#This is more about The Expanse's strengths than anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dottores · 11 months

Text

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 & fontaine.

notes: i forgot it was friday SOBS i got distracted reading a new book so we're a little late but anyway <.< its time also i’m gonna answer asks tomorrow i promise 😭

THE DOCTOR

You sighed softly, smoothing out the cloth draped against you as you took a look in the mirror again. There was nothing left to fix--your hair was done, the jewel of your necklace laid neatly in the middle of your chest and your gown was fitted perfectly. You thought you should be alarmed, you didn’t know how the masked person had all of your measurements. You assumed that they had been the one to drop off the gown at the inn you were staying at in Snezhnaya City so you could be properly dressed for the event at Zapolyarny Palace.

You rose to your feet, gnawing at your bottom lip as you looked into the mirror one last time. They had given you a purple gown to wear--and not just any purple, the color of your family, the exact shade. You didn’t like it. You wondered if it was on purpose or just a coincidence but you figured that nothing about this person was a coincidence. They knew everything about you from who you were to the reason you came to Snezhnaya, a secret that you thought had been kept safely between you and your grandfather.

Your eyes turned to the window, catching a rather fancy looking carriage making its way down the stone road in the direction of the inn you were staying at. You figured that was going to be him--whoever the aristocrat was that the masked person had said would be bringing you to the event.

How?

The events were invite only, strictly moderated, how this person had managed to get you in was a mystery. You didn’t know what to expect--you didn’t know how many people would be there nor did you know if all of the Harbingers would be attending. You assumed that they would so you could prepare for the worst case scenario but you hoped that they didn’t.

You didn’t know much about the Fatui Harbingers, just what your grandfather had learned from one of the few networks of intel he had access to that weaved through Snezhnaya. There were eleven of them, but only ten were active--ranked by strength, they struck fear and awe in the hearts of their subordinates. There were rumors that some of the higher ranked ones could rival even the Archons in power. Your grandfather warned you of a few before you left for the north: the Doctor, the Balladeer, the Fair Lady and the Friar, all brutal and dangerous and unforgiving, should they learn of your plans in the north, you would quickly find yourself a fallen pawn in whatever game of chess they were playing against the rest of Teyvat.

You thought your best bet might lay with the Regrator. Evidently, he was the most recently promoted Harbinger of the active ten and focused more on the economy and politics than anything else… or so was assumed, at least. Snezhnaya had prospered since his promotion--the creation of the Northland Bank and its expansion across Teyvat had catapulted Snezhnaya to match the wealth of Liyue, they were even trying to set one up in Fontaine but were failing miserably. You were sure he was just as cruel and vicious as the rest of them but you thought that at least you wouldn’t be dealing with unfamiliar topics.

How you were going to ensure that you were placed with him… or even placed at all instead of being killed on sight, you didn’t know. You figured that was something important to know before you stepped foot in Zapolyarny Palace but you excused the lack of preparation by telling yourself there was no way for you to prepare for something when you didn’t know what to expect. You would figure out the plan as soon as you got there and knew who was there, what the event was for, and what you could do to ensure your survival and success.

Your head hurt but the carriage had come to a stop at the steps of the inn you were staying at and you knew you had to get moving. You let out another heavy breath as you took one last look in the mirror before making your way out of your room and down the steps of the inn.

You gave a soft smile to the elderly man working the front desk as you made your way through the wide lobby, hesitating only for a second when you saw a tall figure ducking out from inside of the carriage. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the doors open, wincing at brisk air stinging your face as soon as you stepped outside.

A brown head of hair whipped around at the sound of the doors shutting behind you, an awkward smile pulled at the lips of your date for the night, warm brown eyes focusing on you, “Hello,” he said, his voice was a bit hesitant and nervous, holding his hand out toward you. “I’m Artem.”

You placed your hand in his, watching as he bent his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Artem interrupted, then flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, they… already told me who you were.”

They, you repeated silently as a particularly harsh wind swept through the city, the streets eerily silent.

“They…” you murmured to yourself but Artem suddenly looked nervous, brown eyes flitting around before he motioned for you to join him in the carriage. You inhaled the bitterly cold air as you stepped forward, taking his hand as he helped you up into the carriage before following you in, shutting the dark door behind the two of you.

“You shouldn’t talk about stuff out in the open,” Artem said quietly. “There are always people listening.”

Great, you thought to yourself, gaze twisting around outside. The streets were barren but even you knew there was something off about this city that you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you caught sight of a figure standing in the window of one of the apartments across the street. You couldn’t make out their features against the backlight but you knew their eyes were directed toward the carriage.

You’d been in the city for two days now and it felt eerily similar to the streets of Fontaine. You didn’t often leave the palace of the Hydro Archon, everything you needed was within it: food, water, libraries, the gardens, but every once in a while, you would escape to go watch a show at one of the theaters. The Hydro Archon liked to keep the nobles of the nation ignorant to the perils of the rest of the civilians and it worked when you were in the ivory tower of the palace but when you were down in the streets, it was impossible to miss how the civilians were on edge, eyes constantly darting around in an anxious panic. There were eyes everywhere--in every window, in every alley, in every corner and crevice and no matter how aware you were of them, there was no hiding from them.

Snezhnaya City was just like that.

Oppressive. Tense. Heavy. Cold beyond just the air around you. But unlike Fontaine, Snezhnaya was not your home. Your name and title held no weight in this city and the threat of the Fatui and what they could do to you weighed on you like the sky had fallen.

“What is this event?” you finally asked, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as you watched Artem from the corner of your eye.

“They’re filling the last spot,” Artem responded, staring ahead. He didn’t look excited or pleased and you couldn’t help but wonder what the political climate was like here, the relationship between the Snezhnayan aristocrats and the Cryo Archon and her followers--maybe it was something you could use to your advantage… or maybe it would be something that would just damn you even further, showing up with one of them. “For the Harbingers, they’re promoting someone to fill the Eleventh seat.”

Oh, you realized what exactly he meant by filling the last spot, an intense dread sweeping through you because that meant that yes, all of the other Harbingers would likely be there. Instead of dwelling on the subject, you said, “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

Artem turned his head to look at you, evaluating you carefully before shaking his head, “What’s there to be happy about?” he asked dryly. “The stronger they get, the weaker my family gets.”

They’re not united, you realized, and they’re not afraid to admit it.

That was interesting. Artem’s face didn’t twist in regret after he said that nor did he look ashamed, if anything he looked resentful… but then doubt began to stir. If the Fatui knew about the dissent, why would they invite them to their elite events?

“They let you guys into their events knowing… that?” you asked, side-eyeing Artem, wondering if you had dug yourself a bigger hole by showing up with him.

“They don’t know all of it,” Artem said, “and even if they did, it’s more of an intimidation tactic than anything else. They bring us there to show us their strength, scare us into submission. That’s all it’s about.”

“All of it as in?” you pushed, figuring that if he was going to be so open with information, that you might as well get as much as you can so you knew exactly what you were walking into.

Artem gave you a look as if you should know what he meant. “They think that the Triglav was the only organization we had to fall back on--the Regrator tore it apart a few years ago.”

Why are you telling me all of this? You wanted to ask, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Brown eyes met yours at the silent question, he knew what you were asking.

“They told me who you were,” he said again, except this time, you felt a bit more cold, realizing he knew more than just your name. “I figure they want you to fumble around in the Snezhnayan courts for their amusement but it’ll get you killed--I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” you questioned. You didn’t know if you could trust him or believe his words and you felt so damn alone and lost that a part of you wanted to jump out of the carriage and flee back to Fontaine--you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were a damn noble girl not some secret agent, super spy who could successfully infiltrate one of the most dangerous organizations in all of Teyvat.

“You want the same thing as I do, don’t you?” was all Artem responded with. “No one knows what they want, what their goal is or anything, but they promised to restore the aristocracy and to do that, the Fatui needs to be weakened… so I figure the more people working for this, the better.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You aligned with these people without even knowing who they are or what they want?” you asked in disbelief.

“Didn’t you?” Artem countered sharply.

You felt hot, called out for your hypocrisy, “That’s not the same. I was desperate.”

“So are we,” Artem said, lips pressed together as he turned away.

The carriage was approaching the palace, as large as the one back home in Fontaine and just as magnificent. Where the one in Fontaine City was lined with gold, stunning beneath the rare show of the sun, Zapolyarny Palace glittered white beneath the moonlight, like a million diamonds coated the surface--beautiful, but possibly the most daunting sight you’d ever come across. The sky that weighed on you tripled in weight, you thought you might throw up.

“What should I expect in there?” you asked quietly, breaking the sudden tension between the two of you. You figured it was not the best idea to antagonize your one ally in this place.

Artem sighed, looking back over at you, “Just stay by me,” he said. “Of all the aristocratic families in Snezhnaya, mine is one that’s heavily aligned with the Fatui… at least in their eyes. We’ll probably have a few of their more important subordinates coming over to talk to us but the Harbingers will be focused on the more antagonistic families to make sure they don’t pull anything. We’ll keep away from them and hopefully, keep their attention off of us. As long as we skate by without having to deal with any of the Harbingers, we’ll be good… I’ll try to find some opportunities for you to slip away and do what you need to do.”

What I need to do, it echoed in your head. The palace was right before you and you still had no idea what you needed to do to prove your stepfather’s hand in your father’s death. You had to find evidence. But how? You figured that there weren’t a lot of Fatui spies in Fontaine--too many would draw too much attention, it would be easier to just have one embedded deep in the courts… which would make it an important, covert operation. They had to have records of that somewhere.

“Do you know what each of the Harbingers do?” you asked.

“Like what they oversee?” Artem questioned, brows furrowed, you nodded. “Vaguely.”

“Intel?”

“Internal intel? I’d say the Regrator or the Rooster. External? The Knave, the Marionette and the Friar all deal with it, as far as I’m aware.”

You went quiet, letting out a shaky breath at his words. Three different Harbingers who could be overseeing your stepfather in Fontaine--the Fourth, the Seventh, or the Tenth. You shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. The palace would be crawling with Fatui operatives, how the hell were you supposed to sneak through them all and figure out where the information might be.

Instead of letting yourself become riddled with anxiety, you asked the last question that had been weighing on your mind.

“How don’t the Fatui know about these people?” you asked quietly. “I figured they knew everything that goes on in Snezhnaya, you’d think an organization with this much influence…”

Unless there’s someone hiding it from the inside? But what were the chances of that?

“I don’t know,” Artem admitted. “Maybe they do and we’re all just getting played, or maybe the Harbingers are blind to a rat right beneath their noses.”

“You could do something beyond just standing there,” a cold, dry voice said from behind him.

Dottore didn’t even bother to turn around and face her, instead watching the scene before him carefully. The aristocrats had been steadily arriving for an hour, filling up the ballroom, mingling with one another. Most kept a wide berth from the Fatui who had come out for the event. It was the largest event the Fatui had hosted in decades, twice as big as Pantalone’s promotion because it was signaling the completion of the upper echelon, the start of what would be the final preparations for war.

“I don’t see you rushing to join in the celebrations,” Dottore responded, gaze finally shifting from the wide double doors to Arlecchino, who had come to stand next to him, arms crossed against her chest as she watched Columbina’s fingers fly across the piano.

“I plan to,” Arlecchino told him, “I have a feeling tonight's going to be more interesting than we think.”

Dottore eyed her carefully as he digested the cryptic comment, trying to figure out what exactly she meant, before simply saying, “I hope so, at least then it will be an entertaining waste of my time.”

Arlecchino only let out a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement behind the action, “What do you think of the boy taking the Eleventh Seat?”

“He’s a child.” Dottore waved off the question, he cared not for the boy.

Capitano evidently saw potential in him but Dottore only saw an unpredictability that they shouldn’t be risking this close to the beginning of their real purpose. He only advocated for him because he thought he would get the chance to study him but Pulcinella was being careful to make sure that he was never in the capital long enough for Dottore to get to him. The only boon that came along with promoting him was that he was eager to please, willing to take on the jobs that none of the rest of them wanted to deal with as a means to prove himself.

“Then his moniker is fitting,” this time there was a scathing sort of amusement in her tone, “but even a blind man could make that observation. I asked you for your opinion of him.”

Dottore’s lip twitched in irritation. “That is my opinion of him,” he said coolly. “He is a child. He is immature and foolish, abuses the technique he learned while in the Abyss. He will die soon because of it. I would like to run some tests on him before then but I suppose life isn’t particularly necessary for them anyway… just more convenient.”

Arlecchino scoffed. “All you care about is your research, hm? Not even a hint of concern for those whom you call comrades?”

Dottore leveled his gaze on her. “No,” he said firmly, “and do not pretend as if you do. We both have seen what lies beneath that false face of yours.”

Arlecchino smiled, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the ballroom, “Fair enough.”

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother me, Knave?” Dottore asked, a sardonic tone seeping into his words as he continued, “like to go fetch your pet before he makes an embarrassment of us again.”

He turned his attention back to the ballroom floor, pointedly looking in the direction of Brighella, busy trying to woo the daughter of one of the aristocratic families who was giving Pantalone a hard time.

“Speaking of pets,” Arlecchino said, a mocking tone to her voice that Dottore didn’t quite like, “do you plan on getting rid of yours because of his failure to get you the funding you wanted? … I overheard your conversation with the Jester the other day, shame to hear about how poorly all of your projects are going.”

Beneath his mask, Dottore’s eyes hardened, turning his head to the side to look at Arlecchino again. He wasn’t sure what he was more annoyed by: the fact that she had listened in on his conversation with Pierro and he hadn’t even noticed or the fact that she was making a dig at his research.

“Not quite as poorly as the decline of the House of the Hearth. How many of your orphans have gone missing in the past few years again?” Dottore countered lowly, watching as Arlecchino’s eyes flashed with fury for just a moment, needling right through her cold mask.

It wasn’t even like his research was going poorly. It was just the typical pattern of adjusting to failures to find the right set of combinations to perfect the formula. Pierro was just impatient because he did not want to send three of the Eleven out to their missions with delusions that were still sapping their vitality. He had made enough progress so that they were no longer life-threatening with significant use, and as far as he was aware, the Balladeer was going to bring the old, faulty delusions down to Inazuma once Arlecchino’s agents wove their web through the Commissions.

Dottore didn’t even understand why this was all necessary, frowning again as he looked out at the aristocrats. Pantalone had already torn the Triglav apart at its seams and the aristocrats were floundering with no shield to protect them from the Fatui. There was not much consolidation of power left to do in Snezhnaya. If anything, this was just excessive—making sure they knew just how strong the Fatui was so that they didn’t get any bright ideas when they began to focus on obtaining the Gnoses.

“I have the House of the Hearth under control,” Arlecchino said, voice icy. “Can you say the same about your segments?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Yes.”

Especially now that he had finally made contact with her. If he had known that the barest conversation with her would lead to even the Theta segment doing as he asked with little pushback, maybe he would have reached out sooner.

Maybe.

An odd feeling settled in his chest as his thoughts fell to her again. He didn’t like thinking about her for too long but he hadn’t heard anything from her since that night Rho lost her. He knew she wasn’t dead, the thread still hung from his finger and the mark between his shoulder blades was still a bright purple. He wondered if she was just ignoring him or if there was something else going on. He had tried to look into it but hadn’t been able to find any previous examples of something interfering with a bond… which led him to believe that she was ignoring him, maybe as payback for all of the years he went ignoring her.

Either way, he didn’t like it.

Arlecchino abruptly stepped forward next to him, eyes narrowed. Dottore followed her gaze, eyes falling on the livid expression that Sandrone wore as she spoke to Capitano, standing near the piano Columbina was playing at, motioning in the direction of the double doors of the ballroom. Dottore tried to figure out what had her so angry but nothing stood out--Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one to set her in a foul mood by insulting her automatons, otherwise it wasn’t often that her temper was set off because she simply did not care for anything else.

Arlecchino immediately set off in their direction and Dottore, curiosity piqued and hoping to make the night pass faster but entertaining himself with whatever had Sandrone set off, followed after, watching in amusement as their subordinates and the few aristocrats who had crossed the floor to intermingle scattered at their approach.

Capitano raised his head once he caught sight of the two of them, motioning them over. Sandrone pressed her lips together, staying silent until they were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Columbina’s fingers still flew across the keys of the piano, focused on the sonata, but Dottore knew she was listening too: there was a soft smile gracing her face, one that screamed amusement and not the mere enjoyment that came with playing the instrument. Dottore thought that if Columbina was amused by something, then it might spell trouble for all of them, the eerie comment she made about his soulmate a few months back suddenly ringing through his head.

I would like to meet her when she gets here.

Dottore felt unsettled, raising his head to look out across the ballroom floor to look for something but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. All it took was Sandrone opening her mouth once, and the entire world around him froze and shattered.

“One of the aristocrats brought one of the Hydro Archon’s dogs to our event as his date,” she spat out. “This needs to be handled now.”

There were eyes on you.

You didn’t dare to turn to look so you could figure out who was watching you, the last thing you wanted to do was bring more attention to yourself but you couldn’t smother the growing anxiety. You kept your back to them, feigning interest in whatever conversation Artem was having with one of his cousins so that they didn’t know you were aware of their scrutiny even though every inch of you itched to look behind you.

The ballroom was packed to the brim, you thought that every aristocrat in Snezhnaya must be attending this event. It almost reminded you of the balls back home in Fontaine City. The paintings lining the walls were stunning and the ornaments glittered prettily beneath the dim lighting. No one had made their way to the smooth hardwood floor to dance yet despite the quintet of musicians playing in the corner of the room, a beautiful symphony that was not quite harmonious with the eerie piano being played somewhere behind you.

If you weren’t so nervous, you might be able to appreciate the beauty of it… but Fatui lined the room--agents and mages and captains, they were unarmed as far as you could tell but you had a feeling that could change in a moment’s notice.

You felt trapped, like a cornered animal.

There was no way for you to slip away, not when you were being watched and not when the Fatui seemed to be guarding each and every exit. Everything was crumbling around you and you had only been there for a half hour. You tried to calm yourself down, force yourself to think and figure out a plan but every time you tried to do that, you were interrupted by some Snezhnayan noble who wanted to greet Artem.

What did you expect? You spat at yourself angrily. For the Fatui to leave holes in their defenses right at their heart? For you to just walk right in and be given the information you wanted by your stepfather’s superior?

You would leave empty-handed at this rate--the one opportunity handed to you on a silver platter slipping away like water between your fingers. You had to figure out what to do now because there was nothing you could do if you left the palace without the evidence you needed. Zapolyarny Palace was impenetrable, everyone you had come across had made that clear, you would not get another chance like this. This was your easy way into the palace but what could you do? Even if you managed to slip past the guards into the hall, making an excuse to use the bathroom or freshen up, it didn’t change the fact that somehow, you had already drawn attention to yourself.

How? What had it been?

You had not made any sort of scene. You were not overdressed or underdressed, nor did your colors stand out. There were people dressed in bright red gowns, different shades of purple and blue and green, blacks and whites. Artem was not from a contentious family so there was no reason for him to have drawn attention.

What had done it? Was Artem unaware of some conflict between his family and the Fatui? Or was it something else…

Did someone know who you were?

You felt a bit sick at the thought, smile faltering as your grip on Artem’s forearm tightened. You noticed him cast a brief, worried glance down at you but you were too preoccupied to reassure him that you were okay.

Did someone know who you were?

The question echoed through your head over and over again and you realized, slowly, that it was very, very possible and it was something that you had not even considered could be an issue. Your stepfather shouldn’t know where you were going, you hadn’t even confirmed to your mother that you were leaving for Snezhnaya--you had insisted it was Mondstadt--but if he had taken a picture of you and sent it to his superior in Snezhnaya as intel he was passing along about your family and they recognized you when you walked through those doors with Artem…

Suddenly, the urge to turn around and pinpoint who was watching you skyrocketed because if it were true, then that was how you were going to know which Harbinger was supervising your stepfather’s mission--the first step in finding the evidence.

You let out a quiet breath, about to turn your head to the side just a bit to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was staring at you but before you could, a hand brushed your forearm. You masked the irritation you felt as you turned your attention back to Sonia, Artem’s cousin’s wife. She smiled at you, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she asked:

“So how did you and Artem meet?”

You smiled, leaning into the man and looking up at him, hoping that the gesture came across more adoring than the brief spike of panic you felt. The two of you had intended on going for a simple story: you had met while on the Snezhnaya-Fontaine border and instantly fell for one another, love at first sight, a classic romance… but now you weren’t sure if admitting that you were from Fontaine was the best course of action. Artem was confused, you could see the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled down at you, and you didn’t know what to do.

The split second that had passed since Sonia’s question felt like eternity and finally you responded with a soft laugh, “We met on the border between Snezhnaya and Fontaine. I had gone a bit north to find a nice present for my siblings, their birthday is coming up. I ran into him while shopping and he helped me find the perfect gift. I thought all of those romance books were exaggerating when they talked about love at first sight but I became a victim of it just like that.”

You were only half listening as Sonia cooed and leaned into Artem’s cousin, talking about how the two of them met at a seaside village in western Snezhnaya. You decided that going with the original story was for the best. If, by chance, the Harbingers did happen to know that you were a noble from Fontaine already then it would only draw more suspicion if it got around to them that you were claiming to be a Snezhnayan commoner or even from another foreign nation.

So many ifs. You hated uncertainty.

Lost in thoughts, you were only drawn back to reality as your forearm stung--the telltale sign that your soulmate was reaching out, again. Your lips pressed together in annoyance.

He had been persistent the past two weeks. Every day, he would ask where you were and what had happened but even if you wanted to, there was no way of telling him where you were--he should know that--but the thing was, you didn’t want to. You thought that he had no right suddenly caring about where you were and if you were okay and you were mad at yourself for giving in and responding when you were hurt. He went twenty years ignoring you when you tried over and over and over again just to get to know him, the person that Celestia had tied you with, and he constantly disregarded and even rebuffed you.

You had never heard of someone being rejected by their soulmate until yours had rejected you. It was humiliating, even if only the two of you were aware of what had been said, but more than that it hurt. You dedicated years to him, your whole life was centered around him from having to hide the fact that you had a soulmate to the years you spent in libraries trying to understand him in hopes that it would somehow make him care about your existence, years that you could have spent with your father.

You looked down as discreetly as you could, reading the scratchy words painted on your forearm:

Where are you?

You barely withheld the roll of your eyes as you turned your gaze back up to Sonia, smiling as she laughed at whatever Artem’s cousin had said.

Artem looked as if he was about to speak up but before he could, there was a sharp rap of metal against glass from the front of the room. Instantly, conversation silenced and all heads turned in the direction of the noise--finally, you could turn to see who was staring at you but it was too late; whoever they were, they had already looked away.

“We are here today to officially announce the occupation of the Eleventh Seat,” a low, male voice announced. Your eyes shifted to him--half of his face was covered by a black mask, white hair long and slicked back--you weren’t sure who he was, you hadn’t been given descriptions of the Harbingers, but you figured he was high ranking if he was making this announcement.

“The Jester,” Artem said under his breath. Your eyes widened just a bit. The Jester, you recognized, the leader. “The rest are…”

All around him, you finished silently, your throat closing up as you caught sight of the daunting figures standing around the stage at the front of the room. You didn’t have to know what they looked like to know who they were, their presence and way they held themselves was evidence enough. An unnerving woman with long black and pink hair leaning on the piano, a man wearing a helmet where the face appeared to be an endless void, a woman with an empty expression, silver hair and a blade strapped to her side and…

“A recruit who has proven himself time and time again: felling our enemies without question when we were faced with the threat of a Natlan tribe on the southern border, protecting our people when the Great Wyvern of the northern caverns awoke from its slumber to terrorize our villages, and defending our integrity when called into question by the former Duke of Costesov…”

The Jester was still talking but your gaze had focused in on a familiar man standing off to the side, a bit aways from the small group at the piano--masked and with wavy blue hair, the Fatui subordinates in the area kept a wide distance from him.

