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dottores · 1 year

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui, no other warnings

notes: i enjoyed writing this one ajfdhuaisdfuhs it was a bit of a character study for dottore, i love being able to get into his head like this

MIDWINTER

He was born without a mark. It’s not abnormal--statistically, half of the population would be born without a mark because you don’t receive your mark until your soulmate is born. Most receive theirs within the first five years of their life, if they weren’t born with one. Others are unlucky, and they have to wait up to ten.

Dottore never received his.

He waited years. When he was five years old, and other kids his age were starting to see the red thread that connected them with their soulmate, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was ten years old, and other kids his age were starting to feel their soulmate's emotions, he was still waiting on his mark. When he was fifteen years old, and other kids his age were finally seeing random words scrawled on their forearms reflecting their soulmate’s thoughts, he was still waiting on his mark.

When he was younger, he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter--that one day, his mark would show up, just like how it did for everyone else. But it was hard to convince himself of that when everyday he was reminded that he didn’t have one. He was reminded by nasty kids who would push him to the ground and laugh at him, he was reminded by equally nasty adults who whispered that only the soulless and the damned didn’t receive their soulmarks, and he was reminded by his parents who stripped him down to search him for his mark everyday so they could prove their son wasn’t cursed.

Dottore accepted that he did not have a soulmate. He would even go so far as to say he embraced it. It took him a long time to reach that mentality, years of coming to terms with it, but he firmly believed that he was better off. Having a soulmate was a mortal weakness that he was freed of--he had seen it be the downfall of many men before and he refused to meet the same fate.

Without a soulmate, he could focus on more important things. He could devote his time and energy to his research, further the Fatui in their rebellion against Celestia, and he could do it all without the weakness that all of humanity had.

He was stronger without a soulmate. It proved he was above mankind, beyond the limits that humans were confined to. He was better without a soulmate.

A harsh gust of wind battered the window of his room, ice webbing at the bottom of the glass, creeping up the sides. Dottore sighed as he lifted his hand to his face, pulling off the mask that hid him from the rest of the world.

He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about this again. His gaze drew to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the rough, jagged skin across the top of his face--a product of the demonization cast over him by the people of his old village. Dottore’s lips twisted into a deep frown as he forced himself to look away, it had been a long time since he had even had a passing thought of it, much less dwelling on it as he was now.

He turned away from the mirror over to the candle resting at his nightstand--dimly lighting up the dark, spacious room. Shadows reflected eerily across the room from the trees swaying in the wind outside to the small flame dancing at his bedside. A blizzard rattled the palace around him, he wondered if it was the doing of the Tsaritsa or if it was just a natural storm.

Dottore hated the winter.

He always had. It had nothing to do with the bone-chilling weather and frequent storms. He barely could even feel the cold anymore, and he thought storms might be better for him because he could coop himself up in his lab without having to worry about the Jester disturbing his research and telling him to go on some mission. He had hated the winter even before he had left Sumeru for Snezhnaya, where the temperatures were five times as warm and the earth of the forest started to dry from a lack of rain.

Winter had always been the unluckiest time of year for him--it was when he was originally chased from the village, it was when he was cast out from the Akademiya. Winter was when he had faced some of the biggest failures of his life regarding his research into Archon residue. Winter was when the first segment he had created was destroyed. Winter was when he was dealt a fatal blow that had made him abandon his body for an artificial one.

Dottore despised the winter.

He sat on his bed, rubbing his eyes. He was tired, that was the only explanation for why his mind was wandering to such a topic. He had been able to free himself of the shackles that many mortals were restricted by--aging, natural death, even unnatural death could be avoided, for the most part, but he still found himself chained by fatigue and hunger. He could suppress it longer than the average person but it never failed to limit him.

He supposed that he should rest. Tomorrow there was to be a meeting with all of the Harbingers--discussion on what was to be done about the spots of the late 9th and 11th, who had met their end on a failed mission in Natlan earlier in the month. With the Captain finally returning with their bodies, it would be time to put them to rest and figure out how to move forward. He could already hear the bickering of Sandrone and Scaramouche, Arlecchino’s snide comments that just set the other two off even more.

Dottore thought that the whole situation was ridiculous. There had been no need to send two of the newest Harbingers down to Natlan when they all knew very well that Natlan was getting more and more aggressive to the Fatui within their borders. They had been sent on a diplomatic mission, to observe, but the Pyro Archon claimed that they had made an attempt on her life. A blatant lie, but the only ones left alive to corroborate the story were the Pyro Archon’s sycophants.

It was meant to be a challenge. The Pyro Archon was challenging the Tsaritsa to do something about her butchering two of her most loyal followers, she was hoping for a war… but Snezhnaya could not afford a war right now. Their economy was failing and the dead of winter was nigh, when all crops would start dying and animals would freeze mid-trot. Famine would begin to wrap its chilly fingers around the throats of the citizens of Snezhnaya, the bitter cold would seep into the warmest homes and it was not the time for the Fatui to war with Teyvat’s strongest military. They were already struggling politically with the old-blood aristocracy breathing down their necks and with the support of the masses, there wasn’t much that the Fatui could do to press back until they were in a better position, even with the support of the Tsaritsa herself.

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose, the meeting was hours from beginning and he could already feel the incoming headache. He had no interest in Snezhnayan politics, he had no interest in what was to be done about the empty seats amongst the Harbingers. All he wanted to do was continue his research--the Delta segment would be returning from Sumeru at some point tomorrow to give him an update on the Irminsul project and his input was needed before Delta or any of the other older segments took any further steps.

He let out a heavy breath as he rose back to his feet, intent on changing out of his clothes and into something more comfortable before he finally laid down to rest for the night. As he rose, he felt something soft, feather-light even, brushing against his thumb. Without thinking, he reached for a handkerchief folded tidily on the edge of his bedside dresser.

He wiped off his hands without even bothering to look, figuring that it was just the remnants of the material he was working with down in his lab but as he crossed the room to his wardrobe, that strange, weightless feeling against his thumb remained.

Dottore’s eyes finally drew down to his right hand, curiosity getting the best of him, as always. And he stared, for a second and then two before a laugh bubbled in his chest, begging to be released.

Not for the first time, he thought that the gods had a sick and twisted sense of humor because wrapped neatly around his thumb was that thin, red thread that supposedly tied him to his soulmate, over four hundred and fifty years late.

He thought it was strange how everything around him moved on as normal as if his whole world hadn’t been shattered in a matter of five seconds the night before. He wasn’t able to sleep after noticing the thread and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look for the soulmark that was undoubtedly branded somewhere on his body.

He felt weak. Mortal, again. He hated it.

“Then we wait,” Sandrone said dryly, her sharp voice drawing Dottore back into the conversation. His eyes left the red thread for the first time since he arrived at the meeting, flickering up to where the woman was resting in a chair, a large automaton standing behind her. “Why give a seat to someone unworthy? We’ll wait until two have proven their strength and they can-”

“And how long will that take?” Scaramouche’s voice was cold and grating as he interrupted Sandrone and Dottore’s lips thinned, realizing the inevitable argument between the Sixth and the Seventh was about to begin.

“However long it takes,” Sandrone responded, voice little over a hiss, blue eyes flinty.

“Ah, yes, yet another a bright idea from the Seventh. Let’s just leave the spots empty when enemies are on our doorstep, show even more weakness,” Scaramouche scoffed, not even bothering to hide the way he rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

“If you have a better idea, Balladeer, please, speak up with it,” Sandrone replied. “I’d love to…”

The thread was vibrating.

Dottore’s gaze flickered down beneath his mask to where his hands were resting on the ebony table, tuning out the conversation around him as he focused on the red string. He could barely feel it, much less see the little vibrations, but he was hyper-focused on it now. It was uneven thrums, as if someone was flicking the thread over and over again--they were getting faster, more impatient, and Dottore couldn’t help but think back to his childhood, when he was five years old and would watch other kids his age laying in the grass snapping their string incessantly, waiting for a responding snap from their soulmate.

His eyes flickered to the wide windows on the far side of the room, the blizzard still raged outside but he could see the sun rising in the distance.

So, you’re finally awake, he thought to himself, gaze drawing back to his thumb as the thrums got more and more insistent. A child. His soulmate was a child right now--excited at waking up to the appearance of the thread, hoping that their soulmate was just as excited as they were. Dottore had, for a long time, believed that his heart had gone cold and dead and he did not like the ache he felt in his empty chest.

A weakness. Just like that, he was brought down to the level of man.

Soulmates were blinding, they caused people to act with their heart and not their head. Dottore prided himself on being a man that removed his heart from decision making. He put nothing above furthering his research--no morals, no virtues, no principles came before his success and he could not allow this to change anything.

He had gone this long without a soulmate, he didn’t need one now.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes off the vibrating thread no matter how hard he tried. He could hear the conversation continuing around him but it sounded like a distant buzz--nothing could break his concentration on the thread, not even himself, and before he knew what he was doing, he was lifting his pointer finger and flicking it down, right on the string.

He inhaled as discreetly as he could once he realized what he had done, straightening in his seat. The vibrations from the opposite end had stopped instantly, and then all at once: one, two, three, four flicks.

Excitement, but all Dottore could feel was dread sinking in his stomach.

He could feel a pair of eyes on him. Dottore forced his gaze up to where the Tenth was sitting across from him, green eyes trained on his hand. Dottore’s lips flattened. Did he know? How would he know? But even with the mask adorning his face, the Tenth must have felt Dottore’s livid glare, looking up with a sheepish smile as he motioned to his own hand, his pointer finger, as if he was trying to show Dottore what he was looking at.

Dottore’s ring.

Of course, Dottore thought to himself dryly. He should have expected nothing less from the avaricious man.

Brighella had been brought in by Arlecchino--the Knave had spoken highly of the man’s intelligence and fighting ability, but so far all Dottore had seen from the Tenth Harbinger was a greed for wealth and alcohol. Dottore thought the man was more deserving of the title Jester than Pierro was, because all he was good for was his unintentional drunken entertainment during events.

Dottore let his gaze drop back to his hands, where the vibrating had finally stopped--seemingly pleased with finally getting a response from him--and Dottore couldn’t push away the emotions clawing at him from every angle.

He hated it.

He was good at compartmentalizing all of his feelings, pushing away all of the unwelcome ones and storing them in little corners until they finally dissipated but he couldn’t this time. They were too intense and Dottore felt overwhelmed. It had barely been half a day and he was already rattled by the new circumstances--rattled enough that he was struggling to keep himself composed internally.

Anxiety and dread were paramount, yes, but there was also pity.

The people of his old village had convinced him that he was cursed but he knew now that he was not the cursed one--it was the one that shared a mark with him instead.

Delta had arrived. Dottore could feel him approaching the palace, battling his way through the blizzard. He was not alone, he could feel another presence at his side--another segment--and he had a feeling he knew exactly which one it was and he was not pleased.

His movements were sharp as he put away the materials that he was using, annoyed at Delta and his inability to say no to the younger segments. For as stubborn and prideful the older segment was, all it took was a few whines from the Iota or Kappa segment and he was rolling over doing whatever they asked.

Dottore did not know how having a soulmate would affect the segments. He just knew it would be a distraction that they could not afford.

Would they have a mark? Dottore didn’t even know if he had a mark. He had yet to step in front of a mirror and look--it would make it too real, as if the damning thread wasn’t real enough.

Would they be able to see the thread? Would they have their own? Dottore hoped not. He did not want them to know--not yet, at least.

Dottore exhaled, safely storing the final vial in a cabinet too high for the Iota segment to reach and knock down just as the door to his lab was flung open harshly, shaking the cabinets closest to the door. He raised his eyebrows, turning on his heel to face the two arrivals.

Both segments were bundled in layers, cloaks drenched with water and furred hoods littered with snowflakes. The Delta segment was frowning, eyeing the room suspiciously, and the Iota segment was bouncing at his side, head whipping back and forth as he looked around the room--his first time in Dottore’s personal lab.

Something that Dottore had tried to keep on purpose. The last segment he wanted in his lab was the Iota segment--he was the clumsiest segment, one of the two segments with absolutely no sense of self-control, letting his curiosity get the best of him even in the worst situations. He was created in the mindset of his ten year old self, right after he had been cast out from his village. Dottore had thought that he could use Iota to see the Aranara of Vanarana but evidently, Iota no longer had that childlike innocence that allowed children to see the Aranara… which Dottore should have expected considering the circumstances after which he was created.

“You’re late,” Dottore said dryly, wiping his hands with a towel as he stepped out from behind the lab table he was working at.

“Yes,” Delta responded, voice just as dry. “There’s a bit of a blizzard outside, if you didn’t notice.”

Dottore raised his eyebrows at the snark and Delta, the most quarrelsome of the segments--except maybe Theta--only raised his eyebrows right back. Dottore’s eyes narrowed, annoyance worming its way onto his expression at the blatant disrespect. He had half a mind to remind him what exactly happened to the last segment that pushed him too far but instead, he was forced to move forward, right hand curling around Iota’s wrist just as the boy reached for some of Dottore’s notes.

“Do not start,” Dottore said sharply--perhaps he should have watched his tone, Iota was always the most sensitive when it came to tone and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a hysterical child.

… but Iota didn’t react to his tone. Instead, his eyes were wide and wondrous as he stared at Dottore’s hand. His right hand. Specifically, his right thumb.

Dottore’s stomach dropped, he released Iota’s wrist in an instant, stepping away, but Iota was persistent, darting forward to grab Dottore’s wrist now, reaching to grab the red string but his hand went right through it.

“What is that?” Delta asked, voice quiet and sharp.

So they could see his thread, but Dottore could safely assume that they did not have their own.

“Is it real?” Iota was still trying to grab the string--undoubtedly to tug at it just to feel the responding tug from their soulmate, just as he had felt from the opposite end this morning.

“It is real,” Dottore wasn’t even sure if he believed the words himself but logically, he had no reason to think otherwise. “It appeared last night.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous--Delta’s eyes shot open and Iota was wailing, clutching at Dottore’s waist, letting out incoherent babbles of how he knew that they had a soulmate, and how he knew that they weren’t damned or soulless, and how Kappa and Gamma would be-

“Do not tell them,” Dottore said sharply and Iota sobered up immediately, bottom lip wobbly and red eyes teary as he peered up at Dottore, questioning. “This is to stay between us for now, do you understand?”

“But Kappa-” Iota sniffled, confused, “and the others, they’ll be-”

“Do you understand?” Dottore asked again, gaze heavy as he waited for a response from both of his segments. “We do not need any new distractions, we’re finally making progress on our projects.”

Iota looked as if he had been physically slapped, brows knit together and biting his bottom lip as he looked between Delta and Dottore, as if expecting Delta to argue with Dottore. Dottore kept his expression steady, challenging, waiting for Delta to say something. Delta was argumentative but unlike Theta, he was not stupid. He knew when to pick fights and when to back off.

Delta was searching Dottore’s face for something, and Dottore made sure to keep his face blank. “You really don’t care?” Delta finally asked.

Dottore didn’t respond, partially because even as Delta asked the question, there was another soft tug at the red thread wrapped around his thumb. He forced himself not to look down at it, ignoring it this time. He did not care, and even if he did, he would force himself not to, just like he did a million times before when he forced himself to not care that he didn’t have a soulmate.

It was better for him, and it was better for the child on the opposite end of the string--who would grow up expecting their perfect match and be met with him.

“You were called back to report on the Irminsul project,” Dottore, a master of deflection, changed the subject rather than responding. Delta scoffed. “So, sit down and report. Enough of this nonsense. This is exactly why the other segments will not know.”

The anxiety, and the dread, and the pity was gone. It was replaced by anger.

Dottore was sick and tired of the gods fucking around with him.

Dottore stood in front of the mirror, lips thin and mask removed as he considered searching for the soulmark that was bound to be branded somewhere on his skin. It had been a long, long time since he had last searched his body for one. He had stopped after he had been cast out from the Akademiya--having given up on acceptance of any kind, be it from strangers or finally receiving his soulmate. He didn’t even want to look now but curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.

What did it look like? Where was it placed? His body was artificial, would there even be a soulmark?

Slowly and meticulously, he removed his shirt, scanning his torso and arms for any sign of the mark. He didn’t know what to look for--as far as he was aware, people’s marks could look like anything. The majority of people had some sort of symbol, be it a flower or animal or even some sort of item that’s a shared interest of the duo.

Dottore had no idea what he might share with his soulmate.

Methodologically, he turned over each arm--just as his parents would do when they were frantically searching him for a mark when he was a child.

Nothing.

Dottore stared at himself in the mirror, the scars that littered his body and face were stark in comparison to the rest of the fair skin. He shook his head as he finally turned around, back facing the mirror. He twisted his neck, looking over his shoulder to scan his back, gaze crawling up from his waistband until it reached his shoulders.

Dottore inhaled sharply, red eyes widening just a bit as he caught sight of the mark branded right between his shoulder blades--a small cluster of purple flowers spread out on his skin.

Heliotropes, he recognized and Dottore didn’t know if he should roll his eyes or laugh at the irony. Symbol of eternal devotion… poisonous to humans.

Of course.

Dottore thought that should be enough of a sign to end this before it weakened him even further--nip the issue in the bud before it could become detrimental. He had never actually seen someone cut their thread before but there were old wives’ tales about it and if anyone could figure out how to do it, it would be him.

For his sake, and for whoever was on the opposite end.

… and then there was a little tug at the string--once, then twice, and then a third time.

The moon was high in the sky now. Night had long fallen. He wondered if this was meant to be a goodnight.

Dottore sighed as he stepped away from the mirror, sitting down at the edge of his bed, leaving the goodnight unanswered as he contemplated what he should do. His gaze shifted back to the window as a branch rattled the glass.

Dottore hated the winter. Time and time again, it proved to be the worst months of his life… but a part of him--deep, deep down--wondered if this was all too bad because as he watched the ice creep up the frame of the window, this time with the phantom vibrations of his soulmate flicking at the string, it was with a bit more fondness than there was the night before.

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reblogs appreciated!

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#dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

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netherfeildren · 11 months

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life.

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own.

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower.

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest. He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else.

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you.

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now.

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it.

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now.

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself.

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting.

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors.

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it.

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once.

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now.

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was.

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head.

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.”

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always.

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to– to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing – for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders.

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish.

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing.

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable.

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further.

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.”

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen.

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you.

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone.

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes.

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty.

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him.

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m– m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin.

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin.

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you.

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth.

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing.

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes.

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment.

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it.

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected.

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin.

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah.

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man.

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right.

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot.

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life.

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course.

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

#someone's fic #Joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sadisticsongbird · 4 months

Text

fair and just ~ william bonney

summary: billy’s been arrested and it’s bringing up some questions about your father and what his true line of work is.

warnings: physical abuse (please don't read if this subject triggers you), fluff, language, not proofread

word count: 5.6k

You hadn't known Billy long, but long enough to know that he wouldn't hurt a fly. Sitting in the back of the room, you watched as your father was ready to sentence him. He got caught, granted, but he never actually did anything. His shoulders were slumped over and he faced the ground, knowing what was coming. You wanted to stand up and yell at your father, but you kept quiet, huddled in the back of the room and wearing stolen clothes from your father’s old closet and a hat tilted over your face so no one knew you were there. Women weren’t allowed in the courtroom, but you weren’t recognizable.

“We find the defendant, William Antrim, guilty of attempted burglary and theft at the said Chinese premises and sentenced hereby to a total of three years in jail.”

You heard a sharp inhale to the left of you, recognizing him as the journalist who came up to visit the town a few weeks ago. Only from what you had heard, you knew that he was here investigating the rings that ran around here. Not that you knew much about them. Just that they were the power around here.

“Young as he is, we hope the defendant will use his time in confinement to reflect on his crime, and when he emerges back into society to commit himself to more lawful and productive lawsuits.”

The gavel rang through the hollow room, leaving everybody in silence. You saw something change in Billy’s body language, making him seem like he had no idea what had just been happening. “Remove the prisoner.”

Something seemed to click in his mind when Billy began to argue with your father’s decision.

“Wait! Don’t I get to say anything? This sentence is plain unfair.” Billy asked.

You agreed. While you knew your father wasn’t a completely lawful person, he never dismissed the fact that everyone was given the right to a fair trial. With no idea what was exactly happening, you kept quiet and still in the back.

“I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t hurt anyone,” he rebuked again, raising his voice.

Your father harshly put the gavel down again. “I said, remove the prisoner!”

You were ready to push towards the front of the small room and demand that he give Billy a chance to speak. But you couldn’t move. If your father found out that you were here, you’d be a dead woman. He had made it perfectly clear that you shouldn’t insert yourself into his work. You were all he had left, your mother passing in childbirth along with your younger brother ten years ago.

