to the ground heavily, wheezing and gasping for air as your sight is filled with red, your eyes watering at the sting of what appears to be blood.

A strangled cry draws your attention as you wipe at your face, trying to understand what just happened.

Coughing and clutching your throat, you watch in surprise as Hoseok straddles Jugeum, his knife rising and falling in a fury as he hacks at him.

“Hoseok-?” You try to say, but it only comes out as a weak whisper.

He doesn’t appear to have heard you, and you drag yourself to your knees, then try to stand but your head spins at the effort.

Over and over you watch as he stabs Jugeum, blood flinging from his knife each time he raises it up just to bring it back down.

You slowly crawl over to him, unconcerned now with your assaulter, and only wondering how the fuck Hoseok found you.

But that thought is quickly overridden by the sheer joy.

He found you; he came for you.

“I think…” you rasp out, coughing as you finally drag even more air into your lungs.

“I think he’s dead-” you finally manage, reaching out to touch Hoseok’s arm.

The look of pure rage as he turns towards you mid swing, his knife dripping with gore has you reeling backwards, falling on your ass painfully and raising your hands up instinctively.

The sight of you seems to snap him out of it, his eyes wild as he stares at you for a long moment.

A low whine leaves his throat as he looks you over, his lips drawing back over his teeth as he turns back to hack at the unmoving body beneath him.

You can only watch him as he begins to eviscerate the corpse, sickening wet tearing noises filling your ears as he spits out curses and unintelligible words before finally dropping the knife and leaning back to catch his breath.

He tilts his head back, his throat working as he looks up into the night sky above and you can’t help but admire his profile.

You’re reminded of the first night you met, but this is so much different.

He was so calm and collected, but this…

He turns his crazed eyes back to you, chest heaving with each gulping breath.

Without a word he pushes to his feet and stumbles over to you, pulling you up and trying to smooth back your blood soaked hair.

Your lip trembles at the simple gesture, tears stinging your eyes in a way the viscous blood hadn’t.

No words are spoken as he pulls you out of the place you thought would be your end, dragging you along to a bike parked nearby.

You barely register the sight of another body at the opening of the alley as he ushers you by.

I guess he never made that call.

He seats you in front of him before starting it up, allowing you to lean back against him as his arms cage you in.

The ride back goes by in a flash, your eyes closed as you process your shock.

Everything has happened so quickly and you are struggling to make sense of anything that’s taken place in such a short period of time.

You’re unsure how much time has gone by when he’s slowing and pulling up to a deserted part of the city, parking the bike beneath a small copse of trees.

Hoseok doesn’t even look at you as he grabs your arm once more, opening a hidden door and rushing you inside.

You barely remember coming out this way, and you realize he’s taking you back home.

Home.

The thought has you hiccuping in a confusion of emotions and he is silent as he guides you down multiple sets of stairs, not even looking at you as you finally approach the doors that you’d spent so much time trying to leave through.

You can only stare at him as he punches in a code to a hidden panel beside the door, then he’s dragging you along into the common area, then right into the bathroom.

“Hoseok-” you whisper, confusion warring with uneasiness at his silence as he rushes to turn on the water.

Now that you've stopped moving, you can feel how the hand on your arm is trembling; you can see how tight his jaw is as he finally turns to gaze at you with huge, dark eyes.

Without a word, he pulls you both underneath the shower, soaking you both as he finally releases your arm.

But instead of stepping away, he grabs the nearby soap, then he’s scrubbing your exposed skin frantically and you wonder if he’s about to peel your skin off to cleanse you of the blood.

“I have to get him off you-” he’s repeating over and over as the water beneath you turns red and pink before draining away.

Recognizing the signs of his panic, you step closer and cup his face, gently trying to draw his gaze.

That’s fear, you register in surprise.

Not something you’d ever have attributed to this man.

Fear for you.

“Look at me.” You say softly, dipping your head until he finally locks eyes with yours.