It was him, you realized, a cold feeling settling over you, the man who had attacked the inn you had been staying at.

It was her. His soulmate.

Dottore was barely able to mask the torrent of emotions tearing through him. He had known it even before he reached out to her to confirm it, watching her look down at her forearm as soon as he had asked her where she was, and he didn’t know what to think, or do, for that matter.

Around him, the other Harbingers were still talking amongst each other--Arlecchino making snide comments and Sandrone’s letting loose livid remarks about the sheer audacity the Hydro Archon had to a spy so blatantly to their main base. They were talking about handling her and Dottore knew very well that the only way the Fatui knew how to handle things was by getting rid of them.

Getting rid of her. He couldn’t let that happen--he didn’t know how it would affect him and… Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable tugged hard at his chest as his eyes fell back on the girl in the purple dress, watching as she leaned into a boy from one of the Snezhnayan noble families, listening to Pierro’s speech. This was why he didn’t like thinking about her for too long but now he didn’t really have a choice.

“How are you so sure that she’s a noble from Fontaine?” Dottore asked, cutting off Arlecchino mid-sentence as he looked at Sandrone.

Sandrone’s lip curled up, not even bothering to hide the irritation and disgust as she spared Dottore half a glance. “I’d recognize a member of the five families anywhere,” Sandrone said coldly, nose turned up at him. “I was born into one of them.”

That’s right, Dottore remembered vaguely. Sandrone had come from Fontaine. The Harbingers had long given up their names and old lives, they rarely mentioned their pasts--he wasn’t even sure some of them remembered their pasts, he sent a short look toward Capitano at the thought.

“She’s part of the third family, the one that controls the prisons. You know what her family’s talent is?” Sandrone asked sharply, looking back in the direction of his soulmate. “They learned to utilize their hydro vision in a way that lets them twist up peoples’ insides. They usually use it for interrogation but do you know what else it can be used for?”

The third family. Dottore knew enough about Fontaine’s structure to know what that meant: Fontaine had five aristocratic families that were held above the rest, each one of them controlling one of the five main institutions of the nation. No wonder she had to hide her mark.

“Assassinations,” Capitano finished, voice low.

Dottore scoffed loudly. “Her?” he asked dryly, nodding in the direction of his soulmate, dismissing their deductions instantly. “An assassin? She looks like a newborn deer, not a killer.”

She did, Dottore noted offhandedly, eyes drawing back to her for just a moment. She was trying to hide her anxiety and she was doing a good job at it but every now and then, she slipped up, hands shaking just a bit more than they should, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked around. Dottore thought a bit of fondness might’ve been stirring the longer he looked at her so he immediately looked away and quashed it, forcing his attention back to the other Harbingers.

“Appearances can be deceiving, Dottore,” Capitano said quietly.

Not hers, Dottore wanted to spit right back—the girl that spent hours on end trying to talk to him and get to know him, undeterred by his lack of response, was no damn killer but he had no way of explaining that to them without admitting who she was to him and he simply refused to open up that weakness to them.

What should he do? He had to interfere but he didn’t know how to do that without making them question why he was stepping in. Dottore cared for nothing but his research--if this was any other person, Dottore wouldn’t have even bothered to give input into the conversation and he was sure that he was already making them suspicious.

“Whether she’s a threat or not, this has to be handled quickly,” Capitano finally said and Dottore felt cold, mind racing to piece together a plan but nothing was feasible. “We can’t afford to risk anything, not here and not now.”

Dottore’s anxiety began to shift into anger the more he dwelled on it and realized that he was backed into a corner because of her, wondering just how stupid his soulmate was showing up to this event on the arm of some random aristocrat. Livid, his gaze shifted to the side again, watching as she leaned into the man’s arm and smiled up at him.

Betrothed, Dottore suddenly remembered one of the things he had recalled from one of the dreams he had of her life. Is this…

“Who is the man she is with?” he interrupted abruptly, voice tense.

“Artem Melnyk,” a new voice said from behind him, Dottore glanced over his shoulder as Pantalone came to stand next to him. “I take it you all are discussing our unexpected, foreign guest.”

Pantalone looked at Dottore as if he knew exactly who she was--maybe he did, Dottore didn’t know if that was for better or for worse. He felt like a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the first perceived attack.

“He will have to be handled,” Dottore said tightly. “I’ll deal with that.”

Dottore thought he would enjoy having this particular new subject in his labs.

“The more pressing matter is the girl,” Sandrone spat out, her one-track mind stuck on Dottore’s soulmate. “She needs to be taken out.”

Dottore thought this might be it, he was about to lash out, but before he could, Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “A bit rash, no?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How will that make us look? Executing a foreign noble for no good reason besides attending a ball with her lover?”

Lover, Dottore was appalled, turning his head to look at Pantalone. Pantalone, evidently, was incredibly entertained by the situation, smile widening just a bit as Dottore looked at him, making him feel as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

“What do you suggest we do then, Regrator?” Capitano questioned. He did not sound half as amused as Pantalone did.

“Send someone out there to feel her out,” Pantalone said as if it were obvious. His voice took on a more exasperated tone as he continued, “Snezhnaya is in such a poor diplomatic position already specifically because you all tend to kill first, ask questions later. Have we not been trying to rectify that? In what world is killing her the best course of action?”

Sandrone did not look happy, lips pressed together tight, and Pantalone was looking at Dottore, violet eyes expectant as if he was waiting for Dottore to offer to be the one to go talk to her. Dread began to build in his stomach again, realizing that if he went to go talk to her, it would be the end. All of the time he had spent ensuring they would never meet, all of the years he was working severing the bond, it would all be for naught.

“Fine,” Arlecchino said before Dottore could open his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Dottore didn’t speak as he turned to look at Arlecchino, barely catching the frustrated look in Pantalone’s eyes. Arlecchino was staring right at him, the red x’s in her eyes boring right into him as if she knew something that she shouldn’t, expression cold and unreadable.

Dottore suddenly felt as if he had made a mistake not speaking up immediately.

Just as Arlecchino moved to make her way to his soulmate, Columbina finally spoke up, long, pale fingers wrapping around Arlecchino’s wrist. “No,” she said. “The Doctor will handle it. You promised to play a song with me.”

Dottore thought he liked that even less than Arlecchino’s immediate offer to speak to her but he wasn’t going to give the Knave any time to argue with Columbina, scoffing as he took the opportunity to turn on his heel and walk in the direction of his soulmate and her date.

Pierro’s speech had ended and the musicians were picking up the volume of their piece--soon, couples would make their way out to the ballroom floor to dance but for now, they parted as he crossed the hardwood floor, giving him a wide berth as he walked directly to her.

What was he going to do?

He wondered if this was her plan all along, if she had somehow figured out who he was and what he was a part of so she could throw herself into a dangerous situation and he’d be forced to act. Not for the first time, Dottore felt like he was being played as a puppet except now he didn’t know if it was Celestia holding the strings or her. He had half a mind to let her deal with the consequences of her own actions, let her face one of the other Harbingers and try to convince them she was no threat, but he couldn’t risk letting anything happen to her because it would affect him.

He would have to make sure she knew who he was to her. The last thing he needed was her making a scene if she realized it mid-conversation, assuming she didn’t know already.

She was oblivious to his approach, back turned to him as she talked with Artem Melnyk, but he was not as oblivious. He caught sight of Dottore over her shoulder, expression shifting into one of fear—something that ordinarily would have had him amused but now, just as for the past half an hour, he could only focus on her.

She turned as she noticed Artem’s change in attitude and Dottore wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting the anger that followed the confused expression on her face, eyebrows knit together as she stared at him, a hint of anxiety painted in the rage but just that, only a hint.

No recognition and no familiarity--not a type that signaled that she knew she was meeting her soulmate, at least.

Dottore wondered if that meant she had no idea who he was to her and if that was the case, what the hell was she doing there?

For the first time, Dottore’s eyes traced his soulmate’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that even with the anger, her eyes were still gentle and her expression was still soft. You don’t belong here, he wanted to say, not in this place and not with me, but instead, he only held his right hand out to her and watched, waiting for her to take his hand and finally take notice of the thread that connected the two of them.

She hesitated only for a second as she glanced down at his hand, placing her own in it and Dottore watched the double-take, the way her eyes widened just a bit as she looked down at their connected hands, at the thread connected to his thumb that she could see. His grip tightened just enough to force her attention back to his face before she could make a scene.

There was still anger as she looked up at him again but it was diluted beneath a type of astonished adoration that had never before been directed his way. He knew it was just the shock of finally meeting him and that the anger would return when she remembered the years he went ignoring her but it didn't mitigate the unwelcome feeling rising in his gut. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable under the affectionate gaze and uncomfortable even just touching her because he knew deep down that it felt right and he refused to give into this bond.

He refused to play Celestia’s game.

He leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles, “Dance with me?” he murmured, loud enough just for her to hear.

He figured that once people began to flood the dance floor, he would be able to speak with her without as many unwanted ears able to listen in.

“You’re-” she began, breathless and stunned--distastefully, he noticed that Artem was still holding her arm, as if to protect her from him. The thought itself would have amused him in any other circumstance but now it only irritated him even more.

Dottore cut her off, giving her a thin smile: “The Doctor, Second of the Fatui Harbingers.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

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

872 notes · View notes

overandundertarot · 11 months

Text

Glimpse of a Cute and Comforting Moment Between You and Your Future Spouse.

Let's take a sneak peak into a moment between you and your future spouse that will bring you some comfort right now!

Piles 1-3

Pile 1

Cards; 5 of cups reversed, The magician, 10 of cups reversed. Ouuu pile 1 this moment may come after a fight or just an overcharged, intense situation. Your future spouse would be feeling so emotional but you would be calm throughout, offering comfort and guidance. You are an optimistic person, you'll be thinking of how to make the best of what's happening. You may also have short hair. You could also try brainstorming with them. To them, it feels like anything can workout as long as you're by their side. They'll be thinking; damn! I'm so glad i have them on my side. They just think you're so dependable and honestly you're their emotional support. I'm getting that after this moment they might feel like they were underappreciating you before and become determined to cherish you properly going forward. A lot of whats coming forward is how your spouse feels for you and views you, they adore you! And in this moment they're feeling the full force of that adoration, even though they may not have realised it themselves before this. I'm seeing you two sitting down, close together; could be cuddling, but definitely holding hands. It would be a silent moment and they would just be staring at your face so hard, trying to comit it to memory. In this moment you give them the strength to go on, you're their comfort. For some this could be before you enter the relationship and this moment is what's going to endear you to your future spouse and make them start seeing you in a romantic light! They'll be freshly out of a breakup and think that the perfect person for them was here all along, im sensing that you may intuitively understand this as well and also start persuing them. You were waiting for a chance! You're quite sly pile one lmao.

Pile 2

Cards; 8 of pentacles, 5 of swords reversed, Justice. You and your fs are very much partners in crime. You work very well together. This moment is at a time of success for both of you. For you pile 2 though, you may be feeling a sense of loss, kind of like this success is bittersweet. The journey to where you are at the time of this moment was not easy, but you were determined to get through. It feels like because you were hurt in the past, you were worried about the situatuation but your future spouse is more practical and they're telling saying something like; "If you put in the work of course you'll get the results." Lmao, they may be quite stern faced and a no nonsense kind of person. Either way, it's a moment that you'll share with your community as well as one that you will both be absolutely engrossed in. You won't be thinking about anything else. I'm getting that you both are very involved in the welfare of others and this may be connected to both of your careers, like a philanthropist couple. For some, this could be a proposal amongst friends and family and you'll be so surprised, bursting into tears saying something like "I can't beleive this!" and your spouse would be disgruntled because to them it was very obvious that a quality relationship was built and that you were the one for them. It will feel like things are clicking into place for both of you. Confirmations/signs for this pile could be aries or leo, air signs and birds, law, mesmirising eyes and the night sky.

Pile 3

Cards; 4 of wands, 8 of wands, knight of cups. This is a pivotal moment for the expansion of your relationship. It will feel much worse in the moment than it will actually be. Your future spouse is so playful pile 3. They may appear unserious and withdrawn meanwhile you get jealous and insecure because of this. To be honest, both of your attitudes are quite different from the outcome of the situation. This may be a misunderstanding that resolves itself through sheer luck and coincidence. Your spouse is a dreamer, someone who loves to keep their head in the clouds but are afraid of attachment, meanwhile you feel too much and don't know how to translate that properly to other people so your feelings can come off as too much or simply not sincerely. Despite this you still end up in a successful relationship together and hold on strong. Regardless of that, this is a moment of separation. Your spouse may be interacting with someone which makes you jealous. It's clear that in this moment you decide to move on, your fs may attempt to chase but it just brings about a bigger misunderstanding. There's so much pining between you two, it's unreal. Your love story is filled with twists and turns. It's like evrytime you try to seek comfort from your friend as about your relationship they may be thinking,"What happened NOW?!" This is a moment that you both look back on, later in your relationship and laugh about. "Gosh, we were so stupid!" Confirmations for this pile are birds, all the cards I pulled for this pile had birds on them.

***

Thanks for participating in this pick a pile reading! Any feedback would be awesome :)

#overandundertarot #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #divination #intuitive reading #pac #pick a picture #tarot pick a card #romance reading #free tarot readings #love reading #tarotblr #tarot reading #free tarot #pick a card reading #fs tarot

765 notes · View notes

yournameloveskpop · 3 months

Text

Circus Freak

Paring: Hyunjin x Reader

Style:circus AU, NSFW, Romeo & Juliet, friendship, romance

Warning: toxic family, smut, forbidden romance

Word count: 21.307

In the vibrant heart of a city that never sleeps, where skyscrapers stretched towards the heavens and the buzz of daily life never ceased, there lay a realm where the extraordinary was commonplace, and the word 'impossible' was simply a hurdle to be leaped over. This realm thrived under the colorful expanse of a circus tent, a place where our tale begins to take shape.

Amidst this whirlwind of activity, Y/N, a young woman whose curiosity knew no bounds and whose spirit rebelled against convention, found herself drawn to the magnetic pull of the circus. Her farther, firm in his beliefs and viewing the circus folk as nothing more than societal outliers, frowned upon her fascination. He saw these performers as mere entertainers, far removed from the respectable circles they aspired to be part of. Yet, Y/N looked beyond societal labels, seeing in the circus a celebration of diversity, a testament to the strength found in difference.

"I just don't see what you find so enthralling about it, Y/N," her father sighed one evening, the topic of the circus surfacing yet again at the dinner table.

"It's not just entertainment, dad. It's art. It's people being true to who they are, despite what the world expects of them. It's...it's freedom," Y/N replied, her eyes alight with passion.

Her words hung in the air, challenging the silence of her normally unyielding parents. It was a battle of wills she had fought time and again, yet this time, something shifted. Perhaps it was the unwavering conviction in Y/N's voice, or maybe the simple weariness of constant denial, but eventually, her farther's stern facade cracked.

"Fine," he conceded with a heavy sigh, her decision laced with reluctance. "You may go to the circus. But," he added, a finger raised in warning, "you will be accompanied by guards at all times."

Though the condition dampened her spirits, Y/N's heart soared with the victory. The thought of finally stepping into the world that had captivated her dreams filled her with a joy she could scarcely contain. As Y/N crossed the threshold into the grand tent, her pulse quickened with the thrill of anticipation.

She made her way to a seat right at the front, eager to lose herself entirely in the spectacle that was about to begin. The air buzzed with an electric charge, a blend of excitement and awe tangible among the gathering crowd as the seats filled to capacity. Then, as the lights began to fade, a hush fell over the audience, the collective breath held in suspense, only to be broken by a burst of applause when the ringmaster, known affectionately as Bang Chan, stepped into the limelight to greet the assembled throng.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to a night of wonders," Bang Chan boomed, his voice enveloping the tent in warmth and excitement. "Prepare to be amazed, to laugh, and maybe even to cry as we take you on a journey like no other."

Sitting there, Y/N couldn't help but feel a connection to his words, a sense of belonging that had eluded her elsewhere. The show kicked off with a stunning performance of song and dance, a showcase of the hard work and raw talent of the circus performers.

The lyrics, "Welcome to my home," followed by "Feeling good right now," seemed to speak directly to Y/N, echoing the essence of the circus's inviting spirit. Here, in this space, was a vibrant celebration of diversity and creativity, an open invitation to cast aside one's troubles at the door and immerse oneself in the enchantment of the present moment.

"Doesn't this just make you feel alive?" whispered the person seated next to Y/N, caught up in the magic of the performance.

Y/N turned, offering a smile. "It really does. It's like stepping into another world where anything's possible," she replied, her voice tinged with wonder.

And as the performance unfolded, Y/N felt a deep resonance with the circus's message of unity and the joy of being one's authentic self. As the evening's performances unfolded, each act painted a new stroke of wonder on the canvas of Y/N's imagination. The acrobats twisted and soared through the air with a grace that defied gravity, and the jugglers wove patterns of light and color that dazzled the eyes.

But amidst the array of talents, it was the magic segment that ensnared Y/N's heart. Shrouded in an aura of mystery, the magician, introduced by Bang Chan as Hyunjin, was more than a mere performer; he was a master of illusion and narrative, crafting stories of intrigue and enchantment with his every move.

During a particularly mesmerizing trick, their eyes locked—a moment that seemed to freeze time itself. Y/N felt an unspoken connection, a pull towards the magician that she couldn't rationalize. Hyunjin's gaze was intense, revealing a depth of experiences, his scar a silent narrative of his past struggles, his eyes a window to his soul.

"Seems like the magician has cast a spell on you," the person seated next to Y/N quipped, noticing the intensity of their exchange.

Y/N chuckled nervously, her focus still locked on Hyunjin. "It's like he's weaving magic just for me," she whispered back, enchanted.

Then, as if to prove the shared connection, Hyunjin executed his next trick with a flourish, materializing a bouquet of flowers seemingly from the ether. Striding towards Y/N, he presented them with a confident smirk, his eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and charm. "For you, mademoiselle," he said, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness that matched his expression.

"Thank you," Y/N responded, accepting the bouquet, her voice a mix of surprise and delight. Their eyes met again, a silent conversation passing between them, a moment of mutual recognition that transcended the physical space they occupied. The guards, ever watchful, shifted uncomfortably at this interaction, yet their presence felt miles away to Y/N, lost as she was in the magic of the moment.

As the night progressed, with each act weaving its own magic, Y/N found her thoughts returning to Hyunjin. There was something about him that transcended his illusions, something that embodied the spirit of the circus itself—resilience, the beauty in embracing one's flaws, and the boldness to live authentically amidst judgment. As the final echoes of applause faded and the crowd began to filter out into the night, Y/N found herself rooted to the spot, her heart and mind abuzz with the electrifying performances and the enigmatic figure of the magician, Hyunjin. The guards, ever vigilant, nudged her gently, their voices a stark reminder of the world outside the circus tent.

"Miss Y/N, it's time we head back. Your parents will be expecting you," one guard mentioned, his tone polite yet firm.

Y/N sighed, a sense of reality piercing the magical bubble she had been in. "I know, I just... wish this night could last forever," she replied, her gaze lingering on the now-dimming stage.

As they escorted her away from the tent, a part of her rebelled against the idea that this magical evening was just a fleeting moment in time. She felt an undeniable pull, a sense that her journey with the circus—and with Hyunjin—was far from over. In the days that followed, that pull became a magnetic force, drawing Y/N back to the circus grounds time and again. Each visit was a chance to immerse herself in the world she had become so enchanted with, and, more specifically, to witness Hyunjin weave his magic. With every performance, every secretive exchange of glances between them, the connection they shared seemed to deepen, blossoming silently yet powerfully in the shared glimmers of recognition and intrigue under the kaleidoscopic circus lights.

"It's like you're part of the act, the way you both look at each other," a fellow audience member whispered to Y/N during one of her visits, having noticed the unspoken communication between her and Hyunjin.

Y/N could only smile, her heart fluttering at the thought. "Maybe in another life," she whispered back, her eyes fixed on Hyunjin, who seemed to perform with an extra spark of intensity whenever their eyes met.

As Hyunjin's act reached its zenith, he sought to introduce a new element that would captivate his audience further. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced with a flourish, his voice booming yet inviting, "for my next act, I require the assistance of one daring volunteer from among you. Who will join me in creating magic tonight?"

A forest of hands immediately sprang up, a sea of eager faces, predominantly female, each vying for the magician's attention. Amidst the sea of enthusiasm, Y/N, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, timidly raised her hand as well. Her action, however, did not go unnoticed by the guard seated to her left. With a swift motion, he clasped her wrist, his expression stern. His look was a silent reminder of her parents' expectations and the potential repercussions of her involvement in the circus acts. Y/N's excitement quickly turned to disappointment, her frown deep and evident. This subtle exchange did not escape Hyunjin's keen observation. Making his way through the throng of hands and hopeful faces, he approached Y/N with a purposeful grace. As he stood before her, he bent slightly, bringing himself face to face with her, their eyes locking in a silent conversation.

"Do you wish to be part of this next enchantment?" he inquired softly, his gaze intense yet inviting, cutting through the din of the circus around them.

Y/N, momentarily lost in the depth of his gaze, found her voice, her nod barely perceptible. "Yes, I'd... I'd like that very much," she managed to whisper, her voice a mix of awe and determination.

Hyunjin's smile broadened, a spark of excitement flickering in his eyes. He extended his hand towards her, a gesture of invitation and challenge. "Then come, let us weave magic together," he beckoned, his tone laced with an irresistible charm.

With a moment's hesitation, Y/N reached out, her fingers slipping into his with an electric touch. As he gently pulled her up, she rose to her feet, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The guard, sensing the futility of resisting this moment and perhaps wary of causing a scene, reluctantly released her wrist, allowing her to step into the spotlight.

As Y/N moved into the circle, the audience's anticipation palpable in the air, Hyunjin addressed her with a conspiratorial whisper, "Fear not, for tonight, you are the key to unlocking wonders yet unseen."

"What must I do?" Y/N asked, her voice steadier now, empowered by Hyunjin's confidence in her.

"Just trust in the magic, follow my lead, and together, we'll astound them all," Hyunjin replied, his eyes twinkling with the promise of the extraordinary.

Turning to face the audience, Hyunjin announced, "With the courage of my esteemed assistant, we shall embark on a journey beyond the bounds of the imaginable." The crowd leaned in, their excitement a tangible force in the air.

Hyunjin then guided Y/N through the intricacies of the trick, their movements synchronized in a dance of illusion and reality. Each gesture, each word from Hyunjin, served to draw Y/N deeper into the world of magic, her initial nervousness replaced by a burgeoning sense of wonder and belonging. The trick unfolded with a series of unexpected twists and turns, each more breathtaking than the last, culminating in a finale that drew gasps and applause from the captivated audience. Y/N, at the heart of the spectacle, felt a profound connection not only to Hyunjin but to the very essence of the circus itself. It was a moment of transformation, of crossing a threshold from spectator to participant in the circus's magical tapestry.

As the applause thundered around them, Hyunjin turned to Y/N, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared triumph. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd, "for daring to embrace the magic."

Y/N, overwhelmed by the experience and the unexpected journey she had embarked on, could only nod, her heart full. "Thank you, for making me a part of it," she replied, her voice tinged with gratitude and wonder.