As the room began to fill with chatter, two men moved over to Billy harshly grabbing his arms and pulling him towards the cell in the other part of the building. He was coming your way but you knew you couldn’t reach out to him. You would risk your father spotting you, or worse, the two men wrestling you away from Billy. Instead, you tipped your hat up slightly, enough so that anyone looking directly at you could see your eyes. Puckering, your lips you whistled a short tune, quiet but loud enough for him to recognize as the song his mother sang to him over and over again as a child. His head glanced up around the room, searching for the source of the tune. When his eyes met yours, his gaze lingered even as the men pulled him out of sight. Realizing that your face had been out in the open a little too long, you quickly dropped your hat back down and glanced around the room. No one had seemed to notice this few second interaction, except for one. The journalist. He stayed looking at you with concern in his eyes, but when you averted your gaze, he did too. The room was still for a moment, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw the journalist next to you calmly walk towards the front of the room.

“This is a travesty,” you heard him mutter quietly to your father, leaning towards him. “To make a kid pay for the things I’ve done?” What things? Did he get Billy wrapped up into whatever this is? “Shame on you, Judge.” Pushing himself off of your father’s stand, he moved towards the front doors. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he walked out, burning your gaze into the side of his head. He was almost out of your sight when he glanced towards you and gestured for you to follow. Without another word, the writer left.

“Hands,” the jailer said, redirecting your attention to Billy. You watched his hands pop out from the cell bars and the jailer removed the cuffs from his wrists. You couldn’t see his face, but from the way he retracted his hands from the reach of anyone, you knew he was livid. You thought back to the journalist. Mr. Upson, was it? Against your better judgment, you made your way towards the door, careful not to alert anyone else of your presence. When you embraced the outside and Upson was nowhere to be found, you caught yourself wondering if he really meant for you to follow him.

“Ms. Wilson.”

Turning around, you saw Upson leaning against a wooden support, a cigar to his mouth.

Clearing your throat, you opened your mouth to say something, but was quickly interrupted. “I believe we should talk. How ‘bout a walk home? Wouldn’t want your father findin’ out you’re out here.”

You made no reaction, yet he still walked on, leaving towards your home. With your mind moving faster than your feet, you watched him walk a block before you actually began to move. Kicking up the dust from the oversized boots on your feet, you finally were shoulder to shoulder with the journalist, looking up at him for answers.

“Why do you think Billy’s bein’ punished for something you did?” you ask.

He inhaled, taking a moment to come up with an answer.

“How much do you know about your father’s work?”

“Not much. I know he’s this town’s only judge. He’s got this other thing that he won’t tell me what it is, but he says it's for improvin’ our lives. Everyone’s lives out here.”

He laughed slightly at your innocence on the subject. “Sure, sure.”

“What? Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

“No, no,” he reassured. “Just…how much do you know about the Santa Fe Rings?”

The Rings? Not much. You knew that they were a power group out here in the West, but not much else seemed to be known about the members. From what you had heard, they tended to be on the richer side of folks out here. “Not a lot. Just what people like to say out here. What does that have to do with my father?”

“Did you know he was part of them?”

Your father was a part of the Santa Fe Rings? That would explain this other job that he claimed to have, but it couldn’t be. Your family wasn’t by any means rich and your father maintained honest work. He never made poor judgment on a case, no matter how much better it would be for anyone. You refused to answer him, only asking another question.

“But what does that have to do with Billy?”

“The men your father works for have got an issue with me bein’ around here. Me knowing Billy hurts him. They all think he’s doing digging for me and my investigating.”

“He isn’t, is he? He never mentioned it.”

“No. I tried to get his help a while back, but he’s stubborn. Doesn’t want to wait to resolve things.”

You nodded in agreement. You knew how impatient Billy could be. He got upset just waiting for you to grab your things if you were going out. Part of you wondered if it was because he felt the need to look over his shoulder all the time. Ever since he was little, he always had his guard up, waiting for something or someone to sneak up and take everything away. The only time he seemed to let his guard down was when he was drunk or when he was with you, and even then, it didn’t last long.

“Is there any chance they’ll retry his case?”

Upson just shook his head in response. “The Rings have their fingers way too deep out here. They got eyes and ears everywhere. If Billy is getting in the way of things, even unintentionally, he’s not getting out until his sentence is served. By then, they’ll probably come up with something new to charge him for if he’s still a problem.”

“Not even if I talked to my father?” you asked, genuinely wondering. But your question was answered the moment Upson’s arm swung across your chest to stop you from walking.

“None of this conversation reaches your father. He must not know you were in that courtroom today. Being here, talking to me, is already putting you at risk. If your father finds out, or anyone from the Rings, finds out there is even a slim chance of you being in the way, they’ll arrest you or even kill you.”

“Then why talk to me? Why put me in danger?”

He scoffed, continuing to walk forward towards your home, now in sight. “I need your help.”

“How am I going to help? Especially after you just told me to stay out of it?”

“Stay out of the way, yes. Let everything happen as normal. All I need to know is if something is going to happen. Your father is deeper in this than he lets on. To anyone.”

You already didn’t believe he was involved. The man who taught you how to survive out here yet still hold onto your morals? The man who raised you to stand up for the right thing? While you knew it was a possibility, you forced yourself not to believe it.

“Forget it,” you said, making your way to your front door. “I don’t wanna lie to my father, much less rat him out.” You took a pause. “IF…if he is what you say he is, then I’ll think about it. But the father I grew up with has never done anything in cold-blood. He believes in the fair and just.”

Upson hummed in response. “Okay, Ms. Wilson.” He tipped his hat to you. “You’ll know where to find me.”

You watched as he turned around, making his way back down the street he had just walked with you. His words were stuck in your head. Was there the possibility of your father being corrupted in his line of work? Even if it was true, how many people had then been hanged to save your father’s skin? To save anyone’s? Pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind, you quickly hurried inside to take your father’s clothes off. They suddenly began to itch and it made you want to claw at your skin. The moment you were inside the doors, you forced the fabric off of your body. No. Upson couldn’t get in your head. Your father was fair and just. Fair and just. Picking the discarded clothes off the floor, you ran to your room and put on the dress you were wearing this morning. Upson might have been wrong about a few things, but the one thing he was dead on about was the fact that your father could never find out that you were there. You hung his things back where they were supposed to be, making sure they looked as neat and untouched as possible.

Taking a deep breath, you decided there were a few things that needed to be done before your father got home. You grabbed the bucket sitting next to the door and walked out to the well outside your house. There was an elderly woman already there trying to lift her pail over the edge, but the rope only seemed to be slipping from her hands. Picking up your skirt, you rushed over to help, grabbing the rope from her hands.

“Thank you, dear. You have a good heart.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you said to her smiling. “Do you need help taking it back home?”

“No thank you dear. I’ve got my small cart to help me,” she said, gesturing over to her wagon already loaded with cloths and food from the market. After you helped her get everything settled, you watched her walk up while you got your own water from the well.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to what Upson said about the Rings being everywhere. If they did, why would he risk talking to you out in the open? You didn’t want to believe anything he claimed to be true, but a part of you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder now. Despite the fact that you didn’t want to be involved, you knew that you already were. Whatever relationship you had with Billy was bound to be questioned and with the possibility of your father being a part of the Rings, you knew you weren’t safe. Once you had a full bucket, you made your way back into the house, placing the water over the fire to warm for your bath tonight then began to prepare food for dinner. Once your father got home, you would have to act like you had been here all afternoon. And you couldn’t bring up the case either, despite how much you wanted to avenge Billy.

You sat at the table, food all prepared, waiting for your father to walk in the door. You could barely move from your spot on the table, your muscles tense and hands shaking. Your tongue was raw from biting it all evening. You couldn’t make up your mind. A part of you knew better than to question your father, but you wanted to know what was truly happening with Billy. But were you then really about to question your father? He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? He loved you, but that didn’t stop him from harming you for questioning his authority. Your breath halted when you heard the front door open. He’s home.

“Mmm, smells good. Y/N?”

“Yeah, Pa. I’m in here.” When his figure walked in, the small light in the kitchen illuminated the shadow of his body so that it towered over you. Your father wasn’t a sprightful man, but where he lost in that he made up for in sheer strength. You wondered if he would have been able to take down Upson or Billy if either one of them had initiated violence in the courtroom earlier today.

“How was your day, Pa?” you asked, standing up from your chair to begin making a plate for him.

“Tiring,” he groaned, placing his coat on the back of his chair and sitting down in the seat adjacent to you. “Had a tough case today.”

“Yeah?” you tried to seem oblivious. “Heard it was a kid.” “Where’d you hear that?” your father said awfully quickly.

Shit. You had no reason to be in town today. If you said something wrong, you know your father would be mad. “Mabel stopped by today. Giving me one of my books back. She’d been in town with her mother today.”

Your father said nothing, only humming at your answer. You placed his plate down in front of him and began to make yours. “It was a kid. Matter of fact, you know him. William Antrim. Was arrested for burglary last night. Such a shame for such a young boy” You tried not to react, no matter how much you wanted to argue. He knew that it was attempted theft. Why would he lie to you? Did he know you were lying?

“You mean Billy? Yeah, I know him. Helped out his mother in the restaurant last summer. He seemed like a nice boy,” you finished, setting your plate down and taking a seat next to your father.

“I don’t want you hangin’ around boys like that. Anyone committing crimes and diggin’ where their noses don’t belong are just asking for trouble. Trouble I don’t want my daughter caught up in.” He rested his hand on top of yours, meant for reassurance but only made you want to pull away. You knew your father was shady about his new Rings business, but maybe you didn’t know as much as you thought.

“Let’s say grace,” you suggested.

Without another word about Billy, your father agreed and began to pray. The both of you sat in silence for the rest of the meal, the only noises being the silverware on the glass plates and your father clearing his throat. The tension was thick and weighing over your heads. You hoped your father couldn't tell how angry you were with him not only for what happened to Billy but also for lying to you about it. When the food off your plate was finished, you stood up, placing your dishes on the prepping table. You'd wash them later when you could stand to be in the room with your father. You then walked over to the fire where you had been warming water for a bath. The pail had barely been lifted from the flames before your father spoke up.

“You know, I thought I recognized my old hat in the back of the courthouse today. Would you happen to know anything about that?” Fuck. You'd been caught. Did he know you were there for Billy or did he just assume you'd been there to see him? “I thought I told you not to involve yourself in my business.”

You took a deep breath. “I know, Pa. I know,” you said, turning to face your father. “I just wanted to go into town today and I figured I'd come see what things happen that you tell me stories about. But I knew-”

“When I told you to stay away from people like Antrim, I meant it. You were there for him today, weren't you, and don't you lie to me young lady.”

You couldn't get a word out before he spoke up again. “Despite what you may think, that ruling was fair and just and to know it.” His voice was beginning to raise and his body along with it. He stood from his chair and his fist pounded on the table along with his words. “Question my judgment again, Y/N, and you WILL regret it.”

Tears were threatening to spill over, but you cleared your throat and picked up the pail. “Yes, sir,” you managed to get out.

You didn't give your father another glance before heading to the washroom. You needed to wash the grime of your father's old clothes and the dust from the town off of your skin.

As you let the water cascade down your body, you couldn't help but think of Billy. It would be dark soon and he was stuck in a cell. From the way he looked at the trial today, he hasn't eaten much in the last few days. You knew that his mother had been sick before she died a week ago. She had contracted whatever his little brother had died from a month prior. He was all alone now. You knew he had hung out with the likes of Jesse every once and a while, but other than that, you were kind of all he had. The two of you weren't close friends by any means but he got along with you surprisingly better than him and Jesse. You were one of the first ones he went to when his family died. You understood what it was like to lose family. Although you still had your father, lately it had felt like you were the only person in your home. His business took him away from home far too often for your liking. You and Billy both filled that lonely hole in one another’s lives. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard a knock on the door.

“Y/N, I know you're upset with me and what happened today, but you have to understand that I did what I had to.”

You scoffed, getting out of the water and grabbing your drying cloth. “I'm not talking to you, Pa.”

“You have no reason to be upset. Antrim was trouble as it was and it was only a matter of time before he snapped.”

“We're not talking about Billy. What's done is done, even if you're wrong,” you decided to argue. You were losing your temper. What happened was wrong and you know that is it was anyone else, there would have been a fair trial. But those in cohorts with Upson were doomed to Billy’s fate.

“I’m not wrong. The boy had what was coming to him. Better you learn that now so you don’t end up in the same predicament.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Pa. You know that you were only trying to save your own skin. You and them Ring fellows. All you were doin’ was keeping people from findin’ out the truth about you all.”

There was silence coming from the other side of the door. You wrapped yourself tighter in your drying cloth, worried that you had taken it too far. Everything that Upson had warned you about had just spilled out in anger for Billy. You made your way to the door, ready to push it open to see what happened when your father came storming in. You could almost see the steam coming out of his ears as he charged towards you. As far as you could, you backed up towards the wall, trying to keep yourself together in your father’s presence. As strong as he was, you could be stronger. No matter what your father did to you, you wouldn’t let it show.

“Now you listen to me, young lady,” he spit in your face, gripping you tightly by the chin. “What I do is none of your goddamn business. And if you wanna talk about what’s really happening in my work then you are just as good as that no good journalist you seem to want to defend. Bound for the noose,” he screamed. His fingers dug into your skin, burning their imprint in your skin. Your body was still as you didn’t allow yourself to move. He had never gotten this angry with you before, never walked in while you were indecent, and never laid a hand on you like this before. The person you thought you knew was completely gone. But maybe he was never there to start with. Against your will, you felt a small tear slip out of the corner of your eye, falling onto his hand.

“Do you understand me?” he seethed.

“Yes, sir.”

With one last search in your eyes to make sure you meant it, he dropped your face and turned around swiftly toward the door. You could almost feel your face bruising. When you reached your hands up to touch the marks, you realized just how much you had been shaking. You couldn’t live like this, scared of your father. Making quick work of gathering your things in the washroom, you blew out the lantern hanging and hurried across the hall to your room. The moon was shining nicely through your window, illuminating the space around you so you could see. Dumbstruck by what had happened, you didn’t bother drying yourself off or getting yourself dressed. All you could do was grab the small shotgun hiding inside your nightstand drawer and crawl under the covers. There was no need for your weapon before, but tonight you felt that you needed that extra layer of protection.

There was a knock outside of your window. At first, you brushed it off as dust or a branch hitting the window, but when you heard it again, you peeked your eyes open. You couldn’t see it clearly, but there was what appeared to be a shadow outside your window. It could just be the tree’s shadow bouncing off of the moon’s light, but it moved in a way only a person could. Realizing that you were still naked, you grasped the gun in your hand slightly, cocking it so you were ready to shoot if you needed to. After you heard glass shatter, you squeezed your eyes shut, relying solely on your gut for where to aim. There were some grunts, but not loud enough for you to figure out who it was. You waited a few seconds before flipping the gun up from out of the sheets. The person matched your speed, taking his gun out of its holster and pointing it directly at your head. But even in the dark, you could see his face, making you lower the gun almost instantly.

“You gotta get quicker than that if you hope to defend yourself, doll.”

Billy.

Watching as he placed his gun back on his waist, you then pretty much threw the gun across the room, no regard for your father probably sleeping in the other room. Trying to keep as much of your bed sheets around your body, you climbed over to Billy who was at the foot of your bed. He wrapped his arms around your form as you threw yours around his neck, practically jumping at him. Thankfully he was strong enough to keep the two of you from falling backwards.

“The hell are you doin’ here? How’d you…”

“I got out,” he said, pulling away from you. He leaned his forehead on yours and looked in your eyes. “We gotta talk.”

“We do. Billy, the hell? Why would you come here? This is gonna be one of the first places they look when they find you missing.”

“I bought myself some time. I needed to come here and find you before…”

“Before what?” you asked.

He needed to tell you. He couldn’t without telling you first. “Before I go.”

Letting your arms fall from around his neck, you sat back on your knees on your bed in disbelief. “You’re leavin’?”

“Y/N,” he began, leaning down to put his hand on your cheek. “I gotta get outta here. Ma’s gone, Joseph’s gone, Jesse left me for dead. I…I gotta go,” he finished with his voice cracking.

“Billy…” you barely let out. You could see tears starting to pool in his eyes. You’d only ever seen him cry twice before and it was when he lost his brother and mother. You mimicked his movements, caressing his face before taking his hat off and letting his brown curls fall loose. Letting your thumbs brush over his cheeks, you felt his now free falling tears on your skin. He was losing a lot by deciding to leave tonight. He was losing his friends, losing his family, losing his home. You couldn’t let him lose everything. “Let me come with you.”

His face flashed with confusion. Why would you want to leave all that you had? For him? It was then he noticed the purple blemishes on the bottom of your face that weren’t there this morning in the courthouse. “Who did this?”

It didn’t register right away what he was talking about, but when his fingers started to brush over your chin, the pain helped you figure it out. “It doesn’t matter.”

“YES IT DOES!” he raised his voice as loud as he could with your father next door. “It does, Y/N. I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“Billy! All that matters is that I wanna get outta here. I can’t let you go off alone. I can’t let you lose everything.”

He felt that his heart would shatter any second. The only other person that cared for him like this was his mother. You would never know how special you were to him. Billy’s mind raced over the consequences, the negative possibilities of bringing you with him. As much as he would love for you to go, he’d rather you be safe. But were you safe here? Whoever did this to you certainly wasn’t someone you could be around.

“Okay.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, come with me.”

Reaching up, you leaned in, initiating a kiss. It started out slow and relaxed, before he registered what was happening. Billy deepened the kiss by brushing his tongue along your bottom lip, allowing yourself to open up to him. Your hands snaked around his neck in an attempt to bring him closer to you. His fingers hooked themselves under your chin, both of you melting together. There was a feeling in your stomach resembling what could only be described as butterflies and all you could do was let out a small whimper as he pulled away from the kiss. Just enough that they didn’t still stick to yours. “Y/N,” you heard him slightly whisper.

“Go, find us a horse. I’ll be ready shortly.”

He didn’t say anything, only smiled at you before grabbing his hat and heading out the way he came in. As quietly as you could , you stood from your bed and began to dress in the clothes you had on earlier today. You grabbed your small bag under your bed and began stuffing it with things you knew you’d need or want to keep. Some extra pairs of clothes, a blanket, extra bullets, a locket that your mother gave you when you were younger, and your guitar. You knew it wouldn’t fit in the bag, but you never left anywhere for long without it. As soon as you were ready, you grabbed the gun off of your bed and stuck it in your boot. One last thing, you told yourself. Setting everything down next to the window, you made your way out towards your father’s bedroom. You knew exactly where to find it, having placed it there this evening. Your father’s old hat. As much as you loathed him right now, you needed something to remember him by. Having hurt you or not, he was still your father, still the man who cared enough to keep you and raise you all these years. You watched his sleeping frame, body sprawled all over your mother’s nice sheets and an empty beer bottle in one hand falling over the edge of the bed. You won’t cry, you told yourself as you let your hand come up to brush the marks your father left. You were ready to be on your own. You NEEDED to be on your own…well, with Billy. Ready to leave the room, you spotted some stationary on your father’s desk. You thought for a moment before deciding it was best to write a letter. Scribbling as fast, but as neat as you could, you folded the completed letter and stuck it next to the gun inside your boot.

Making quick work to get out of your father’s room and back into yours, you noticed Billy already waiting at the window for you to hand your stuff out to him. You gave him your guitar and slung the bag across your body.

“Got the horse?”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, avoiding answering your question and moving his hand up to glide his fingers on your bruises.

A quick peck on the lips was answer enough for him, but you figured you reassure him with words, muttering a small yes. Setting your guitar case down in the gravel, he helped you out the window, careful to guard your body from the glass shards still sticking out of the wood. You jumped down from the sill and into his arms before he gently set you on the ground. He walked over to the clearly stolen horse and began to strap your instrument to the animal, easier said than done. You were ready to tell him to forget it before he told you it was stuck and wasn’t going to fall off. He knew how much you liked to play, how much you liked to sing. He couldn’t let YOU leave this part of yourself behind. Getting on the horse, he made sure that he was settled and everything was in order before sticking his hand out to you. He pulled you up onto the horse, seated nicely behind him with your arms already around his waist.

“Before we leave, I need to make a quick stop.”

“Sure, he said, before urging the steed forward. He made his way through town, careful not to disrupt anyone or anything and avoiding the jail. How know one seemed to know he was missing yet blew your mind, but the only thing you were concerned about right now were delivering this note and getting the hell out of this town. You made sure you were on the side of the building, double-checking that this was, in fact, the room, before grabbing the piece of paper in your boot and sliding it under the window sill, far enough for the person to grab it. As soon as you knew it was secured, you told Billy you were ready. Spurring the horse on, you and Billy began to move faster than before, nearing the edge of town. The sky was near pitch black. The moon had by now disappeared behind the clouds and the stars were the only thing guiding your way. You let yourself fall into his back, letting yourself close your eyes as you both rode off into the night.

a/n: i'm back to writing and i've found some *cough cough* inspiration. I'm also willing to write more parts to this fic AS LONG AS IT IS ASKED FOR.