The spatters of blood on his face are finally running off, tendrils of hair clinging to his forehead as he finally halts his movements.

“He fucking touched you, he’s all fucking over you and I need to get him off-” the words are harsh, his voice almost a growl but his eyes look pained as you shake your head at him.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” you murmur, pushing back his damp hair to help soothe him.

He bares his teeth as he spots your throat, dropping the soap as he reaches up to tilt your head and study the marks left behind.

“I’ll fucking kill him all over again.” he threatens, and you can’t help but feel your heart melt at his concern.

You try to suppress the urge to laugh at his words, but then he’s glaring at the once pretty green dress that is now pretty much ruined.

“Why did you leave?” He whispers, so low that you barely catch it.

He finally drags his eyes from your dress, to look at you expectantly as the water sluices over both of you.

Swallowing down the memory of why you left, you can only counter with a question of your own.

“Why did you?”

Though he winces as if you’ve slapped him, he nods at you as he settles his fingers over the marks on your neck.

“Any reason I give you won’t matter, even if I had one. I don’t honestly know.” He answers, his dark eyes flitting from your face, to your neck, then to the dress.

Before you can rethink it, you drop your hands from soothing him to grab the hem of the dress, yanking it over your head and discarding it to the side.

Though he seems startled at your actions, he physically relaxes once it’s no longer touching you.

“I left because I thought you wanted me gone.” You finally tell him, glancing at the cut on your palm as you raise your hand to cup his cheek once more.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, droplets clinging to the dark lashes as he leans into it.

It feels surreal, standing under a shower half clothed with a murderer, yet feeling nothing but soft and safe as he wraps his arms around you.

“I don’t want you gone. I don’t want anyone to touch you. I’ll fucking kill anyone who does and I’ll kill you if you leave.”

His voice is coarse, harsh but the only emotions that well up within you are pleasure and satisfaction at his admission.

A deep, resounding sense of contentment fills you as your fingers entwine into his wet hair.

“That’s all I want to hear.” you confess, all of your earlier confusion and pain evaporating in that one statement.

Before he can say anything else, you twist your hand in his locks and yank him closer, crushing your mouth to his.

Immediately, his hands are everywhere, mouth parting to slip his tongue along the seam of your lips.

Your head spins as you begin to tug on his soaked clothing, needing to feel more of him against you.

He swallows all of the desperate noises you can’t stop making as he shrugs off his jacket, then parts from you only long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it to the side.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight of his dilated pupils; the sight of his lean, naked chest before he’s tugging you back into his arms has you needing to see more, touch more.

You barely notice him tearing off your bra as you pull at the button of his pants, unzipping and pushing them down as his hands slip down the back of your panties.

You swear your heart is beating between your legs as he grabs two handfuls of your ass and hoists you up against him, his erection seeming to throb in sync against you.

Your encounter before was hot and heavy, escalating quickly and this is much the same.

Except this time there was no uncertainty, no hesitation as he kicks off his remaining clothing and rips off your flimsy panties with a forceful tug.

He lets out a low moan as everything separating you is finally gone, his hands trailing from your ass up to your hips, then skimming along your sides.

He slowly starts backing you up, his mouth never letting up as he blindly grabs for a towel.

Hastily, you dry each other, clumsily stumbling out into the common area still dripping with water.

Uncaring, your nails dig into his shoulders, then rake them down his back as he pushes you into the nearest wall.

His groan has you clenching already as he grabs a handful of your hair.

“I don’t make idle threats.” He growls into your ear before dipping his head down to nuzzle his nose against your neck.

“I know-” you gasp, snaking your leg around his and tilting your hips in a desperate effort to alleviate your growing need for him.

“I’ll eviscerate anyone who fucking dares-”

His breath is hot on your neck, the sensation of his tongue and teeth causing you to whine weakly as he sucks harshly at your skin.

“I know.” you repeat as he slips one of his hands up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the already taut nipple.

“Mine.” he snarls as he pulls you from the wall, hauling you up against him only to turn and toss you onto the couch.