After the exhilarating show, the heart of the circus, its main acts—Hyunjin, Jeongin (I.N), Seungmin, Felix, Jisung (Han), Chanbin, Minho (Lee Know), and the ringmaster Bang Chan—drifted through the backstage area towards their communal campsite, a place they called home. Each member of this tight-knit family bore physical reminders of their tumultuous pasts. Bang Chan sported a prosthetic arm, a testament to resilience. Seungmin's face was marked by a burn on the right side, a stark reminder of his history. Jisung wore an eyepatch, concealing the void left by his left eye. Minho moved gracefully on a prosthetic leg, Chanbin bore a scar that ran down his chest, Felix's eyes—one hazel, one dark brown—shone with a unique light, Jeongin's demeanor oscillated between childlike innocence and unsettling intensity, and Hyunjin, with his scarred visage and blind left eye, completed this ensemble of survivors. These were the originals, the founding members of the circus, each one a story of triumph over adversity. Once outcasts and strays who sought refuge in the streets, they now stood as pillars of a vibrant community that thrived on joy, laughter, and the sheer magic of performance. Their circus had grown beyond their wildest dreams, yet their mission remained unchanged: to spread happiness, for in the smiles of their audience, they found their own strength magnified. As they made their way back, the air was filled with the buzz of post-show excitement and the anticipation of a well-deserved rest day ahead. This break from the rigors of performance offered them a precious moment to either hone their crafts or simply unwind, a necessary pause in their otherwise relentless schedule.

Chanbin, ever the spirited member of the group, approached Hyunjin with a playful energy, slapping him on the back in a gesture of camaraderie. "Hyunjin, that was a stellar act tonight! You really outdid yourself with that new trick," he exclaimed, his voice echoing the sentiment of admiration felt by all.

Hyunjin, still riding the high of the performance, turned to Chanbin with a smile. "Thanks, Chanbin. It felt different tonight, more... electric. I think we reached new heights together," he replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

Jisung, always observant, sidled up to the duo, his curiosity piqued by the connection he had noticed between Hyunjin and a particular audience member. "Speaking of tonight's act," Jisung began, his tone teasing yet pointed, "that girl you chose as your assistant—she's become quite the regular, hasn't she? Seems particularly captivated by your performances."

Hyunjin's expression softened at the mention of Y/N, a mix of intrigue and fondness playing across his features. "Yeah, she has been coming to a lot of shows lately. There's something about her... It's like she sees right through the illusion to the heart of the magic," he mused, his thoughts drifting to the moments they had shared on stage.

The conversation caught the interest of the others, who gathered around, eager to chime in with their observations and jests. Felix, with his ever-present smile, nudged Hyunjin gently. "Sounds like someone's got a fan—or maybe something a bit more?" he teased, winking.

Hyunjin chuckled, brushing off the implication while not entirely dismissing it. "Let's just say, our paths seem uniquely intertwined," he conceded, his gaze distant, as if contemplating the depth of that connection.

BangChan, the de facto leader and elder brother figure, clapped his hands together, drawing the group's attention. "Alright, team, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've got a day off tomorrow, and I say we make the most of it. Some rest, some practice, and maybe even a little bit of fun. We've earned it," he declared, his voice imbued with a warmth that resonated with each member.

Nods and murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, each member already envisioning how they would spend their well-deserved break. The camaraderie and mutual respect among them were palpable, a bond forged through shared experiences, both triumphant and tragic. As they dispersed, heading towards the showers and then to their respective quarters, the night was alive with the promise of rest, reflection, and rejuvenation. For in the world of the circus, every day brought new challenges, new audiences to enchant, and new stories to weave into the rich tapestry of their collective journey.

Hyunjin lingered for a moment longer, his mind still on Y/N, her presence at the shows, and the undeniable spark that seemed to ignite between them with each performance. It was a curious thing, this feeling, something he has never felt before in his life, and for some reason it scared him. Y/N's steps echoed in the quiet night, her mind replaying the melodies of Lee Know's song, a sweet remnant of her recent adventure. As she approached her home, the shadows seemed to dance, blending the magical world of the circus with the stark reality of her impending reception. The guards, ever-present yet unobtrusive, melted away as she reached her door, signaling her return to a different kind of performance. Crossing he threshold, she was immediately enveloped by a tension so thick it almost pushed her back out. Her parents stood like guardians of a different realm, their faces etched with worry and disapproval.

"Good evening," Y/N ventured, her voice a soft attempt to bridge the gap widening between them.

Her father's eyes met hers, a storm brewing in their depths. Without a word, he turned away, his silence louder than any reprimand.

Her mother sighed, a delicate frown marring her features. "We were worried, Y/N. This... obsession with the circus. It's not healthy."

Y/N's heart sank, but she fought to keep her voice steady. "But, Mom, the circus is magical. It's not just an obsession; it's a passion. You should have seen what happened tonight!"

Her father, unable to contain his disapproval, finally spoke. "What happened tonight? What new spectacle has caught your fancy now?"

"It's not just spectacle," Y/N replied, her voice gaining strength. "It's about the stories, the art, the connection. Tonight, I wasn't just watching; I was a part of something bigger. Isn't that what life is about? Finding your place in the world?"

Her mother exchanged a glance with her father, her eyes reflecting a war between support and concern. "Being part of something bigger doesn't mean losing yourself, Y/N. We just want you to be safe, to think about your future."

"But I am thinking about my future," Y/N insisted. "A future where I'm free to love what I love, to be who I want to be. The circus shows me that world. Can't you see?" In the midst of their heated debate, Y/N tried to convey her exhilaration, "But you don't see! The circus, it's...it's magical. And Hyunjin, he—"

Her father cut her off, his voice sharp and cold. "Magical? You call fraternizing with those...those performers magical? It's reckless, Y/N. You're throwing away everything we've worked for, for what? A moment's thrill?"

"Reckless? No, Dad, it's about being alive, being part of something truly extraordinary. Hyunjin and the others, they're not just performers; they're artists, they're—"

Her father's temper flared, "Artists? They're outcasts! And now you, assisting on stage? It's disgraceful! You're a part of this family, not some...some circus act!"

Y/N's resolve hardened against her father's scorn. "Disgraceful? Because they dare to be different? They've shown me what real courage is, what it means to embrace who you are. Why can't you respect that?"

Her mother, trying to keep the peace, interjected weakly, "Y/N, please understand. Your father is just concerned about—"

"Concerned?" Y/N's voice cracked with emotion. "Or ashamed? Ashamed that I might find my place among people he deems unworthy?"

Her father stood, imposing and unyielding. "Ashamed? Yes, ashamed that my daughter is blinded by this...this fantasy. You think they're your friends? They're using you, making a fool out of you and, by extension, us."

Y/N, her voice trembling with both anger and passion, shot back, "They've accepted me for who I am, something I've never felt here, in this house of judgment. Hyunjin, he sees me, not as a fool, but as someone capable of being part of their world, their magic."

"Enough!" Her father's voice thundered, silencing the room. "Your defiance only proves your immaturity. You will cease this nonsense. No more circus. That's final. If you continue to defy us, the consequences will be severe."

Y/N, her patience shattered and her voice cold with disdain, turned at the foot of the stairs. "Keep your judgments and your so-called wisdom to yourselves. I'd rather be a 'disgrace' out there living my truth than spend another moment suffocating under your narrow-minded pretense of a life."

Without waiting for a retort, she stormed up the stairs, her steps a defiant drumbeat against their traditional values. After Y/N's scathing words cut through the tension, she spun on her heel, the force of her departure leaving a palpable void. She didn't look back as she ascended the stairs, each step echoing her resolve and the rift it had caused. In the immediate aftermath, her mother, without a moment's hesitation, sprang into action. Ignoring the stifling silence and the stern gaze of her husband, she hurried after Y/N. Her heart pounded with a mixture of fear, determination, and a desperate need to mend what had just been broken.

"Y/N!" she called out, her voice a blend of worry and urgency as she climbed the stairs. She reached Y/N's door just as it was about to close, pushing it gently open to bridge the physical and emotional distance between them. "Please, can we talk? Just you and me."

Y/N, standing in the middle of her sanctuary, her emotions a whirlwind, faced her mother. The anger still simmered, but the presence of her mother, showing concern and a willingness to listen, tempered it slightly.

"Why?" Y/N's voice was a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "So you can tell me again how wrong I am? How I should just give up on everything I love?"

Her mother stepped inside, closing the door behind her, a symbolic gesture to shut out the world and its judgments. "No, not to tell you you're wrong. I... I came to say I'm sorry. Sorry that we've made you feel this way, that we haven't tried to understand. Tell me about the circus, about why it means so much to you. Help me see, Y/N."

This was the first time Y/N felt her mother truly reaching out, not as an enforcer of her father's rules, but as a parent trying to connect with her child's passion.

"It's where I feel like I belong, Mom," Y/N began, her voice softening. "It's not just about the performances. It's about the people, the freedom, the acceptance. They've shown me that it's okay to be different, that it's okay to dream big."

Her mother nodded, taking a tentative step closer. "I see. I've never looked at it that way. Maybe... maybe we've been too quick to judge. Tell me more, please. I want to understand."

As Y/N spoke, the walls between them began to crumble, not completely, but enough to let the light of understanding shine through. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt heard, and her mother, though still worried, began to grasp the depth of her daughter's dreams.

The next day Hyunjin woke up feeling awake and refreshed. The sounds of the circus crew were faint outside his tent, going about their day seeing as they all had it off. He stretched, his body filled with an energy that only a good night's sleep could provide. The circus was quiet, a rare day off for everyone, and the calm was as refreshing as the sleep had been. He swapped his usual stage attire for something more casual and made his way out, eager for the day ahead.

As he stepped out, Bang Chan, the ring leader, and Chanbin, the lion tamer, were there to greet him with warm smiles. "Morning, Hyunjin! Sleep well?" Bang Chan asked, his voice carrying the easy authority of someone born to lead.

"Like a log," Hyunjin responded, grinning. "Ready to tackle the day off?"

Chanbin chuckled, "As ready as one can be. Let's grab some breakfast. I'm starving."

The trio walked towards the communal tent, where the rest of the crew was gathering for the morning meal. The smell of breakfast filled the air, a comforting blend of coffee, eggs, and fresh bread.

Inside, Jisung and Jeongin were already at a table, deep in conversation, while Felix, Seungmin, and Minho were in line for food. Felix spotted them joining the queue and flashed his signature bright smile. "Morning, guys! How did everyone sleep?"

"Great, thanks," Hyunjin said, his mind drifting momentarily to the volunteer from last night's show. "Actually, I kept thinking about the girl who helped with the magic act. She seemed so captivated by everything."

"Oh, her!" Felix's eyes lit up with recognition. "She's been here a few times, hasn't she? Always looks like she's seeing magic for the first time."

Chanbin, overhearing the conversation, added, "Did you notice the bodyguards trying to stop her from joining you on stage, Hyunjin? Wonder why she needs two of them."

Bang Chan leaned in, curiosity piqued. "Bodyguards, you say? That's unusual for a circus audience. Maybe she's someone important, or perhaps there's more to her story."

Hyunjin nodded, thoughtful. "Yeah, there's something about her. Last night felt... different. Like there was a real connection, not just the usual volunteer interaction."

The group pondered this as they moved along the line, filling their plates. The mystery of the girl and her evident fascination with the circus sparked a lively debate among them, each offering theories and observations.

"Perhaps she's seeking escape, something we all can relate to," Seungmin suggested, joining the conversation. "The circus is another world, after all."

"True," Minho agreed. "We've all found refuge under this big top. Maybe she's just like us, drawn to the magic, the freedom."

They settled down to eat, the conversation shifted to plans for the day off, but Hyunjin's thoughts remained on the girl. There was a story there, he was sure, and he found himself eager to discover it. Y/N's heart was set on a day of freedom, a brief respite from the watchful eyes that constantly hovered over her life. The idea of spending a day out with Maya, her closest friend, without the omnipresent shadow of her bodyguards felt like a breath of fresh air. With a plan in mind and a hopeful heart, she tiptoed through the lavish corridors of her home, each step calculated to avoid detection.

Unfortunately, her father, ever vigilant, caught a glimpse of her attempting to slip away. His voice, firm and unyielding, halted her in her tracks. "Y/N, where do you think you're going?"

Caught off guard, Y/N turned, offering a smile that she hoped would disarm. "Just out with Maya, Dad. Nothing major."

Her father, however, was not swayed. "You know the rules, Y/N. If you're going out, you're taking a bodyguard. I won't have you wandering the streets unprotected."

Y/N's heart sank. "But Dad, can't I just—"

"No buts," he interjected. "It's not open for discussion. You can have your freedom, but safety comes first."

Resigned, Y/N nodded, unable to argue further without risking further confinement. As she met Maya outside, her friend's immediate eye roll at the sight of the trailing bodyguard said it all.

"I'm so sorry, Maya. Dad saw me sneaking out," Y/N explained, her frustration evident.

Maya, ever the supportive friend, shrugged it off with a smile. "It's no big deal. Let's not let it ruin our day. We've got shopping to do!"

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, craving a similar escape, ventured into the city with a different purpose. He was on a mission to gather pieces for a new costume, something to invigorate his next performance. With a cap pulled low and a mask concealing half his face, he navigated the bustling streets incognito. The fame of the circus and its founding members made anonymity a precious commodity, and his scar, a reminder of his unique journey, was something he preferred to keep hidden from the prying eyes of the public. Despite the circus's celebration of diversity, his own insecurities whispered too loudly on days like this. Y/N and Maya, immersed in their day out, found themselves weaving stories and sharing laughter, the bodyguard momentarily forgotten in the joy of their reunion. It was Maya who, with a mischievous glint in her eye, suggested a daring escape.

"Ready to lose your shadow?" Maya whispered conspiratorially.

Y/N, caught up in the thrill, nodded eagerly. "What's the plan?"

"Follow me and keep up," Maya said, pulling her into the throng of a crowded marketplace.

With practiced ease, they darted and dodged through the mass of people, their laughter mingling with the hum of the city. Just when they thought they had outmaneuvered the guard, they ducked into a shop, hiding among the racks of clothes. Peering out, they watched him pass by, oblivious to their trickery. Seizing their moment of freedom, they dashed in the opposite direction, only for Y/N to collide with a stranger. Stumbling back, she found herself looking up into the partially concealed face of a man who, despite the mask and cap, radiated a familiar warmth.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there," Y/N apologized, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the stranger's appearance. There was something about him, a presence that felt oddly comforting yet exhilarating.

"No harm done," the stranger replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But you should be more careful. The streets can be unpredictable."

Y/N, still caught in the stranger's gaze, nodded, unaware that the collision was not just with any passerby but with Hyunjin himself, out on his own quest for freedom and inspiration.

As Maya joined Y/N's side, a puzzled look crossed her face. "Do we know you?" she asked, eyeing the stranger curiously.

Hyunjin, realizing the potential for recognition, weighed his options. To reveal himself could mean drawing attention they all sought to avoid, yet the intrigue in their eyes was hard to dismiss.

"Let's just say I'm a fan of unexpected meetings," Hyunjin said, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps the city has its way of bringing people together."

I apologize for not meeting your expectations earlier. Let's rewrite the part according to your detailed description and requirements.

Hyunjin, stepping away from the unexpected encounter, felt a whirlwind of emotions. The brief moment with Y/N, the girl who had become a staple in the audience of his performances, left him both thrilled and unnerved. Her presence had always been a highlight of his act, their eyes locking in a silent communication amidst the magic he conjured. Now, having bumped into her, the familiarity of those feelings surged with a new intensity, mingling with the fear of the unknown emotions she stirred within him. He remembered her vividly, each night she attended, watching with an untainted sense of wonder that fueled his passion on stage. As he disappeared into a shop, hoping to find pieces that would add to his mesmerizing performances, his face flushed with a heat that had little to do with the summer air. Underneath his mask, his cheeks burned with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Back at the cafe, Y/N sat across from Maya, her mind racing. "It was Hyunjin, wasn't it?" Maya asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

"Yes," Y/N whispered, almost to herself. "I recognized him... it's hard not to. But I didn't want to say anything right there."

Maya, sipping her coffee, nearly choked on her drink. "I can't believe you've been going to the circus," she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and admiration. "And your parents actually let you?"

Y/N laughed softly, the sound tinged with a hint of defiance. "It took a lot of convincing, and the condition was the bodyguards. But it was worth it, every single time."

Maya shook her head, her initial surprise giving way to envy. "I'm jealous, you know. Those tickets aren't cheap."

Y/N acknowledged the privilege that allowed her these escapes with a shy smile. "I know, but the circus is more than just a show. It's a world of its own, where magic feels real, and for a few hours, I can be part of that magic."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, with Y/N sharing stories of the circus's enchantment and the performers who had captivated her. Maya listened intently, drawn into the vivid picture Y/N painted with her words.

"Hey, you should come with me next time," Y/N suggested, her eyes sparkling with the idea. "I'll get tickets for us. It's an experience you won't forget."

Maya's eyes widened with excitement. "Really? I'd love to. But are you sure? Those tickets..."

"Don't worry about it," Y/N interrupted, her tone full of conviction. "It's on me. I want you to see it, to feel what I feel when I'm there."

As they planned their next adventure, Y/N felt a renewed sense of purpose. Sharing her passion for the circus with Maya not only deepened their friendship but also reinforced her own love for the magical world she had discovered. Meanwhile, Hyunjin, hidden behind the racks of a quaint shop, allowed himself to dream bigger for his next act, inspired by the brief encounter with Y/N. The chance meeting reminded him of the impact his performances had on the audience, fueling his desire to create something even more spectacular. He pondered over fabrics and designs, each choice now infused with the possibility of seeing Y/N in the crowd again, her eyes filled with the same wonder that had first drawn him to her.

As Y/N and Maya, bubbling with anticipation, made their way through the bustling streets back to Y/N's opulent home, their recent escape from the watchful eyes of the bodyguard became a cherished memory, a shared adventure that bonded them even closer. After a brief stop at Maya's to collect her overnight essentials, they prepared for an evening that promised to be unforgettable. Y/N, seated at her desk, navigated the circus's website with practiced ease. She selected front-row tickets, sparing no expense for the perfect view, and, with a resigned sigh, added tickets for the guards. Their presence was a necessary concession to her father's strict rules, a shadow over her otherwise unbridled enthusiasm. The evening of the circus arrived with a flurry of excitement. Y/N and Maya dressed with care, choosing outfits that mirrored the magic they were about to witness. As they stepped outside, the guards, ever present, nodded in acknowledgment, a silent promise of protection.

The drive to the circus was filled with chatter, Maya's excitement palpable as she peppered Y/N with questions. "What's your favorite act?" "How does it feel to be so close to the magic?" Y/N answered each query with a warmth in her heart, thrilled to share this part of her world with her friend.

Upon arrival, the circus grounds buzzed with energy, the air electric with anticipation. As they approached the entrance, Bang Chan, the charismatic ringmaster, greeted guests with a wide, welcoming smile. His eyes lit up in recognition at the sight of Y/N.

"Back again, I see?" he remarked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Y/N's smile broadened, her excitement uncontainable. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," she replied, her eyes sparkling with joy.

Bang Chan, intrigued by her frequent visits, leaned in slightly. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Y/N," she responded, a flush of pride coloring her cheeks at the personal interest from the ringmaster himself.

"Y/N," he repeated, nodding with a genuine smile. "Well, you're in for a treat tonight. We've expanded the show—more acts, more magic. It's going to be a night to remember."

Maya, standing beside Y/N, looked on in awe, the reality of the circus's allure unfolding before her. "This is amazing, Y/N. I can't believe I'm here," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

As they handed their tickets to Bang Chan, he offered them a conspiratorial wink. "Enjoy the show, and keep an eye out for the surprises we have in store."

Stepping into the circus tent, the transformation was immediate. The outside world, with all its rules and restrictions, faded away, leaving only the promise of enchantment. The front-row seats offered an unobstructed view of the ring, where performers were beginning to gather, their costumes a kaleidoscope of color and fantasy.

As the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed, the anticipation reaching its peak. Bang Chan's voice, rich and inviting, filled the space. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to a night where the impossible becomes possible, where dreams take flight, and magic reigns supreme. Prepare to be amazed!"

Y/N glanced at Maya, her heart swelling at her friend's captivated expression. This was the magic she had longed to share, a world where wonders never ceased, and for a few precious hours, anything was possible.

The show unfolded with breathtaking spectacle, each act surpassing the last in thrill and wonder. Hyunjin's magic act was a highlight, his new costume catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. Y/N's gaze found his, a silent acknowledgment passing between them, a connection that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the circus ring. As the final act drew to a close, the audience erupted into applause, a standing ovation for the performers who had made the impossible real. Y/N and Maya joined in, their applause heartfelt, their spirits lifted by the magic they had witnessed.

After the show, as the crowd began to disperse, Y/N felt a gentle tug on her arm. Maya, her eyes alight with excitement, leaned in. "Y/N, this was incredible. Thank you for bringing me. I've never felt so alive!"

Y/N smiled, her own heart full. "I'm glad you loved it. The circus has a way of doing that—making you feel alive."

Y/N and Maya, still riding the high of the circus's magic, made their way out of the large tent, their senses alight with the vibrant energy of the evening. As they stepped into the cool night air, they noticed a crowd gathering nearby, curiosity drawing them closer.

"What's going on?" Maya asked, craning her neck to see over the heads in front of them.

Y/N, equally intrigued, tiptoed slightly. "Looks like they're handing out something. Let's check it out."

As they approached, they realized it was Felix and Jeongin from the circus, their vibrant personalities impossible to miss. Jeongin, with a childlike enthusiasm, bounced on the balls of his feet, his laughter infectious as he handed out flyers.

"Hey, look! It's Felix and Jeongin," Maya pointed out, her voice tinged with excitement.

Y/N smiled, her interest piqued. "Let's go get a flyer."

They made their way through the crowd, reaching the front where Felix and Jeongin stood. Jeongin's smile widened upon seeing them approach, "Hello there! Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, his voice bubbling with genuine interest.

Felix, standing beside him, offered his own warm greeting. "Yeah, did you like it? It's always great to see new faces and regulars alike," he said, his dual-colored eyes twinkling under the lights.

Maya, eager to respond, nodded vigorously. "It was amazing, my first time here! And Y/N's told me so much about it."

Y/N, feeling a connection to the circus stronger than ever, chimed in. "Yes, I loved it, as always. I heard you're doing an open day? Could we get some flyers? We'd love to come."

Felix glanced at the dwindling stack of flyers in his hand, then back at Y/N and Maya. "Sure, how many would you need?"

"Four, please. One for me, one for Maya, and two for our... companions," Y/N said, gesturing subtly towards the guards who stood a respectful distance away.

Felix's eyes followed her gesture, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze as he looked back at her. Jeongin, ever the straightforward one, didn't hesitate to voice his thoughts. "Why do you have guards? If you don't mind me asking."

Y/N sighed, a shadow crossing her features for a moment. "My dad... he's just very protective. Wants to make sure I'm safe, that's all."

Jeongin and Felix exchanged a look, the atmosphere tinged with a newfound understanding. "That must be tough, having to be followed around like that," Felix said, his voice soft with empathy.

"Yeah, it has its moments," Y/N admitted, the brief sadness in her eyes speaking volumes. "But it's worth it for experiences like these. The circus... it's like a different world, one where I feel free, even if just for a little while."

Jeongin, brightening at her words, handed over the flyers with a grin. "Well, we're glad you feel that way. This open day is going to be something special. You'll get to see behind the scenes, meet more of us, and really get a feel for what makes this place so magical."