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thesugarsoiree · 8 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER TWO

“Stay safe, make sure Tohrren is with you at all times; no matter what.” Cregan held Y/n’s forehead to his, the girl hugging tightly to his body.

She was ten and seven now, a young Lady of elegant stature who had become the North itself. Her dark hair was thick and long, cascading down past her waist even with half tied up in intricate braids. The girl had grown beautifully into her soft features and delicate disposition — well, as delicate as a Lady of the North could be. Y/n was kind to her people and caring of her community, she was well trained in the sword and bow thanks to Cregan and well versed in the written word thanks to her maesters. Perhaps that charm, the same charm that brought her mother South, was what beckoned her there now.

The King’s final letter to Y/n after a year of correspondence was a summoning to Kingslanding. She was to join his court as a Lady of the Queen and ‘take her rightful place as a Targaryen’ according to the King’s writings.

“I will miss you, uncle.” Y/n barely held back the tears glazing her bright eyes, stepping away from Cregan.

“You are a Stark, your mothers daughter, nobody can change that.” Cregan’s smile was bittersweet as he held Y/n’s face, drinking in the last he would see of her for months — maybe even years.

“I love you, uncle.” Y/n kissed his cheek, his beard fully grown and braided like her hair.

“I love you too , Y/n.”

Y/n tried her best to get sleep while in the carriage, yet so far all she could do was stare out of the window as the North slowly but surely turned into the South. Her hand languidly stroked Tohrren, the hound finding better sleep than her on this journey.

One thing would not leave her mind, and that was the realization that she could possibly claim a dragon. A story she was told a few years ago came to her mind, one recounted by her cousin, Rhaenyra.

It was a cool evening, as most in the North were, and Y/n alongside Rhaenyra sat within the library of Winterfell. The Princess had gathered a handful of books and chronicles she desired Y/n to read, both sitting in comfortable silence as the fireplace crackled between them.

“Rhaenyra, why do I not have a dragon?” Y/n looked up from her pages, and Rhaenyra did as well. The woman saw the book the younger girl was reading; Dragons of Westeros: A History.

“All of these dragons were bonded to their riders in the crib, as small hatchlings. Why was an egg not placed within mine?” Y/n furrowed her brow, frustrated with this revelation. Rhaenyra’s lips twitched up, her violet gaze wandering towards the soft flames of the fireplace.

“Your father…he is a complicated man, but I believe I know the reason why. Would you like to hear a story?” Rhaenyra asked and Y/n nodded rapidly, closing her book.

“Back in the time of Aenys Targaryen, when the wise King Jaehaerys was still a babe, the wild dragon of the south was born.” Rhaenyra began, looking towards Y/n.

“She was said to be the product of Balerion and Vhagar, hatched from a dark purple egg with swirls of blue decorating its shell. She was born a beautiful dragon, the most radiant of her time, with wings that blended into the night sky and large icy eyes which froze the strongest of men in their tracks.

She was meant to be the mount of little Jaehaerys, but the beast had other plans. She took off one fateful evening and disappeared for years,” Rhaenyra enjoyed the way Y/n leaned in further to hear her, the girl enamored by the tale.

“Then, on a cool night quite like this, the wildling returned. She was full grown, with sharp talons and wide wings that casted shadows over Kingslanding just as her fathers had. She was smaller than her mother, but not by much. Viserys Targaryen, in an attempt to escape his captor and uncle, Maegor the Cruel, tried to tame the wild beast. He would, however, be unsuccessful.” Y/n gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

“The wild dragon killed him as soon as she took to the air, throwing him back down to his tragic death. This would earn her the name Crownstealer.” Rhaenyra took the book from Y/n’s lap, flipping through a few pages before she found the one depicting the wild dragon.

“I think that your father has faith that you will be the first to tame her, this is why you have no dragon.” Rhaenyra knew what she said were lies, and eventually Y/n would realize that too, but in the moment Y/n chatted on and on about how she would change the dragon's name and be the first rider of the great Crownstealer.

Now, of course, Y/n knew that her cousin was making up excuses for her fathers ignorance. Yet, she couldn't help the idea of taming the untamable being quite appealing. It was a thought for a later time, a time when she would see Crownstealer’s shadow in person, not a time when she desperately needed to sleep.

Y/n forced her eyes shut, mind fading into dreams of Crownstealer’s painting.

Winter had arrived.

Y/n stepped out of her carriage after Tohrren, a footman lending his hand to her. She took it with a smile, although it did not last long once the gates to the palace opened. There, followed by a procession of her ladies and knights, was Queen Alicent Hightower. Her regality was not exaggerated, with auburn hair braided back in a southern style and ringlets of jewels resting on her forehead acting as her crown. Her dress was a forest green, deep and alluring with its golden accents. The style was long and flowing, off-shoulder sleeves framing the dainty seven-starred necklace she wore. Upon further inspection of the gold details Y/n realized that they were streams of winding smoke coming from a tower at the base of her dress. The Hightower.

“Lady Y/n,” The Queen smiled, stopping in front of the girl, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my husband is quite fond of you.”

Y/n curtsied politely before handing her furs to her footman, the sun far more overbearing in the southern sky.

“I should say the same, your grace. Thank you for receiving me.” Y/n kept her tone even, wary of the watchful eyes of the Queen’s people. An imposing male figure stood to her right, sharp eyes looking Y/n up and down. The man’s white and gold armor was a dead giveaway that he was a man of the Kingsguard, well-kept brown hair brushed out of his face.

“Ser Criston, please show Lady Y/n’s guard where they will be staying.” The man to her right nodded stiffly, leaving to go speak with the procession of Northern men that had followed Y/n down from Winterfell. It was at the insistence of her uncle; over two dozen knights assigned to protect her whilst she was away.

“Please, my child, follow me.” Alicent beckoned, Y/n falling in line beside her. Alicent linked arms with Y/n, patting the girl's forearm with care.

“Tohrren, heel.” Y/n commanded, the hound following close beside. Alicent raised a brow but held her tongue, ignoring the action.

“The King has eagerly awaited your arrival, I think he will be shocked to see how Northern you are.” The Queen chuckled, attempting to make conversation as they made their way to the King’s chambers.

“I have been told I favor my mother in looks, but I have my fathers eyes. Targaryen eyes, perhaps the King will find solace in that.” Y/n hummed as they entered the Red Keep.

“Yes, perhaps…Y/n, it is a Northern name, correct?” Alicent questioned.

“It is, my mother declared it her favourite before I was born. If I was to be a boy, however, my namesake would have been my grandfathers; Rickon.” Y/n confirmed, mouth slightly agape from her surroundings. The Red Keep was an imposing piece of architecture, with single halls as big as Winterfell and twice the amount of nobles floating about. Y/n also noticed an alarming amount of seven spiked stars, the religious symbol anywhere they could squeeze it.

“Do you…do you have a Godswood I can pray at here, your grace?” Y/n asked, abruptly aware that the Old Gods did not serve here.

“We are subscribed to the Faith of the Seven in the South, but we do have a weirwood tree in our gardens, my daughter often reads there.” Alicent sighed, eyes weary as she recounted the tree that held so many memories.

“The King’s Chambers,” Alicent stopped at the end of a long hall, ornate double doors waiting to be opened, “Your hound must wait out here, the King is ill and should not be exposed to any…disturbances.”

Alicent sounded innocent enough, and Y/n wasn't about to disobey the Queen, so she handed Tohrren’s leash to one of the knights as the doors were opened. Tohrren would still be right outside if she needed him, which considering who she was about to meet, Y/n hoped not. Alicent led the way, confident strides making her quick. Y/n took a few deep breaths, twiddling with the fur of her sleeves. This was it.

She was about to meet the King.

#x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #asoif/got #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #ofwintersflame

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sixeyescurseuser · 21 hours

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Thinking about an alternate timeline where Geto never defected; he and Gojo took Megumi and the twins in, raising them as one little family.

Whenever smol Megumi had a nightmare, he would sneak into his parents room and wiggle his littol body in between Gojo and Geto.

Upon hearing Megumi’s sniffles, Gojo would instantly wake up. He'd pull the child in to fit against his tummy, softly shhhing him and telling him it’s safe so go back to sleep.

Or whenever Geto reads his books on the couch, the twins love mimicking him. Well, Mimiko mimics him with an actual book while Nanako is more content to brush her doll’s hair. But they’re still spending quality time together doing their own activities.

If Geto helps the kids with homework, then Gojo whips up a five-star-dinner.

When the Gojo/Geto household go on a road trip, Geto dutifully drives and Gojo points out whatever interesting things - cars, scenery, landmarks - they pass by.

Because he’s the youngest, Megumi is awarded the middle seat in the back. He frowns the entire car ride to their destination.

(“Megoomi! Relax that face, or else you’ll have wrinkles in your twenties,” Gojo teases.

Through the rearvie mirror, Megumi glares at him like a grumpy cat.)

A couple years later, teen Megumi steadily grows, and Geto has to tell the twins: “Okay girls, let Megumi-kun have the side. He’s taller than both of you now.”

***

When Megumi enters Jujutsu Tech, he’s fawned over because he has the famous dads in the jujutsu world. Some of the curses even know about Megumi (who has traces of his dads’ cursed energies on him) and want to mess with Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru’s kid.

Sometimes, a little part of Megumi wishes he could exist without being recognized as Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru’s kid.

But at the same time, he wouldn’t trade them for the world. It’s just that shouldering the expectations and Gojo/Geto name is a lot to handle as a younger teenager.

The first year consists of adjusting for Gojo and Geto as well, as they have to be professional and treat Megumi as any other student. At times, the line between parents and teachers can be difficult to manage.

Megumi lives in the dorms now, so he has a space away from his parents. Though he knows he can always crash at his parents' house if he wants.

In fact, Megumi goes home often to see his sisters - who have opted for normal school - and enjoy his dad’s (Geto’s) cooking.

***

On his sixteenth birthday, Megumi makes a drastic mistake.

He hadn’t meant to be a party pooper on his special day, it’s just that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night prior, and his body still ached from the injuries he sustained on his previous mission.

Moreover, even though he requested a quiet gathering later in the day, Megumi now sits in front of a cake at ten in the morning, surrounded by his friends and family who have dragged him out to a restaurant that is infamous for having a whole production for customers who dine in on their birthdays.

Under the pressure of dozens of eyes and non-stop talking, cheering, and singing, Megumi inhales deeply, then exhales, blowing out all sixteen candles-

and making the impulsive wish to be alone.

***

Megumi wakes up in his dorm room, alone. No signs of people singing happy birthday or the taste of cake lingering on his tongue.

This is…perfect?

Megumi lets out a long yawn. He glances out the window, he briefly wonders where all the snow went? Did it really all melt after one night?

A light rapping at his door breaks Megumi out of his stupor.

“Fushiguro! Are you awake?” Yuji’s voice filters from the hallway. “Gojo-sensei sent me to check on you. Our meeting started five minutes ago.”

Meeting…what meeting? Weren’t they on winter break? It had just been his birthday, right? What could the meeting possibly be about?

“Coming!” Megumi calls out, then quickly jumps out of bed to get dressed.

Walking to the classroom, Yuji whistling by his side, Megumi realizes it’s not even winter anymore. The flowers are in full bloom, and the sun shines down in all its glory.

Something is seriously off, Megumi knows.

This is proven even further when the meeting Gojo called his students for is to inform them about the upcoming Goodwill Event with their sister-school from Kyoto.

Megumi has no recollection of his parents discussing this to be so soon, nor does he know how the seasons suddenly changed and everyone seemed to be on the same page except for him.

Feeling sorely out of the loop, Megumi takes advantage of his classmates’ constant chatter to wave his father over. Gojo approaches Megumi’s desk with his hands shoved in his pockets, and black blindfold secured over his eyes.

“Dad, what’s going on? I thought we didn’t start up classes until the new year,” Megumi says. Gojo’s lips twitch into a smile, hesitant yet cheerful.

“Oh? What is this? Are you going to call me Dad after all these years? Megumi is finally coming around!" Gojo exclaims, clapping his hands excitedly. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow in deep confusion.

"What? But I always call you-" Megumi starts, but Gojo has already turned away to answer one of Nobara's questions.

Megumi's heart sinks.

His father has never turned away from him like that before. Never.

Without thinking, Megumi pulls his phone out and frantically searches for his other dad's number. The longer it takes for Megumi to find the contact "Papa," the more Megumi's heart dangerously speeds up.

This can't be, Megumi thinks as he finishes scrolling through his contact three times.

It's- it's not there.

Something is very, very wrong...

When the meeting concludes, every student except Megumi filters out of the classroom.

(Fushiguro? You coming?” Yuji questions. Megumi shakes his head and explains he has to ask Gojo-sensei a couple questions.

“We’ll meet you at the front in fifteen minutes. I need some new outfits for this event,” Nobara says. She and Yuji shuffle out after that.)

Now alone with his father(?), Megumi asks where his Papa Geto is.

Gojo instantly freezes at those words. “What did you say?”

“Papa…he’s not here. I can’t find his contact in my phone either,” Megumi elaborates, holding up his device. “Where is he? Usually, you’d be all over him by now.”

“Who, Megumi, who?” Gojo pushes.

Megumi answers, “My papa, Geto Suguru?”

Gojo is silent for a short beat, then utters the first thing that his disassociating mind can muster: “You're not my Megumi."

And he slams Megumi against the wall.

“DAD? PLEASE STOP! YOU’RE HURTING ME! I-I DON'T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!?” Megumi yells, his heart slamming against his ribcage now being on the receiving end of his not-father’s attack.

Meanwhile, Gojo shoves his blindfold off and uses six eyes to scan the boy up and down. But nothing about Megumi's cursed energy seems off. Everything seems to be in place…

This is Fushiguro Megumi.

"Dad...I'm sorry, I don't know what I did wrong," Megumi whimpers, gripping the wrists that pin him with unmovable strength.

His traitorous eyes begin to tear up, paralyzing fear crawling down his spine. He wants to go back to bed and wake up between his parents after this horrible nightmare, wants to wake up after being squished in the middle seat during their five-hour car ride, wants to go back to the familiarity of his home where his family was-

"I want my Papa b-back…”

Gojo abruptly releases Megumi from his hold, crystal-blue eyes shaking in disbelief.

Megumi collapses to the ground but scrambles back up and flees.

What have I done? The two of them think to themselves.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #fushiguro megumi #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu fluff #satosugu fanfic #goge #cerdrabbles #alternate timeline #angst #Megumi just got Shrek-4-Ed

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kooktrash · 2 years

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bunny adventures | jeon jungkook HYBRID AU

summary | you had absolutely no intentions of ever owning a hybrid until jungkook came along. a mistreated, misunderstood rabbit hybrid who’d only ever wanted was to be treated like an equal.

warnings | 13.6k words, smut, hybrid!Jungkook x human!reader, mentions of ownership, past abuse, trauma, degradation, heat cycles, possessiveness, scenting, spit, biting kink, male masturbation, pillow humping, raw sex, rutting, grinding, doggy, missionary, aftercare, Jungkook is clingy and insecure, soft, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk [hybrids!jimin,taegyung,namjoon {humans!yoongi,hoseok,jin}]

“Come on Y/n. You know I have social anxiety, I don’t want to go alone.”

“Fine, hurry up and come get me.”

You were in no mood to be going out on a Sunday. Sunday’s were your lazy days, you liked to stay home and do absolutely nothing for the full 24 hours. Your friend, Yoongi, seemed to have other plans. Lately he’s been going on and on about his lack of companionship, how he’s been by himself for too long. You told him to get a girlfriend but he said there’s no one he likes. You tell him to get a pet he says no he’ll forget about them. You tell him to join a book club he says he hates reading. What did this man want?

A hybrid. That’s what. He wants a built-in friend, someone he can take care of and always have around. He tells you to go with him and after arguing about it for a good ten minutes you agreed. You don’t understand why he’d wanted to adopt a hybrid like they were some pet or something but you weren’t going to argue with him over it. Instead you got changed as quickly as you could, grabbed all of your things and waited for him to tell you he was here. In the car he had a clipboard sitting on your seat. When you looked over it your brows could only furrow, “What is this?”

“It’s a list of what I’m looking for. I can’t go in unprepared,” he explained as you skimmed over it. They had to be at least in their twenties, didn’t matter the sex, clean, organized, etc. You didn’t like how it felt like buying property but you kept it quiet.

One of your closest friends was a hybrid actually. Truth be told your parents adopted him before you were even born. He was a couple years older than you and they couldn’t conceive so they bought him. Namjoon is his name and he was a koala hybrid. He was raised as your older brother almost but when he turned eighteen your parents offer to give him his rights now that he was no longer a minor and he wasn’t able to be owned any longer. He still calls them every now and then, calls them his foster parents but it’s you he’s looked out for the most.

He’s really the one who taught you that people aren’t for sale. That he would always be grateful to your parents for the life they’d given him but that he wished his kind wasn’t so oppressed. That he longed to be his own person with his own family just like him and he wouldn’t have to worry about going out alone without someone belittling him.

“So this is our cat unit, you can find a variety of species ranging from your common household feline to a much larger, predatory breed such as the tiger…”

You listened to your tour guide talk about them like they were some product being introduced. You stared into the large glass rooms where hybrids lounged around playing card games or watching tv. Only a few came up to the window but not many. They were all older, the younger were kept in a different department.

“This is Jimin, Jimin come here!” The guide called out as the three of you stepped into the room. A man only a few inches taller than you came over, tail behind him swaying rhythmically. He flashed a cute peachy smile and the guide introduced him, “He’s a good one.”

You tuned out Yoongi talking over with the guide as you wandered off. You didn’t really care about all the add-ons of information. You were cold, this place was freezing, all metal and glass. It looked nowhere near as home-y as the website made it out to be. You walked past other glass rooms, one filled with canine hybrids, birds, bears, bunnies.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” You jumped a little startled when Yoongi and the guide came up behind you. Yoongi now had a few pamphlets in hand. You looked back to the rabbit hybrids, “Uh, yeah.”

The guide opened the door before you could protest and Yoongi led you in. You looked back to him with furrowed brows, “Come on it wouldn’t hurt to look. You’ve got that extra bedroom anyways.”

Okay, yeah you did have an extra bedroom. But that’s only because your roommate up and went to move in with her boyfriend and ditched you. You couldn’t end the lease early so she offered to still pay for her half until it ended which was in just a mere months. Either way you weren’t looking to own/adopt anyone.

“We’ve got Stella here she’s a dwarf rabbit so she’s pretty petite, good for a female owner like yourself,” the guide told you pointing to a girl who couldn’t be more than 5’0. Stella flashed a smile as her tiny bunny ears stood straight. The guide went on, “She didn’t finish high school but she pretty good at chores around the house an—Jungkook!”

The guide suddenly yelled out, “You get your ass back out here! You don’t go back to your rooms till six.” He looked over to you with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, he’s trouble that one. It’s hard to keep my composure with runners like him. The absolute worst, they don’t know what’s good for them.”

You looked to Yoongi who only stared off in the hybrid’s direction. You followed his gaze and to say you were surprised was an understatement. You’d never seen a hybrid covered in so many tattoos and piercings. The guide must’ve caught you staring cause he went on, “That’s Jungkook, and trust me little lady it’s better if you just ignore his presence. He’s been in and out of homes since he was little, runs away first chance he gets, a big pain in the ass for us since his previous owners always want some damn refund for him. He’s a good for nothing other than getting into trouble. Last time he ran we found him covered in tattoos and piercings. We dragged him back here.”

He leaned closer as if to tell a secret, “Between us he’s getting shipped off to Hong Kong next week. Maybe the facility over there will have better luck finding him a home, if not he’s got hell coming for him. They’ve got stricter laws for runaways like him.” He cleared his throat as he pointed to someone else, “There’s Belle too, she’s a beauty, pure white polish rabbit. She’d make for a great friend if you’re looking for them.”

“Do you have meeting rooms?” You asked hopeful and the guide nodded. He crossed his arms in front of him as he listened in, “Sure do, Yoongi here has asked to meet with Jimin too before he buys, we can arrange the same for you. Who’d you like to get to know? Stella? Belle? We’ve got Junho over there, he’s a good buck—“

“Jungkook.”

“Miss, I don’t think he’d be a good fit for you,” the guide spoke just as Yoongi was glaring at you in confusion. You just shook your head, “I think that’s for me to decide.”

So you were shoved into a meeting room. It was only minutes before Jungkook arrived and when he did the workers made sure to remind him to be on his best behavior. He didn’t say anything for a long time, ears twitching in every direction as they listened on alert. He shook his head suddenly, “Whatever it is you’re looking to get out of me, I’m not doing it. If you force me to do anything I don’t want to do I’m running. I don’t care if you’re the sweetest person in the world—“

“Oh,” you didn’t know what to say. To be honest you had no clue why you even requested a meeting. Surely it was because of the way the guide talked about this man. Like he wasn’t a person but just someone here to make their work harder. You hated people like the guide, rude as hell and they thought they could say anything about anyone. If Namjoon was here he’d have stood up for the hybrids.