You let out a small gasp at the action, and he’s immediately covering you, his knees forcing your thighs apart as he grabs your wrists to yank them over your head.

Your entire body trembles in desire as he hovers over you, his hungry eyes devouring you as he ogles you openly.

“Say it.” He demands, ignoring how you’re lifting your hips and wriggling beneath him.

“Yours, I’m yours, please-” You cry out in anguish, knowing if he doesn’t touch you, if he’s not inside of you right fucking now you might just die.

His smile has your abdomen clenching painfully, the ravenous look in his eyes driving you mad with lust.

Before you can cry out another plea, he’s skimming his fingertips down your raised arms, leaning down to press his mouth against yours before he’s making his way down your naked body with his lips.

You keep your arms over your head as he drags his tongue between your breasts, trying your best to watch him leave marks with each nip and suck.

“I’ve murdered countless people.” he tells you, even as his lips brush over your sensitive nipple.

Moaning softly, you can only nod in response as he grins before making his way to do the same to the other.

“You know exactly what I am.” He hums, his eyes on you as his tongue rolls around the stiffened bud.

You nod again, arching your back as his lips lock around your nipple, sucking harshly.

“I’m a monster, but I’m not cruel…” he says once your tit pops out of his mouth, licking his lips as he eyes you, “If you want me to stop at any-”

“I don’t fucking care what you want to do to me, do it. Fucking do it.” Your voice is hoarse, your entire body vibrating with need.

He raises an eyebrow at you, eyes darkening as he tilts his head at you.

“Dangerous words, little bird.”

You don’t know where or when he managed to get a hold of it, but he produces a small knife, teasing it along the line of your collarbone, then along the line of your neck.

Thoughts of how he reacted to your blood previously fill your mind, and you can’t help but lean up into the blade as he presses it to your skin.

He hisses softly as it pierces enough to draw a drop of blood, and you can feel the wet heat of it start to trickle down your throat.

“You’re fucking killing me,” he groans as you reach between his legs to wrap your fingers around his cock.

“I’m yours, Hoseok-” you say, slowly sitting up and he draws the knife back, your fingers tightening around his erection.

You push him backwards into a sitting position, tossing your leg over his thighs so you’re straddling him.

“-but you’re mine as well.” You whisper as you settle into his lap, your hand pumping at him as his head drops back against the couch.

Gripping his shoulder, you watch as his eyes are drawn to the rivulet of blood as it cuts a path down between your tits.

A deep primal noise escapes his throat at the sight, his eyes rolling as you stroke him.

You reach for the hand holding the knife, bringing it up to your throat as you guide the head of his cock against your cunt.

Your entire body shudders as you drag the tip along your slit, crying out softly as you tease it against your clit.

His free hand grips your hip, his eyes unable to find a target to focus on as he struggles to look at everything all at once.

Unable to wait another moment, you finally guide him into you, crying out in pleasure as you sink down onto him.

He sucks in a harsh breath as he stretches you, his pupils blown out, lips parted as you finally seat yourself fully on him.

“Fuck, oh fuck-” He groans, his grip loosening on the knife as he lets it drop, sitting up and burying his face into the now freely flowing crimson running down your body.

You wrap your arms around his head, twisting your fingers into the tangle of his still damp hair as you start riding him.

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down onto him every time you lift yourself back up.

The drag of his cock along your insides is enough to have you already moaning loudly, the friction of your bodies meeting teasing at your clit as you cling to one another.

The room fills with the noises of your joining, his low deep moans blending with your frantic whines and cries.

Yanking back on his hair, your head swims at the sight of his blood stained face and the wild, manic look in his eyes.

The world upends as he flips you both, yanking your arms back up over your head as he starts pounding into you.

“Hoseok!” You scream out, each bruising thrust edging you closer to losing control until your orgasm tears through you with such power, that your entire body is lifting off the couch.