"Thank you," Maya said, taking her flyer with a smile. "We're really looking forward to it."

As they turned to leave, Felix called out, "Hey, we'll see you there, then! And don't worry, it'll be a day where you can forget about those guards for a bit and just enjoy."

Y/N and Maya walked away, flyers in hand, their spirits lifted by the promise of another day filled with the circus's enchantment. The open day offered a glimpse into a world Y/N had only begun to explore, a chance to deepen her connection with the place that had captured her heart.

"Imagine getting to go behind the scenes," Maya mused, her voice alive with anticipation. "What do you think we'll see?"

Y/N's thoughts wandered to the performers they'd met, the acts they'd witnessed, and the magic that permeated the very air of the circus. "I think we'll see dreams being built," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "And maybe, just maybe, we'll learn a little bit about what it takes to make magic real."

On the eagerly awaited open day, Y/N and Maya held their leaflets tightly, their excitement barely contained as they approached the entrance of the circus. The vibrant atmosphere was palpable, with performers from various acts mingling with the guests, showcasing snippets of their talents.

Bang Chan, the esteemed ringmaster, greeted them at the entrance. His recognition of Y/N was immediate, and his welcoming smile put them at ease. "Ah, our regular visitor and her friend! Welcome to the open day," he said, extending his prosthetic hand to collect their leaflets. The guards, ever present, handed theirs over as well, their stoic expressions in stark contrast to the festive environment.

Y/N, her hands briefly entwined in a gesture of gratitude, thanked Bang Chan. "We're really excited to be here. Thank you for having us."

With a nod, Bang Chan ushered them through the gates, where the circus opened up into a world of wonder. Their first encounter was with Lee Know, the singer and a key performer, who was adjusting his prosthetic leg. Noticing their approach, he quickly finished and stood, greeting them with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that, didn't notice you there. Ready for a little tour?"

As they ventured deeper into the circus, Lee Know introduced them to the vibrant cast of characters that made up their unique family. First on the tour was Chanbin, the lion tamer, who was in the midst of a feeding session with a baby cub, its mother lying calmly by his side.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Chanbin said, gesturing towards the lioness. "Don't worry, they're quite used to people. The little one's a handful, though."

Next, they met Felix and Jeongin, the clowns, who were in the middle of their act. Jeongin, with his boundless energy, attempted a magic trick that ended in a comical display of twigs and a few flower petals instead of the intended bouquet. His laughter, infectious and bright, filled the air as he presented his accidental creation to Y/N. "A little bit of nature for you," he joked, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Felix, meanwhile, juggled skillfully while balancing on a unicycle, his concentration unbroken by the giggles and applause from the onlookers. "Always practice, never a dull moment!" he called out, catching his props with a flourish.

Wandering the park area on stilts was Seungmin, the acrobat, alongside Jisung. Their towering presence drew a crowd as they moved gracefully among the guests, engaging in light conversation and sharing laughs. "It's all about balance," Seungmin explained, his voice carrying down from his elevated position. "And a bit of courage, I suppose."

The highlight of their tour was the visit to Hyunjin, who had attracted a significant crowd with his enchanting magic. Lee Know, seeing the interest in Y/N and Maya's eyes, led them to the front. "Let's get a better view," he whispered, guiding them closer.

Hyunjin's performance was mesmerizing, his subtle tricks weaving a spell over the audience. Y/N and Maya, now front and center, watched in awe as he manipulated light and shadow, his movements fluid and precise.

After the demonstration, Hyunjin addressed the crowd, his gaze lingering on Y/N and Maya. "Thank you for joining us today. Magic isn't just about the tricks; it's about the connection we share in these moments."

As the tour concluded, Y/N and Maya thanked Lee Know for the incredible experience. "This was beyond anything we could've imagined," Y/N said, her voice full of emotion. "Thank you for showing us the heart of the circus."

Maya nodded in agreement. "It's been an eye-opening day. The talent, the passion... it's all so inspiring."

As Y/N and Maya lingered at the circus, their day was filled with the mesmerizing performances of the original cast and the other talented performers. Their attention was caught by Jeongin, who was taking a well-deserved break. Sensing their gaze, he waved them over with a friendly smile.

"Hey there!" Jeongin greeted as they approached, his eyes landing on Y/N. "I've noticed you around quite a bit. What brings you back so often?" he inquired, curiosity lighting up his face.

Y/N, feeling a bit on the spot but warmed by his interest, replied, "It's the freedom here, the way everyone is so open and expressive. It's truly inspiring."

Jeongin's smile grew at her words, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. "That's really kind of you to say. Thank you! It means a lot to us that our message resonates with you."

Maya, not one to shy away from deeper conversations, chimed in, "We've also noticed the scars that each of the main eight performers carries. It seems like you all have been through quite a lot."

For a moment, Jeongin's usual jovial demeanor faded, replaced by a more reflective expression. "Yes," he admitted, his smile tinged with sadness. "We've all had our share of struggles. But we found each other when we were just kids, on the streets. Bang Chan brought us together, made us a family. We're not alone anymore; we're brothers."

Intrigued by their origin story, Maya asked, "How did the idea of starting a circus come about? It's remarkable how you've turned your pasts into something so beautiful and uplifting."

It was at this point that Hyunjin joined the conversation, his arrival unnoticed until he spoke. "The circus was Bang Chan's dream," he explained, his gaze briefly meeting Maya's before settling on Y/N, causing an unmistakable flutter in her heart. "He saw it as a way for us to channel our experiences into something positive, to create a place where not only could we be free but also spread joy and wonder."

Y/N, moved by their stories, cast a sidelong glance at the guards her father insisted accompany her. It was a silent reminder of the constraints she lived under, a stark contrast to the freedom she yearned for.

Hyunjin and Jeongin noticed the direction of her gaze, their expressions shifting as they took in the sight of the two guards standing a short distance away. "It seems you're not entirely free yourself," Hyunjin observed, his tone gentle yet filled with understanding.

Y/N sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation in her voice. "My dad is... protective. He means well, but sometimes it feels like I'm more of a prisoner than a daughter."

Jeongin, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood. "Well, at least you get to escape to our little world of magic from time to time, right?"

Hyunjin nodded, adding, "And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll find a way to bridge your world with ours. Freedom comes in many forms, and sometimes, it's about finding the right moment to seize it."

Their conversation deepened as they discussed the themes of freedom and resilience that ran through the circus's ethos. Y/N and Maya listened intently as Jeongin and Hyunjin shared more about their lives, the formation of the circus, and the bonds that held them together.

As the open day drew to a close, Y/N and Maya knew they were leaving with much more than they had come for. Not only had they witnessed the spectacle of the circus, but they had also gained insights into the lives of those who made it possible. The stories of hardship and triumph, of finding family in the most unlikely places, resonated deeply with them.

Before parting ways, Hyunjin offered one last piece of advice. "Keep seeking freedom, Y/N. It's out there, and sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it."

With heartfelt thanks, Y/N and Maya bid farewell to Jeongin and Hyunjin, their hearts full of new dreams and aspirations. Hyunjin and Jeongin stood side by side, their eyes following Y/N and Maya as they navigated through the departing crowd. There was a reflective silence between the two performers, a rare moment of introspection in the aftermath of their heartfelt conversation.

Jeongin, ever observant, caught Hyunjin's lingering gaze on Y/N. A mischievous grin spread across his face, breaking the solemn mood. "You seem quite taken with our regular visitor," he teased, nudging Hyunjin playfully.

Hyunjin, caught off guard, stumbled over his words momentarily before regaining his composure. "It's not like that. It's just... refreshing to meet someone who sees beyond the spectacle, who understands the heart of what we do," he defended, though his cheeks betrayed him with a hint of color.

Jeongin's laughter filled the air, light and carefree. "Oh, I get it. She sees the magic behind the magic. That's special, isn't it?"

Hyunjin nodded, his gaze still fixed on the distance Y/N and Maya had disappeared into. "Yeah, it is. Most people come for the thrills, the laughs, and the awe. But Y/N and Maya, they looked deeper. They saw us."

The two performers turned back to face the now-emptying circus grounds, the energy of the open day lingering like a warm afterglow. "It's strange, isn't it?" Jeongin mused. "We started this circus to hide in plain sight, to use our performances as a shield. And now, we find ourselves hoping to be truly seen."

Hyunjin sighed, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Maybe it's time we let the world in a little more. Y/N reminded us that our stories, as dark as they may be, have the power to connect, to inspire... maybe even to heal."

Jeongin's eyes twinkled with a newfound determination. "Let's do it. Let's weave more of our truth into the tapestry of our performances. Who knows how many more Y/Ns and her friend are out there, looking for a piece of magic they can relate to?"

The decision settled between them like a silent pact, an agreement to open up their world a little wider, to share not just the spectacle of the circus but the soul behind it.

As they began to make their way back to the performers' quarters, Jeongin's voice echoed back to Hyunjin. "So, when are you going to invite Y/N back for a private tour? I'm sure she'd love to learn even more about the magic we create."

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head at Jeongin's teasing. "We'll see. For now, let's focus on our next show. We have stories to tell, and I want them to be unforgettable."

The conversation faded into the night as the two performers disappeared behind the curtain, their spirits lifted by the promise of new beginnings. The open day had brought unexpected revelations and connections, bridging worlds that once seemed so distant. For Hyunjin and Jeongin, it was a reminder that behind every act, every trick, and every performance, there was a human story waiting to be told, and perhaps, waiting to be understood.

As Y/N and Maya stepped through the front door of Y/N's home, the familiar sound of raised voices greeted them. The living room was a battleground of words, with Y/N's mother and father locked in yet another argument about Y/N's future. Their voices clashed, each trying to drown out the other with their own version of reason, but neither willing to concede.

The lightness in Y/N's heart from the day's adventure quickly dimmed, the joyous echoes of the circus fading into the background. Maya, sensing her friend's discomfort, gave her sleeve a gentle tug, signaling a silent retreat to the sanctuary of Y/N's bedroom.

Y/N hesitated, the argument in the living room pulling at her attention. Her mother's voice, filled with passion, broke through, advocating for Y/N to have more freedom. "She needs to explore, to live! You can't keep her under lock and key forever," her mother argued, her frustration palpable.

Her father's rebuttal was immediate, his tone laced with the conviction of his overprotectiveness. "She has all the freedom she needs! The guards are for her safety, nothing more."

Y/N's heart ached at the words. To her father, freedom was a concept bounded by the presence of guards, a shadowed existence that felt more like a gilded cage than true liberty.

"Having someone watch over me every moment isn't freedom, Dad," Y/N whispered to herself, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the hallway.

Maya's gentle pull on her arm brought her back to the moment. With a resigned sigh, Y/N allowed her friend to lead her away from the heated exchange, up the stairs to the relative peace of her bedroom.

Once inside, Maya closed the door softly behind them, the muffled sounds of the argument below fading into a distant rumble.

She turned to Y/N, her expression a mix of concern and support. "I'm sorry, Y/N. It must be tough, feeling caught in the middle like this."

Y/N sank onto her bed, the events of the day colliding with the reality of her home life. "It's exhausting," she admitted. "I just wish they could see eye to eye, for once. My mom understands... She knows how much I crave real freedom, the kind we felt today at the circus."

Maya sat beside her, offering a comforting presence. "Your mom's right, you know. You deserve to explore, to find your own path. But maybe... maybe there's a way to help your dad see that too."

Y/N looked at Maya, hope flickering in her eyes. "How? He's so set in his ways. I've tried talking to him, but it always ends up in an argument."

"Maybe it's not about talking to him... not directly, at least," Maya mused. "What if we showed him? What if he could see firsthand what freedom means to you, how it changes you for the better?"

Y/N considered Maya's words, a plan slowly taking shape in her mind. "You mean like bringing him to the circus? Letting him see the magic, the joy it brings?"

"Exactly," Maya said, her voice growing excited. "He needs to understand that freedom isn't just about physical safety. It's about feeling alive, about connecting with something larger than yourself. And what better place to experience that than the circus?"

The idea was daring, perhaps even a little daunting, but Y/N felt a spark of determination ignite within her. "It's worth a try," she agreed, her mind racing with possibilities. "But we'll need to be careful, plan it just right."

The rest of the evening was spent in whispered conversations, plotting and planning how to bridge the gap between Y/N's worlds. They discussed every detail, from how to approach her mother with the idea to selecting the perfect circus performance that might captivate her father's heart. As night deepened, Y/N and Maya's plans grew more concrete, their strategy a blend of hope and daring. The challenge ahead was formidable, but for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt a flicker of optimism. The morning air was crisp and filled with the anticipation of freedom as Y/N and Maya readied themselves for a day out, unencumbered by the watchful eyes of Y/N's usual companions—the guards. As they were about to step through the door, Y/N's mother approached, her presence commanding the room.

"Girls, wait a moment," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of authority and excitement. The guard, already positioned by the door in his usual stance of vigilance, turned towards her, a questioning look in his eyes.

Y/N and Maya paused, an unspoken question hanging between them. Y/N's mother addressed the guard directly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll be needing you today for something else. The girls will be fine on their own."

The guard, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in plans, glanced between Y/N, Maya, and her mother, his training clashing with the direct order from a family member. "But sir," he started, referring to Y/N's father's previous instructions, "he was quite clear about—"

"Things have changed for today," Y/N's mother interjected firmly, cutting off any objections. "I require your assistance elsewhere. Please, trust me on this."

With a hesitant nod, the guard acquiesced, the confusion evident on his face but the respect for her authority overriding his concerns. He left, casting one last unsure look at Y/N and Maya before disappearing down the hall.

Y/N stood there, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. "Mom, what just happened? How did you...?" she stammered, her voice a cocktail of shock and disbelief.

Her mother turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a spark of rebellion in her eyes. "After last night's discussion, it became clear to me that something needed to change. Your father and I had quite the talk after you went to bed."

Maya, witnessing the exchange, nudged Y/N with a grin. "Looks like you're officially off the leash, huh?"

Y/N's mother continued, "Your father isn't thrilled, but we've agreed that you'll have a month to prove you can handle yourself without constant supervision. It's your chance to show him you're more than capable of managing your own safety."

Y/N, overwhelmed by the sudden shift in her reality, hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you, Mom. I won't let you down, I promise."

Her mother hugged her back, then stepped away, her gaze serious yet supportive. "I know you won't, darling. Just remember, with freedom comes responsibility. Make wise choices."

As they stepped out into the morning light, the absence of the guards felt surreal to Y/N. The world seemed wider, brighter, filled with possibilities that were previously clouded by the shadows of surveillance.

"Can you believe this, Maya?" Y/N asked, her voice a mix of elation and apprehension. "A whole month of freedom. It feels like I can finally breathe."

Maya linked her arm with Y/N's, sharing in her friend's newfound liberation. "Let's make the most of it. Starting with a shopping trip that doesn't involve sneaking around our own shadows."

They entered, the familiar jingle of the doorbell was like music to their ears, but it was the sight of Hyunjin and Felix that truly caught their attention. The unexpected encounter sent a thrill through Y/N, their eyes meeting across the room.

As Y/N and Maya placed their order, a silent exchange of glances between Y/N and Hyunjin sparked a flutter of anticipation. Maya, ever the keen observer, nudged Y/N playfully. "Looks like someone's happy to see you," she teased, her voice low but filled with mirth.

Encouraged by Felix's subtle prompting, Hyunjin approached them, his heart racing with a cocktail of nerves and eagerness. Adjusting his mask to partially conceal his scar, he offered a greeting that bridged the distance between them.

"Hey, didn't expect to run into you here," he said, his voice carrying a hint of warmth and uncertainty.

Y/N, caught in the unexpected moment, responded with a smile. "Yeah, it's a nice surprise," she managed, her heart echoing Hyunjin's nervousness.

Noticing the absence of Y/N's guards, Felix chimed in with a cheerful grin. "Looks like you're enjoying a bit of freedom today. Care to join us?" His eyes sparkled with the offer, inviting them into their world outside the circus.

Agreeing, they took their drinks and joined Felix and Hyunjin at their table, the arrangement of seats placing Y/N directly across from Hyunjin, and Maya opposite Felix. In a gesture of casual politeness, Felix placed his cap on the table's corner.

Hyunjin, with a hesitant motion, slid his mask just under his chin, exposing his scar to the ordinary world beyond the circus tent. It was a rare show of openness, one that he reserved for the stage or the safety of the circus family. Yet, here he was, revealing his vulnerabilities to Y/N in a setting far removed from the spotlights and applause. Felix, ever the conversationalist, took a moment from savoring his drink to delve into a topic that had piqued his interest since their arrival.

"So, how does it feel? Not having the guards shadowing your every move?" Felix inquired, his gaze fixed on Y/N, genuinely curious about her newfound freedom.

Y/N paused, allowing herself to truly consider the question. "It feels... liberating," she began, her voice laced with a sense of relief and wonder. "There's this lightness I hadn't realized I was missing until now. To move freely, without constant surveillance—it's like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long."

Felix nodded, absorbing her words, then turned his attention to Maya. "And what about you? Did your family ever consider guards?" he asked, keen to understand the dynamics that shaped their experiences.

Maya chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, nothing like that. My family's protective, sure, but not to the extent of Y/N's. I guess I've always taken my freedom for granted. Seeing what Y/N's been through, it does make me feel a bit guilty for not appreciating it more," she admitted, her tone tinged with empathy.

The conversation veered into the territory of parental protection, with Felix sharing his thoughts on the delicate balance between safeguarding loved ones and allowing them the space to grow. "It's a tricky line to walk," he mused. "Wanting to keep someone safe while also giving them the freedom to explore and make their own mistakes."

As Felix and Maya engaged in a lively discussion on various topics ranging from their favorite music to places they'd love to visit, Hyunjin found himself more attuned to Y/N, his gaze frequently drifting her way. Each time their eyes met, a wave of warmth washed over him, her shy smile sending his heart racing.

Y/N, for her part, felt a flutter of excitement each time she caught Hyunjin looking at her. There was something about the way he saw her—not as someone to be shielded and kept at arm's length, but as a person, vibrant and full of life. His attention made her feel seen, truly seen, in a way she hadn't experienced before.

At one point, amidst the chatter, Hyunjin seized a quiet moment to express his admiration. "You know, Y/N, there's something about you," he began, his voice soft but earnest. "Even with all the restrictions you've faced, you've managed to retain this... purity, this innocence. It's refreshing."

Y/N blushed at his words, a mix of bashfulness and delight swirling within her. "Thank you, Hyunjin. It's strange, but being here with you all, I feel like I'm finally getting a chance to just be myself. To let my guard down and not worry about who's watching."

Hyunjin smiled, his eyes conveying a depth of understanding. "That's all any of us can hope for, isn't it? To be ourselves, without fear or restraint. You shine, Y/N, especially now, free from those shadows."

As the hours slipped by, their conversation meandered through dreams and aspirations, fears and joys, each revelation drawing them closer. The café became a sanctuary where they could share pieces of themselves, building connections that transcended the ordinary. As they stepped out into the bustling streets, the atmosphere of the café lingering like a warm embrace, Y/N and Maya shared a moment of silent understanding. The encounters of the day had woven a thread of connection that felt both exhilarating and comforting.

"Today was something special, wasn't it?" Maya mused, her arm linked with Y/N's as they navigated the lively city around them. The freedom that Y/N experienced, unburdened by the watchful eyes of her guards, added a lightness to their steps.

"It really was," Y/N agreed, her mind replaying the conversations, the laughter, and the shared moments of vulnerability. The café had become a crucible for friendships that felt as if they'd been simmering for ages.

Maya, unable to contain her curiosity, let out a soft giggle. "You know, Hyunjin seemed... particularly interested in you. Did you notice the way he was looking at you?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at the mention. "I might have noticed," she confessed, a shy smile playing on her lips. "There's just something about him. His perspective on life, his passion for the circus... it resonates with me. And, well, it doesn't hurt that he's quite handsome."

Maya nudged her playfully. "Quite handsome? That's an understatement! But I get it; it's more than just looks. You two seemed to really connect on a deeper level."

Y/N nodded, her heart still fluttering at the thought. "Yeah, we did. It's funny how you can meet someone and just instantly feel a bond, isn't it? His views, his dreams... they align with mine in a way I didn't expect. And being able to share that, even for a short while, felt... freeing."

The conversation drifted to dreams and aspirations, to the paths they wished to carve out for themselves. "What do you think the future holds?" Maya asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and hope.

Y/N pondered the question, the possibilities unfolding like a roadmap in her mind. "I hope it's filled with more days like today. Freedom to explore, to connect, to really live. And maybe... just maybe, to find out where these new friendships might lead."

As the sun began to dip below the skyline, casting a golden hue over the city, Y/N and Maya's steps took them closer to home. The promise of tomorrow, of future encounters, and the potential for something more with Hyunjin filled Y/N with a sense of anticipation she hadn't felt before.

"Let's make a pact," Maya suggested, squeezing Y/N's arm gently. "To always pursue this feeling of freedom, to keep exploring and opening our hearts to new experiences. Who knows where it might lead us?"

Y/N smiled, her heart full. "I'm in," she said, the pact sealing a promise not just to each other, but to themselves.

To chase the freedom they'd tasted today, to nurture the connections they'd made, and to embrace whatever adventures lay on the horizon. As Hyunjin and Felix made their way back to the circus, a quietness had settled over Hyunjin, a reflective silence that wasn't lost on Felix. The usually vibrant streets they walked through seemed to mirror Hyunjin's introspective mood, prompting Felix to break the silence between them.

"Hey," Felix began, his voice tinged with concern, nudging Hyunjin gently. "You've been awfully quiet. This isn't like you. What's on your mind?"

Hyunjin let out a sigh, his thoughts swirling with images of Y/N, their interactions both at the circus and the café playing on repeat in his mind. "It's just... ever since that first performance, when I chose her from the crowd and gave her those flowers, I haven't been able to stop thinking about her," he admitted, his voice low.

Felix raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. "Ah, so it's Y/N that's got you all tangled up in thoughts, huh? I noticed the way you two were today. There's something special there, isn't there?"

Hyunjin couldn't help but smile at the memory of their recent encounter, the ease of their conversation, and the undeniable connection he felt. "Yeah, there is. It's strange, Felix. I've met countless people through the circus, but with Y/N, it's different. There's this... genuine curiosity and understanding. And today, without the guards around, it was like seeing her in a new light."

Felix chuckled, clapping Hyunjin on the back. "I saw that. You two were in your little world. But, Hyunjin, this is good, isn't it? It's rare to find someone who resonates with you on such a level."

Hyunjin nodded, a mix of apprehension and excitement in his heart. "It is good. I just don't know what to do next. I mean, her father is so protective, and then there's the circus. Our worlds are so different."

"True, our worlds are different," Felix agreed, his tone turning thoughtful. "But isn't that the beauty of it? The circus has always been about bringing together the unlikely, about creating magic from the unexpected. Maybe it's not about the differences in your worlds, but about what you bring to each other's lives."

Hyunjin considered Felix's words, the wisdom in them clear. "You're right, Felix. I've been so caught up in how different our lives are that I almost forgot the essence of what we do—connecting with people, no matter where they come from."

Felix smiled, his eyes alight with encouragement. "Exactly. So, what are you going to do about it? You can't let this connection just fade into a 'what if,' Hyunjin."

Hyunjin took a deep breath, a newfound resolve taking shape. "I'm going to see her again. I want to explore this connection, see where it might lead. I can't promise it'll be easy, but I have to try."