Your silence was beginning to get on his nerves. His foot was tapping anxiously, “Well, what do you want? I know you’re not going to ‘adopt’ me so what is it that you want?”

You watched him closely. He was quiet and distant but you could up on certain anxious cues. The way his eyes darted from one direction to the other in curiosity and avoidance. His foot thumped against the floor every now and then and he’d look down at his lap almost bashful but you knew that wasn’t possible. The guide said he was a runner but you had no clue what that meant. Unless he’d been thrown into homes he didn’t want to be in. So really that thought alone is what had you finally speaking up, “Would it be wrong if I did? I’ve got an extra room at my place just collecting dust. They said they’re sending you to Hong Kong next week, and well, if you don’t want to go you can come home with me.”

“Why?” He asked feeling more alert. Was he actually going to get sent away? He didn’t want to go. He was already stuck here he couldn’t imagine being stuck somewhere else. “Why do you even want to? What are you gaining out of this? I’m not gonna sleep with you—“

“Oh!” You cut him off looking just as appalled at the idea as him, “Um, well, this is awkward. No, I had no plans to—okay, well clearly this whole thing is a misunderstanding.”

“Wait!” His face flushed in embarrassment, maybe he did read this wrong? But when he looked at you he really couldn’t understand it. You were young, probably younger than him honestly, you were pretty and well kept, clean and you smelled of… lavender? He saw you come in, everyone was buzzing about the cute couple looking to adopt so he wasn’t sure why you wanted him out of everyone. Like he said, he wouldn’t sleep with you even if your boyfriend was a bad lay. That’s why he left his third owner a few years back, thought she could touch him however she wanted just because she owned him. He left that night. He wouldn’t go through that again. But you seemed different, a much better option than Hong Kong that’s for sure.

“What would I have to do if I go with you?” He spoke like he had a choice but he knew there wasn’t one. Your kind never gave them a choice no matter how kind you claimed to be. You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, whatever you want? I just, I came with a friend today and I didn’t really expect to find anyone… but I do have the space and I’m sure you’d find something to occupy yourself with… if you choose to come home with m—“

“Stop acting like it’s my choice,” he cut you off shaking his head, “Either you want to take me or you don’t.”

Shit. Okay. “Well, I wouldn’t mind having a roommate—“ “You mean pet?”

You stood abruptly, his ears twitching at the sound, “Okay, clearly you don’t want to leave this place and I’m not going to sit around and beg someone to come with me when I didn’t even want… whatever, you can go back.”

“Wait!” He stopped you again. Why did he stop you? His ears dropped fully giving up, “Yes. Yes I want to go with you, please. I’m sorry, I don’t want to go to Hong Kong.”

You ignored all of the guide’s warnings. He advised you to pick someone else but you argued against it. In the end he couldn’t do anything but let you take him and you piled into Jungkook’s car. Yoongi did end up choosing Jimin. You sat up front with Yoongi knowing immediately what his silence meant. He let out a sigh, “Namjoon is gonna have something to say.”

You ignored him. You knew Namjoon was going to have something to say, he always did. He’d most likely give you an earful about what you’ve done. It’s not that he’d think you shouldn’t take someone in but you were scared he’d get you in trouble for practically buying a hybrid. Then he’d tell you something about the fact that you were going to waste money on someone else when you barely made anything at all at your part time. You immediately sent him a text asking him to come over.

Jungkook had decided that you and the man you came with were friends. If you weren’t friends then you sucked as a couple considering he saw no chemistry between you two. The hybrid your friend bought was familiar to Jungkook. On the rare occasion they were allowed out of their hybrid units and able to interact with other species. He’s only seen Jimin a handful of times but he knows well enough that he’s a good guy. When the car stopped finally it was in front of a building apartment complex with a gate around it. You surprised him when you reached into the trunk and grabbed his bag for him. He didn’t have much other than a few pieces of clothes but nothing grand. He was still confused, what did you plan on doing with him? Keep him around the place like some pet?

“Is there anything you want me to call you by? Do you like being called Jungkook? Is there anything else? You remember my name, right? Y/n, it’s Y/n,” you told him up the stairs. He barely nodded, “Jungkook is fine.”

When they stopped in front of a door he watched you take your key and open the door. Inside he was overwhelmed with even more of your scent. It was soft, and honestly kind of lovely, but suffocating. Lavender was your main scent he could pick up easily and it was everywhere. The place was big, bigger than he thought, large spaces and even a ladder over a half wall that led up to a small loft by the high ceiling. He’d never been in a home like this, not by one owner that is.

“You can leave your shoes there,” you pointed down and he did as told. You placed some guest slippers in front of him and he took them quietly. “This is gonna be your room, sorry there’s not much, I wasn’t expecting to… have company.”

You led him into a bedroom. There was a bed with no sheets, a dresser, a closet, his own window. It seriously made no sense. In the past he’d been lucky enough to have a mattress on the floor. You set his duffel bag on the bed and left quickly, he took the chance to look around. When you came back you had a couple pillows and blankets in your hand. He looked to you waiting for instruction but when you opened your mouth to speak you were cut off by the bell ringing. You ran out of the room and went to the front door leaving him alone yet again.

“Y/n!” Jungkook’s ears twitched at the sound of your name being called. His nose scrunched picking up the scent of two unfamiliars. He couldn’t stop himself from leaving his room, surprise etched on his face at the sight. A tiger hybrid was nuzzling into your side, giddy almost as you hugged him back. Next to him was another hybrid with short rounded ears and glasses. Did you have a fetish for hybrids? Is that why he was here?

The taller male seemed to catch sight of Jungkook first, stopping in his tracks at the sight. He flashed a smile, “Hey, I’m Namjoon, that’s Taehyung.”

“Jungkook,” he muttered under his breath coming to stand behind you. You were the only familiar thing around right now and that was saying much considering he only just met you too.

“Yoongi tells me he got a hybrid?” Namjoon turned back to you, “Let me guess, you did too.”

“Yes, bu—“ Namjoon took your arm and pulled you away. Jungkook watched in alert as you winced a little at the hold and before he came make a move to follow you Taehyung was following.

“It’s better if we stay out of it man,” Taehyung said plopping down onto the couch and taking your remote. What was going on? Who were these people? Why did he have his feet on your coffee table? Taehyung chuckled at Jungkook’s frozen state and ushered him over, “It’s family stuff, trust me you don’t want to get involved.”

Family? Jungkook almost scoffed at that.

In the other room Namjoon was staring down at you with his arms crossed, “So let me get this straight, you were only going with Yoongi to help him find someone, you got roped into finding one for yourself because you felt bad? Are you fucking crazy? He’s older than you too! You chose someone who can be a danger and you don’t even care! Have you told your parents?”

Your parents? You sat down avoiding his gaze, “They were your parents for a while too.”

He sighed, “No Y/n, they owned me. I loved them but they never gave me the freedom they gave you. Not until they wanted to get rid of me and set me off on my own. You’re the only one I care about and I don’t want to see you become like them, this isn’t like you. You don’t buy people, you know better.”

Jungkook couldn’t hear anything, but until Namjoon was coming out and looking at Taehyung, “Come on let’s go. He’s got some settling in to do so we’ll leave them to it.”

“Aw! I haven’t even had a chance to play with Y/n—“ Namjoon glared at Taehyung, “Okay, okay, we’ll come back another time I guess.”

Jungkook waited for them to leave, he waited for you to come out of your room but you never did. Retreating to the room you’d sent him to. He dumped his things out stuffing into drawers even though it’d easily all fit in just one. He wanted a shower but it’d be more like a rinse considering he didn’t have anything to wash himself with. The sun had set and all he had to do was stare out the window watching the stars come out one by one. He could hear your footsteps thudding across the hardwood floor and when a knock came to the door he surprisingly jumped out of his seat. He looked to the door as you stood there, “Can I come in?”

His breath evened out as he nodded his head watching you come in. You had something in your hands but he barely focused on that. His eyes stuck on his new owner’s teary eyes and puffy face. You didn’t even meet his eyes as you thrusted papers his way, “These are your personal documents, all I’ve gotta do is sign the bottom and then you’ll be unable to count as property again.”

He stared down at the papers, his what? “What are you doing?”

“Namjoon is right, I didn’t want this. You didn’t want this,” you took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought I could just… but you like you’re some type of pet but that’s not me. Tomorrow morning we can go to the court office and have you legally unbound from me and anyone el—“

“Are you insane?” His voice rose as he threw the papers onto the bed, “That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about! I’ll have nowhere to go, I won’t even be able to go back to the hybrid facility, you don’t just decide to throw someone away because it’s harder than you thought!”

He could feel his anxiety going up, foot beginning to thump against the floor, tail twitching and he had to sit onto the bed to stop himself, “You’ve been stuck with me for less than a day and already regret it. That’s gotta be a new record for me.”

“No, no, I,” you stopped taking cautious steps toward him until you sat down next to him, “I just thought you would rather be out there like Namjoon and Taehyung.”

“Yeah well clearly they were some of the lucky ones with somewhere to go,” he scoffed thinking back on the two he just met. He didn’t like them already, “Us unfortunates only have owners and facilities to go to if we want a roof over our head and that’s already asking for too much.”

You never thought about it like that. When your parents released Namjoon he left with a savings account, he was able to go to college and find an affordable place to live while he found a job. He met Taehyung through school and the two became roommates soon after. Taehyung was slightly different than Taehyung. He’d been born as an illegitimate son to a wealthy man who had relations with a hybrid tigress. He was never up to be owned. They both had opportunities given to them that Jungkook never recieved. If he was on his own then he wouldn’t have the outcome the other two got without some more suffering.

“If you don’t want me just send me back.” He didn’t want to go back but he’d never admit it now. In just one day you’ve provided him better sleeping quarters than he’s ever been allowed in and if he were to go back he’d be sent to Hong Kong. You left the documents on the night stand when you left, telling him you’d need to think about it so he let you. Obviously some day he’d want to be released just like you’d said but not yet. Not when there was no where to go or money to his name. He stuffed them into an empty drawer and went to bed.

“Alright so classes start on Wednesday again,” you told him the next morning, shuffling around the kitchen making breakfast, “So I think we should go get groceries today since I didn’t have a chance to this weekend. You can shower and wash up in my bathroom if you’d like.”

With those orders he did as told. He took deep inhales off your shampoo, pieces clicking together on why you smelled so good. It was soft against his ears and he liked the silkiness of them after, especially on his tail. He took longer than he should’ve but he couldn’t help it. The water was warm, unlike the facility’s, and he wasn’t being timed. He brushed his teeth with the extra toothbrush you set out for him and even washed his face. When he came back out in a black t-shirt and black joggers he found you at the table eating toast. There was a plate across from yours and you motioned for him to sit so he did. Breakfast was quiet, you were on your phone mostly.

He was surprised to know you had a car too. You let him sit up front with you and he hated how excited it made him, staring out all the windows watching everything blur past him. You seemed to be in a better mood today so he didn’t want to push his luck. Who knows when you’d try and throw him out again so better to be on his best behavior. He’s already decided he’ll stick it out with you. You’ve given him no reason to run so he’ll see how far he can get.

The first trip was actually to a cellphone company, you got him set up with a phone under your name and gave it to him, “I’ll be in class or at work a lot so better for you to have some way to contact me or anyone.”

The next stop was at a department store, you told him to pick out a few extras shirts and stuff he might need and you bought that too. You bought him lunch and then you went to the grocery store. He hated how easy everything was going like there’s a catch or something.

You bought him snacks and pretty much anything he looked at and soon enough you were back in the apartment. Jungkook carried most of the things deciding to make himself useful and helped you put everything away. “It’s good that you’re helping, gives you a chance to familiarize yourself with the place better. You have free reign to the apartment just letting you know, okay?”

The next day you didn’t leave the apartment other than a short shift in the afternoon. He distracted himself enough with the tv in the living room but he grew bored soon enough. When you got home he kept his distance but made sure you’d be easy to find.

On Wednesday he was stuck alone. You hadn’t even woken him up to tell him you were leaving, all he had was a text from you.

you: I won’t be home till about 8:00, I’ve got a shit at the store after classes. there’s food in the kitchen or I left some $ on counter

He huffed in annoyance. Was he supposed to go out there on his own? With his luck they’d think he was some runaway and send him right back where he didn’t want to go. He made himself a bowl of Trix cereal [what can he say? the bunny in the cover was entertaining], and watched movies. He took a nap, he showered twice, he paced back and forth in the living room, damn he almost went as far as to nibble on the table leg just to relieve the itch of boredom.

Did he really just expect you to sit around all day? Every day that you were busy?

When you got home he wanted to act like he hadn’t been waiting at the door for you practically all day. You threw your backpack down on the floor and quickly shuffled around, “Yoongi and Jimin are coming over.”

He was moody. Of course he was moody! You, his owner, barely even glanced at him. Barely told him a word much less what to waste his time on. Not even when you got home did you pay him any mind and instead focused on your friend Yoongi.

“This is your room?” Jimin asked tossing himself onto the bed. He now he’d bed sheets and throw pillows everywhere. Jungkook nodded, still feeling shy around the other hybrid. Jimin on the other hand was practically an open book the shy bunny, stretching comfortably on his bed and nuzzling his cat ears for comfort, “It’s big! It’s bigger than my room but Yoongi hyung bought me a TV.”

“So what do you do all day?” Jungkook asked him suddenly. Jimin shrugged, “Nothing really. Hyung tells me he was bored of being alone and wanted a friend so that’s what I am. We watch movies and go out to eat. Heck, he told me this weekend we’ll go out for drinks! I’ve never been so relaxed. He said I could go back to school if I want to, says there’s grants for hybrids and their owners to attend schooling.”

Jungkook and Jimin came back out to see Yoongi helping you with something on the laptop. Jungkook’s never put his hands on one before but he’s obviously seen one enough times to know what it is. “We’ll live soon Min,” Yoongi had said as he leaned into you to stare at the screen better, “I just gotta proofread this for Y/n and then we’ll go. It’s already late.”

“Oh shit it is,” you looked at the time, well past 10:00pm and you looked to Jungkook, “Am I keeping you up?”

With an annoyed such he left without another goodbye. Locking his door and hiding away.

Now, you’ve been living with Jungkook for over a week now and there are some things you’ve already noticed. The first being how moody he was. Were rabbit hybrids always so moody? It’s like one second he’d be nice and the next he’d lock himself in his room. You wondered if he was bored, you didn’t fail to notice the way the place was always so clean when you got home despite the mess you’d leave the night before.

You’ve been studying a lot of articles about living with a rabbit hybrid and you’ve only been able to notice some of those patterns with Jungkook. He can be clingy at times, mostly when you got home but he never really bothered you. He was just always there in the background too nervous to come forward. You also realized you’ve never even asked him about his heats, how often they come, how he wants to deal with them, and pretty ridiculous but you even bought him some teething sticks.

You were currently researching every possible way you can make him comfortable when he came knocking on your door. He was shy almost, his ears flopping down to the sides and shuffling inside. You stared at the packet in his hands nervously. He cleared his throat, “I was just wondering if you’ve decided what to do now.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrowed in confusion as he stood in front of you, nose twitching as he forced himself to look anywhere but at you. He nodded his head, “Yes. You told me you’d think about what you were going to do and it’s already been a week. I just want to know if I have to pack up my things.”

“Jungkook what do you mean?” You asked taking the papers from him and watching his head fall as you did so. He knew it. That’s why you’ve been avoiding him. He feels like you’re never around and he believed it’s because you don’t want to be in the same room as him for long.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he confessed, “I know you regret buying me so if you want to send me off I just want to know so I can be prepared.”

“I’m not—I haven’t been ignoring you, it’s been some busy last days. I’m sorry if it came off that way,” you sighed unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand that sat on his lap. It’s how you’d comfort any friend who was upset. He flinched a little from your touch so you went to release him when he held on tighter urging you to continue, “I don’t plan on sending you off. I left them in there for you to know it’s your choice on what happens with you.”

His brows furrowed as he pulled his bottom lip between his bunny teeth nibbling lightly. He pulled your hand into his chest clasping both of his larger hands around it, “I want you to sign them but I don’t want to leave. I like being with you but I know that if you sign those you’ll probably want me to leave.”

You weren’t expecting that from the stand off-ish bunny. This whole time you thought he still hated being here when in reality he just hated being here alone. You took a deep breath slipping your hand out of his hold and rubbing his back. He stuttered at the touch resisting the urge to thump his foot with your back rubs. You smiled as his eyes shut and you brought your hand up carefully to run you’re fingers through his hair, “If you want me to sign them I won’t kick you out. My lease doesn’t end till September anyway so I’ll have that extra room no matter what.”

He nodded, a little lost in the feeling not noticing when you took the papers off the bed, “So do you want me to sign? I can drop them off at the courtroom tomorrow.”

His eyes opened, when had he closed them? He drew out a shaky breath, “Okay. I promise I’ll get a job and carry my own weight—“

“It’s okay Jungkook,” you smiled letting your hand drop from his hair as you stood in search for a pen. You let him watch you sign it and he did the same.

The next morning Jungkook woke up to any empty house as usual. He was feeling extra lazy today and stretched himself out on the bed limb from limb. He came out even more sluggish from his room nibbling in a teething stick like he did every morning and flipped through the channels on his tv. You bought him one a couple days ago and he’s been obsessed with a superhero since he first watched it. His ears stood in alert at the sound of a key jiggling. Still he refused to drag himself out of his cocoon. Who knows what time you’d be back tonight. It all depends on how late your classes are and if you work. It’s yet another day he’s spending alone. He thinks it might be taking a toll on him, being alone all the time. It makes him think about you more. What are you doing? Where are you? What did you have for lunch? Have you even eaten at all? Would he ever get to hang out with his owner alone or—?

“Jungkook! Breakfast!” His tail attempted a wag but the small fluff ball just twitched as his ears perked up. With his teething stick hanging off his lips he was hurrying out of bed, running out of his room. You stood by the dining table, take out boxes in hand and when you heard the shuffling of feet you smiled. Did your hybrid always look so cute this early in the morning? You always had class early and you hated waking him up. On weekends you’d sleep in and when you’d be up he’d already be showered and dressed for the day. He was a very clean bunny.

He searched around for your backpack or something but they were no where in sight. He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and his fluffy hair covered his face just a little as he took a seat. You brought two plates and some silverware before beginning to dish out breakfast. There were eggs, bacon, carrot pancakes, cinnamon bagels and cream cheese. He watched as you served him, eyes never leaving your form? What were you doing home? “I dropped the documents off this morning,” you told him as you grabbed him a drink, “They said it might take a week to go through.”

“A-are you going to class?” He asked letting his doe eyes follow you around the table as you took a seat across from him. You shook your head no, “No. I took the day off. You’re right, I’ve been too busy lately and haven’t had time to hang out with you one on one.”

“Oh,” he couldn’t stop his foot from thumping on the floor in excitement over the thought of spending a day with you. After breakfast you told him to get ready and he practically ran out of his seat. In your car he kept asking where you were going, if you were there yet, if he could roll the window down and stick his head out.

“Have you ever been here before?” You asked as you led him to the line into the large building. His eyes were looking everywhere, scooting closer to you when more people passed. At one point he was hiding behind you when you reached the front desk. Frozen in his spot upon seeing the model of prehistoric shark bones hanging over head you turned to him. Without another thought you took his hand and felt him squeeze you in his hold as you led him further into the aquarium.

“No,” he answered simply dragging you away to a jellyfish exhibit. His hands on the glass, lips parted in amazement.

After the aquarium you had a late lunch and then a grocery run. The entire time Jungkook was giddy, reaching for your hand and pulling you along behind him with excitement. Back at the apartment after putting the groceries away you asked him, “Want to watch a movie?”

And of course he agreed. He was tasked with finding a movie and he wanted to show you the marvel movie he’s been obsessed with lately. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you’ve seen Iron Man a dozen of times. In truth he’s never had freedom like this, he’s never had the luxury to go out to an aquarium or watch movies to his heart’s content. It was in the middle of the second movie when he let out a small yawn, you looked over to him taking note of his glossy eyes following the movie.

“Y/n,” he spoke suddenly not dragging his eyes away from the TV, you could see a light flush of crimson under his cheeks now, “Can I put my head on your lap?”

You nodded your head watching him smile widely as he shimmied to lay down and let out a sigh in content. What you by surprise if when he searched around for your hand, “Can you pet me again like you did last night?”

He placed your hand down on his head of hair and you quickly understood what he meant. Jungkook’s ears twitched whenever you got too close to their base and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. While watching the movie you let your hand trail further down to the nape of his neck and twisted a few short hairs around your fingers and he was shaking his foot. Suddenly he turned in your hold, face centimeters away from your stomach and you gasped, “I like when you touch me.”