Unintelligible curses drip from his lips as you clamp tightly around him, his own body starting to shake at the intensity of your climax.

His hips begin to stutter as your cunt clenches around him, pulling out of you quickly and covering your body with spurts of cum.

His hand still pins you down, his other wrapped around his dick as he milks himself of every drop before slipping back inside of you.

Your eyes roll back in your head as he collapses on top of you, burying himself to the hilt deep within you as he tries to catch his breath.

He finally releases your wrists, allowing you to wrap them around him.

You let out soft little whines as he lazily rolls his hips, the overstimulation causing you to wriggle and gasp.

“I’m always making a mess…” you finally manage, combing your fingers through the tangle of his hair.

He hums as he lifts his head groggily, eyes hooded as he gives you a gentle smile.

“I like your mess.” he hums, tipping his head to rest his bloodied cheek on your now sticky chest.

Your eyes close as you bask in the moment, the realization that you aren’t alone anymore really starting to sink in.

Moments drift by as you relish the feel of him against you, within you, and you may have even drifted off to sleep before he’s softening and pulling out of you.

You let out a sad little whine at the loss, but then he’s hoisting you up off the couch by your arms, guiding you back into the bathroom.

“Let’s clean ourselves first.” He says, and this time you both wash one another slowly, deliberately, taking your time.

Of course, the moment your hand cups his balls and you begin to soap up his dick, he’s quickly stiffening and turning you around to bury himself within you once again.

Hands pressed to the wall, it’s hard and fast, but this time when he finally comes, he buries himself deep to fill you instead of pulling out.

He rests his forehead on your neck as he pants, littering kisses along your shoulder before turning you back around to kiss you deeply.

You sway in his arms, the exhaustion from the night finally starting to win.

Silently, he turns off the shower and leads you out to dry you off, taking his time on each part of you.

It’s almost humorous how he can go from psychotic killer with a knife to this calm, sweet man who is looking up at you almost in worship as he towels your legs.

A smile creeps over his face as his gaze locks onto your parted thighs, and you can feel the warmth of his cum seeping out of you.

He bites his lip as he raises his hand, two of his fingers pushing the mess back up into you as you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re insatiable,” you whimper as you notice him getting hard once more.

You barely remember falling asleep by the time you’re wrapped around each other in bed, but you do briefly smile at the thought of him finally being able to reclaim his bedroom before sleep overtakes you.

“I’m aware, Yoongi. Did you talk to Jin?”

Hoseok’s voice rouses you, his tense tone cutting through the haze of your deep sleep.

The ache from various parts of your body throb delightfully, and you can’t help but smile into the pillow as you roll over to stretch yourself awake.

The partially opened door allows you to watch Hoseok pace back and forth, and you can’t help but recall the previous night's activities.

Curling up on your side, you find yourself catching snippets of his conversation as you admire him.

He’s dressed already, you pout to yourself, yet even clad in the tshirt and jeans, he’s striking.

“It’s not as if I- …it’s complicated, alright? …Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit and we’ll talk.”

His eyes meet yours through the open doorway as he says his goodbyes before hanging up.

“You’re awake.” He observes, his solemn look brightening into a full, gorgeous smile.

The sight of him beaming at you flips your stomach and you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from springing out of bed and tackling him all over again.

You just nod at him, chewing the inside of your mouth as you squeeze your thighs together.

“Hold on.” He says, turning and walking out of your field of view before returning to come sit on the side of the bed next to you.

He’s holding a small box, and you recognize the first aid kit as he opens it.

“I’m alright,” you whisper as he takes out a tube of something, but his smile turns into a scolding look that has you quieting down quickly.

“Infection kills more frequently than even I do.” He tells you, applying some to his finger before leaning in to dab it on the various cuts on your neck.

You can’t help but laugh at this, drawing his grin back out, much to your delight.

A comfortable silence fills the room as he tends to you, allowing you to just study him before returning the favor.

As you finish making sure he doesn’t have any untreated wounds, he takes the medicine from your hands to place to the side before pulling you into his arms.