As they reached the circus, the air filled with the familiar sounds and smells of their otherworldly home, both performers knew they were stepping back into their roles, but with a slight shift in their perspectives. For Hyunjin, the encounter with Y/N had opened up a realm of possibilities, a chance to bridge the gap between the grandeur of the circus and the simplicity of genuine human connection.

Felix, seeing the determination in Hyunjin's eyes, clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! Remember, the circus isn't just about the acts we perform; it's about the lives we touch. And maybe, just maybe, it's about the hearts we connect with along the way."

With the circus tents rising before them, both performers felt a renewed sense of purpose. For Hyunjin, it was the promise of pursuing something real, something beyond the sparkle and spectacle. The excitement in the air was palpable as Y/N stepped outside, the setting sun casting long shadows on the ground. Maya, brimming with enthusiasm, awaited her arrival. But before they could revel in their anticipation, Y/N's father's stern voice sliced through the evening calm.

"Y/N, remember to be careful," he called out, his tone as cold and sharp as ever. "And I expect you straight home after the show. No dallying."

Y/N nodded, a tight smile on her face. "I will, Dad. I promise," she responded, her voice carrying a mix of reassurance and the slightest hint of defiance. With a final glance back, she joined Maya, and they set off for the circus, the promise of an unforgettable night ahead.

Upon their arrival, Bang Chan greeted them with his characteristic warmth, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Y/N sans her usual entourage. "Ah, Y/N! Flying solo tonight?" he remarked with a grin, taking their tickets.

"It feels strange but good," Y/N admitted, her smile genuine. "It's a new kind of freedom."

Bang Chan nodded, understandingly. "Enjoy the show, you two. It's going to be a special one."

They found their seats at the front, the anticipation building as the circus came to life around them. The comedy act with Jeongin and Felix was a hit, their clown-like costumes barely concealing the talent and charisma that had the audience in stitches. Felix's occasional glances toward Maya didn't go unnoticed by Y/N, who leaned over to whisper, "Looks like someone's got a fan."

Maya blushed, her eyes flitting between Felix and the stage. "Do you think so? He's really funny... and kind of cute."

Y/N giggled, nodding. "Definitely. There's something there, I can tell."

The laughter and light-hearted banter continued until Jeongin, in his boundless energy, approached Y/N and invited her onto the stage. The spontaneity of the moment, the thrill of being part of the act, was exhilarating.

Lee Know's performance followed, his new song touching hearts and drawing tears with its beauty and emotional depth. Y/N found herself moved by the music, the lyrics resonating with a part of her that yearned for adventure and connection.

But it was Hyunjin's act that captivated her entirely. The ring of fire, his all-black attire, and the way he commanded the flames—it was mesmerizing. His gaze found hers during the performance, a smirk playing on his lips, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N's heart raced, her cheeks flushed with a warmth that was new and thrilling.

As the act concluded, the audience erupted in applause, the performers backstage joining in the celebration of Hyunjin's triumph. Backstage, the camaraderie was palpable, Felix nudging Hyunjin with a knowing grin, "Did you see Y/N's reaction? She was completely spellbound."

Hyunjin, unable to hide his smile, peered past the curtain, catching Y/N animatedly discussing the performance with Maya. It was a sight that warmed his heart, the connection between them undeniable.

As the audience began to disperse, Y/N and Maya made their way toward the exit, only for Y/N to feel a gentle yet firm hand on her waist. Startled, she turned to find Hyunjin standing close behind her, his presence sending her heart into a flutter.

"Come with me," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, inviting her backstage. Y/N, caught off guard by his closeness and the unexpected invitation, could only nod, her cheeks aflame.

Meanwhile, Felix approached Maya with a casual ease, "How about joining us backstage? I think you've earned a closer look at how the magic happens."

As they ventured backstage, the vibrant life behind the circus unfolded before Y/N and Maya, a world unseen by the audience. Hyunjin, with a subtle touch, guided Y/N through the bustling area, his hand resting lightly on her waist, a gesture of guidance rather than possession. They were shown the intricacies of circus life: the large field dotted with tents, each serving a unique purpose—from dining to sleeping quarters. Y/N's eyes widened in awe; this nomadic lifestyle was new to her, every detail fascinating.

"It's like a whole other world back here," Y/N remarked, her voice filled with wonder.

Hyunjin smiled at her reaction. "It's our world, one we're proud to call home. Every tent has a story, every face a journey."

Unnoticed by Y/N, Felix had subtly drawn Maya aside, offering them a moment of privacy. It was only when Hyunjin stopped outside a particularly cozy-looking tent that Y/N realized they were alone. Her heart skipped a beat, not just from the thrill of the new environment but from the proximity to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes— one scarred and the other a deep brown—locking onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away.

Without hesitation, Y/N nodded again. There was something in his gaze that made her feel safe, even here, on the edge of the unknown.

He smiled, a genuine, heartwarming smile, and gently pulled back the tent flap. "Come on, then. Let's escape the cold for a bit."

The tent was surprisingly cozy, filled with warm blankets and soft lights that cast a golden glow on everything. Hyunjin looked different here, the shadows playing off his costume, giving him an almost mystical appearance.

"Y/N," he called softly, bringing her attention back to him. She turned, finding him closer than she expected, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

"Yes?" Her reply came out as more of a whisper, her heart racing as he stepped even closer.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the world outside fading away. Then, with a tenderness that made her heart swell, Hyunjin cupped her cheeks in his hands. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, lost in the sensation, then opened again to meet his gaze, her own drifting to his lips, whispering his name in anticipation. The moment their lips met, Y/N felt a surge of emotion, a mix of nervousness and excitement. She responded instinctively, her hands finding their way to his shirt, clutching it for grounding as the kiss deepened. It was a discovery for both of them, exploring a connection they hadn't dared to acknowledge until now. Her soft moan was a testament to the intensity of their feelings, a silent plea for more of this newfound affection. In the intimate cocoon of Hyunjin's tent, the world outside ceased to exist, replaced by a realm of newfound emotions and unspoken promises. The connection between Hyunjin and Y/N deepened with each shared breath, their earlier conversations and laughter giving way to a silence filled with anticipation and desire. Hyunjin's hands, once cradling Y/N's face with tender care, now rested on her waist, drawing her closer, sealing the space between them. Y/N, responding to the unspoken invitation, wrapped her arms around his neck, their lips meeting in a kiss that spoke of longing, discovery, and a fearless dive into the depths of their connection.

'If my father knew about this...' Y/N's thought trailed off, lost in the whirlwind of emotions Hyunjin stirred within her. Yet, the fear of her father's wrath paled in comparison to the magnetic pull she felt towards Hyunjin. In that moment, her need for him eclipsed all else.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin gazed into her eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. The intensity in his gaze sent shivers through her, a testament to the gravity of what was unfolding. It was her turn now, her response fueled by an urgency that matched his own, their kisses growing more passionate, more insistent.

Hyunjin's groan vibrated through them, a sound that heightened the electricity in the air. Gently, he laid Y/N down, his body hovering over hers, a protective and yet vulnerable gesture. The world narrowed down to the space they shared, every touch, every breath, amplifying the connection that tethered them together.

As Hyunjin's lips found her neck, Y/N trembled, the sensation igniting sparks along her skin. His hands, both gentle and urgent, pulled her closer, their bodies speaking a language older than words. In that moment, Y/N felt seen, understood, and cherished.

"Are you okay?" Hyunjin's voice, soft and concerned, broke through the haze of her arousal.

"Yes," Y/N breathed, her voice a whisper of trust and desire. "I want this, Hyunjin. I want you."

Their conversation became a symphony of sighs and murmurs, each word, each touch, weaving a deeper connection. Hyunjin moved with a reverence that belied the passion simmering beneath the surface, each movement deliberate, each pause filled with the weight of unspoken promises. The heat between them built, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that threatened to overwhelm yet felt achingly right. Y/N clung to Hyunjin, her grip a testament to the intensity of her feelings, the novelty of the experience etching itself into her memory. As they moved together, lost in the moment, their voices filled the tent, a testament to the depth of their connection. Hyunjin's movements quickened, each kiss, each touch, pushing them closer to the edge of something profound. Y/N's soft cry, a mixture of surprise and delight, melded with Hyunjin's restrained curse, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The world outside, with its rules and judgments, faded into insignificance, replaced by the undeniable truth of their connection. When the moment came, it was with a sense of completion, a shared breath that spoke of unity and discovery. Hyunjin's movement, a gentle caress, served as a soft epilogue to their symphony of sighs and whispers. Laying beside Y/N, he wrapped an arm around her, a silent vow of protection and care.

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you for showing me your world," Y/N replied, her own voice laced with gratitude.

After sharing a moment of quiet intimacy, Y/N and Hyunjin were gently pulled back to reality by the distant sound of their friends' voices. Felix and Maya's muffled calls seemed to echo through the thick fabric of the tent, a reminder of the world waiting outside their secluded haven.

Hyunjin's hand paused in its tender motion along Y/N's arms, and they shared a look of amused surprise before breaking into soft laughter. "Sounds like we've been missed," Hyunjin whispered, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Yeah, I guess it's time to face the music," Y/N replied, her voice a mix of reluctance and anticipation for rejoining their friends.

With a mutual understanding, they began to ready themselves to leave the tent. Hyunjin stood first, offering Y/N a hand to help her up. "Let me help you," he said, as they navigated the small space with an ease born of newfound closeness.

As they stepped out into the cooler night air, they found Felix and Maya waiting with their backs to the tent, engrossed in their own conversation. Hyunjin and Y/N exchanged a glance, a silent agreement to try and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, despite the residual glow of their shared moment.

"Hey, you two," Felix called out, turning around with a grin. "We were starting to think you'd run off to join another circus."

Maya laughed, linking her arm with Y/N's. "Did you enjoy the grand tour?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It was... enlightening," Y/N managed to say, her cheeks warming at the memory of the evening's more personal moments.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, stepping forward. "It was our pleasure to show you around."

Felix nodded in agreement, then pulled out his phone. "Let me get you a taxi. It's getting late, and we wouldn't want to keep you out too long."

The taxi arrived shortly, and after heartfelt goodbyes, Y/N and Maya climbed inside, leaving the circus and its enchantment behind. As the car pulled away, Felix turned to Hyunjin, the smirk on his face impossible to miss.

He clapped Hyunjin on the shoulder, "Seems like you've cast quite the spell tonight," he remarked, a hint of brotherly teasing in his voice.

Hyunjin simply smiled, a look of contentment on his face. "Tonight was special," he admitted, his thoughts lingering on Y/N's smile and the promise of what might lie ahead.

As they parted ways for the night, each carrying their own thoughts and feelings about the evening, the magic of the circus seemed to linger in the air, a reminder of the connections made and the moments shared.

The ride back was filled with whispered conversations and shared laughter, Maya playfully nudging Y/N. "So, a different kind of magic, huh?" she teased, her voice low enough for only Y/N to hear.

Y/N's response was a mix of embarrassment and happiness. "Let's just say the circus has more wonders than I ever imagined," she whispered back, her gaze lost in the memories of the night.

Hyunjin awoke with the lingering warmth of the previous night's memories, a gentle smile curving his lips. As he rose from his bed, a newfound sense of self-assurance enveloped him. Standing before the mirror, he regarded his reflection with fresh eyes. The scar across his left eye, once a source of insecurity, now seemed to him a mark of his unique story, one that Y/N had seen beauty in.

"She saw beyond it," Hyunjin mused aloud, the realization that Y/N accepted him wholly bringing a light to his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Dressing quickly, he stepped out, ready to face the day, only to encounter Seungmin, Minho, and Bang Chan waiting outside. Bang Chan's eyebrow arched inquisitively, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Hyunjin, how was your evening with our favorite audience member?" he teased, the amusement clear in his voice.

Hyunjin's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, the unexpected question catching him off guard. Seungmin and Minho couldn't contain their laughter at Hyunjin's embarrassment, further adding to the playful atmosphere.

Seungmin, trying to catch his breath between laughs, managed to say, "Felix might have mentioned something about a backstage tour last night. Spill the details, Hyunjin!"

Hyunjin, now thoroughly embarrassed but also filled with the happiness of shared moments, tried to deflect. "It was nothing out of the ordinary, just showing them around, you know?"

Minho, still chuckling, nudged Hyunjin playfully. "Come on, you can tell us more. We're your brothers, aren't we? Was it magical?"

Bang Chan, always the leader, stepped in with a smile. "Alright, let's give Hyunjin a break. But, it's good to see you happy, Hyunjin. This place... it's not just about the performances we put on. It's about the connections we make, the lives we touch."

Hyunjin, feeling the support and camaraderie of his friends, nodded, a genuine smile returning to his face. "Thanks, guys. Last night was special, not just because of the tour. It was... it felt right, being with Y/N, showing her our world."

The group shared a moment of understanding, recognizing the significance of Hyunjin's words. Seungmin clapped Hyunjin on the shoulder, "Well, we're happy for you. Who knows, maybe there's more magic to come."

As they continued with their morning routines, the conversation shifted to the day's performances, but Hyunjin's thoughts remained with Y/N. As Y/N floated through the house, her steps light and her heart full, the melody of her humming filled the air, a sweet testament to her blissful state. The memory of the previous night with Hyunjin played on repeat in her mind, bringing a radiant smile to her face that she couldn't contain.

The household staff—cleaners, chefs, and guards—all paused in their duties to watch her, a rare sight of such unbridled joy. They exchanged knowing looks, attributing her happiness to the newfound freedom she'd been granted, unaware of the true source of her elation.

Even the family butler, usually so reserved and stoic, couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of Y/N's happiness. It was as if her joy was infectious, spreading warmth throughout the grand, often too-silent, house.

Her mother, entering the living room, found herself momentarily taken aback by the scene. Watching her daughter twirl and dance around the room, she felt a surge of affection and a deep gratitude for seeing Y/N so genuinely happy. With a tender smile, she called out to her daughter, her voice soft yet clear. "Y/N, my dear, what has gotten into you today?"

Y/N came to a graceful stop, her smile unwavering as she faced her mother. "Oh, Mom," she sighed, her eyes sparkling with the remnants of last night's magic. "It's just been a wonderful couple of days."

Her mother walked closer, intrigued and delighted by her daughter's demeanor. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your visit to the circus, would it?" she teased gently, a twinkle in her own eye.

Y/N blushed, the mention of the circus bringing back a flood of vivid memories. "Maybe," she admitted, her voice a whisper of excitement. "There's just something about that place... and the people there. It's like they've shown me a whole new world."

Her mother took her hands, leading her to sit on one of the plush sofas in the room. "Tell me everything, Y/N. Who is 'they'? And what has made you see the world so differently?" Her curiosity was piqued, not just by her daughter's joy, but by the hint of something deeper, a connection perhaps yet unspoken.

Y/N, taking a deep breath, began to recount her experiences at the circus, from the breathtaking performances to the magical behind-the-scenes tour. She spoke of Hyunjin with a warmth and fondness that couldn't be masked, detailing their shared moments with a shy enthusiasm.

As Y/N spoke, her mother listened intently, absorbing every detail. It was clear that this wasn't just a fleeting moment of happiness; something significant had touched her daughter's heart. "Hyunjin sounds like a remarkable young man," her mother observed, her words thoughtful, encouraging Y/N to open up further.

Y/N's voice trembled with excitement as she recounted her experiences, her mother's attentive gaze encouraging her to open up more than she ever had before.

"Mom, Hyunjin... he's just incredible. The way he performs, it's like he's telling a story, inviting us into his world," Y/N shared, her hands animatedly moving in the air.

Her mother, intrigued, leaned in. "It sounds like he's quite the performer. And it seems like he's made a special impression on you?"

Blushing, Y/N nodded. "Yes, but it's more than that. He's kind, genuine, and... he sees the world in such a unique way. It's refreshing."

Seeing her daughter so vibrant, her mother couldn't help but smile. "I'm happy for you, Y/N. It's beautiful to see you so passionate about something...someone."

The mention of someone brought a hint of concern to Y/N's voice. "But, Mom, what about Dad? You know how he feels about the circus, and if he finds out about Hyunjin..."

Her mother sighed, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "We'll deal with your father together. The most important thing is your happiness, Y/N. We can't live our lives based on fear."

"But how can we convince him? He's never going to understand," Y/N's worry was palpable, her newfound joy shadowed by the prospect of her father's disapproval.

Her mother reached out, taking Y/N's hands in hers. "Let me worry about your father. Maybe it's time he saw the circus through your eyes. Perhaps if he understands what it means to you, he might see things differently."

Y/N looked up, hope mingling with surprise. "You think that could work? That he might actually listen?"

"It's worth a try. And I'll be right there with you. We'll show him that the circus, that Hyunjin, has brought you something special — joy, inspiration. Things every parent wants for their child," her mother said firmly, her resolve clear.

Y/N felt a weight lift off her shoulders, her mother's support giving her strength. "Thank you, Mom. For believing in me, for standing by me."

They shared a warm embrace, the morning light wrapping around them like a cocoon of hope and love. "Together, we'll face whatever comes. Your dreams are worth fighting for," her mother whispered.

As the anticipation built, Hyunjin found himself scanning the crowd for a familiar face, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing Y/N again. After the closeness they'd shared, every moment away from her felt like an eternity. He adjusted his magician's attire, trying to calm the flutter in his stomach.

Chanbin noticed Hyunjin's unease and clapped him on the back, a smirk on his face. "Nervous, are we? She'll be here, don't worry," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Meanwhile, Y/N and her family were making their way to the circus, a mix of excitement and apprehension in the air. Y/N's mother, beaming with support, squeezed her hand reassuringly, while her father's presence loomed quietly, his skepticism a silent shadow.

As they approached the entrance, Y/N's grip on the tickets tightened, her excitement tempered by the weight of what this night meant. Bang Chan's eyes sparkled with recognition as he saw Y/N, but his usual warm greeting was tempered by the sight of her parents.

"Welcome," he said, his voice carrying a professional edge, as he collected their tickets.

Finding their seats at the front, Y/N took a deep breath, her mother's excitement infectious, her father's indifference a challenge she hoped to overcome by the night's end. The lights dimmed, signaling the beginning of the show, and Bang Chan's voice filled the tent, welcoming the audience to a world of wonder.

The opening act was a vibrant display of song and dance, the main eight performers taking the stage with an energy that was both infectious and inspiring. As they sang "Welcome to my home," their unique scars were displayed not as flaws but as badges of honor, a testament to their resilience and spirit. Seungmin's burn, I.N's playful yet intense demeanor, Felix's captivating eyes, Jisung's mysterious eyepatch, Lee Know's graceful movements despite his prosthetic leg, Bang Chan's strength despite his prosthetic arm, Chanbin's chest scar, and Hyunjin's scarred and blind left eye — each performer shone, their differences making the performance all the more beautiful.

From the stage, Hyunjin's gaze found Y/N, a subtle acknowledgment passing between them. He noted the older couple with her, their presence making him cautious in his expressions of recognition. While Y/N and her mother were caught up in the magic of the performance, her father remained impassive, his expression unreadable.

During a brief interlude, Y/N leaned over to her mother, whispering excitedly, "This is it, Mom. This is the magic I was telling you about."

Her mother, equally captivated, whispered back, "It's incredible, Y/N. I see it now, the joy, the passion. It's all so...real."

Her father, overhearing the exchange, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the stage, the performers' energy challenging his preconceptions. As the show continued, each act unfolding with more spectacle and wonder, Y/N felt a mix of emotions. Pride for the performers she'd come to admire, hope for her mother's newfound appreciation, and a lingering concern for her father's reaction.

The show unfolded with an array of stunning performances, each unique and captivating. Y/N leaned toward her mother, whispering with excitement, "Mom, look, this one's new. I haven't seen it before!"

Her mother smiled, equally engrossed. "It's wonderful, Y/N. Every act is a surprise."

On stage, Jeongin, in his comedic clown act with Felix, tried once again to summon a bouquet of flowers. Instead, a bundle of twigs with a few petals appeared in his hands. He approached a lady in the front row, presenting the twigs with a theatrical bow and a wide, infectious smile. The audience chuckled as Felix quipped a witty remark and playfully bonked Jeongin on the head with a juggling club, their chemistry undeniable. Lee Know then took the stage, his voice carrying a beautiful melody, accompanied by dancers and acrobats. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing applause and admiration from the crowd. Chanbin's lion taming act followed, as impressive as ever, demonstrating an incredible bond and command over the majestic animal. Seungmin and Jisung showcased their acrobatic skills, performing a unique dance that combined ground movements and aerial feats, leaving the audience spellbound. Then it was time for Hyunjin's magic act. Darker and more intense than usual, it captivated everyone, drawing them into a world of mystery and intrigue. After performing a classic flower summoning trick that always pleased the crowd, Hyunjin prepared for something more interactive. He sought a volunteer, and as numerous hands shot up, whispers of his attractiveness and talent filled the air. Y/N, heart racing, timidly raised her hand. Hyunjin's eyes scanned the eager audience before playfully gesturing to the raised hands and finally settling on Y/N. A hush fell over the crowd as he approached her, offering a bow and an outstretched hand. Y/N, with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, took his hand and stood.

Her father's and mother's breaths hitched, the tension palpable. Hyunjin, sensing their concern, turned to assure them with a confident smile, "She's in good hands, I promise."

Leading Y/N into the center of the circle, Hyunjin prepared for the trick, the audience watching in anticipation. Y/N's mother leaned over to her husband, whispering, "See? It's all in good fun. She's safe with him."

Her father, still rigid, nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Y/N and Hyunjin. The magic trick unfolded, with Hyunjin guiding Y/N through each step, their interaction seamless and filled with light-hearted banter that put everyone at ease, even her father.

As the act concluded to resounding applause, Y/N returned to her seat, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "That was incredible, Y/N!" her mother exclaimed, hugging her. As the final act of the circus came to a close, the vibrant energy of the evening began to wane, replaced by a quiet sense of anticipation. Y/N glanced between her mother, whose eyes sparkled with a revived passion for the performing arts, and her father, whose expression remained a stoic mask, giving nothing away.

Walking back to the car, Y/N tried to gauge her father's thoughts. "Did you enjoy the show, Dad?" she ventured, hoping for some sign of approval.

Her father remained silent until they were safely ensconced in their car, driving away from the circus. It was her mother who broke the silence first, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Oh, Y/N, that was simply wonderful! It reminded me of my days in the theater. The passion, the creativity... it's all so inspiring!"

Y/N smiled, warmed by her mother's words, but the cold silence from her father chilled the air. As they arrived home, the tension was palpable. Y/N lingered, waiting for her father to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice stern and final. "I did not approve of what I saw tonight. That place...it's not right for you, Y/N."

Her heart sank. "But Dad, the circus is amazing! It's full of art and beauty and..."

He cut her off sharply. "It has corrupted your judgment. It's childish and a bad influence. Those performers...they're not the sort of people we associate with. They're...different."

Y/N's mother interjected, trying to mediate. "Dear, maybe we should talk about this calmly. Y/N has found something she truly loves..."

Her father was unyielding. "No. I've made up my mind. Starting tomorrow, the guards will be back by your side, Y/N. You are no longer allowed to visit the circus or see that magician. This nonsense ends now."

Y/N felt as if the ground had been pulled from under her. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Dad, please...you don't understand. Hyunjin, the circus, they've shown me so much. It's not what you think."

“Enough!" His voice boomed, echoing through the hall, causing the household staff to glance their way, worry etched on their faces.