He what? You ignored the sudden race of your heart beat as you cleared your throat, “So, uh, what made you get all these tattoos?”

“Do you not like them?” He asked, corners of his lips threatening to sag at the notion as he looked at you with saddened eyes. You shook your head, “No! I mean, no it’s not like that. I like them, a lot actually, I just wanted to know when you decided to get them all done and how.”

He pushed his face into your shirt, seeming to take a deep inhale if your lavender scent that managed to calm his growing nerves. You continued to run your fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He sniffed again, mmm you smell so good. Your stomach tensed as he pressed further in before sighing, “My last owner, before you, she was this older woman I had when I was seventeen. She had a lot of money and often times would throw these big parties and invite all her rich friends. She used to… she always showed me off, saying how perfect I look. How strong and tall I am. She’d show me off to her friends and tell them how much of a good boy I was and how I looked like a doll.”

He stopped for a second as if remembering and you debated telling him he didn’t have to continue if he didn’t want to. Unfortunately you were already getting a picture. He went on swallowing the lump in his throat, “I was always clean. She’d parade me around, call me her doll and admire my complexion. She wasn’t very nice when we were alone though. She always made me do things I didn’t like… She would leave marks on me and tell me she liked how pure I looked and only she could touch me like this.”

“Koo—“ “Anyway I got tired of it and one day I went out on my own after curfew, met this jaguar hybrid who did tattoos underground and I met up with him. I got most done in one go, I didn’t get back till the next morning and when she saw what I did she kicked me out. It made me realize that I liked being able to control what I looked like even if it meant someone would get mad so I couldn’t stop doing changes on myself. When the facility found me they gave me a good beating for what I did and didn’t feed me for a few days.”

Oh my god. You couldn’t stop your heart from breaking. Poor Jungkook. He wasn’t even an adult yet. He went through so much and you had absolutely no idea what that was like. Without thinking you let your hand rest on his cheek as you leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his temple. He bit into his bottom lip, never having you so close like that and he couldn’t stop the tear drop from slipping. You simply wiped it away and kissed his forehead next, “I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through Bun.”

His heart did a surprising leap at the small term of endearment as he let his eyes fall shut feeling your hand caress his cheek. You smiled down at him, “I want you to know that whether you decide to stay or someday leave my side I will always be your friend. No matter what.”

Things were changing between you. In the week that followed he recited his paperwork and now it meant he could legally find a job. You helped him find something related to art and just your luck you found a hybrid tattoo shop looking for apprentices. With class and work you had limited time with him still but you tried your best to hang out with him as much as you could.

You never knew rabbit hybrids to be so clingy though. Whenever you were home Jungkook was right there by your side, nuzzling his nose into your neck from behind, nibbling on your palm when you caressed his face, getting possessive when Yoongi and Jimin would come over. Last night he even tried convincing you to let him sleep in your bed with you.

Tonight Namjoon and Taehyung came over. Namjoon was happy Jungkook was being treated well and was able to be on his own sometimes. You called him your roommate now. The four of you were drinking now.

“Come on Y/n, you gotta do what the I say!” Taehyung whined as he pulled on your arm oblivious to the harsh glare Jungkook was sending him. Taehyung smiled cutely at you as he scooted closer. He was your friend too and had been so excited when Namjoon asked him to tag along. Of course he’d come! He’d get to see you and maybe your new friend Jungkook would want to be his friend too! What wasn’t there to like about coming over?

“I’m game master and I say Y/n has to pet my ears whenever I want!” He said, long tiger tail swaying behind him, trickling up your arm. Rolling your eyes you nodded, “Fine, okay.” He leaned into you, smiling softly when he was face to face with you and purring when you did as told.

Jungkook just sat back and watched. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this feeling growing in his chest making it ache. He did not like that you were touching Taehyung like that. You should only touch him like that, he was your bunny no matter what the documents said anymore. Before he could stop himself he was rising, not sparing a second glance as he stormed off to his room. Your brows furrowed watching him, what’s wrong? You rose to go after him when Namjoon spoke, “I think we should call it a night.”

When you went to object he was already forcing Taehyung off you. He must’ve known something you didn’t. Hell, he was aware of something not even Jungkook could pinpoint. You followed after him when the two left. He was pacing around in his room, ears shot straight, walking back and forth nibbling on his teething stick to soothe him. He looked over to you when he smelled you approaching first. He’s always been sensitive to your scent first. He marched up to you and without thinking he walked around you.

What was wrong with him? He couldn’t understand why he just got so upset right now. He’s the one who lives with you, he’s the one who gets to see you every day. He’s the one who gets pet by you every day. He knows he’s got a special place in your heart so why was he so bothered by Taehyung and you tonight? He knows he can get back rubs and pets whenever he wants so why was he annoyed that you’d been paying attention to Taehyung instead of him. You couldn’t understand what was happening right now. He was walking around you in circles, feet thumping, fluffy tail twitching every now and then. You could see a small dribble of spit from the corner of his mouth as he gnawed on the teething stick in thought. You had to stick an arm out and stop him, “Are you feeling okay?”

He looked to you abruptly, he almost forgot you were there. And when he looked at you he suddenly grew embarrassed. The stick fell from his lips and he was shaking his head, “Sorry, I’m not feeling well. I-I think I should go to bed.”

“Do you need to take anything?” You asked and he shook his head. When you made a move to leave he surprised you by wrapping his arms around you, “Can I maybe sleep with you tonight? I promise I won’t hog the blanket.”

“Kook… I don’t know,” you looked away from him making him pout trying to win you over with big innocent eyes.

“Please? I-I just want to spend some more time with you,” he nuzzled his face into your neck feeling himself relax inhaling your scent. You smelled so good, your skin was so soft and he couldn’t get enough of it. Giving in you let follow you to your room and motioned for him to go ahead and lay down on one side. The second you were in the bed he was pulling you toward him. You wanted to argue but didn’t have the heart to. Instead you let him cling to your side, nose brushing against the flesh of your neck and ears hitting your face repeatedly. He was eager almost and after the last swipe of his ear against your eye you were whining, “Jungkook!”

He pulled away only to sniff your hair, rub his nose against your cheek, lead his hand around your waist. He was overthinking again. How was he supposed to compete with all the other men in your life? You already had Yoongi and Namjoon. On top of that you had Jimin now who was just as obsessed with your pets as Taehyung. He imagined all the other men in your life too and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Y/n, why haven’t I seen any lover of yours?”

If you had been drinking something you were positive you’d be spitting it back out right now. You turned in his arms and he took the opportunity to scoot even closer to you. His large rabbit feet rubbing against yours. You didn’t know what to say. It’s not that you didn’t date or haven’t dated in the past. Oh you’ve dated alright but you’ve been so busy lately it hasn’t been at the top of your mind. The last guy you dated was a couple months ago and it wasn’t a serious relationship. A few dates here and there, a few hook ups too. You just shrugged your shoulders, hand rising to his hair and running your fingers through the fluffy locks, “Why don’t you go to sleep?”

By morning he’d woken up to the usual empty apartment. You had class early mornings so he spent them typically alone. What he didn’t anticipate for the morning was waking up in cold sweat. His hair was stiff against his forehead, his body felt unbelievably hot and he kicked your sheets away. It felt as if he couldn’t move without making a hiss and when he looked down he understood why. A large tent was formed under his shorts and just the thought of you possibly seeing that was enough for him to groan out loud in annoyance.

It doesn’t take much for him to be pulling his pants up to see the damage, a large erect cock staring back at him.

Jungkook exhaled deeply though his nostrils as he gives in and let’s his hand trail down his stomach. It slipped under the waistband of his shorts to see the damage and lo and behold he was unbelievably hard. With his lip pulled between his bunny teeth he looked around cautiously to make sure he was really alone before being his hand around the thickness of his erection. His response was almost immediate. When was the last time he did this again? Definitely not since he moved in with you. Curiously he began slowly rubbing his hand against his member, rolling the length around, rougher now as if to catch a good feel. His face turned to the side inhaling the scent of your pillow without thinking much on it and with his leaking precum he began to massage himself harder over his briefs, back-and-forth, up-and-down motions that made his chest tighten. The tingling heat of pleasure making his toes curl around the edges of your blanket. He’d practically forgotten where he was.

It doesn’t take him long for his breath to hitch, for him to start panting and rock into his hand with rolls of his hips that make his heart flutter. It didn’t take long for his imagination to take him to you. His pretty owner. No, scratch that. He didn’t have an owner. His pretty own human. Mmm, yes that’s it. You were his person, not his owner, his friend. And he wasn’t thinking so nicely about his friend at the moment. He dips his hand beneath the waistband and—fuck—he’s forgotten how good it feels when he plays with his cock. He moans shallowly, quietly into the sheets as he strokes the length of his cock. The slick drag of a thumb up the vein along the side and circling around his angry mushroom tip rubbing the precum around makes him shudder until his toes curl, his back arching into a bend as he bucks into his hand now.

He can’t believe he’s doing this in your bed… and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t add on to the excitement. You were the nicest person he’d ever met. You treated him so well and he was free with you. You were pretty too, oh so pretty that his eyes couldn’t help but follow the curves of your hips when you walked or steal glances at the small rounded mounded of your nipples when you went braless. The little shorts you wore sometimes that left little to the imagination about how tempting your body was to any prying eyes. And oh was he always prying. Not like it mattered though, he wondered if you’d dress so provocative if you didn’t see him as just some rabbit hybrid.

It made him wonder of what you’d think seeing him in your bed like this, his hand in his pants stroking his heavy dick to the thought of you. Would you see him as a man then? He let his eyes fall over his surroundings, he had slept in your bed. With you in his arms sleeping on the pillow next to his. The pillow… Reluctantly dropping his cock he reaches for the pillow that you’d drooled onto from your night’s sleep. He pulls it beneath him and pushes himself quickly above it, sighing when he pulls his erection from the slit of his boxers, curved upwards and so painstakingly hard. He runs a quick hand down his cock to his heavy balls with the boxers tight beneath, humming at the thought of what he was going to do. Dropping to hug the pillow to his chest, his knees braced into the mattress, and his legs splayed behind him.

Jungkook’s mouth slips open at the rough drag of cotton against his cock as he slides it where pillow meets mattress, his teeth scraping across the t-shirt you’d half hazard of thrown off this morning inhaling your sweet scent yet again. He thrusts his hips once and—oh, fuck Y/n—squeezes his eyes shut at the pleasure, a mischievous giggle bursting from his lips, loud in the quiet of morning. He imagined you walking in right now, possibly forgetting your textbook, or no your laptop? Walking into your bedroom, seeing your usually timid and aloof bunny with his back arching, ass flexing as he moves his hips all over your bed. It’s enough to hump as wildly as he needs to in order to find some well needed release. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been .

It doesn’t take long for the feeling to build, pleasure to make his balls tight and draw up as he moves too eager to rut into your innocent pillow like it was some needy bitch in heat. Fuck, what he’d do to be back at the facility right now. He’d have a line of pretty little does ready to breed. But instead of Stella, or Belle, they were all you. All you taking every rough inch of his cock into your tight walls. The thought has him growling low into the mattress in mixed spikes of pleasure and pain, the dry scratch of fabric against his sensitive cock. He imagined what you’d look like with a rounded belly carrying his kits. He’d make sure to suckle on your breasts so his babies will have no problem finding something to eat and he’d make sure to nibble on every part of your body if you let him. Would you let him fuck your tits like he fucked this pillow?

Shit.

He slams his hips down, a strangled sound ripping from his throat, and his whole body just goes rigid collapsing down onto the bed. His muscles unable to keep him up but still, he hasn’t came yet. He grinds his swollen cock between pillow and mattress, grinds and grinds, painfully aware of the sticky precum soaking the material the closer he gets to coming. A stretch of whines slides through the air, his mouth slack.

“Y/n please,” he babbles into the mattress, voice tight and pleas nonsensical, “Please—fuck—I just—just—fuck—”

He can’t take it anymore. There’s no rhythm to his hips now, rutting uneven thrusts until finally releases with a sharply arched back, hips jutting, twitching, as he pumps a disgusting amount of cum, soaking the sheets, your pillow with it. He bites his lip to quiet himself, huffs and rocks his hips shallowly through the jerks of his orgasm, until the fierce intensity of it simmers. He drops himself on the bed staring down at his mess. Fuck.

Well, you weren’t supposed to be back till later. He’d have the whole house to himself until he had to catch the bus to go down to the tattoo shop. He pulled the ruined pillow into him, a deep inhale of your lavender scent and his release making his eyes roll back. He had hours until he needed to get ready, so maybe a nap with your ruined possessions wouldn’t hurt? He’d shove them into the washer when he’s up again.

“I’m just saying, when’s the last time you went out,” your boss, Jin, asked as he helped with inventory today. You were currently unpacking boxes of new vinyls to put up and he was logging them into the system. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. You didn’t feel a tie to him as a boss any more than as a friend because frankly you both knew you didn’t really need this job. Your parents paid for schooling along with living expenses so the only reason you ever applied to the bookstore was for something to do over the summer. Jin likes to think you enjoyed his company so much you never left. It was just easier to afford to spoil Jungkook when you had a source of income on your own no matter how small.

Still, your boss lacked a sense of professionalism at times and it was partly because of the fact you had become friends. Jin was a few years older than you, he was a businessman. He owned tons of little properties here and there and this store was one of them. It specialized in book and music sales, which were slowly coming back with the newer generation wanting to have something vintage so they say. And today was inventory that’s why you’d rushed over to the store as soon as possible. Jin went on, “Let’s get some drinks, talk about the lack of fucks you give—or have, discuss your bunny boy, and who knows maybe we’ll both get lucky and find someone to take home.”

“First of all, don’t call Jungkook bunny boy,” this time you did roll your eyes, “Second, are you crazy? I can’t bring someone home, what would Jungkook think?”

You thought back to what he’d asked you last night. If you had any lovers and it made you cringe. You were going to respect Jungkook’s presence and when the time came to find someone you could only hope they had your bunny’s personality and—well, everything else. Obviously Jungkook was attractive, hell he’s been catcalled on the streets more than you, but you also know how previous owners had treated him. And even if you’d never hurt him like that you weren’t sure how he’d feel over his former owner-turned roommate and your attraction toward him. It’s better to just avoid the topic entirely.

“First of all, I like bunnies so I don’t see the problem in it,” Jin rolled his eyes back as he grabbed the box cutter and slashed through another box of vinyls, “Second, fine. Don’t bring anyone over but you can easily go to someone else’s place. Please Y/n! Just a couple of drinks, you know I don’t have friends.”

“Fine! Fine!” You gave in, “But I’m gonna stay on the clock.”

“Of course you are.”

“Jungkook!” He turned instantly as his mentor, Hoseok, called out to him, “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit off today.”

He nodded his head scared he’d get in trouble. In truth he wasn’t feeling okay. He was hot and sweaty and he couldn’t think of anything but you. Maybe this morning was a mistake. If he hadn’t done what he did he probably wouldn’t be feeling so damn hot right now. He can’t remember the last time he had symptoms of a heat that wasn’t taken care of immediately. That was the only thing the bastards at the facility were good for, maintain heat cycles for breeding just to grow their industry.

“Just hot,” he murmured as he continued to outline a cleaner sketch of his with the light table. He’s been so happy you found this apprenticeship for him. Hoseok already told him once he gets his license he’ll have a spot in this shop! He’d be able to cover rent so you went end your lease and maybe buy you something nice for thanks. Haha wouldn’t it be funny if he bought you bunny ears to match with his own? You’d be like his own pretty little doe, would you be as eager as one?

“Yeah you don’t look so good,” Hoseok laughed as he sat across from him eyeing the sketch, “Take it easy today, okay?”

A little later in the day Jungkook was ready to call it. Usually if you were free you’d come and pick him up or else he’d ride the bus. Just as he was finishing up he’d received a text.

you: hey I’ll be home a little late today, lmk if u need me to send any $ for dinner :)

Sigh, an afternoon without you in the worst of moments.

You did end up going for drinks with Jin. You forgot how fun it was to hang out with him so you got carried away in his presence. You didn’t drink really but you both snacked and honestly it had been enough. You were completely unaware of the way Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep in one spot. His member stiffening under his clothes but he kept pushing that thought away. If you were to get home any second he wouldn’t want you to catch him in the act anymore. After washing your things he’d felt unbelievably guilty and he imagined the look of horror on your face if you’d actually seen it.

Instead he paced back and forth in the house waiting for you to come home. Maybe just being with you would be enough, for now. He’s scared that if he told you it was his heat you’d send him off to some heat hotel. Since moving in with you he hasn’t thought of any other woman and he’d like to remain celibate unless you were the change.

What he didn’t expect as he paced by the door was for his ears to catch onto the numerous voices upon your arrival.

‘I had fun tonight, even for an old man you can still be fun I guess’ your voice was clear as day from the other side of the door and it had his foot thumping. He just didn’t like what you were saying. Who were you talking to? What fun did you have?

‘Shut up, it’s not my fault you’re barely at the drinking age,’ the man had spoken with a laugh that only filled Jungkook up with possessiveness. Who the hell was that and why was he talking to you like that? ‘Plus, you’re the one who wanted to call it a ni—‘

The door swung open, Jungkook standing directly behind you, hand sneaking around your waist flat against your stomach as he drew you back into him. You smiled back at him unaware of the darkness in his eyes as he stared at your boss, “Jungkook this is—“

He didn’t even let you finish as he dragged you inside and slamming the door in Jin’s face. Your jaw dropped and as you went to go open it Jungkook held you in his arms nuzzling his face into your neck and sniffing. You smelled disgusting. Like another man, he always worked so hard to keep you from smelling like any other hybrid and Yoongi that he was not going to let you come home smelling like that stranger. A stranger he had noticed who was unbelievably handsome with no tail and no pointed ears in his hair, maybe that was your type. An ordinary, all genetically human male. The thought made him growl against your neck.

Jin just laughed, “Right!” He shouted through the door as you fought to get to it, “I’ll just see you tomorrow! It was nice to finally meet you Jungkook!”

Finally? His ears perked up as he listened in on descending footsteps before glaring over at you. Had you been lying to him? Had you been letting him believe he was the most important in your life? That this whole time your heart had belonged elsewhere and he’d been stupidly waiting for the day you’d see him as something other than a fucking rabbit who needs to be taken care of?

“What is your problem!” You shoved back just enough for him to move and he was glaring at you, “That’s my boss! You didn’t have to be so rude.”

He only huffed picking up your fallen jacket and trudging along into your bedroom without another word. You followed after him, a little angry but also, horrifyingly a little turned on. You knew he was big but wow, to just pick you up like that and drag you back? And the sound he’d made when he pulled you into him? And the dark look in his eyes that had your thighs clenching a little? You’d never seen him act like this, you’d only heard about his behavioral problems but he’d been sweet to you since you’d understood each other better. This wasn’t like when you first met him and he was rude because he wanted nothing to do with you. No, this had everything to do to you and as you followed him and found him digging around your things and dropping them onto your bed in a fit of rage you couldn’t lie and say this wasn’t making you a little hor—

No! Stop! This is Jungkook. Your poor old hybrid who’d been through so much that you couldn’t imagine ever hurting him! Maybe Jin was getting to your head too. Maybe you should just find someone to fu— “Hey!” You shouted watching him dig into your hamper and pull out an old t-shirt, “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done in the beginning,” he said pulling his shirt off. Your eyes nearly bulged, had you seriously never seen this man without a shirt? The small peak of abdomen you’d caught when you first saw him was nothing compared to the full thing. Taut muscles adorning his front with a muscular back covered in body art. Small scars here and there that you surprisingly just wanted to kiss and— “Get on the bed.”

And you were moving without thought jumping into the middle of the nest he’d made around you until he was standing in front of you, lip pulled between his teeth and unzipping the front of his jeans. That’s what had your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, “W-wait! What is going on?”

You moved to get up but he simply crawled onto the bed nearing you, “I’m going to show what happens to bad little does who come home smelling like other men.”

When his words processed through your head it was almost instant. The sudden realization of all the articles explaining how high maintenance rabbit hybrids are and why. Bad little doe? Did he just— you looked back to him, his dark eyes shamelessly eyeing you up and down under him almost ready to eat you up and you finally understood, “Jungkook, I-is this… are you going through your heat?”

You pushed him back ready to hop off the bed, “Fuck I’m so sorry. Oh fuck okay what do we do? Do I get you medicine? Do you want me to take you somewhere? Is there anyone you can call for help?”

He shut you up with a light shove making your fall back onto the bed and he was hovering over you now, “You do not own me anymore so you don’t get to choose what I do.”

“I wasn’t, I—“ a light gasp slipped from your lips. He was warm, soft lips meeting yours with tender yet eagerly as your gasp allowed him to deepen the kiss before you could process.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jungkook pulls a away hesitantly, his nose able to pick up the scent of arousal from you which had him salivating, “I think you’re only seeing me as a pet still. Not a man.”