He places a kiss on your forehead, then your lips as you melt into his embrace.

Your heart threatens to tear its way out of your throat as he finally parts from you, petting your hair gently as he gazes into your eyes.

“As much as I’d enjoy a repeat of last night, I think it’s best that we should both recover some energy before that.” He tells you, the rasp in his voice giving away that he’s just as affected as you are right now.

Taking in a deep breath, you just nod in agreement before kissing his cheek.

“As much as I want to argue…” You murmur, slowly letting out the breath and his smile lights up the room once more.

He pulls away and stands, allowing you to get up and go rummage for clothing.

His harsh cough is a shallow attempt at covering his reaction to your naked body, and you can’t help but grin as he turns away while you pull on a top and some pants.

“Hoseok, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation…is everything alright?” You ask him tentatively.

He turns to look at you, his smile fading a bit as he seems to mull over how to answer.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to-” you begin, but he shakes his head to stop you.

“Come out and let’s eat something…and I’ll try to tell you what I can.”

He heads towards the kitchen, and you take a moment to follow, pondering what you’re going to learn.

You manage to push him away from the fridge as he rummages, directing him to sit down.

“I owe you a meal.” you tell him, remembering the previous kitchen encounter.

His lips twitch at the memory and he merely nods, placing his elbows on the counter as he leans forward to watch.

You don’t rush him as the silence stretches, allowing him time to collect his thoughts.

Finally he starts to talk.

“I’m going to assume that from what you’ve seen of my comings and goings…and how you first saw me…that you know what I’m capable of. I’m violent, brutal. I’m a murderer.”

He pauses as he studies your face, but merely nod as you continue to prep food.

“Your reaction to that both intrigues and terrifies me.” He states, causing you to stop what you’re doing.

“Why would that terrify you?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

He purses his lips, looking away momentarily as his leg bounces.

“Because I’ve come to … care about you. It doesn’t make sense how you’ve gone through all that bullshit yet here you are, cooking me food and looking at me like…that.” he states, turning back to gesture towards you.

His admission has your heart stuttering, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you try not to grin like an idiot.

“Like what?” you ask, voice cracking as you push down your emotions.

He gives you a look, and all you can do is shrug.

“Look…people like us…like me, we don’t love, care, or trust easily. I find more happiness in death than I do in this abominable world. You…” He swallows, blowing out a breath as he shakes his head at you.

“I’m not going to use a vulgar word like ‘love’, so don’t ever expect me to.” he declares.

You find yourself pausing in your prep, not interrupting but making sure he knows you’re listening, understanding him.

He studies you before continuing,and you hang on each and every word.

“Letting someone into my life is not something I planned on. You make me vulnerable, irrational, reckless. I’m a murderer.” he repeats, as if to drive it home.

“I know.” you whisper, and he sighs before running his hand over his face.

“There’s more to things…it’s not that simple-you told me before…you came here thinking that you would have a chance at a better life, to see what the city was like inside the walls.”

His words aren’t a question, more of a statement and you just continue to nod as he speaks.

“What if I told you that what you see outside of here doesn’t even compare to the savagery that lies within the walls?”

Your hands freeze, curiosity peaked at this announcement.

“What…what do you mean?” You ask, giving up on cooking and setting your knife to the side.

His next words just floor you.

“I come from inside.”

Your heart stutters at this; for the year you’ve been here, not once have you heard anything but speculation about what was inside.

Everyone merely said things like, “So I’ve heard,” or “Noone really knows but,” about what things were like.

Hell, no one even seemed to agree on how the walls even came into being.

The rumors were, once you went inside, you never wanted to come back out.

Or you couldn’t.

“But…why…?” You start, your brain racing.

“We escaped. Out here, there’s no law, there’s no one to police the vile things that go on. We just exist and do our best to survive. Inside…when you commit crimes, you suffer the consequences.”

The tone of his voice drops a bit, eyes glazing as he seems to recall his past.