Her mother reached out, a soothing hand on Y/N's shoulder, but the damage was done. "Go to your room, Y/N," her father ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Heartbroken, Y/N fled, the echo of her father's decree haunting her. As she reached her sanctuary, tears streamed down her face, the magic of the evening tarnished by her father's words. In her room, Y/N felt a world away from the joy and acceptance she'd experienced at the circus. The thought of never seeing Hyunjin again, of never being part of that magical world, filled her with despair.

Her mother soon knocked gently on her door. "Y/N? Can I come in?"

Y/N wiped her tears. "Yes, Mom."

Her mother entered, sitting beside her on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'll talk to him, I promise. We'll find a way through this."

Y/N's world had grown smaller, each day bleeding into the next under the watchful eyes of her guards. Her heart, once alight with dreams of the circus and whispers of love, now felt heavy with unshed tears and words left unsaid.

"I just... I love him, Mom," Y/N sobbed into her mother's embrace, the confession spilling from her in a desperate whisper. Her mother, her heart breaking for her daughter, held her tight, offering silent strength and understanding.

Maya, ever the loyal friend, tried to pierce the veil of Y/N's isolation with her presence. But the sight of the guards, a constant reminder of Y/N's shackles, dimmed her usual vibrant spirit. "We'll find a way through this," she murmured, wrapping an arm around Y/N, though the path forward seemed obscured by shadows.

Hyunjin, on the other side of the city, felt a void where Y/N's presence used to be. "Has anyone seen her? It's been weeks," he asked, his voice echoing the confusion and hurt that had taken residence in his heart. The performers, too, felt the absence of their bright, regular audience member. "Y/N always said her father was protective, but this...," Felix trailed off, the situation leaving a bitter taste.

As Y/N retreated further into her isolation, Maya's attempts to bridge the gap were met with a door closed by fear and a father's decree. Y/N's world narrowed to the confines of her room, her spirit dimming with each passing day. Then, a day came when laughter, so rare in their home, drew Y/N from her solitude. Curiosity leading her, she found her father in the company of strangers — the Choi family. The introduction to Soobin, a young man who seemed as out of place as she felt, was punctuated by an awkward politeness.

It was the mention of marriage by Mrs. Choi that sliced through the polite façade, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. "Marriage?" Y/N echoed, her voice a mix of disbelief and rising panic. Soobin's sigh, laden with resignation, mirrored her own turmoil.

Her father, oblivious to her shock, beamed with pride. "Yes, marriage. It's high time you settled down, Y/N. The Choi family is respectable, and Soobin here is a fine young man."

Y/N's mother, caught off guard, shot her husband a look of surprise and concern. "But this is so sudden. Y/N, we haven't discussed..."

"We've made the decision for her best interest," her father interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Maya, who had managed to slip in unnoticed, exchanged a worried glance with Y/N. "Y/N, you can't let them do this to you," she whispered urgently.

Y/N, her mind racing, felt trapped. The thought of a life dictated by her father's will, devoid of the love and freedom she yearned for, tightened around her heart like a vice.

As the room swirled around her, Y/N's thoughts flew to Hyunjin, to the magic and love she'd found in his presence. In that moment, amidst the talk of arranged marriages and futures not her own, Y/N realized the true cost of her silence.

"I won't do this," Y/N found her voice, her resolve hardening. "I won't marry someone I don't love. My heart... it belongs to someone else."

The room's atmosphere was thick with tension as Y/N stood defiantly, her declaration not just a plea for her love but a staunch defense of her freedom. Her father, face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, rebuked her sharply. "Y/N, silence!" he demanded, the room falling deathly quiet at his command. "In front of our guests, you speak of such nonsense? You will marry into the Choi family, and that's final. Forget this magician and his circus. It's for your own good."

Soobin, up until now a silent observer of the unfolding family drama, showed a spark of interest at the mention of the circus. "The circus?" he inquired, an intrigued look crossing his features.

His parents, momentarily distracted from the confrontation, lit up at the mention. "Oh, we've always adored the circus," Soobin's mother said, her tone suddenly lively. "Such a fascinating world of talent and dreams."

"And Felix," Soobin's father added with a smile, "he's a remarkable performer there. Met Soobin after a show, and they've been friends since."

At the mention of Felix, Maya's face flushed a deep shade of red, her eyes darting between Soobin and Y/N. "You know Felix?" she blurted out, her voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and something akin to excitement.

Soobin nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Yes, our friendship formed in the most unexpected of places. His passion for the circus, his art... it's truly inspiring. It's a world where creativity and passion flourish."

Seizing the momentary shift in the conversation, Y/N turned to her parents, her voice imbued with a mixture of hope and desperation. "See? The circus isn't just frivolity. It's about dedication, artistry... it's where I feel most alive. Hyunjin, Felix, and everyone there, they're not just performers; they're family."

Her mother, visibly moved by Y/N's passionate defense, sought to mediate. "Perhaps we've been too quick to judge," she said softly, her gaze pleading with her husband.

Y/N's father, however, remained unmoved, his face a mask of disapproval. "Y/N, your involvement with the circus and this magician... it's not the future we envisioned for you."

Soobin, sensing an opportunity to ease the tension, offered a thoughtful suggestion. "Understanding and seeing are two different things. Maybe there's merit in experiencing the world Y/N speaks of so fondly."

The room grew silent, the idea hanging in the balance. Y/N's father, after a tense pause, shook his head. "Our decision stands. Y/N, your future lies with the Choi family. This discussion is over."

Y/N, her heart sinking, looked between her parents, the finality in her father's voice dashing any hope of reconciliation. "But I love him," she whispered, a last desperate plea.

Her father's response was cold, uncompromising. "Your feelings for this... magician are irrelevant. You'll see, in time, this is for the best."

Maya, standing beside Y/N, squeezed her friend's hand in silent support. The mention of Felix had briefly illuminated a path to understanding, but Y/N's father's decision cast a long shadow over their hopes.

In the quiet aftermath of the day, the [Last Name] residence stood imposingly under the waning sun. Maya, with a determined stride, was the first to exit, her mind racing with plans and worries. Inside, Y/N retreated to the solace of her room, a sanctuary from the storm brewing in her life.

Mrs. [Last Name], after ensuring the Choi family was well on their way, turned to Soobin with a plea that carried the weight of a mother's love and desperation. "Soobin," she began, her voice steady yet imbued with urgency, "I need your help. My daughter... she's being forced into a life she doesn't want. She loves someone else—Hyunjin. We need to get her out, to give her the freedom to be with the one she truly loves. Can I count on you?"

Soobin, a mixture of surprise and empathy shadowing his features, nodded solemnly. "Mrs. [Last Name], I had no idea. Of course, you can count on me. It's clear Y/N and Hyunjin mean a lot to each other. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Unbeknownst to them, Maya, who had lingered near the entrance, overheard the conversation. Stepping forward, her resolve shone brightly. "I'm here too. Y/N is my best friend, and I'll do anything to help her be happy."

Mr. and Mrs. Choi, having paused at the doorstep, turned at Maya's declaration. Their expressions softened, regret coloring their features. "We came under the impression that Y/N was aware and agreeable to this arrangement," Mr. Choi admitted, his voice laced with disappointment. "To hear this...it's not something we can support. Love should be the foundation of marriage, not obligation."

Mrs. Choi added, "Our son deserves happiness, but not at the cost of another's freedom. We stand with Y/N in her choice."

With a newfound alliance formed under the most unexpected circumstances, Maya and Soobin wasted no time. They made their way to the circus, hoping against hope to find Hyunjin and rally the support they desperately needed. The circus, usually bustling with life and laughter, stood silent, its gates locked on the performers' day off. Yet, fortune favored them as Bang Chan and Felix, deep in conversation, were spotted near the entrance.

Felix's eyes lit up at the sight of Soobin, and even more so at Maya's presence. A hint of color crept into his cheeks, his usual composure slipping slightly. "Soobin, Maya," he greeted, curiosity piqued. "What brings you here, especially today?"

"It's about Y/N," Maya stated, the urgency in her voice cutting through the evening air.

At the mention of Y/N's name, a silent understanding passed between Bang Chan and Felix. Without hesitation, they ushered Maya and Soobin inside, into the heart of the silent circus. As they entered, the main eight performers, momentarily pausing their private endeavours, gathered around. The arrival of outsiders, especially under such unusual circumstances, piqued their interest.

Soobin, with a gravity that belied his years, shared Y/N's plight. "Her father's intentions have worsened. He's forcing her into a marriage she doesn't want. We've tried reasoning with him, but it's futile. Even Mrs. [Last Name]'s attempts have been rebuffed. Our last resort is to help Y/N escape, to be with Hyunjin."

The performers exchanged glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Bang Chan, ever the leader, stepped forward. "This is more than a call for help; it's a call to arms for us. Y/N is one of our own, through her love for Hyunjin and the circus. We will stand by her, do whatever it takes."

Felix, looking from Maya to Soobin, then back to the gathered performers, said, "We need a plan, something foolproof. Her father cannot know until it's too late for him to intervene."

Jeongin, always the creative thinker, suggested, "What if we create a diversion? Not the circus, but something else that demands his attention away from Y/N?"

Seungmin, the strategist, added, "We could fabricate an event, something prestigious enough that he wouldn't dare miss. That would give us the window we need."

Hyunjin, who had been quiet, his thoughts on Y/N, finally spoke up. "Thank you, all of you. But we need to ensure Y/N's safety above all. Where can she go where her father won't find her?"

Chanbin, known for his resourcefulness, had an answer. "I know a place, a safe house. It's secluded and secure. Perfect for Y/N until things settle down."

In the quiet of the early morning, the [Last Name] household was a hive of silent activity. Y/N's mother, complicit in the plan to help her daughter escape, moved through the house with a calm urgency. She quietly packed Y/N's belongings, whispering words of encouragement.

"We must be quick, darling. Everything will be alright," she assured Y/N, who nodded, her heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Outside, Maya and Soobin waited anxiously, keeping a lookout for any signs of trouble. Inside, the circus performers, Jeongin, Jisung, and Lee Know, had disguised themselves as new staff members, blending seamlessly with the household's daily operations. Their presence, unknown to Y/N's father, was crucial for the plan's success. Y/N's father, absorbed in his work, remained oblivious to the unfolding escape. Y/N's mother took this opportunity to engage him, drawing his attention away from the rest of the house.

"Darling, could you review these documents for me? I need your expertise," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

As Y/N made her way through the house, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Hyunjin. The weeks of separation had been a dull ache in her heart, and now, seeing him, the floodgates opened. She ran to him, her emotions overwhelming her.

"Hyunjin!" she cried out, throwing her arms around him.

Hyunjin held her tightly, a mix of joy and urgency in his voice. "I've missed you so much, Y/N. But we need to move quickly," he said, glancing around for any signs of discovery.

Their reunion was cut short by the realization that Y/N's father had discovered the deception. His voice, thunderous and filled with anger, echoed through the house. "Y/N! What is the meaning of this? Return here at once!"

Y/N clung to Hyunjin, her resolve hardening. "No, Father. I'm leaving. With Hyunjin," she declared, her voice steady despite the shaking of her hands.

Her mother, hearing the commotion, rushed to intervene, placing herself between her husband and the escaping group. "Please, understand. Y/N deserves to choose her own path, her own happiness," she pleaded, her eyes filled with tears.

Y/N's father, faced with his wife's opposition, grew even more incensed. "This is madness! You're both blinded by this... this fantasy! She belongs here, with her family, not with some street performers!"

Y/N, taking a deep breath, stepped forward, her mother's presence giving her strength. "No, Father. For once, listen. I love Hyunjin, and the circus is where I found my true self. I won't live a life chosen by anyone else. This is my choice, my future."

The confrontation reached its peak, with Y/N's father unable to breach the united front of his wife and daughter. His voice, though loud and commanding, was powerless against Y/N's determined stance.

Outside, Maya and Soobin heard the commotion and prepared to intervene, but it was clear that Y/N had taken control of her destiny. With one last look at her father, Y/N turned, her hand in Hyunjin's, and together with the others, they made their escape. The household staff, who had silently supported Y/N's choice, watched as the group disappeared into the early morning light. Their silent prayers followed the young woman who dared to choose love over duty.

As the car drove away, Y/N looked back at the only home she had ever known, now a symbol of her past. Ahead lay the uncertain road to freedom and the promise of a future with Hyunjin by her side.

Her mother's last words echoed in her heart, "Be brave, my love. Be happy."

The journey to the safe house was tense, with every passing moment filled with the fear of pursuit. But as the miles widened between Y/N and her former life, a sense of relief began to settle in. Hyunjin, his arm around her shoulders, offered silent support, his presence a constant reassurance. Upon their arrival at the secluded safe house, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The danger was not over, but for the first time in a long while, she dared to hope for a future where her choices defined her life.

Inside, the group gathered, a makeshift family brought together by a shared goal. "We did it," Hyunjin whispered, his eyes meeting Y/N's. "Together."

Y/N, her gaze steady, nodded. "Together," she echoed, her voice a testament to the journey ahead. "No matter what comes next, we face it together."

The dust of turmoil settled into a quiet calm as Y/N began a new chapter of her life under the protective wing of Maya and the Choi family. Their home became her sanctuary, a place where laughter and warmth replaced the shadows of her past. The Choi family, wielding their considerable influence and resources, erected an impenetrable barrier against Y/N's father, ensuring that neither he nor his old-world dictates could reach her again. Hyunjin, though physically apart, remained a steadfast presence in Y/N's life. His tent in The Circus, now not just a home but a symbol of resilience, beckoned her with the promise of visits filled with joy and the magic of the circus life they both cherished. In the background, a battle of a different kind was being fought — one that would liberate not just Y/N but her mother as well. The Choi family, acting as silent guardians, facilitated the severance of ties that had long bound Y/N's mother to a life of silent acquiescence. The divorce proceedings, though steeped in legality, were underscored by a fight for dignity and self-determination. The day the divorce was finalized felt like a collective exhale. Y/N, her mother, Maya, Soobin, and his parents gathered in the Choi's expansive living room, a space that had become a courtroom of sorts. Y/N's father, a man who had wielded control like a weapon, now appeared diminished, the reality of his situation settling in as he looked over the divorce papers.

"Is this what you want?" he asked Y/N's mother, his voice devoid of its usual command.

"Yes," she replied, her voice steady, her hands unshaking as she met his gaze. "It's time we both found freedom from this prison we've called a marriage."

Y/N watched as her mother spoke her truth, a swell of pride and admiration blooming within her. The room was thick with tension as Y/N's father looked from the papers to Soobin's parents, searching for an ally but finding none.

Soobin's father, a man of few words but immense presence, finally spoke. "It's done. Sign the papers. It's time everyone moved forward."

With a resigned sigh, Y/N's father signed the documents, each stroke of his pen severing the chains that had bound Y/N and her mother to a life of suffocation and despair.

As the pen was set down, a palpable sense of relief washed over the room. Y/N's mother, tears glistening in her eyes, reached for Y/N, embracing her tightly. "We're free, my love. Truly free," she whispered, her voice a mix of joy and liberation.

Y/N, her own eyes moist with tears, nodded. "Together, Mom. We have a whole new life ahead of us."

The group gathered closer, a circle of support and shared triumph. Maya, always the voice of optimism, chimed in, "This is just the beginning. There's so much more to come, so many more adventures to have."

Hyunjin, joining them later that day, brought with him the air of the circus — a reminder of the life that awaited them. "We're going to make so many more memories," he promised, taking Y/N's hand in his.

Y/N's mother, looking around at the faces of those who had become her family by choice, felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you," she said, addressing everyone. "For fighting not just for Y/N, but for me too. For giving us both the chance to live our lives on our own terms."

The Choi family, Maya, Soobin, and especially Hyunjin, had become her champions, her protectors, and her friends. In their company, Y/N and her mother found not just safety but a sense of belonging.

As the evening wore on, filled with plans for the future and stories of the past, Y/N realized that this was more than just an ending. It was a beginning — a chance to redefine herself away from the shadows of expectation and into the light of self-discovery. The golden hues of dusk melted into the twilight, Y/N, Maya, Y/N's mother, and the Choi family approached the grand tent of The Circus, a beacon of joy and wonder that had become a second home to them over the years. The anticipation in the air was palpable, each step carrying them closer to an evening filled with magic and spectacle. Bang Chan, ever the charismatic leader, stood by the entrance, his presence as inviting as the warm glow emanating from within the tent. His eyes lit up at the sight of the approaching group, his arms spread wide in a gesture of welcome.

"Ah, the stars of the evening have arrived!" he exclaimed, his voice booming with genuine warmth. "I hope you're all ready for a show unlike any other!"

As they neared, Bang Chan's gaze softened upon Y/N, noticing the grace with which she navigated her surroundings, a radiant smile playing on her lips. The sight of her, more luminous than ever with her burgeoning baby bump, filled him with a sense of pride.

"Look at you, Y/N! Glowing and absolutely flying through life!" he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Let's get you seated comfortably, shall we?"

Inside, the tent was alive with an electric buzz, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and the melodious strains of music that promised an unforgettable night. The group made their way to the front row, the seats reserved for them offering an unobstructed view of the spectacle about to unfold. The show was a masterpiece of light, sound, and skill, each act surpassing the last in thrill and wonder. Acrobats soared through the air with the grace of birds in flight, jugglers wove patterns of light with their flaming torches, and clowns brought laughter and lightness, reminding every one of the joy in simplicity. As the final act drew to a close and the audience began to disperse, carrying with them the magic of the evening, the main performers of The Circus emerged from behind the curtains, their faces alight with the joy of having shared their world.

Hyunjin was the first to reach Y/N, his eyes shining with an emotion so profound it seemed to light up the space around them. He knelt before her, his hands gently caressing her baby bump, a silent conversation of love and anticipation passing between them.

Leaning forward, he planted a tender kiss on her forehead, whispering, "You're amazing, you know that? I can't wait to meet our little miracle."

Y/N, her eyes misting over with emotion, smiled, her hand coming to rest atop his. "Every day with you is a miracle, Hyunjin. I can't believe how far we've come."

"Did we manage to surprise you this time?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"You always do," Y/N replied, her laughter mingling with his. "Though I'm starting to think the baby's going to be a circus performer the way it's kicking right now."

Felix, not to be outdone in the enthusiasm department, swept Maya into a celebratory embrace, his energy boundless. "Did you see that triple flip? I did that just for you," he boasted, setting her down with a flourish.

Maya rolled her eyes, her smile betraying her amusement. "Show-off. I'm more impressed you didn't land on your face this time."

The banter continued, light and full of warmth, as they recounted the night's highlights and shared laughs over the mishaps that only they could see. It was a gathering of individuals who had become family, not by blood but by bonds forged in the fires of adversity and triumph. The tent, now empty save for their group, felt like a world apart, a secret place where the trials of the past dissolved into the hope of the future. As they gathered in a circle, sharing stories and laughter, the sense of family and belonging was overwhelming.

Y/N's mother, looking around at the faces of those who had become her chosen family, felt a surge of gratitude. "I never imagined life could be this beautiful," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "To see my daughter so happy, so in love, about to start her own family... it's more than I ever dared hope for."

Bang Chan, observing the scene, felt a deep sense of fulfillment. "This is what it's all about," he mused aloud. "Creating a space where everyone can find happiness, where love and magic thrive. Y/N, your journey, your courage... it's inspired us all."

As the evening drew to a close, the group made their way out of the tent, the stars overhead shining brightly, as if in celebration of the love and life that flourished beneath them. The Circus, with its wonders and joys, stood as a testament to the power of resilience, love, and the magic that exists when hearts are open and dreams are pursued with courage.

Walking hand in hand, Y/N and Hyunjin paused, looking back at the tent that symbolized so much more than just entertainment. It was a reminder of their journey, of battles fought and won, and of the beauty that awaits when darkness is overcome with light.

"Here's to new beginnings," Hyunjin said, his voice filled with hope.

"And to a future filled with love, laughter, and magic," Y/N added, her heart full.

And with that, they stepped out into the night, the stars overhead shining down on them like spotlights, illuminating the path forward. The circus behind them was more than a place of entertainment; it was a reminder of resilience, of laughter in the face of darkness, and of the unwavering belief that, no matter what, the show must go on. Together, they walked into the future, a future where fear had no hold, where love bound them tighter than any performance could, and where happiness was not just an act in a circus but the reality they lived every day.

162 notes · View notes

kookslastbutton · 10 months

Text

Love's Remedy ༓ jjk (m) l ch. II

✑ Summary: Jungkook is a romantic. He comes from a highly intelligent family who wants him to carry out the lineage. Being this way, he goes to college to be a pharmacist but his friends say college isn't just about studying! With a little persuasion, he goes to his first frat party thinking his hat will help him pick up a girl-or woman he means.

Pairing: STEM major!virgin!jungkook x STEM major!hot girl!reader

AU/genre: angst, smut, fluff, s2l, college au, mini-series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 2,783

Warnings: angry koo, jealous koo, gym rat koo, thicc thighs koo, protective koo, kook checks his abs out, koo gets in a physical fight with an aggressive jerk that involves punching, name-calling (half pint, hermit crab, b*tch, Bambi, honeysuckle, kookie), mention of blood (minor), jk is very cute and determined towards oc, oc has philophobia (fear of relationships), oc has poor self-esteem, cussing, bit of crying...sorry lot of warnings this chapter

Now Playing: seven, summertime sadness, she’s kerosene, angels like you+

A/N: Yes, I'm aware this chapter is short, still Jungkook is shirtless in half of this and I am not sorry. This chapter also gets heavy but I hope you enjoy! 💞

<< ch. I ༓ ch. II >> | series masterlist

A week passes since the frat party and Jungkook hears nothing from you. He's reluctant to accept that you've likely already deleted his number but why else would you be radio silent? Why would someone like you ever be interested in a shy little nerd like him?

He's disappointed but when he gave you his number, it's not like he was expecting anything in return.

Well, he can’t stay hung up on you forever—he'll give you one more week. In the meantime, it’s 5 p.m and he’s off to do his daily lifting at the gym. He read somewhere online that evening is better for building strength, and that is exactly what he intends to do.

With a basic black tank top and gym shorts on, Jungkook scans the expanse of the facility. The place isn’t too crowded being that it’s nearly dinner time but it’s still moderate. He’s hoping Jackson will join him soon, considering they’re buddies now because isn’t that what guy friends do? Workout together?

When he makes his way to the weight room he quickly finds it's packed with guys double his size. Half of them look like they're upperclassmen while the other half is split between first-years like him and a small handful of women. He sheepishly strolls over to an empty pull-up bar, deciding to start with chin lifts.

Jungkook sets his water bottle on the ground, reaches for the handle, and lifts his body up until his chin is level with the bar, legs swing in the air slightly. He then extends his arms back out. The burn in his biceps feels good. He repeats the motion a few more times but has to stop when he hits six.

He takes a big swig of his water, already sweating evident from the tank top sticking to his back. The coolness of the water helps but between his own sweat and the sweat of others around him, Jungkook is tempted to throw his shirt off. Most of the men in the room aren’t wearing any more than shorts anyway so why can’t he?

Jungkook grasps the edges of his tank, pulling it up a little. How did his abs look? Were they good enough to show off? He’s working out diligently since 14 but he was still on the smaller side compared to the rest of his peers.

The mirror to his left helps him get a better look so he shifts his body over. When he does he catches a slight glimpse of a familiar face in the top right corner. Jungkook instantly drops his shirt, whipping his head around.

What were you doing in the weight room? And with some buff guy twice his size closely behind you? All he’s doing is staring at your ass in those tight purple shorts which so happens to have a matching crop top.

Jungkook scowls at the sight.