“Jungkook,” you start, “You’re not thinking straight okay? I just want to help you.”

“You want to help me?” Jungkook chuckled dryly beginning to scent your neck again in comfort, “Then tell me how you feel. I can smell how eager you are. You want this too.”

His broad chest rises and falls rapidly, his pupils so dilated that his irises are almost black. “I want you,” he hisses, and kisses just under your jaw, ears perking up when you make a strange whimper low in your throat and still.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he sighed into you as his hands unable to stop themselves began roaming down the sides of your body tugging at your clothes. He was more undressed than you were, burning hot to the touch and it scared you. Mostly because the pool in your legs was getting bigger. Your silence made him even more curious, tempted to see if and when you’d tell him to stop, possibly kick him out. You were panting now as a soft hand slips under your shirt, palming your skin until here found the edge of your bra. Should you be allowing this? Maybe he’d regret it all once his heat dies down. Maybe you should just go get him medicine. With innocent rounded eyes he looked into yours as he let his hand slip under your bra finding a nipple and pinching lightly but enough to make you yelp.

“Are you sure?” You ask surprising yourself by bucking under him. “You’re a big bunny, I’m sure we can find you a doe hybrid that can he—.”

Jungkook shoves off the bed, hand covering his face as his ears curl down over his face almost like a shield, “Fuck, I was stupid to think you’d want me too. Can’t you see how crazy I am about you? Just the thought of you and another man drives me fucking insane. Don’t you get that? No other woman has had me so shaken up before.”

You were sitting up, fixing your shirt and bra in the process cheeks flushed red as you pressed your thigh together, “Jungkook I—listen…” you took a deep breath deciding to be honest, “I like you, a lot, a-and I don’t want us to do something you’ll regret with your heat wears off.”

Jungkook’s growling grows louder before he exhales carefully, “I don’t like you Y/n, I love you. You are the only person to ever show much such tenderness and love. I tried to tell myself I was in over my own head but I want to be with you. That’s why I wanted those papers signed. I wanted you to see me as an equal that you could love.”

“But I would’ve loved you no matter what,” you told him, sitting on your knees now, hands on his bare shoulders looking down at the tattoos. He turned back to you, breath hitching at your touch that had his body reacting more than he would’ve liked, “Please.” His eyes shut relishing in your touch not understanding what he was begging for, “I need you so bad.”

And you gave in. Your lips crashing over his and he was quick to twist back to face you tugging off your shirt until it fell into the nest he created around you in a fit of anger. You gasped as he kissed down your neck, drool pooling on your skin trailing down to your bra. He quickly unclamped it, your pheromones blocking his senses telling him he just needed to be inside you. Still, he wanted to be good for you too. He lifted you up enough to turn you onto your stomach, tugging on your shorts and yanking them down your legs. You squealed when he took your underwear too adding it to the pile around you. His eyes nearly rolled back at the sight of your naked body so submissive under him. He couldn’t help but rut against your behind, the roughness of the jean catching you off guard.

He gripped your hips as he began to kiss along your vertebre shimmying himself down, scenting you and letting your arousal lead him to where you needed him most. The hands on your hips lifted them up enough to have your back arch with your pretty ass up and in his face.

With no time to tease he was quick to press his face into your heat surprising you and you can’t help but rut back onto Jungkook’s sloppy tongue as he lapped at you wetness. It’s good, so good that you start whimpering, squeezing your eyes shut and gasping when globs of Jungkook’s spit slide down your thighs as you fucked yourself back onto his tongue, “Kook.”

His nails were digging into the flesh of your ass, thrusting his face into your heat, the only thing in his mind as you wriggled your hips against him, yespleasemoremoremore.

Jungkook opens you wider, drooling as much as you and all around is that scent, your unbelievably delicious scent of lavender and arousal that he had to think about day and night since he came to you.

Abruptly the bunny backs off, though not before licking one last time, slow and lingering, and pressing his hand firmly between your shaking thighs before hand is gone, and when you move to chase that impending high Jungkook grabs at the softness of your thighs and pulls them even further apart.

Before you could react he drops down to press close along your back in reply to your submission, nuzzling into your neck, his body curved perfectly along yours.

“Look at what a good doe you are,” Jungkook mumbles against your skin as he licks a stripe up the back of your neck, “Are you ready bunny? Ready for me to fill you up, make you all big and round with my kits?”

Fuck. Shit. Uh oh. Your head shoots up as you look over to your nightstand. Did you have condoms? Fuck, no you didn’t. You were ready to tell him that you don’t have protection but as your head turned in time for his lips to capture yours in a needy kiss you had a thought. Jungkook wants to breed. No, needs to breed. It’s quite literally in his DNA to breed and yet here you were stressing over a condom. You could tell him to pull out but the way he made out with you and began a slow grind of his cock along your butt you highly doubted that’d satisfy him. Maybe on a regular day it would but definitely not while he was in heat.

Then he growls again, unhappy with your lack of response so you do what you could and try and snake an arm behind you to grab his cock. You couldn’t get pregnant but you were on birth control and hopefully with a trip to the pharmacy tomorrow you’ll be fine. “I can’t wait anymore baby,” he moaned becoming much more aggressive humping you, “Please, can I f-fuck you.”

“Kook!” You nodded eagerly feeling the need to be filled by his thick cock. Maybe in the future you could wrap your lips around his fat tip, “Fuck me bunny.”

And with that he was lining himself in, teasing your entrance gathering slick to lube his member and you feel the tip of his cock catch on slit and then, without further warning, plunge into you. The bunny has stopped pressing his nose into your neck, and his fingers dig bruises on your hips as he drives into you, fucking you nearly in half with the force of each thrust. He looked strong, but feeling that strength like this is far different than any man you’d slept with in the past.

He wasn’t doing any better. His past heat partner were all hybrids or those trashy owners of his. Though he was able to breed and cum to his heart’s content he’d never felt such pleasure. Such warmth and tightness from your walls. He let a hand slip under you, grasping at your tits groping them and rolling the nipples in his fingertips. He was a groaning mess, drool slipping from the sides of his mouth and his teeth and gums ache.

His heavy body covers yours while keeping down, pinned, stuttering out nonsense in bliss, “P-pl—Y/n—s-so good to me…”

In any other situation you’d probably be grossed out at the sight, at the sounds but you were delirious with the sensation of his cock, long but fat where you want it to be, thick enough that it burns in the best way. Each time Jungkook pulls out only to slam back in, the sound is loud and slick.

Once, he pulls out all the way and rubs the outer layer of your clit watching a whispered please,a slip from your lips and he groans before fucking back into you, but not before you feel how much his cock is leaking. Holy shit he was ready to burst. His actions from this morning doing nothing to subdue the need to fill you up.

Every thrust pushes you forward a little, and you claw at the sheets arching your back in helpless pleasure, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts while the hand on your tits continues its assault. With your hips now fucking back onto him it gives him enough leverage to sneak his free hand under you back to your clit letting you do the work now.

You can’t even be surprised when the feeling of teeth press into your neck like they’d done so many times before but this time it was different. It was hungrier.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good,” He groans, nibbling on your neck revealing the ache in his gums, and the next second his rhythm falters he’s letting go, pumping you full of sticky heat. And you tightened your stomach and your cunt, forcing yourself not to cum with him. You can’t. Not without protection. The bunny hybrid shudders over you, but he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t move away, and then his hand is sliding into your core whilst his cock slips out trying to plug up your hole but it was useless. It was dribbling out and he was rubbing your clit to chase your release. With a final wiggle of your hips you were unable to hold back anymore, releasing on his hand with a loud whine slipping from your lips.

Your eyes widen at the sudden feel against your thigh as he turned you over again, his cock is hardening again and without another word he’s plunging inside you, stretching you wide even as cum oozes out from your spent cunt. He’s smiling mischievously impaling you on the entirety of his cock as you shudder while he captures yours lips in his for a moment before whispering into your mouth, “Need to make sure you’re full” he coos, and starts moving again, “Please love, just tonight. Please.”

You nod, too fucked out to care as Jungkook keeps you on an endless edge, a wave of pleasure that leaves you feeling raw and trembling, more so each time he buries his cock deep and cums, filling you again and again.

With the slip of his cock out of your overstimulated hole you release, panting out of breath as you just lay there taking it all in.

Something soft brushes against you. One of Jungkook’s ears, drooping down as he leans over you nosing at your jaw and chin, “I’m sorry Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

And his high was calm for now, now all he felt was guilt. This isn’t how he wanted it to go. He didn’t want to be so rough and eager and hungry. He wanted to be soft with you and loving and tender. He failed. He acted on impulse from seeing you with Jin and he failed to keep his composure. A stupid bunny. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

But you were kissing the tip of hide nose, running your fingers through his hair and guiding him to sit up, “Shhh, it’s okay Bun. Why don’t you help me get cleaned up?”

When you tried to leave the nest he was yanking you back, shaking his head nervously. No please don’t leave him. He’s sorry. He promises not to be so rough. Please just stay.

With a bite of your lips you let him hug you, hearing light sniffles and you were grabbing one of the shirts off the pile, using it to clean yourself, trying to clean him up to.

“Please don’t leave me, I’m sorry,” he cried trying to scent you, “I promise I won’t behave like this again, pl—“

Your lips were on his, kissing him so carefully and he hated how it made his cock twitch threatening to come to life yet again. And he hated that you noticed because your brows furrowed, “I won’t leave you. But we need to get protection if we’re going to handle your heat.”

No! “B-b-but, but I wan breed y—“ he stopped. The look in your eye telling him to stop. His ears droop over his face in shame but he nods, “Okay.”

“Come here, why don’t we get cleaned and we can go to the store together?” You asked cautiously shimmying toward the edge of the bed with him following suit. It made you giggle how now it seemed he was the submissive one, clinging to your hand praying you don’t disappear and chasing you into the shower.

Everything was going to be okay. He was going to be okay because you loved him and he loved you. That was all he’d ever wanted.

::.

Hey y’all it’s been a minute huh

anyways first time writing a hybrid fic and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing so bare with me

I’ll add a word count later :p

#kpop #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #park jimin #bts #Jungkook hybrid #Jungkook smut

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eoieopda · 1 year

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Yoongi + “runaway bride” I’mma leave this one up to your interpretation bc I know I’ll love it either way and also wanna see what you come up with 👀

oooooooh!!! v excited by this prompt, lol. this is, um, going to hurt kind of a lot at the beginning, but stick with me!!!! also, i accidentally made this >3.3k words….. which i will proofread when i am no longer exhausted 🤪

the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas

ft. POV shift, pining & correlating angst, reader who’s🎵 a runner she’s a track star 🎵, a #nonspon vans product placement, a very unfortunate namjoon (sorry, buddy,) childhood idiots in love

Yoongi sat in a seat chosen specifically for him not because he wanted to, but because he knew how much time you’d sacrificed in writing every place card by hand.

To be clear, he’d never wanted to attend this rehearsal dinner in the first place. Unfortunately, he knew the stakes. That wasn’t something he’d dare to say out loud — especially not to you. Not in that restaurant while you fluttered between tables and shined your warm light on every single guest, one by one. Not ever, because you’d slipped through Yoongi’s fingers the second Namjoon slid that ring on yours.

If, in twelve hours’ time, Yoongi could force his deflated body out of bed, he’d have to watch quietly while you got away for good.

There was nothing he could do about it, either, so he swallowed that grief with a mouthful of bibim nengmyun. He knew it wasn’t the food that tasted so bitter on his tongue; however, on the off-chance that it was, he followed suit with another ill-advised swig of makgeolli.

During the two subsequent hours he sat and stewed at that table, Yoongi had lost count of just how many glasses he’d had. His eyes never lingered on the bottle, sticking instead to you and the smile that didn’t seem to spread beyond the curve of your lips. Every now and then, you’d glance his way — and every time you did, there was a microscopic twinge at the corner of your mouth.

It felt like a signal, something cryptic, but he wasn’t in the proper headspace to begin making assumptions. For the first time ever, you’d hit Yoongi with a look he didn’t know what to do with, and that fact drove him insane. This was what he was afraid of, after all — that the invisible string between you would be re-routed to someone else, and the telepathic link you’d always shared would disappear with it.

Your friendship had started early because your respective mothers had grown up together, and found each other once again as adults with two kids each. Back then, both of your front teeth were missing and — if Yoongi made you laugh too hard at routine, weekend gatherings — banana milk would occasionally fly out through the gap. He was nine-years-old and had no concept of it, but now he knows that he loved you then.

He loved you when you were ten, and you kneed a classmate in the dick for bullying Yoongi on the basketball court. You were two years younger and half his size, but you were a force to be reckoned with.

He loved you when you were fourteen, and a wave of brand new hormones made you a little bit of a fucking nightmare to be around.

At seventeen, twenty-one, still.

Now.

There, while everyone around him clinked their chopsticks against their glasses and Namjoon accepted the crowd’s wordless demand that he kiss you.

Yoongi had done well enough with your previous relationships. None of them made him feel like this, though, and he’d spent two years unable to put his finger on why. Sandwiched at that carefully chosen table between his mother and older brother, it finally clicked: None of them ever threatened to last.

Yoongi had never been a particularly hopeful person, but buried deep in the back of his brain, there had always been a crumb of it. Part of him, however stupid, thought you’d end up together at a dinner like this. All of this was the last nail in the coffin, the alarm clock screaming that it was time to wake up.

Suddenly more nauseous than he’d ever been before, Yoongi scooted his chair back so abruptly that it scraped along the floorboards. Just as quickly, he got to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Of all the heads that turned to watch him leave, yours was the only one he noticed in his peripheral vision. He could feel your eyes on his back — pictured how confused you must look — and it only made his stomach acid churn faster.

When he finally made it out to the patio behind the restaurant, Yoongi’s suspicions were confirmed: closed for the season. Fitting. He wasn’t in the mood to heed the signs, so he stepped carefully — one leg at a time — over the hip-high metal gate and gulped down sharp, late autumn air. As he did, he begged himself to get his shit together for you, if not for him.

He spent several minutes out there, maybe even hours, sitting on a bare, metal chair and glowering out at the trees at the edge of the property. He hated himself, he realized, for how easily he wasted time. Let it slip by unnoticed while he stood still.

The clock seemed to mock him, ticking faster from behind him as if time was going to outrun him again.

At least, that was his first guess.

Yoongi quickly learned that the clicks weren’t signaling the passing seconds; they were broadcasting the urgent beat of stilettos on brick. So, having figured that his mother had appeared outside to gun him down, Yoongi glanced over his shoulder and braced himself for the be-all, end-all of scoldings.

What he got instead was you and the undeserved concern that caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly once you reached the gate. With your manicured hands on the cold metal, you shivered, but you didn’t seem to notice. “Did you eat too much of the gochujang? I definitely did, and now I’ll be up all night with heartburn.”

Yoongi felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. The memory caught him in a riptide, beat him bloody against the rocks because he could’ve sworn he was sixteen again, stacking old encyclopedias under the headboard of your bed. He’d read somewhere online that, while sitting upright in a chair can exacerbate reflux, sleeping at an angle could help.

He was dizzy when he blinked back at you and saw your lips moving. He had to focus hard to figure out what you were saying.

“You remember that?”

Yoongi struggled to even out his breathing; he had no hope at all of finding the plot he’d lost. “Huh?”

You grinned and it made up for all the stars that had been hidden by grey clouds overhead. “The encyclopedias,” you chuckled, “They worked, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t mean to say it. He knew it before, during, and after it slipped out of his mouth that it was the worst goddamn thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t stop himself — couldn’t shove the bullet he’d shot back into the gun. With the way it exploded through his chest — I love you — he was surprised that his body was still intact. No viscera sprayed out from the exit wound, no stains appeared on your chic, white cocktail dress.

You opened your mouth but closed it soon after, so clearly stunned by his unsolicited admission that you couldn’t find the words. Yoongi had no expectations whatsoever when it came down to your reaction because he hadn’t meant to provoke one in the first place. Even still, the wounded look on your face was worse than anything he might’ve imagined.

The two of you stood in tense silence for so long that Yoongi’s soul had nearly ejected itself fully from his body.

“That’s not fair,” eventually came your shaky reply. You clenched your fist tight around the top of the gate to anchor yourself and stammered, “Yoongi, that is not — Why would you —”

As soon as he aimed to take a step in your direction, your shock gave way to a scowl that could’ve boiled him alive.

“Why would you dump that at my feet? Tonight, of all fucking nights, Yoongi — seriously?” You snapped, though it sounded like a sob. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

Now?

He didn’t know how to respond. He was paralyzed, inside and out, and he deserved it. Who the fuck was he, forcing the burden of his feelings onto you?

Selfish. Stupid. Out of time, as usual.

The makeup you always took so much time on started to run alongside your tears. Yoongi had seen you cry before, though he’d always been the reason you stopped, rather than started. He hated every single one of those muddied, black tears because he knew you. He knew you would have worn waterproof mascara if you’d had any reason to anticipate crying on your special night.

“I’m getting married in the morning!”

Your reminder was a dagger flying out of your mouth, sticking him right between the ribs. It stung as images flooded his mind — of you and Namjoon, your guests, and your out-of-season, imported fucking hydrangeas. It hurt even worse to see how badly you shook as you glared at him.

“Yoongi — fuck!”

Before you walked away, your eyes locked on his for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Yoongi promised himself that it was the last time you’d ever have to see his face.

When you were little, you pictured your wedding day like a moment ripped straight out of Cinderella. In your head, you’d wake up to birds singing at your window and mice scurrying around your feet, eager to dress you in a gown of epic and magical proportions. It’d be perfect. For years, you’d been sure of it.

In reality, there was no waking up because there hadn’t been a single second of sleep to begin with. No beauty rest, no sweet dreams of marital bliss — just you, feeling as if you’d swallowed a car battery. It sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, let acid burn all the way up to your esophagus. And it’d been all too easy to toss and turn in your hotel bed, which laid perfectly level on top of a plush, floral rug.

You crawled out of bed without the assistance of altruistic rodents and shuffled your dead weight over to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. For once, your imagination had been accurate. Your puffy eyes were red in the aftermath of all your tears. They ached above circles so deep and dark that they would’ve alarmed you if you hadn’t expected them.

Namjoon had seen you at what you both believed to be your worst. Neither of you could’ve ever predicted that the Corpse Bride would be the one staggering down the aisle towards him. He’d love you anyway, you knew it, no matter how you looked. But if he knew what you spent all night toiling over…

You shook your head and abruptly turned away from the mirror. There were several of your dearest friends bustling around the room next to yours, all of whom were waiting on you. Swallowing hard, you headed for the adjoining door and promised yourself that the only person you’d let down today would be you.

You lost all track of time when a blur of hands went to work on you. If you’d closed your eyes while you dissociated, you could’ve pretended that your assistants were those woodland creatures you used to dream about. But you couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t sleep through this part, couldn’t let your mind wander all the way back to that patio.

It’d been terrifying, staring your own heart in the face like that. More than anything, it was confusing because it didn’t look like you expected it would — not like an organ at all, but a person. You’d gotten so good at ignoring it that you couldn’t reasonably expect yourself to recognize it. It knew you, though, and loved you. Apparently, it always had.

As you sat in that hotel room, far away from the patio, you pictured every other moment you wished Yoongi had said what he did. The thousand times you’d thought for sure he felt the same, and all the ways you distracted yourself when you resigned to believing he didn’t. Every person you dated until you finally managed to move on —

“— please, love?”

You blinked rapidly to force your eyes to focus. In front of you, your mother stood with a knowing smile on her face and a sokchima in her hands. You didn’t need to ask her to repeat herself; you took the hint and rose slowly to your feet.

“I was nervous on my wedding day,” she hummed as she pulled the undergarment gently over your head. “Hungover, too, but your grandmother does not need to know that. Frankly, I’m surprised she couldn’t tell with how bloated I was when she helped me get ready…”

The bright scarlet chima followed without so much as a word from you. Your heart slammed helplessly against your rib cage when your mother proceeded to tug the sleeves of your jeogori up your arms. This moment should be special, you thought bitterly. All you wanted to do was cry; to apologize to your mother for your total inability to care while your wedding happened around you, not for you.

Soon enough, you were dressed. Your friends and older sister gushed about how beautiful you looked — the perfect bride — like you weren’t caught in the web of an anxiety attack. Like it wasn’t all wrong, and you weren’t dangling on the precipice of your life’s greatest mistake. Like you hadn’t spent so much of your hard-earned money on invitations and greenhouse-grown, special-ordered fucking hydrangeas.

Like you could catch a fucking breath under all the layers of your hanbok.

Sensing that a moment alone was necessary, your mother kissed your cheek and ushered the others out the door ahead of her. Before seeing herself out, too, she stalled in the threshold, turned back around to look at you, and exhaled through a pause.

“I left your shoes by the dresser,” she chirped.