“I’m a murderer, yes, but in my eyes there are crimes far worse than ridding this world of the disgusting trash that gets in my way. I’ve heard that once upon a time, this world had a balance, a form of justice. Now we’re split in two, and both sides are appalling in their own ways.”

He halts for a moment, reaching out to slip his hand into yours.

You entwine your fingers with his, finding your way around the counter to get closer to him.

“The man who hurt you last night-” he starts, eyes flashing as he remembers how he found you.

You comb your fingers through his hair, waiting patiently for him to continue.

This was the most you’ve ever heard him speak and you weren’t going to say anything to interrupt now.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that he’s part of a human trafficking ring. He was one of the contacts, apparently. Someone contacted me to tell me that his death hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Your eyes widen, stomach twisting at the idea that you may have gotten the attention of someone even more horrid.

“I know he dealt with others, because he and his asshole goons talked about things after they took me before you found me but….”

You shudder, remembering what could have been your fate.

Hoseok wraps his arms around you, noticing your reaction.

“The people they traffic, they end up inside.” He tells you. “Have you never noticed the lack of women, how scarce children are out here?”

Your brain races as you recall many moments where you’d noticed that, but anytime you’d inquired, your ‘friends’ had changed the subject.

“I…when I first came here, those men-” you gesture, “the ones from last night…they took me in right away. I thought nothing of it before, I just thought they were being kind.”

He grimaces, letting out a tense breath.

“I won’t go into details, but as I said before…there are far worse things than death.”

You shiver at the implication, your heart hurting for those who have fallen victim to this disgusting scheme.

Even in the country where you came from, the children you grew up with were almost all female.

Of course the lack of others here caught your attention, but you hadn’t thought too much about it.

You’d made excuses, they were just keeping their heads down like you did, hiding away from the vile men who pawed at you at every turn.

What Hoseok is implying just turns your stomach.

“But…that doesn’t answer why you are out here. Do you…?” you hesitate, not wanting to hear that he participates in anything so horrible.

He winces, shaking his head at your unspoken thoughts.

“No…as I stated, killing some asshole who gets in my way is one thing. I don’t kill innocents.”

You let out a long breath, relaxing at his admission.

“The others and I…we’re going to tear it all down.” He finally tells you.

Your heart leaps, immediately saying, “See, you are a saviour!”

He grabs your hands to calm you, shaking his head at your misconception.

“I told you, I’m not a hero or savior, little bird. We all find what they do vile and horrific, but I couldn’t give two fucks what happens to anyone once our plan succeeds.”

His eyes darken and blaze simultaneously as a wicked smile creeps over his face, causing a chaos of emotions within you ranging from lust to horror.

The pure wanton sadism on his face makes you swallow in confusion, yet you’ve never been more intoxicated by someone.

“Compassion for the weak is for others to deal with. My singular goal is to burn everything down and take as many as I can with me.”

Deep within the city, walls protecting the inhabitants from the chaos of the outside world, a tall man leans back in his chair as he taps the communication device in his ear.

He slips it off, opening a hidden drawer deep underneath the desk to hide it away.

“Was that Yoongi?” a voice draws his attention.

Seokjin is staring at him from the window, drink in hand before turning to gaze back at the city down below.

“Mmm.” Namjoon answers, standing to join him.

“And?” Seokjin asks, not taking his eyes off the ordered roads as elites travel from party to party, unconcerned about what their extravagance costs others.

“And the plan may be moving along quicker than we anticipated.”

Namjoon’s voice is even, yet even Jin can sense the excitement beneath.

Hell, all of them have been longing for this.

Long before the others had escaped the confines of this elaborately lavish prison, they’d all shared the same vision.

That this entire world would burn brightly as they held the spark that started it all.

The wick had been lit by seven of them long ago, and the anticipation as it crept closer to the climax was almost too much to bear.

“Soon.” Jin murmurs as his lips curl into a malicious sneer.