When you take a seat at one of the bench presses a couple of feet away, his eyes widen. The guy you came with stands behind your head as you lean back. He helps you set the barbell. It’s too far for Jungkook to hear what he’s telling you but he’s convinced it’s nothing good. Whoever this guy is he won’t stop grinning, and you’re grinning back!

You said you don’t do relationships. You said you'd think about going out with him. You said a lot of things but here you are with some guy that looks an awful lot like a boyfriend, how disgusting…

Fuck it.

Jungkook turns his eyes away from you, yanks his tank off, and grabs the pull-up bar again. He’s gonna knock ten of these out in one set.

Shoulder-width apart, he keeps a steady pace though he makes sure to take deep breaths to prolong his stamina. His eyes fixate on the back wall of the weight room to avoid you and your supposedly new boo from getting in his head.

Apparently, you just didn’t want him. It’s fine. Jungkook exhales. It’s all fine.

After three sets of chin-ups, Jungkook releases himself from the bar to check his phone. He takes another glug of his water too.

Jackson: hey Kook, I was planning to join you at the gym today but I got my family in town tonight. Man, it’s only been a week….can you believe they’re here to visit already?

Jungkook: Wow, all I’ve gotten from my family is a short text saying good luck. They must miss you a lot but yeah, it’s no problem. We can work out another time?

Jackson: You got it bro. Thank you for understanding 🙏🏼 Also, there’s a second thing 😬

Jungkook: ??

Jackson: I might have told my parents about you so are you free to get lunch with us tomorrow? My parents want to meet you. Our treat.

Jungkook: Really? Okay yeah. I’d love to meet them. Time?

Jackson: We don’t know yet but likely 1pm if that’s okay?

Jungkook: Sure, I’ll just be studying so. Text me when you know.

Jackson: I will. How’s the gym?

Jungkook hovers his thumbs over the keyboard. When he glances up to think, he’s reminded of your lingering presence. You’re no longer bench pressing anymore but instead doing a set of bent-over dumbbell rolls. With the way you’re torso’s angled, anyone who’s anyone has a direct view of your rear end. Any decent person would pay it no mind but that same douchebag next to you keeps gawking.

“It’s not meant to be a fucking sex position,” Jungkook mutters and types out a response. “Fucker.”

He makes his way to the black punching bag on the other side of the room, passing a strong glare at that young man as he nears the two of you. He doesn’t know his name but he’d really like to go over there and knee him in the balls. His eyes flicker at you for a moment, so pretty.

“The hell are you staring at my girl for half-pint?” The man calls Jungkook out in an aggressive stance. “Keep your eyes in front before I fuck you up.”

Frazzled, Jungkook scurries to move past the both of you with his head down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything.” He doesn’t get three steps before a solid form blocks his path.

“Who are you apologizing to? Your feet? Look me in the damn eye when you talk to me.”

“Jun-ho stop,” you come up beside the man, tugging at his arm. He yanks himself out of the grasp, however, jolting your body back. You nearly lose your balance.

“I’m just trying to teach this little hermit crab what happens when you stare at another man’s woman, baby.”

Jungkook clenches his fists as you struggle to re-stabilize yourself. You should not be with this asshole. He doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t deserve to be calling you his baby. Who the fuck does he think he is shoving a woman like that.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you spit. “I’m not your woman. Now leave Jungkook alone. He doesn’t need this.”

Jun-ho gives you a cocky smirk. “Oh? So he’s Jungkook huh? You know him too. You fucking him behind my back or something?” He takes a step towards you. Jungkook lunges forward seeing your obvious discomfort.

“Don’t touch her!” Jungkook stands between you and Jun-ho. He’s shaking so badly but he doesn’t budge. “Take another step and I’ll–I’ll–“

“You’ll pound me in the ground? You and what army? You can’t even talk.” He snorts and moves to toss Jungkook to the side. “Get out of my way.”

Jungkook feels the back of his neck heat with rage, his ears red and burning. There’s no way in hell he’s letting Jun-ho get to you.

“She told you to stop, so why don’t you just–fuck off!” Jungkook shoves Jun-ho back with as much force as he can. His body’s not built and his arm muscles aren’t as ripped but he’s got some big fucking thighs that manage to anchor him to the ground.

“You shit.” Jun-ho grits his teeth and punches Jungkook straight in the gut. Jungkook doubles over in agony. His hand clutches over his abdomen as he groans. You hurry in front of him but you’re thrown to the side by a pair of large hands. “Move bitch,” Jun-ho snaps, eyes bolstered on the smaller man.

“Hey, what the hell is going on over here?” The manager of the gym rushes over to the three of you. He grabs Jungkook and offers him support. “You can’t be doing this young man. You need to leave now.”

Jun-ho shakes his head. “Count yourself lucky this time Jungkook. Could have been a lot worse if it weren’t for this old man getting in the way.” He stares at the manager and then at you. “Come on __.”

“You’re fucking nuts if you think I’m coming with you. I’m staying with Jungkook.”

“No, you’re fucking not.” Jun-ho reaches for your arm until his head is knocked backward by a clean, punch to his jaw. “Fuck! You Fuck!” He holds his jaw, stumbling into a rack of dumbbells behind him.

Jungkook’s knuckles bleed as he holds his own wrist. He winces at the sharp throbbing and stinging from the punch. “Okay no more, no more,” the manager anxiously darts his eyes back and forth between him and Jun-ho. “I want you all out of my facility this instance.”

After being thrown out of the gym, Jungkook returns to his dorm room. He insists he takes care of his injury himself but it doesn’t sit well with you so you follow him.

“I’m so sorry about this Jungkook. Jun-ho’s a bastard.” You finish wrapping his knuckles in the elastic bandage then lean forward to place your hands on his shoulders. “Promise me you won’t ever do that again.”

Jungkook holds your pleading stare from his seated position. Your soft hands are simultaneously soothing and unsettling. He’s not mad at you for what happened at all. But seeing you with a jerk like Jun-ho when you rejected him, someone who’d never treat his girl like a piece of trash causes all kinds of knots inside him.

“You’re not going to see him again right? Because I can’t make that promise if you do.” His voice is low, nervous that you'll say yes.

Jungkook might not have personal relationship experience but he's witnessed his share of unhealthy relationship dynamics more times he'd like to count.

“Jungkook…” You muster up the best reassuring smile you can and tuck a few loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Nothing's going to happen between me and Jun-ho anymore. We weren't anything serious. But you care too much about me, I’m not worth the trouble.”

Hearing this, he reaches a hand up to close over yours. “Please don’t say that. Everyone deserves to be cared for and as long as I can help it, I’ll be the first to do it.” His big, doting eyes search into yours. "And good, don't go back to him __. He's not the type of man you need."

"And what type of man do I need Bambi?" You stroke his puffy cheeks and quirk your head to the side inquisitively. Jungkook flinches at the touch.

"Bambi?"

"You didn't like it when I called you baby so, had to come up with something else."

"But." There's that pout again. Jungkook doesn't like being called a baby but when someone reaching this level of adorable, its so hard to shake. "But I just knocked a bitch out for you. How can you keep calling me baby names?"

The chuckle that leaves your lips is heaven to Jungkook's ears. "Aww Jungkook," you coo. "It's 'cause you're a little honeysuckle. So sweet to the taste." His ears perk up at that, gnawing on his bottom lip. "But if you want me to call you something else that might take some more time for me to figure out. Until then do tell me, what do I need?"

"Someone that'll protect you."

"Mhm, okay but—"

"Emotionally, physically, and mentally." Jungkook lists out loud. "That means someone to stand up for you, support you in the ways you need. Someone to help keep losers like Jun-ho out who only look out for themselves." He pauses, contemplating thoughtfully. "You need someone you can trust too. When you're sick you'll be taken care of and he'll never ever cheat on you. Even if you fight, he'll always stick by your side. You'll watch movies together, cuddle under the covers, and stargaze on summer nights. He'll also peel perilla leaves for you and love you until sunrise. Finally, when the time's right he'll ask to marry you, only if you want, of course."

Jungkook waits for you to give him a reply, a little breathless. He notices the distance between you and him somehow got larger. You're now about two feet away from him when you were only mere inches before.

"I'm sorry." He lowers his head. "It's silly I know. Everyone tells me I'm some kind of dreamer boy, just a hopeless romantic."

"It's not silly Jungkook." You soften your expression. "It's a beautiful idea and somewhere out there will gladly share those things with you. You'll live a full life together having all those wonderful experiences."

"Wanna have them with you though." His eyes flicker up at you. "I really like you __."

Oh no, no no no. You push down the pressure building from inside you. "No, I can't. I'm sorry Bambi, I want to but you don't know me." A small tear spills out of the corner of your eye. "I'm not able to....I can't love you like that."

Jungkook gets up from his chair and reaches for your trembling hand. You're tempted to pull back if it weren't for the fact that your hand feels warm in his.

"I can," he says. "I can love you if you let me."

You shake your head, and another hot tear rolls down your face. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm even crying." You quickly wipe your wet cheeks.

"You don't always need a reason. Sometimes it just happens and that's okay. I cry all the time when I'm by myself." Jungkook grabs your other hand slowly. "Just wanna be here for you."

You blink back the remaining tears welling in your eyes. You're embarrassed this is happening at all. Jungkook is the sweetest, most kind-hearted, and most selfless person you know. He shouldn't have to be dealing with any of this.

"If we can't go out, is it okay that we are friends?"

"I don't want to do that to you Kookie."

"Hey, I like that one," he says with a lifted voice.

"You do? I didn't even think about it like the others."

"You were thinking about me?" He bounces in the air a little, at least that's what it looks like to you by the sudden rush of energy Jungkook responds with. He likes knowing you've been paying attention to him, even if only a smidge.

You dart your eyes past him, fingers curling in his hand. "Well I mean..." Jungkook waits intently. "I guess...yes, some."

"Oh please __, please let me take you out. We don't even have to call it a date."

"You're too persistent, you know that?"

"But is it working?"

"I'm not ready yet Jungkook." His shoulders slouch and he opens his mouth to say something though you continue before he can get anything out. "To give you an answer. I'm not ready to give you an answer yet is what I'm trying to say."

"Well, that's okay. You wanna think about it longer? We can four years until graduation."

"You're such a goof, you'd wait that long for an answer?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "No, I'd wait that long for you." He pauses. "Okay maybe I have been watching one too many Korean dramas. Even I threw up in my mouth a little."

Too both share a laugh, this is the weirdest, emotionally exhausting day ever. "Thank you for what you did today with Jung-ho. And for trying to comfort me. Will you possibly be able to wait another week? If it's too long you can tell me. I've made you wait long enough."

"A week from now, let's meet up okay? Or call at least. Even if it's a no, I don't want this to be the last time I get to see or hear you."

"Okay." You nod. "I promise."

And that was the end of that night, as Jungkook walks you to your dorm soon after. It was getting dark out after all.

A/N: tysm for reading! Lmk what you think and if you wan to be tagged comment/ask 💞

Masterlist

Taglist:

@hoseokteardrop

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #fic:lovesremedyonfire #kookslastbutton

566 notes · View notes

dontloooknow · 3 months

Text

hungry, lonely, violent

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Days, months, years you spent hungry, yearning. How can a simple two weeks change what's been your life since the outbreak happened? How can one man mend the shattered pieces you never thought could be put back together? How can Joel Miller be that man?

Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Caregiving, Recovery, Healing, Trauma, Oral Sex, Creampie, Size Kink, Size Difference, Older Man/Younger Woman, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, No use of y/n, Protective Joel

Word count: 22k

Read on ao3

The sunset is a blaze of orange over Jackson, Wyoming.

You’ve been all over the country at this point, a nomad by choice, who escaped the Atlanta QZ as soon as you had the ability and supplies to do so. There have been rumors of a safe place, a town out west where people live in a harmonious peace behind sealed walls. No infected breaking in, no raiders to rob you or do worse. No corrupt FEDRA agents to gun you down for looking at them funny.

As it turns out, it’s a lot fucking harder to find a place like that, than it is to imagine it.

You know you’re close; you saw the Welcome to Wyoming sign days ago. Your best guideline is an out of date map that you’d killed a handsy FEDRA guard for. It’s gotten you this far though, so you can’t be too frustrated.

Of course, it’d be nice if it wasn’t the dead of fucking winter, but you’ve never really had the best luck.

You know you don’t have long before you need to give up on this insane venture. No one ever actually believed the talk about somewhere safe hidden in the mountains; somewhere that life was meant to be lived and not merely endured. Somewhere that a person could feel like a person again, by way of basic dignity and small decencies.

You can almost feel it now, if you close your eyes and let yourself imagine. The steam of a hot shower; water beating down on sore muscles, wet hair plastered down your back as soap bubbles cascade across slick skin. A mug of coffee, or tea, hell you’d even take hot chocolate at this point. Something to soothe the coldness of your palms; something to warm your throat and belly. The crackle of a fireplace underneath a mantle; hardwood floors, a rug nestled underneath a sofa.

You were so young when the outbreak happened that you’ve never really gotten to experience these things. But you know them well. Stories from your parents, wishful tales of a life once lived in comfort and peace. An expanse of opportunity, safety to explore, create, enjoy.

In a world like that, there’s room for all sorts of things you haven’t been able to have. What’s always been a quick meal of ration blocks scarfed down in a hurry, could be a slow-cooking stew, complete with fluffy bread and a glass of clean water with ice. Maybe even a wedge of lemon for flavor, if you’re lucky. A slice of hot pie for dessert, an unneeded expense of greed and hunger, nothing beneficial for your health really except to make you happy. Socks without holes, pants without inner thighs so worn you can feel your cold skin chafing between them.

In a world like that, there’s room for things like delicacies. Things like…romance.

You have no illusions that this could ever be your future. Since you lost your family, things like safety and stability have been mere fantasy. You can’t remember what a home cooked meal might taste like, or a hug from someone who genuinely cares about you. The men and women you’ve been with have all been quick, dirty fucks, going through the motions to make eachother cum and breathe hollow noises of pleasure that are more for show than anything.

In a different world, maybe it could all mean something.

You take quick stock of your rations. A half-empty water bottle with a screw-on filter that’s quickly becoming unusable from strain. A can of green beans. A small pack of bandages that have lost most of their adhesive strength from time. One pair of underwear that’s hanging off your pack, wet from a wash in the creek. There’s nothing worse than going commando in sub-zero temperatures, but it’s a necessary evil for hygiene.

From your place currently hiding out in an abandoned gas station nestled in the mountains of what surely used to be some sort of thriving backwoods community, any hope of that fantastical world really does feel out of reach. For most of your life it felt that if dreams were enough to keep you alive, you’d surely be immortal. But lately, that negligent bit of hope is starting to seem like the flicker of a candle about to blow out.

And it’s funny, for someone who claims to have given up hope, how quickly you jump into gear when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. Your hands fumble; cold and nearly frozen from the frigid temperatures outside, clasping the grip on your gun. You only have a half-mag left, and with your hands as shaky as they are from the weather, you aren’t feeling confident about your ability to aim as well as needed to make that half-mag worthwhile.

Still, you have little other choice. In your condition, a hand-to-hand fight would be your undoing.

“I hear someone in there, breathing,” a gruff voice says. It’s low and careful, a slow southern drawl that you recognize as Texan, most likely. You met a few of them in the Atlanta QZ, and they all had this gentle drawl to them, the same way this man does.

It would be almost a calm, reassuring sound, if his proximity didn’t surely mean imminent death for you.

“A runner?” another voice asks, this one is younger. A man, or a boy maybe, a teenager.

Fuck. You’re outnumbered, even if these are the only two out here. You’re outnumbered by two men. You’re hungry, and half-frozen, and struggling to think of what to do next. It’s like your brain isn’t functioning at full capacity. Who could blame it, with the months of neglect on the road? When was the last time you even had fucking protein?

You try to listen, try to hone your ears to follow the footsteps of the man coming toward you. Surely he knows where you’re hiding, if he heard you breathing and assumed you were an ill infected. You must really sound like shit. You sort of knew that your lungs had a rattle from the cold and your nose was sniffly, but clearly it's worse than you thought.

Okay, okay, think. What can I-

Your train of thought is immediately interrupted by a large, thick arm circling around your neck from behind. You gasp as your body is wrenched into the air, a sturdy mountain of a man behind you. In your panic, you drop your gun and reach for his massive forearm, trying to pry it off your neck as your vision begins to go fuzzy.

Holy fuck, you’re going to die at the hands of some random Texas giant in this abandoned gas station.

“Shit, Joel, she’s not infected!”

“Wh- Christ!”

In a flat second, you’re on the floor, coughing and gasping as you clutch at your neck, trying to fill your icy lungs with desperate air. The floor is more like concrete, and with the layer of ice spread across it, there’s damn near no cushion for your fall.

The large man reaches out, you can hear his jacket shuffle and his body move, but you scramble away, reaching frantically for your gun.

The other one, the younger boy, comes into focus and reaches out to pluck up your gun before you can even make an honest grab for it.

“Hey, we aren’t gonna hurt you,” the boy says, looking down at you earnestly. It’s big talk from the teenager holding a revolver on you, but his eyes are genuine enough. “I’m sorry we scared you. We thought-”

Your vision whites out as you feel a large hand grab your arm. The big man, the giant Texan has grabbed your bicep and is trying to pull you up. Pure instinct takes over; reflex causing you to lash out with your free arm.

Your knife makes a decent slash in the skin of his hand, and he pulls back with a shouted curse of pain.

“Whoa whoa!” the boy tries again for a calming tone, still attempting some sort of diplomacy.

Ignoring his pathetic excuse for a ceasefire, you launch yourself at the large man, wielding your knife like it’s your last chance.

With him momentarily disoriented, it’s easy to hop on his back, effectively putting his body between yours and the boy with the gun as a human shield. And a gigantic one, at that. His shoulders are stocky, easy handholds for you as you settle your legs around his large waist. You press the tip of your knife against his throat, feeling the vibrations of his grunted breaths against your thumb bone.

This close, you can smell a soft aroma of lemon soap wafting off his wavy hair. It’s dark with streaks of silver dancing down through the ends, matching a well-groomed beard on his jaw. His jacket is thick brown leather, it looks heavy and surely adds bulk to an already impressively large man.

“Walk out, now!” You warn the boy with the gun, still pressing the blade into the man’s throat. “I won’t kill him if you leave me alone.”

You think it’s a pretty fucking generous offer, considering this giant just tried to choke you out.

The boy glances at the man, sighing. He shakes his head, holstering his gun. “Joel, just be gentle.”

Frowning, you look between them in confusion.

The man, whose name must be Joel, chuckles dryly. It’s a nice sound, a steady reverberation through his chest. In another circumstance, you think it might be a soothing noise. One of those laughs from a person who seems like they know the answer to every question, who's figured everything out. Someone who’d take care of you.

Then, he grabs your wrist so hard you feel bone press into flesh, wrenches the knife away from his throat as if you’re no more than a pesky mosquito, and flips your body over his shoulder.

Being effectively yeeted into a frozen concrete floor by a man three times your size would most certainly be a death sentence.

You feel the wind rush out of your lungs, the world spin upside down, and you’re preparing to hear a deafening crack of your skull against the hard ground.

Before the impact radiates through your body though, you realize he’s slowed your momentum by sliding an arm around your lower back, stopping you just before your body would’ve crashed into the floor. He kneels forward, holding you just above the ice, and you get a good look at his face.

It doesn’t feel like the right time to be thinking this, and you hate yourself a tiny bit, but he’s really fucking handsome. His nose is large and stately, his eyes framed by thick, dark lashes that brush his cheekbones, eyebrows pulled together so his forehead scrunches up. There are lines of age on his face, flecks of gray in his beard, yet the flush to his tanned skin and the light in his gaze tells you he’s in tiptop shape. This is a man who eats well, eats often, and probably isn’t sleeping on the hard ground every night as you’ve been for weeks.

Considering he just tossed you over his shoulder like a tiny bag of flour, this isn’t particularly surprising.

“If you’d quit tryin’ to kill me, little miss, then maybe we can have a conversation.”

With a growl of anger, you swing your fist. He catches your wrist in his hand so easily it’s humiliating, and gives you a disapproving look.

“We ain’t gonna hurt ya’,” he continues, “stop swingin’ on me.”

“We should take her back to town,” the boy says, still standing beside the two of you a little awkwardly, “she’s not well.”

At that, you pause, something icy running into your veins. You’ve run into more than enough fucked up little “towns” on your trip west. They always ended up trying to kill you or indoctrinate you into some demented cult ideals. You’ve fought your way out of more than enough situations like this to know that if you don’t escape now, it’s not going to end well.

You’re unarmed, you’re starved, you’re half-frozen, and the man above you is so large you swear you could strap a pair of reins to his shoulders and have him pull a carriage.

In so many words, you’re fucked.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarl, wriggling in his grasp and trying to free yourself.

“Alright.” The man releases you and you hit the cold ground, a surprised noise of pain slipping from your mouth as your head smashes into the ice.

“Jesus Joel,” the boy says.

“She told me to!”

This is your chance. You just need to get to your feet and run. Fuck the gun and the knife, you’ll find new ones. You’ve been without your supplies before. You can figure it out. You just have to get up.

An attempt to move into a sitting position proves futile, as your vision begins to swim and your head throbs. Your hands fumble weakly for purchase at your sides, but the ice is too slick to find a solid grasp.

“I think she’s gotta concussion,” the man, Joel, muses nonchalantly.

“I think she’s got a lot going on,” the boy replies, “should we put her on a horse? Seems like she wants to be left alone.”

“Ain’t the policy that we bring back injured travelers?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, but normally they don’t…resist this much, right?”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Normally they ain’t women all by themselves surrounded by two strange men.”

“I guess not.”

“Let’s get her on a horse. Once she realizes she’s safe, maybe she’ll quit the murderin’ shit.”

“What if she comes to and tries to kill you again?” the boy worries.

At this, Joel chuckles again. “If she manages to kill me on the back of a horse with no weapon, then I goddamn deserve it, kid.”

“Is this how all patrols are?”

“Nah. They usually ain’t this exciting.” Joel leans over you then, and you smell the lemon soap and a faint whiff of pine oil. “Hey there, you with us?”

“No,” you groan, though you’re not actually sure what you’re responding to.

“Listen, m’gonna have to pick you up and put you on a horse. Try not to gouge my eyes out. Think you can manage that?”

“No,” you repeat sourly.

“Excellent. You ever been on a horse before?”

“No.”

He exhales. “You say anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright then. When we get you up, just hold on to my waist, don’t let go or you’re gonna go flyin’ and that won’t be good for neither of us. You hear? No ain’t an option.”

You narrow your eyes which does nothing to help your already blurry vision. You feel your consciousness slowly starting to slip away on a delicate string, at a great danger of snapping and disappearing in the distance.

“I think she bonked her head,” the boy says when you don’t reply.

“Good observation, son.” With that, Joel reaches for you. You tell your muscles to resist, to fight back, but they frustratingly don’t move.

He slides his arms underneath your prone form and lifts as if you weigh no more than a backpack. Surprisingly, his touch is gentle rather than rough as you’d expected. He moves slowly, gradually pulling your body into a sitting position. Your head spins and you let out an involuntary noise of pain.

“M’sorry honey,” he murmurs, “you got your bell rung, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t carry a bell,” you manage a weak reply.

He chuckles again, and you feel yourself being hoisted up. After a moment of adjusting, you’re lying in his arms bridal style, thick forearms underneath your body. He grips your thighs to keep you in place, shifting you upward to preserve the momentum as he gets back to his feet with a slight huff of effort.

“Do you need help?” the boy asks, hovering.