The gentleness of her tone was reassuring, but there was a faint gleam in her eyes that caught your attention. Before you could ask after it, she nodded firmly once and let the door click shut behind her.

Alone again, your instinct was to do the same thing you’d spent ten consecutive hours doing — burying yourself under pillows and crying until you ran out of tears. But you had run out, which was precisely was the problem. You had no options left, nothing left to do but lean in.

At least, that was your first guess.

Your list of choices expanded by one when you saw the well-worn pair of slip-on Vans your mother had set out for you.

Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Only two meters away, a garment bag hung from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. That bag — and the crisp, black suit it concealed — lingered there for weeks in the shadows, untouched since the day he bought it. Even though it hadn’t left its hanger, he felt it smothering him throughout the night. It choked him while one thought ran circles in his sleep-deprived brain:

The reason he bought it was the same reason he’d never be able to wear it.

Sick of the way he’d trapped himself with his thoughts, Yoongi pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to the door. With the way he flung it open, knob slamming against the wall, he’d likely never recover his security deposit. It felt good, though, taking his grief out on that godforsaken suit.

On his way to his front door, Yoongi stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cabinet he hadn’t opened in weeks. As he stared at it, the devil and angel on his shoulders warred over the action he wanted so desperately to take.

Sure, he’d recently — finally — quit at your insistence, but what did that matter now?

He gritted his teeth and shook his conscience off his shoulders with a shrug. Within seconds, Yoongi was on the other side of his kitchen, grabbing an unopened pack of cigarettes and the lighter that lay in wait next to it. He closed his hand tight around it so he couldn’t see the Hello Kitty stickers you’d placed all over the plastic; your attempt to dissuade him from using it in public.

Joke’s on you, he thought as he placed a cigarette between his lips, your plan backfired. Leaving your mark on it the way you had was the only thing that’d kept him from throwing it away — and the only reason he still had a lighter to use at all.

Yoongi opened his front door with one hand as he tried to ignite the lighter with the other. No matter how many time he flicked the pad of his thumb over those little metal ridges, nothing sparked. Defeated yet again, he slumped down onto the porch swing, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to break down over something so stupid.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed as he sat like that. He had no way to tell who those urgent footfalls belonged to, either. That is, not until panted breaths hit his ears and prompted him to open his eyes.

Admittedly, Yoongi had pictured you in your bridal hanbok more than once throughout the years. Half the time, it hadn’t even been purposeful. From first to third grade, you’d rambled to him about your dream wedding on your daily walks home from school. You spoke about it so often, in fact, that even he started thinking about what embroidery a mouse might add to the hem of your chima.

As the pair of you got older, you brought it up less, so Yoongi didn’t think about it often. The image crept up on him, though, once in a while. Every time you brought him as a plus one to your friends’ weddings because you didn’t want to dance alone; and he nearly told you that he’d always want to be your partner.

Or that time you cried through your worst ever heartbreak on his couch, lamented that you’d die an old maid, and never get to wear one.

Even as recently as last night, when he drank half a fifth of whiskey and grieved over the fact that he’d never get to see you wear one.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of the real thing, not with the way you’d doubled over to catch your breath; and bunched the ends up in your fists, presumably to prevent yourself from tripping as you — ran here?

“What did I tell you about the cigarettes?” You puffed, still with your hands on your knees and your face angled at the sidewalk.

Somehow, despite running five kilometers to Yoongi’s doorstep, you hadn’t displaced a single hair from your artfully crafted up-do. Your makeup hadn’t budged, either, which meant that the only sign of your expended effort was the tint of pink on your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You’d outrun his train of thought in your scuffed, old Vans. Yoongi had to buffer for a moment in order to catch up, but the involuntary smile fighting its way over his mouth didn’t bother to wait. Eventually, he recited your long-suffering appeal, smirking all the while, “They’ll fuck me up, and I’ll have to be wheeled out onto the basketball court in an iron lung.”

“Exactly.”

With one last, deep breath, you returned to your upright position. The second you did, Yoongi was the one choking up.

Rapid blinking did nothing to stop the tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t shake the inexplicable flutter in his chest at the sight of you. You’d always been perfect, but this was —

“Oh, my god,” he croaked, thoroughly melted from the inside out.

Yoongi stood before his brain could signal his legs to do so; or remind his hands not to drop the phone, lighter, and cigarettes he’d been holding. His eyes, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. He drank in your appearance like he’d spent the last twenty-two years wandering, dehydrated in the desert — and in a way, he had.

You blinked back at him with swimming eyes as if you’d found sanctuary, too. Suddenly aware of what you were gripping, you opened your fists and let the fabric flutter down to the ground. While smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist, you asked softly, “Not bad for a bunch of mice, right?”

“Look just like a dream,” he replied just as gently.

Yoongi’s hands, which were thankfully now free, reached out and grabbed yours. You followed his lead as he spun you, twirled under his raised arm until you ended up with your face mere centimeters from his.

“Yoongi,” you breathed. Your eyes danced from his, to his lips, and back again. “If you wait another twenty-two years to tell me how you feel, please pick a time and place that is mutually convenient. I swear to God, I’ll —”

It came out much more easily the second time than the first; and when it did, it felt more like a beginning than a bomb:

“I love you.”

#re: the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas #jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #2k drabblepalooza #myg #min yoongi #yoongi #bts #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #bts imagine #bts scenarios #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #trashlibrary

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cherrycola27 · 9 months

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the darkest little paradise

Series Warnings: Mafia!AU. Language, drugs, alcohol, death, violence, smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: The Auction

It had been sixteen years since you'd been home. Sixteen years since you made the biggest mistake of your life and your father shipped you off to boarding school in Italy.

You'd learned a lot in those sixteen years. You redeemed yourself in your father's eyes and helped grow the family business. You were certain that he was going to give you back your birthright and make you his successor once again. Something you had lost that faithful night.

But before he could, he died, tragically, suddenly—suspiciously.

You were sure it was at the hands of your younger brother. He'd always been jealous of you. You were positive that he set you up all those years ago and convinced your father that he would be a better heir to the empire.

You knew that he killed your father to keep him from handing you the business.

You just had to prove it.

You hated being back in the States. But your brother forced you to come back by having your assets frozen. It was wither come home, sell your body, or starve. Honestly, the last two options don't seem so bad now.

Thankfully, you wouldn't have to face him today. Instead, you were making an appearance in his honor at a charity auction at your country club. It was a masked bachelor's auction. Feral men and women with more money than they had sense would bid on attractive men from the community like they were prized cattle. To make it more anonymous, everyone masks. It added to the appeal.

You knew that these auction weren't supposed to end in an R-rated way, but you knew more often than not, they did. That's exactly what you were hoping for.

Your brother was supposed to be one of the bachelors tonight, but he was called away on "business." His right hand and second in command would be stepping in for him. You planned on spending whatever amount it took to take him home with you tonight.

Your brother would kill you if he knew what you were planning, but you didn't care. This was all a part of the long game that you were playing.

You reached into your clutch purse and took our mirror, and checked your reflection. Your red lipstick was still perfect. The silvery- grey mask your wore looked flawless and complimented your outfit well.

You were dressed in your signature color— sapphire blue. The liquid silk gown you had chosen flowed over your body and hugged your neck with a beautiful halter neckline. You had platinum and pearl and sapphire earrings dangling from your lobes.

Your mother's well loved sapphire and diamond ring was snug on your right hand, where it had lived ever since she passed.

Your driver turned into the country club and made his way up the long driveway before pulling up to the front doors where an actual red carpet had been rolled out. You rolled tour eyes at the spectacle that was being made. Sure, the theme of the evening was "Hollywood Glamour," but this felt like a bit much.

Nevertheless, you put your mirror away and grabbed the snow-white fur stole from the seat beside you and draped it between your elbows. It was the same color as the fine powder that you finally was infamous for.

Your father always told people he made his money through a hedge fund, but really, your family fortunate came from the drug trade, cocaine to be specific.

While you personally didn't participate in the use of your family product, you could sell the hell out of it. You introduced it to the upper crust circle of Europe and expanded business ten-fold for your father.

And as much as you wish you could say your family's real business was a secret, you knew it wasn't. Your father had every politician and lawman in his back pocket. You could get away with anything because of who you were.

You sat patiently as you waited for your car door to be opened. Soon, Raphael, your driver opened the door and extended his hand for you. "Remember, pick me up at seven tomorrow morning." You reminded him.

Raphael nodded his head before a tuxedo clad man escorted you to your seat. "Can I get you a drink, ma'am?" He asked you as you settled into your table at the back of the room, away from everyone else.

"Gin martini, chilled glass, lemon twist." You told him without looking up. He quickly scurried away as one of the organizers from the club brought you your auction paddle.

"Good evening, Miss Sapphire." A voice call to you. "Donny." You said as your personal security guard came and took a seat beside you. A black leather breif case tucked under his arm.

"Do you have it?" You asked him as your martini was set down in front of you. "Yes, ma'am." Donny replied. "Good." You said as you took a sip of your drink.

...............

The auction was just as you had predicted. Women and their perfectly manicured nails and men with their expensive cufflinks zealously bidded, all in the name of charity of course.

You bided your time, sipping your martini, waiting for him to come up.

Finally, the emcee announced him. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've saved the best for last, so get your paddles and your checkbooks ready for bachelor lucky number thirteen, or as we like to call him, Rooster!"

A roar of applause went up as he took the stage. And why wouldn't it? Rooster was handsome in his blue suit that he had paired with a red and blue statement dress shirt. The first few buttons were undone, giving the people a peak and the tone, tanned skin underneath. He had a matching blue mask across his eyes, and a pair of Italian leather loafers on his feet. You could see the glint of the Montblanc watch sticking out from under the sleeve of suit, and the thick gold ring he wore on his pinky.

You had to admit, he looked good. Gone was the scrawny half grown kid you remembered your father taking all those years ago. Just be he shipped you off.

He had been replaced by a man, tall, handsome, and brawny with years of heartache behind his eyes.

"Let's start the bidding for a date with the handsome Rooster at twenty-five thousand dollars." The emcee said.

Paddles immediately went up. You signaled for Donny to raise yours. The bidding climbed higher and higher, passing one hundred thousand. "Jump the bid to a quarter of a million." You told Donny. It was a strategy you had learned from your father, jumping the bid normally deterred the competition.

"Are you sure?" Donny asked you. "Yes." You told him.

"Two-hundred fifty thousand." Donny said as he raised your paddled. There was a gasp followed by murrmers from the crowd. The emcee continued with fewer participants. You growled in frustration as the amount climbed higher you continued to bid, having Donny jump it again to half a million. You thought for sure that would win, but a brunette at the front of the room countered your bid.

You were locked in a bidding war with her. It was a battle to see who would give first. Finally, you told Donny, "One million. Bid it. Now."

"Ma'am, I—" Donny stuttered. You shot him a deadly glare. He swallowed before lifting your paddled and loudly proclaiming your bid. The room went silent. "Wow, one million dollars. Do I hear one point one million?" The emcee asked. The brunette shook her head.

"Okay, one million going once, twice. Sold to bidder number six one six." The emcee said as he announced the end of the auction and next steps. You quickly took the brief case from Donny before giving him a hotel key card and a set of instructions to give to Rooster.

You then went to pay your debt. The country club treasurer was quite shocked when you presented her with the million dollars in cash, but was thankful for your "donation." Once your debt was clear, Donny drove you to the Four Seasons. He has an idea of what you had planned, but he knew better than to say anything.

Once there, you made your way in the back entrance and up to your penthouse suite and waited for Rooster.

Room service already had champagne, caviar, and a full bar cart stocked for you.

Thirty minutes after your arrival, Rooster entered the living area of the suite.

"Hello there, Rooster. Can I get you a drink?" You asked him as he made his way into the room. His eyes flitted about, taking in every detail.

"Cognac. If you have it." He said hesitantly. You poured a glass for the both of you before gesturing for him to sit. You stood across from him, watching as he took the drink from you and took a long sip.

You couldn't get a full read on him, but the way his eyes were roaming over your body, you knew you'd be able to seduce him.

You took a seat across from him. Neither of you spoke.

"So— what did you have in mind for the evening?" He asked you. You knew that Bradley was smart enough to know what you had planned.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you stood up and unhooked the top of your dress and pulled the side zipper down. The garment pooled at your feet, revealing the lingerie you had on underneath.

You then sat back down in your chair and kicked your shoes up on the table. The red soles matched your lipstick.

You took another sip of your drink as Rooster sighed and raked his hands through his sandy blonde curls.

"This isn't that kind of date, ma'am." Rooster protested.

You leaned back into the chair and brought the crystal glass of cognac to your lips. He watched you, tentatively as you sipped the rich liquid.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I paid a million dollars for a small slice of your time, sir. That's quite a bit of money. More than you're worth. So, this evening is what I say it is, Mr. Bradshaw." You smirk back at him. You tilt your head to the side as if to dare him to challenge you.

"How do you know my name?" He asks you.

"I'm a very powerful woman, Bradley. I belong to a very powerful family. It's my business to know everyone I associate myself with." You tell him.

He stands up and moves closer to you. You give him a wink.

His feet stay rooted in place as he looks you over. He devoured every inch of the sapphire blue lingerie that you were clad in. You could tell he appreciated the way the bustier hugged your breasts and how he was enticed by the bows tied atop the garters you wore.

"Well, Miss—" He trailed off, still not knowing your name.

"Sapphire. You can call me Sapphire." You filled in the blank for him.

"Well, Sapphire, what exactly did you have in mind?" Bradley asked you with a teasing smirk.

"I want you to take off that Armani suit and show me why they call you Rooster." You replied with no hesitation in your voice.

Bradley chuckled as he reached for his cufflinks. He dropped them, and his watch unceremoniously onto the table before sliding off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He twisted his pinky ring a few times before giving you a devilish grin.

Your lips curled as you sat up straighter.

He stalked over to you before planting a hand on each arm of your chair. That's when you knew you had him.

Perfect.

Everything was going according to plan.

Taglist: @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @beccaanne814 @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @lillyrosenight @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #lt. bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #top gun rooster #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #top gun smut #top gun 2 #the darkest little paradise

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trashpandacraft · 3 months

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What are your cats' names? I love them very much 🥹

you are my favourite person. thank you so much for asking this and giving me a chance to talk about my cats, my precious terrible babies.

we have three cats, as you can see in this photo of them supervising me watering the garden yesterday.

the brown tabbies are brothers, and are two years old. the grey one was adopted at the same time, but is younger—about eighteen months. they're terrible. i adore them.

this is darcy. he's impossibly beautiful, so full of beauty that there's absolutely no space left in that precious little head of his for anything as trivial as thoughts. look at those eyes. his mind is absolutely empty.

darcy enjoys hanging his chin over things, feather toys, helping me manage any wool products that i'm using, sunbeams, yoghurt, tearing apart cardboard boxes, and being lightly thunked along his sides. does he like being pet like a normal cat? not really. what he loves is when you aggressively rub his sides up and down like you're trying to towel off a very wet dog, or when you play bongos on his ribs.

darcy is our babiest boy, and also the fanciest and most beautiful boy. he doesn't walk, he prances. his tail is an enormous peacock plume. his mouth is so so so pink. he's also our most timid boy—very friendly, but very cautious, especially when it comes to anything physical. big jump? no thank you, darcy will simply hop down to the floor and take the long way. he's our longest and probably our sturdiest cat, but he does not care to put that to the test.

this is bingley. you may notice, in these photos, that he's missing the paw on his front right leg. this is because he put every single one of his ability points into soft and didn't leave any for paw. he feels like this was a reasonable trade, and is entirely unbothered by its absence.

bingley likes sofa, plush fishie toys, biting and biting and biting his siblings, cotton, being tall, getting onto the bed by jumping directly on my face, and trucks and machines of all types. you have a spinning wheel? this guy is obsessed with spinning wheels. garbage is being picked up? he is tearing into the office so he can watch it out the window. toddler-ass behaviour, frankly.

darcy and bingley are brothers, and when we went to the shelter, we were told that they were a bonded pair, and that darcy relied on bingley for a lot of social cues. this was, at it turns out, 100% correct. darcy is timid and anxious and very reluctant to trust his own abilities; bingley is confident and loud and knows absolutely no fear. this cat has opinions, and by god he's gonna tell you about them. bingley makes the biggest jumps, and is the cat who figured out that he could jump from the knee-high cat tree to the top of the more-than-two-metres wardrobe. i'm honestly glad that he's missing a paw because i feel like if he weren't a tiny bit nerfed, he'd be A Threat. he is also far and away our smallest cat, even though he sometimes makes himself look quite large in photos.

this is goblet. goblet is rightfully called silver—my child named him, thus the thematic disconnect—but i have to admit that i've almost never called him that. you see, when we got him, he was very young, and he had hilariously oversized eyes and ears, which made him look like a goblin. a very small goblin. a goblet, if you will.

goblet likes food, the plastic bottle caps from sports drinks that he fishes out of the garbage, being in things (baskets, drawers, cat beds, etc), headbutts, having his belly rubbed, and sitting with his front paws tucked up very politely.

he's our most skittish boy—if there's a loud noise, he's gone—but also the snuggliest. which is great, because he's also the most trustworthy when it comes to craft supplies. if i pull out my knitting, there's like an 85% chance that he'll appear on my lap within ten minutes or so, and then he'll just hang out there. i've used his limbs to tension yarn before and he just purrs. he's sort of middle of the road on the bad life choices scale—too skittish to have bingley's eyes closed, three paws, can't lose attitude, but more confident than darcy. he's also the smartest cat.

additionally, he has weirdly, freakishly grippy paws. he's not polydactyl, but he very much uses his dewclaws like thumbs. he really holds on to things. it's messed up but also very charming, because he holds on to everything.

anyhow, thank you so so much for sending me this ask and giving me an excuse to tell you way more than you wanted to know about my cats!

#cats #my precious stinky babymen #bin blogging #smartest raccoon i know

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sunsetsands · 3 days

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punkshort · 9 months

Text

Chapter warnings: language, violence, angst

A/N: this chapter might be a little slower than the rest, but I felt like it was important to establish how they are surviving. I tried to keep it spicy and interesting but please stay with me, I believe I have some great stuff coming up :)

Chapter Ten

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

October 2003

Pittsburgh, PA

It had taken you nearly a full month to make it 400 miles, having to stop frequently and rest for a couple days here and there, but you were halfway to Chicago. Your bodies were not used to the constant exercise, and it required you to rest more than you expected. Joel suspected you were both deficient in some capacity since all you had eaten was canned and processed food for a month and exerting much more energy than normal. You were holed up in a small cabin outside of Pittsburgh, about 10 miles away from reaching the city. Joel had broken into the cabin late last night, and the two of you collapsed into bed once he confirmed the place was empty. He had planned to stay here for a couple days, wanting to make sure you were both as well rested as possible.

The next morning, Joel was looking around the small basement of the cabin, his flashlight bouncing off the dirty concrete walls while you went through the clothes left in the dressers upstairs, determining which ones were suitable to swap out. With winter fast approaching, you both needed to find clothes with longer sleeves and extra layers.

His flashlight scanned over a rusted metal shelving unit in the far corner. He walked over to inspect the items, finding mostly cleaning products, insect repellant, paint, and other chemicals. At the very bottom he found a hunting trap which he picked up to examine, pleasantly surprised to find it was still functional. He took it upstairs and placed it on the small kitchen table, then went to find you in the bedroom, where he heard you opening and shutting the dresser drawers.

The queen bed was covered in clothes, women's clothes on the right and men's on the left. On the floor you had tossed three well-worn hunting jackets, and on the other side of the room was a pile of discarded clothes that looked like they were meant for warmer months.

"Makin’ some progress up here?” he asked, bending down to take a closer look at the jackets and opening the pockets to see what was left behind. He triumphantly pulled out a few batteries and a lighter, shoving them in his jeans pocket. He picked the jacket up and shook the dust off before trying it on.

"Yeah, we got some good options. I think the guy's clothes will fit you, her clothes will be a little baggy on me but that's fine, I can do layers," you said over your shoulder as you scooped up loose socks from the top drawer and tossed them on the bed, getting to work matching and rolling them up. "Did you find anything useful?"

Joel put the jacket back on the floor and picked up a second one, trying that one on before settling on the third, which was a little big on him, but the thick leather kept him well insulated. "Yeah, actually, I found a hunting trap. I'm gonna go out a little ways and see if we can catch somethin', I think we need more protein, we've been needin' to take too many breaks lately."

"You want me to come with you?" you stood up after matching up the last pair of socks.

"Nah, I won't be long, you keep workin' on this stuff here." Joel grabbed his rifle and the trap, closing the front door behind him and setting out into the woods.

The cabin was surrounded by a thick forest but there were a few trails that must have been forged by deer given how tall the grass and narrow the paths were. Joel walked carefully into the trees, staying alert for any threats. Out this far into the wilderness, infected weren't the problem. The pair of you hadn't come across any more people since that night in his apartment a month ago but he made sure you stayed off the roads as much as possible. You weren't as quiet or withdrawn anymore, but he noticed you were becoming hardened by the world you were forced to live in. He had seen the slow progression as you both learned how to take down infected as efficiently as possible. He remembered when you first had to do it: you were so scared he could see the switchblade shaking in your hand as you snuck up behind a dormant runner. As the weeks went on and you practiced more, you became more comfortable taking them down, but he also saw the hardness growing in your eyes. He knew it was just a product of your environment and it was essential in order to survive, but some nights when he was unable to sleep, he laid awake and imagined a world where he could be a shield for you, taking all damage, and you could be your warm and sweet self again, safe under his protection.

Being out in the wild without the comfort of an apartment helped quell his feelings for you a little. He was less distracted when he had to always be on high alert, forcing his thoughts off you and onto survival. But whenever you stayed in a safe spot for a few days, like this cabin, he eventually found his thoughts wandering back to how soft your lips were against his that night, the curve of your hips in your dress, or the way you moaned into his mouth. The forced proximity and the illusion of safety usually meant his body ended up finding yours in the middle of the night and pulled you close to him. You never mentioned it, and neither did he, but he knew it was a byproduct of trying to stamp out his feelings for you. It was almost like his mind was saying one thing, but his body was refusing to obey. So, whenever he woke and found himself tangled in you once again, he didn’t allow himself to savor the moment and quickly removed himself from you before his heart swelled and he would be lost in you all over again.

It was about a ten minute walk from the cabin before Joel found a good spot to place the trap. It was near a big bush that looked to be home to some kind of animal based on the prints in the dirt. He took a pink scarf out of his pocket and ripped a piece off, tying it to the tree branch above the trap. As he followed his footsteps back, every minute or so he tore another piece off and tied it to a branch until he reached the cabin. He pushed the door open and set the rifle down by the door. He heard you singing softly to yourself in the bedroom, completely unaware he had entered the cabin. The first instinct he had was to chastise you for not being more aware of your surroundings, but the part of him that was desperate to protect you ultimately won, and instead he stood in the kitchen to listen.

You left the bedroom with an armful of rags you had made from the summer clothes in the corner, lyrics softly leaving your lips when you saw Joel standing there and yelped out of fright.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me!” you exclaimed before taking your pile of rags to the couch and setting them down. “How long were you standing there?”

“Just walked in a minute ago,” he replied, giving you a small smirk. “Found a good spot for the trap, I’ll check it before sundown. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He shrugged the hunting jacket off and draped it over a chair.

You nodded and headed over to the cupboard to see what the previous residents left behind.

“Are you hungry? We have some soup here, and some canned stew. What do you want?” You turned to face him with your hand on your hip, but his gaze seemed unfocused and his thoughts far away at your question. Moments like this felt so domestic and it made him ache. What did he want? He wanted everything you had to offer. He wanted to turn back time and take back what he said to you, before he ruined everything. He wanted domestic bliss where you made him dinner and he had you for dessert. He didn’t want to be fighting for your lives while you ate expired Dinty Moore.

His gaze refocused on you and replied, “I’ll take the soup.” He reached into his jeans pocket and found the lighter from earlier and got to work setting up a small fire outside while you rummaged around for pots to heat up the canned delicacies that awaited you.

Joel had just left to check the trap before it got too dark, and you were left scrubbing the pots in the sink until your fingers felt raw. You dreaded any time he left. You hated being away from him, and not because you were scared, it was something more. You figured it out when one morning about a week ago you woke up wrapped in his arms again, for maybe the third time, but that morning was when you realized you only truly slept well when he sought you out in the middle of the night to pull you close and breathe you in. You were always disappointed when he woke up and pulled away from you so fast, leaving you feeling ashamed for being the only one who wanted it to continue. You had to constantly remind yourself it meant nothing, that Joel only had wanted one thing from you by replaying how mad he got for not sleeping with him that night. He never apologized for it, and you know you shouldn’t care anymore, but sometimes when you let your thoughts wander, it bothered you.

You put the pots back in the cupboard and raked your fingers through your hair aggressively, looking out the window to see if you could spot him. You hadn’t had any moments between you like that day in the subway when you saw the heat behind his gaze as you ran your hand up his arm. You convinced yourself afterwards that you had misread the situation, that the look in his eyes was not one of passion, but one of disapproval, and the embarrassment for the way you behaved sat with you for the next week. Eventually, the embarrassment faded when your focus was redirected to surviving in the wild and learning how to take down infected. You were both becoming pretty good at it, so long as you had the upper hand and noticed them first. Only twice did Joel have to use a gun to take one down, so your ammo reserve was still well stocked. But there was something feral that triggered inside you when you watched him kill: the little curl his upper lip made when he made contact, the fire in his eyes when the adrenaline kicked in, the way the muscles in his arms moved from the force of piercing a knife through their skulls. There had to be something wrong with you, nobody should find something like that attractive.

You heard his boots walking up the small porch, but you put your hand on your gun, just in case you were wrong. He opened the door, smiling proudly and holding up a dead rabbit to show you, and set the rifle back down in the corner by the door.

“I’ll go skin it, get it prepped for later. We can finally have a real meal for dinner.” Joel said, still holding the rabbit in his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his smile faltering a bit when he noticed your expression seemed a little distant. You shook your head and smiled.

“Nothing, I’m fine, just distracted today,” you assured him, then turned around to find a small bag of rice you had seen next to the soup earlier. “I’ll make this to eat with dinner.” You plopped it down on the counter and went back to the bedroom to review the clothes you had set aside. Joel’s eyes followed you until you disappeared around the corner. He could tell something was wrong, but he knew better than to push it.

Joel was right about needing more protein and rest. You both felt recharged after just two nights but allowed yourselves the luxury of one more night indoors before heading off towards Pittsburgh. The morning you planned to leave was when Joel had let his guard down and you awoke entwined with him again. It was early, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. You knew the longer you let him do this, the more hurt you would ultimately inflict upon yourself, but as hard as you tried you just could not bring yourself to be the one to end the embrace. So, you squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself back to sleep.

Joel stirred when the sun shone into his eyes through the thin curtains, squinting and yawning. As usual, he detached himself from you quickly, frustrated with his subconscious once again. After using the bathroom, he went outside to start a fire. The air was crisp and there was a sharp autumn wind that took his breath away. He huddled in his new jacket and shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the fire to flare up. He looked up into the sky, trying to detect if any rain would be heading your way, but the forest blocked most of his view. He heard the cabin door swing shut and twisted around to watch you walk down the steps wrapped in one of the other hunting jackets and carrying a kettle in one hand and the jar of instant coffee in another. He reached out to take the items from you so you could go back inside and grab two mugs and a spoon. He sat down on one of the thick logs used for stools that were surrounding the firepit and waited for the water to boil. You came back out with the mugs but also had a couple bowls and packets of instant oatmeal.

“’Morning,” you greeted groggily, setting the items down on one of the empty logs and choosing a spot next to him. You yawned, looking around the forest and buried your face in your coat when the wind picked up.

“Sleep ok?” Joel asked you, knowing full well he was setting you up to ask about the way he woke up clutching you, but much to his relief, it seemed as though that topic was never brought up.

You nodded, saying, “Yeah, better than usual.” And left it at that.

Neither of you were morning people and generally didn’t speak much until coffee hit your system. You had been lucky so far and found reserves of it at most of the places you stopped, but you had to dip into the stash from your apartment when you made camp in the forest. You sipped your coffee and ate your oatmeal in silence.

“Next time we find a sporting goods store, we oughta look for a bow and arrow, somethin’ silent,” Joel mused as he scraped his bowl. “We should learn to hunt out here. With winter comin’, it would be a good skill to have.”

You agreed, grabbing both bowls and the kettle while he picked up the mugs and snuffed out the fire. It was probably pointless, but you cleaned your dishes and put them back. It was unlikely the owners of this cabin would find it again, but it just felt wrong to leave things messy. This cabin provided for you both when you needed it and keeping it clean and in its original condition felt like the best way to thank it.

After breakfast, you packed up all your new clothes and replenished any food and rags you could fit in your packs and headed back out on the trail towards Pittsburgh. The forest was thick and lush, and offered a lot of cover, so you were able to make decent time getting to the city, arriving in the early afternoon. You approached a cliffside, stopping there to eat lunch and rest for the first time since you left the cabin. Joel didn’t want to start a fire and attract attention, so you ate some granola bars, peanuts and shared a can of peaches while you surveyed the city in the distance.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked him, taking a sip from your canteen.

“Well,” he began, shoving the wrappers from the granola bars into his backpack, “I figure we should steer clear of the city proper best we can, especially the QZ. They won’t ask questions; they’ll just shoot on sight if they see anyone.”

You looked up at the sun in the sky, trying to determine the time. “We will have to find somewhere in the city that’s quiet, we won’t make it through before sundown.” You told him, looking back from the sky to meet his gaze. He nodded, impressed.

“Yep, you’re exactly right. Good girl.” he said, the compliment making you flush. “If we stick to the outskirts, maybe we can find a small shop or somethin’. But we’re gonna have to take turns takin’ watch, I don’t trust bein’ this close to soldiers.” he warned you, and you nodded in understanding. After you had spent a few minutes resting, Joel stood up, checking his revolver and tucking it back into his pants and zipping his backpack closed. You followed suit, shoving a rag back into your pack that you used to wipe some sweat off your forehead, and you both soldiered on towards the city.

It was approaching dusk as you and Joel finished clearing out a gas station in a quiet part of the city. There were only three runners inside, and you made quick work of taking them down silently. You helped Joel drag the last body into the men's bathroom, closing the door behind you. Joel wasn't thrilled with the building: it was filled with huge broken windows and left you too exposed for his liking, but the sun was waning, and your choices were limited. There was a small office tucked in the corner that you had emptied of the rolling desk chair and a few boxes of receipts so you could spread out your sleeping bag on the floor. Joel insisted on taking first watch, and you propped the door to the office open with one of the boxes so you could hear if there was any trouble before tucking yourself in.

Joel sat on the rolling chair by the front door, hiding in the darkness behind an aisle, every so often standing in a crouch to glance out the large windows for any movement. He was getting tired, but he still had a couple more hours left on his watch before he woke you. In an effort to keep him awake, he wandered over to the small electronics section behind the cash register, perusing the items on the shelves. His gaze settled on a Timex analog watch. He pried open the package and attached it to his wrist, adjusting the time to match the clock on the wall, assuming it was correct before sitting back down in the chair.

You had about 20 minutes left before he planned to wake you up. Joel was just finishing some beef jerky when he saw flashlights bouncing off a building about a block away. He straightened up in his chair, tossing the bag of jerky to the side, and hoisted the rifle onto his shoulder so he could see through his scope. He watched behind the aisle as a group of four men walked down the street in the direction of the gas station. He could see they were armed, noting knives in their boots, pistols holstered at their hips and two of them held military grade assault rifles. As they came into view, Joel scanned their clothes for any type of military insignia but found none. How did they get those assault rifles?

They were getting closer, but Joel still couldn’t tell if they were planning on entering the gas station or if they were just passing through. His hands began to sweat as he gripped his rifle tighter, his body tense and ready to strike. They were about 50 yards away when one of the men laughed at something one of the others said. The rest immediately shushed him, but it was too late. They froze as an unfamiliar noise echoed through the air from a dumpster they had passed half a block ago. Joel frowned, unable to identify the noise, but based on the reactions of the men, they knew. They whipped around, their backs now to the gas station, all four aiming their guns in the direction of the noise. It sounded like a high-pitched screech mixed with a gasp, then a distinct click, click, click. He heard one of the men swear under his breath, his voice sounding shaky as he shifted his weight back and forth nervously. The one next to him tried to get him to be quiet, but his nerves got the best of him, and a shot rang out, making Joel jump in surprise. In his peripheral, he saw you fly out of your sleeping bag, scrambling for your gun. He crouched as low as he could without sacrificing speed, and made his way over to the office, wrapping his hand over your mouth as you twisted around about to shout out to him. He put a finger against his lips, and only when you hastily nodded did he slowly remove his hand, turning back around to hide behind the front counter with you peeking over his shoulder, watching the scene unfold.

Two infected came ambling towards the group. At first, they stumbled and were slow, but when one of them shifted his weight and slid on some loose asphalt, they both let out a horrific scream unlike anything you had heard before and charged towards the group. Neither of you could understand the creatures you were seeing: they had a fungus growing all over their bodies but primarily on their heads, a mouth was the only facial feature you recognized since the fungus had completely grown over the rest of their faces. Blood had stained their throats and chests, their clothes were ripped and barely hung on, and underneath their skin looked wrinkly, but upon closer inspection, it appeared to be more layers of fungus.

The assault rifles were spitting bullets and bouncing off the clickers, as if the fungus acted like some type of armor. One of the clickers jumped on the man who had slipped, viciously ripping into his throat while its fingers dug animalistically into his chest and blood pooled in the street below him. Another man saw his opportunity and pressed his pistol to the back of the clicker’s head, firing and watching its body drop to the pavement. Then without hesitation, he aimed his gun at his friend’s head and fired, his body jerked once and stilled. In the meantime, the second clicker had made short work of the other two men, one already ripped apart on the ground while it continued its assault on the other. The man did the same thing: walked up and shot the clicker in the back of the head, and for good measure shot the other two men on the ground. He was now the last man standing, panting for breath as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees. That was when he noticed the blood seeping through his jeans and trickling down to his sneakers.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, sitting down in the road to lift the pant leg. Joel could see the telltale imprint of teeth and blood when the man aimed his flashlight at his leg. He dropped the pant leg back down and hung his head between his knees. Joel tightened his grip on his rifle, expecting the man to come to the gas station in need of first aid, but before he could blink, the man lifted his pistol up to the side of his head and fired, dropping lifelessly to the side and joining the pile of dead bodies in the road.

Joel twisted around to try to shield your eyes, but it was too late. You let out a shaky breath, one tear sliding down your cheek as you looked up at him, his face full of concern. His eyes traveled down and reached his hand out to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping the tear away. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you had to resist the urge to lean into his touch.

"You alright?" he whispered to you in the dark. You nodded, breaking the contact and standing up.

The whole attack took less than five minutes. Joel approached the broken window and leaned out, listening intently to see if the noise had attracted any more infected or people. You waited as Joel went to each window multiple times to confirm nothing else was around. Satisfied, he turned back to you, your eyes wide and still gripping your gun at your side.

"I don't think anyone else is around," he said, placing the rifle next to the office chair. You nodded, tucking your gun in the back of your jeans.

"What the fuck was that?" you asked, staring at the bodies. "So these things are evolving now?"

"Seems that way," Joel answered, leaning tiredly up against the wall. He fought to keep his eyes open, but you could see he was exhausted.

"Go get some rest, I got this," you told him, "I'll wake you if I hear or see anything at all, I promise."

Joel wanted to resist and tell you he wasn't tired, but a yawn pushed through and gave him away. "You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. You need your rest, and we have to get out of this city tomorrow." You waved him off towards the office and went to sit in the chair after you grabbed his rifle, using the scope to get a better look at your surroundings.

Joel didn't bother rolling out his own sleeping bag, he just tucked himself into the one you were using, your scent enveloping him as he drifted off.

The sun rose about an hour ago. You waited as long as you could before deciding to wake Joel. He seemed so tired last night, you wanted him to get as much time as he could, but you knew you needed to leave. Once you got back into the forest, you could rest again. You went to the back office, carrying a to-go container of dry cereal in one hand, and found him snoring on his side with his back to the door. You popped a few pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in your mouth and leaned down to gently shake his shoulder.

Joel whipped around at your touch and grabbed your wrist firmly, his eyes wild. You dropped your cereal in surprise.

"Joel! It's me," you yanked your arm, but he still held your wrist in his grasp and it was starting to hurt. "Joel!" you said again as loud as you dared. He finally realized and let you go, stumbling back a bit as you rubbed your wrist.

"Shit, sorry, must have been havin' a bad dream, you alright?" he asked worriedly, opening the sleeping bag and reaching forward to examine your wrist. He brushed his thumb tenderly over the red mark he left, the gesture making you melt and leaving you with a pang in your stomach.

"I'm fine, it's ok," you said, taking your wrist back and turning away from him, trying to create some space. "We should get going, eat something quick and I'll refill our packs with any supplies I can find."

"You sure you're ok?" he eyed you carefully. He hated how you shied away from his touch. You nodded, opening up another cereal from the shelf and continued to eat while you inventoried the food in your packs.

You shouldered your backpacks and guns after you ate, getting ready to head out. After stepping out onto the road, Joel frisked the dead bodies and picked up some more ammo for your handgun, along with two extra flashlights. He checked the assault rifles, too low on ammo for him to consider taking one, but he did remove two of the knives and sheathes strapped around their ankles, handing a set to you. The roads seemed quiet, so you took advantage and got a move on, silently threading your way through the city.

November 2003

Cleveland, OH

The weather was turning cold and rainy, even a couple nights leaving a dusting of snow that melted early the next morning. You trudged along behind Joel in the pouring rain, trying to stay hidden and dry by walking underneath a raised highway. It was risky, being close to the roads, but Joel didn't see much choice. The weather hasn't been cooperating for a couple days now, and your journey had significantly slowed down. He glanced at his watch, seeing it was around 4pm. It was getting darker earlier now, and the storm clouds just made it worse. He sighed, shaking the water droplets from his curls, and looked around. You were near an exit ramp. He saw it led to a suburban area maybe two miles away, clusters of smaller one story homes that the builders made as close as possible to one another in order to sell more houses.

"C'mon, this way," he said over his shoulder, bringing you out of your reverie. You looked in the direction he was leading you and quietly celebrated to yourself. You were tired and soaked, you didn't want to set up camp outside again and the possibility of sleeping on a mattress gave you a second wind.

The two of you hid in some thick decorative bushes looking down a road called York St. All the houses looked very similar and close together, the biggest differences being the color the owners had chosen for the siding. Joel had kept watch for about an hour in this position, waiting until it got dark so he could see if any of the houses had flashlights or lanterns inside. You were squatting next to him, trying to control your shivering but the rain was pouring down hard, and your clothes were dripping wet, even under your jacket. Your teeth chattered as you inadvertently leaned against him for some warmth. Focused intensely on the homes in front of him, Joel's body tensed at the unexpected contact. He glanced down at you and saw your soaking wet hair and your lips a darker shade than normal.

“Alright, let’s see if we can get into this one right over here, follow me.” he said, helping you stand into a crouch as you jogged over to the yellow house on the corner. Joel peered inside the windows for a minute while you stood watch with your arms crossed, keeping an eye out for any light or movement on the street or houses. You heard a snap behind you, and you turned to see Joel had used his large hunting knife to break the doorknob. You sighed with relief as you followed him inside, shutting the door behind you.

You swung your flashlights around the room, Joel rushing to the windows and closing all the curtains as you inspected the house. It was small: a living room, kitchen, one bathroom and two bedrooms. Joel went down into the basement to make sure it was clear while you emptied essentials from your pack in one of the bedrooms. You pulled out a somewhat dry set of clothes and tucked them under your arm, heading towards the bathroom. You took your jacket off to hang up on the shower rod to airdry and got to work peeling the soaking wet clothes from your body. You figured you could just toss the shirts you were wearing and pick up new ones here, but you really liked the jeans you had so you did your best to lay them out to dry in the tub.

After you put some dry clothes on, you started to feel a little better, but you still couldn’t shake the shiver in your bones. Joel mirrored your actions after he came up from the basement, changing into fresh clothes and hanging up the wet ones to dry, making sure to take the keychain out of his pants pocket and transferred it to his new ones, and then met you in the kitchen where you were rifling through the cupboards to see if there was anything worth eating. You pulled out a bag of trail mix, some canned tuna, and a few cans of mixed fruit, setting them on the small table while Joel rooted around for some forks.

You were hungrier than you realized and ate quickly, all the miles you walked today catching up with you. Joel finally broke the silence after he finished a can of fruit.

“Which room did you want to sleep in?” he asked. This was the first time you stayed indoors where there were two sizeable beds. He wanted to give you the option, give you your space. You kept your gaze trained down at the bag of trail mix in front of you, considering his words. You knew he was giving you a choice, and it was completely up to you now on what the sleeping arrangements would be.

“I liked the room I put our backpacks in, why don’t we stay in that one.” you replied, still not looking up. We. Joel’s pulse sped up and he tried to hide his grin. You made the choice to stay the night with him, you wanted to be with him. It was probably just a habit for you, or maybe you were afraid to be on your own, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be apart from you, either, regardless if his reason differed from yours.

That night, he heard you softly snoring, laying on your side with your back to him like usual. This time he deliberately turned over and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. He breathed in your scent and nestled his face at the back of your neck as you let out a contented sigh, and small smile played across his lips as he closed his eyes.

Chapter Eleven

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