“Nah, she don’t weigh more than one of them kitchen chairs in the mess hall. Just grab her stuff, m’sure she’ll be askin’ after it when she’s up and running.”

“Okay, okay got it. You want me to lead?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Thanks Jesse.”

“Sure thing.”

You’re moving then, you think. The world shifts around you, and your head lulls to the side, pressing into a coat. You shudder once, and find yourself transfixed on the even breathing of the man holding you.

“Cold?” he asks gruffly, and then sighs as if that’s a stupid question. “Jesse?”

“Yeah?”

“Help me with this.”

There’s movement, and your body is shuffled a bit, before someone drapes a thick weight over you, wrapping you up like a burrito in what appears to be a giant leather jacket. It smells of lemon and pine oil, the scent wafting off it with each movement.

You’re confused, disoriented and overwhelmed. The weight of the jacket around you is enough to soothe the cold for now, even as you feel shuffling and adjusting and find your legs slung around the thick flank of a horse.

“Hold on tight,” says Joel.

What other choice do you have?

———-

Somewhere between the gas station and here, you passed out.

It shouldn’t surprise you, given the state you were in. It only makes sense your body would give up in some way. Obviously you wish it hadn’t been while you were pressed up against the large, broad back of a grouchy old Texan, but as you said you’ve never had the best luck.

When you come to, you’re supine on a couch. It’s odd though, because from first glance, the thing isn’t musty and dusty like they usually are. It’s soft, squishy, and smells clean. There’s a blanket draped over you, some sort of fuzzy wool that keeps your limbs warm. It’s heavy too, the weight of it soothing. A crackling sound alerts your gaze to a mantle with a fireplace underneath, heat flickering off the orange licks of flames, well contained in the brick casing. Atop the mantle are framed photos, a girl with choppy hair and freckles on a horse, the man, Joel, at her side, smiling.

It’s an odd expression on him, you think. Although handsome, it’s surprising to see the gruff man look so at ease, so happy. From your brief interaction in the gas station, you’d come to gather he’s a no-nonsense, quick-to-choke asshole.

Not unlike yourself, really.

And if there are photos of him and what looks to be his daughter, or a teenaged relative maybe, on this mantle, that means you’re in his house. That means you’re in grave danger.

Though...you are seemingly fine, wrapped in a blanket by the fireplace, clothing intact on your body. Beside you on an end table is a lamp, a glass of tepid water, and a few leaves of unfamiliar greens.

You move to sit up, pressing your hands against your thighs in search of any of your weapons. Nothing. Your pack is gone too.

As you adjust, you find that your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, tongue swollen and dry. Your throat is aching, desperate for water. You run your fingers along the arm of the sofa, eyeing the glass of water longingly.

What if he’s done something to it?

Before you can decide if it’s worth the risk, footsteps pad in behind you, and you whip around to see him entering the room. You stumble off the couch, legs wobbling, knees threatening to give out as you try to stand your ground.

“Easy,” Joel says in that slow drawl, “you’re alright, little miss. You’re safe.”

Your hands clench into fists. As if you’re stupid enough to believe him.

“You know where you are?” he asks, like he thinks you won’t know.

For a moment, you fumble. Where...are you? You know it’s snowing outside the windows of this little, quiet house. You know you came from Atlanta. You know you found yourself a little turned around in the backwoods of somewhere in Wyoming.

“Wyoming,” you say, forcing the word to come out assuredly, even as your voice cracks around it like a frail twig under a boot.

He nods once. “Good. You’re in Jackson. You hit your head and it seemed like you haven’t had a real meal in a while. We brought you back to get you feelin’ better. You passed out on the way.”

Blinking, you take stock of the room around you. You’re in Joel’s house, in Jackson. Can it really be true? Have you really found it? The place where life can be lived peacefully amidst the horrors outside the wall?

“It’s real?” you find yourself asking. The crackling fireplace and framed photos seem evidence enough of a more content lifestyle than anywhere you’ve ever lived.

Again, he nods. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Just stories,” you admit, “didn’t believe them.”

“It’d be hard to,” he agrees gruffly.

You allow yourself a moment to look him over. Here in his home, he’s shed his winter layers in favor of a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel over the top. His hair is tousled from the wind, gray-lined dark curls framing his face. His shoulders, just as big as you remember noticing, fill out the fabric of his flannel so well it’s a little hard to look away. A quick scan of his body does little to reassure you of any chance you have to fight back if this goes sour. He’s large; his chest thick, thighs sturdy in his jeans, a faint outline of a comfortable belly underneath his shirt. You can see a cropping of dark hair just poking out of his shirt collar and the ends of his sleeves. He’s rugged in every sense of the word. Rugged, and huge.

“I left you some water there,” he gestures vaguely to the end table, “some mint leaves to chew on, sometimes they help when I gotta headache. I dunno. Just in case. They didn’t have anywhere to put you yet, and the infirmary was pretty overrun so they-”

“What are you going to do to me?” you find yourself asking, hating the hollow note of fear in your words.

Joel pauses, hands on his hips, eyebrows screwed together. “Do to you?”

In lieu of a reply, you just nod warily.

It takes him a moment, you think, to register what you’re implying. When it hits him, his shoulders deflate, and his expression heaves into one of displeasure. He clenches and unclenches his fists before he speaks.

“You’re safe,” he says again, voice even and composed despite the clear discomfort on his face. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Once they find somewhere else to put you, we’ll get you comfortable. But for now, if it’ll make you feel better.” He moves toward you, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

Reflexively, you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your legs betray you, and you find yourself leaning against a table by the window with little wood carvings to stay upright. He halts instantly, expression neutral.

“I was just gonna give you this.” He removes your gun from his waistband, presenting it matter-of-factly. “Loaded the mag for you. Don’t shoot me.”

With that, he sets it on the end table by the couch, halfway between the two of you, and steps back.

“You got no reason to kill me,” he says, “I got no reason to hurt you. I wouldn’t. Ever. So take it. But I’d prefer not to have any extra holes by the time you leave.”

You swallow noisily, eyes tracing the line toward the gun. It rests neatly beside the water and mint leaves, his gifts to you, comfort and safety all in one little package on the end table.

Unsure of what to say, you slowly move toward the end table, picking up the gun. Hesitantly, you pull back the slide and see a round in the chamber. Then, you pop the mag out and see that he wasn’t lying. It’s fully loaded.

You eye him warily as you tuck the gun into your own waistband, safety on. “Thanks?”

“Don’t shoot me,” he repeats sternly.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” you warn him.

At this, he scoffs. “Lady, if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it with my arm around your neck.”

Your eyes narrow. “I never said you wanted to kill me.”

His nose wrinkles at that, eyes going dark. “You don’t have to worry about that. Listen, I’ll stay outta your hair. But they want me to get you healthy before you get set up on your own here. So-”

“Wait, before what?”

Another sigh, like he’s exasperated. “You’ll get assigned a house and eventually work duties and patrol schedules. They’ll go over all that with you. I’m just the middle man here.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even done speaking. “Who fucking decided that for me?”

His eyebrow arches. “Ain’t that why you’re out here?”

Torn, you struggle to think of a reply. It actually is exactly why you’re out here, but you’re confused and suspicious at the easy welcome and acceptance of another mouth to feed, another burden on the resources. You don’t even know if he’s telling the truth. Maybe you’re not even in Jackson. Maybe this is some fucked up murder cabin and he’s playing you like a fiddle.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” You demand, fingers itching to reach for the gun now that it’s safely holstered away.

Joel gestures to the front door. “Be my fuckin’ guest.”

Reluctantly taking your eyes off of him, you push off the table and move for the front entryway. You brush by him briskly, annoyed when he doesn’t move out of the way. Your shoulder nudges into his arm, and you’re struck by how thick and immovable he feels beside your feeble frame.

You hate it. It would be so effortless to overpower you.

You dislike having him in your rearview, but you move toward the line of windows that overlook the front lawn.

Your eyes take in a sight you could’ve only ever imagined. Snow-lined streets, little shops and markets with pleasant looking customers milling about. People with horses, waving to each other. Children running in the street and laughing loudly while gentle adults corral them back onto shoveled sidewalks. No FEDRA guards shouting about work duty or drills, no bomb warning sirens, no distant roar of infected outside the gates.

No weapons, no shouting or robbery, no children sobbing in the snow from hunger. Everything that had ever felt unattainable, apparently just outside your window.

In utter disbelief, you slowly turn back to Joel, who’s watching you with mild interest.

“Wow,” is all you can manage.

“Yeah, you found the promised land and all that.” He shrugs. “Now they said they oughta have somewhere for you to stay on your own by end of week, provided you’re physically up for it. You’d better start with some water, kid.”

You glance at the glass on the end table, ruminating on the possibility of it being laced with something.

“For Christ's sake.” Joel marches toward the glass, takes a few huge gulps, and then holds it out to you. “Where the fuck would I even get somethin’ like that?”

He has to know that these days finding drugs to crush up and ingest is infinitely easier than finding food. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe living here has made a soft, ignorant man of him. Maybe he always has been.

You’re suddenly so angry. All of the years you’ve suffered, your family dying, FEDRA raids and Firefly bombings and attacks from hordes of infected.

And here he is. Sitting by the fire, framed photographs smiling back at him, mint leaves between his teeth for a mild ailment.

It’s so unfair.

“You guys are pretty selfish, you know.” You ignore his outstretched hand with the water. “Keeping all this a secret. Keeping it for yourselves while the rest of us struggle.”

Joel rolls his eyes, and the flippant gesture is enough to make your teeth grind together. “Ah. We’re doin’ this? You wanna leave, go. Ain’t nobody holding you hostage.”

What are you doing? Your brain is screaming at you desperately. This is what you wanted. This is why you came. You’ve found it.

You hadn’t realized what it would mean, actually seeing this oasis. Actually feeling the warmth of a fireplace and the soft fabric of a clean couch. Having mint leaves and bullets a plenty. How could you have ever expected the gaping hole it would punch through your chest, seeing what you could’ve had all these years, laid out in front of you like a decadent buffet. What your family could’ve had.

What this man, Joel, is trying to offer you.

“It isn’t fair,” you manage weakly, talking to no one in particular, eyes searching around the organized decor. “It isn’t fair.”

“I know,” is all you get in reply.

You move away from the window, not exactly sure where you plan to go, but overwhelmed. Finally, your weak knees do give out, and you pitch forward.

Your arms shoot out to catch yourself, but as it turns out, you don’t need them to. Strong hands grip you under the armpits, pulling upward until your legs straighten out. You stumble into a big, warm chest, and Joel grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath.

“Easy,” he murmurs, “gonna get you back to the couch.”

You’re too overcome to argue, though it is your first instinct. You allow him to lead your trembling body toward the sofa, jellylike legs carrying you only as his strength pulls them along.

He slots you between two couch cushions, and you sink down in the fabric. Then, he picks up the water he’d set down in his hurry to catch you, and holds it out.

“This would be a start,” he says earnestly.

In shaky hands, you bring the glass to your lips, sipping delicately. The water is room temperature, somewhat warmed by the heat of the fire. It goes down your throat, soothing the ache there with much needed droplets of hydration. You finish the glass in record time, and before you can blink, Joel’s taken it from you. Your arm reaches forward pathetically, a plea to keep the glass as if you could suck the remaining moisture out from the bottom.

“Hold on,” he says, but there’s no note of impatience or annoyance in the words. He leaves the room and returns a moment later with a glass full to the brim.

Eagerly, you take it from his hands, too lost in the euphoria of fresh, clean water to consider the possibility of the first one being a trick. He’s got you comfortable. Now, he can do whatever he wants.

You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until the pain was soothed.

It’s a funny thing, longing. You get so used to it that you start to grow numb. You yearn for something long enough, eventually you don’t feel like yourself without it. Hunger, thirst, pining, it’s all a part of who you are. Fulfilled, sated, you wouldn’t know who to be or how to move forward.

Still, you finish the glass as quickly as the first.

“Better?” Joel asks, his voice lacking warmth but not particularly unpleasant.

You nod hesitantly.

“How’s your head?”

You touch your fingers to the back of your head, roving the pads across your tangled hair. You feel no bump, no cuts, nothing more than a rats nest of unbrushed locks.

“Fine,” you say, though it does hurt. You’re sure it’s nothing serious, but you definitely gave it a good bump.

“You feel like eatin’?” He asks, and the prospect of food is enough to make your chapped lips feel wet with salivation.

“You have food,” you tell him, more of a statement than a question.

Quizzically, he nods. “Uh, yeah.”

“Real food?”

“I got some venison in the freezer,” he says, “and some broccoli.”

“In a can?”

His expression softens marginally. “No.”

Fuck. Real fresh vegetables?

“Tell you what.” Joel cracks his knuckles loudly. “You go on up and take a shower, get yourself sorted. I’ll get started on some grub. ‘Bout dinner time anyway. Then maybe we can get you healthy enough to get outta my hair. How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” is all you can think to say, surprisingly amicable. In your defense, it’s been a while since someone offered you a hot meal and a shower. And you do have your gun...just in case.

Joel holds a hand out, and despite every instinct in your body begging you not to take it, you slip your palm into his. His hand is warm, calloused from exposure and rough on the pads of his palm, but there’s something familiar about his hold. It’s oddly comforting. It feels like a hand that knows hard work, not unlike your own, which you’re sure are twice as rough right now.

He offers you a small, barely perceptible smile before he releases your hand and says, “second door on the right.”

Then, he heads into the kitchen.

If you wanted to, you could quietly sneak in behind him, gun drawn, and put a bullet in his head. Right now, it would be so easy. He’s foolishly left you to your own devices in his home with a loaded gun. Who could blame you for second-guessing his motives and intentions?

But he’s also offering you a meal, a hot shower, the prospect of a life. And you’d come a very long way to find him. To find this, you mean.

You lean down and grab a mint leaf, sticking it between your teeth to chew as you ascend the stairs with a careful hand on the railing. It’s surprisingly tasty, the leaf, though it has a bite of burn that stings your tongue in an unfamiliar way. You press it between your teeth and tongue, feeling the sharp sting of the mint and breathing in the relief. You aren’t sure why, maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like it is soothing your pain.

Your fingers trail along the wooden banister. It’s clean, well dusted, organized. There’s traces of life here, in the haphazard way his boots are strewn by the door, in the crumple of towels on the floor in the corner of the laundry room you pass by, in the photographs on walls and more tables. That girl with the freckles and choppy hair is all over his life, alongside a man with a beard and scrappy bun. A brother maybe? You can’t tell, but what’s clear in the multitude of photos is that Joel likes to keep his loved ones close. He likes tangible memories, reminders of those he cares for.

You find yourself in a large bathroom standing in front of a shower with a pastel yellow curtain. You grip the material in your fingers, pulling back on the curtain, enamored with the way it glides back and forth on the rod. The closest thing you had to this in the QZ was water boiled and poured into a tub for bathing. On the road, it was a nice cold creek when you could find it.

Curiously, you slide your fingers down the wall until they bump into a strange knob, delicate rounded designs poking out of the glossy finish. To the right, a little blue circle, to the left a little red one. You deduce they indicate the temperature of the water, and twist the knob until it’s halfway in between.

The water shoots forward out of a head at the top of the wall, spraying you in the face. You splutter, pulling back and coughing water out of your nose and throat. It’s a powerful stream, the droplets hitting your face with a velocity you hadn’t expected. You know the currents of lakes, oceans and creeks can be unpredictable. Waves are something otherworldly, a force to be reckoned with, never tempted.

You had no idea something so small could be so powerful.

You check once more that the door is locked, then you peel off your tattered jacket and undershirt. Your bra is barely held together by a stitch you keep doing and undoing in the back. The clasp broke a year ago. You slide your old jeans down your legs, face blooming red when you remember that your underwear was hooked onto the back of your bag to dry after a wash.

Where is it? Did they leave it in the gas station? It was your only pair.

Somehow worse...does Joel...have it?

Hesitantly, you step over the ledge of the tub into the stream of water, surprised at the feeling of the droplets crashing into your skin. It hurts a little, the pressure at which the water shoots out at you.

For a moment, you languish under the stream of water, feeling dirt and muck slide off your skin. It feels like you’ve been encased in a layer of grime for so long, you’ve almost forgotten what clean feels like. Though, you’ve never been clean like this.

You see a little sponge in a rack on the wall, and grab for it. There’s a bar of soap beside it, and you take that too, sudsing up the sponge as much as possible. It smells like lemon, the same faint aroma you’d noticed on Joel.

Then, it strikes you that this must be the sponge he washes his own body with.

You hesitate. Surely this violates some sort of acceptable hygiene norm. But also, your hand’s not gonna do the job. And you’d only be dirtying up his soap if you used that on its own.

In a confused moment of transfixion, you squeeze the sponge between your fingers, running the pad of your thumb over its gristly base. It wafts lemon, that enticing smell that Joel carries with him from a good wash in the morning.

You know it’s odd, and certainly not the time to be having these thoughts, but it’s a little distracting that this is his sponge. The same one he rubs all over himself when he’s naked, when the water is drizzling down his thick body, his sturdy chest and his soft stomach and the unmovable width of his thighs. You imagine he must like the way it feels after a long day, hot water sizzling on his skin, the sharp edge of a sponge cutting through dirt on his body, the smell of lemon in his nose and lingering on him.

You douse the sponge in lemon soup, and carefully slide it down your arm. The feeling makes you shudder; the rough texture of the sponge grating down your filthy skin. The sponge that Joel rubs on himself. The sponge that’s nestled itself between the bulging muscles of his chest, down the lines of his abdomen, all over his large arms. Down further...between his legs, maybe.

It’s been so long since you thought about a man this way; since you thought about anyone this way. On the road, there was no time for luxuries like sexual fantasy.

But now, safe and comfortable beneath a thick and steady steam of hot water, you allow your mind to wander a bit.

How thorough must Joel be, when he washes himself with this rough little sponge? To smell as good as he does even in the midst of a fight, even with adrenaline pumping, testosterone brewing, sweat surely slickening his underarms and legs. Still, he wafts pleasant aromas, the kind that make you lean into him, rather than pull away.

He must touch himself often, in depth. He must scrub the soap in between places on his large body that only he can see, only he can touch. Dripping little droplets of sweet-scented soap on to parts of him that would be so difficult to get to, unless he were naked in front of you.

Your fist clenches tightly around the sponge, expelling a myriad of soapy bubbles that drip down your legs into the drain. You blink, shaking your head, trying to come back down from those inappropriate thoughts.

Jesus. It’s really been too long. You’re gonna have to figure out something to do about that before you find yourself biting into this lemon-scented sponge.

Get a grip, you tell yourself. You have one hot shower and all of a sudden you’re ready and willing for the first person who will have you?

You’re sure it won’t be Joel, gruff and solitary as he seems, but maybe someone in this little safe haven is interested in relieving this ache.

Though, you’re no stranger to longing. It’s not as if you can’t take care of yourself.

Right now, you focus on washing. You scrub every inch of your body, including between your toes and in your belly button. You fight the layers of grime and grit until your skin is rubbed raw and red. Then, you take the syrupy bottle of liquid that’s labeled in marker “shampoo” and drench the crown of your head with it.

Scrubbing your hair takes more energy than you can expend. By the time the bubbles are rinsing down your back, your vision is swimming and you’re seeing black spots at the corner of your eyes. Your legs wobble, and you press a hand flat against the wall to steady yourself.

How long have you been in here?

Instead of tipping over and falling out onto the bathroom floor like an idiot, you slowly lower yourself to the shower floor. The tile is hot underneath your legs, and you realize you’ve turned the water all the way to the little red circle.

It burns, droplets of acid shooting into your skin like knives. It’s so hot, hotter water than you’ve ever felt cascading over your body. It burns nicely, melting away the road like you’re shedding skin to grow anew. The steam fills your nostrils, and you take a big breath, your lungs still rattly and weak from the cold outside, but soothed slightly by the thick warmth in here.

You lose track of everything on the shower floor. The water is so hot, the smell is so sweet, the confines of the tub feel safe and secluded. The door has a lock, the shower has a curtain, each sliver of a barrier between you and everyone else feels like more security than you’ve had in months. Or maybe ever.

Your knees press against the sides of the tub, knobby and thin, too sickly for anyone to desire. You don’t like the body you’re in, don’t like that you were mistaken for an infected today, don’t like that you’re more survival than person at this point.

And you can’t help but wonder, Jackson, Joel, this life here, would it be enough to change that? He says he can get you healthy, you can get your own place, a home. If you do as he says, follow his lead, can he really make that happen?

A place where you could lock the doors whenever you want. A place where you didn’t have to keep a loaded gun on you to feel safe. A place where you could drink the water without worrying it’s been spiked or it’s unsuitable. A life, a home, something meaningful.

All you have to do is get off the floor and go downstairs to it.

With a huff of effort, you shove your body forward, bracing yourself on the side of the tub for momentum. You clumsily yank on the knob and crank it until the water stops flowing. There's a fresh towel on a rack by the shower, and you reach for it feebly.

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as much as possible; your skin is a mapping of cuts, bruises, scars. A lifetime of suffering delicately traced into lines on your body. There’s no hiding what you’ve been through, it plays out across your limbs like the scenes of a movie. Each moment of misery, each near-death experience, each trauma, a little piece of it left within you and etched into your physicality for everyone to see.

Some people are born whole and become broken. Some are born whole and never lose enough pieces to say they aren’t complete anymore.

You were born with missing parts, already deficient in a world that ensured it would hack every last bit of you away. You don’t know how you stand, how you breathe, how you live, without lungs to fill your throat with air or a heart to pump your blood. Your chest is a cavern, all your missing pieces scattered across the trails you’ve walked, and mirrored in your scarred flesh.

Reminders. Everything is fleeting, everything is futile, and contentment is an undeserved fantasy.

Body wrapped in a towel, the cold air dimpling your flesh with goosebumps, you reach for your tattered clothes. They’re filthy, murky and bloodstained. You suspect Joel is going to need to thoroughly disinfect the couch you were lying on.

You don’t want to put them on. You don’t want to slide your clean, scrubbed raw skin into the folds of clothing littered with horror.

All you have is the cleanliness of your skin, and the mint leaf ground up between your teeth. Your first taste of comfort in...well, forever.

Reluctantly, you scoop up the pile of clothes and peer out into the hallway. You’re struck with a delightful smell; not the lemon soap, but something more tantalizing. Cooking meat, vegetables, the sizzle of smoke on a stovetop. You lean forward almost in a trance, your stomach growling ravenously, as you begin to descend the stairs.

Your footsteps are featherlight on the stairs, toes carefully pressing forward down the cold hardwood. It squeaks underneath the pad of your foot, but you ignore it, moving languidly toward the enticing smell.

He’s there, Joel, standing at the stove with his large back to you. He’s shrugged out of the flannel, leaving him clad in only his black t-shirt. The thin confines of the material give you more insight into the shape of him, the large, hulking physique of the man cooking vegetables.

He doesn’t seem to notice your entrance, either too enthralled in his task, or you’ve been in the shower so long he’s forgotten you’re here.

Carefully, you edge your way in a wide circle until you think you’re in his peripherals. He glances sideways, eyebrows shooting up as he observes you standing in his kitchen, only a towel around your body.

“Do you have my underwear?” You ask, before something less humiliating can come to mind.

Joel falters, something between embarrassment and amusement dancing across his expression before it smooths out. “Uh, yeah. I threw ‘em in the wash with some other stuff. Hope that’s okay.”

“Oh. Yeah it’s okay. Thanks.”

“I can take those too?” He jerks his chin toward the bundle of tattered clothes in your arms.

“I have nothing else to wear,” you admit.

At that, the corner of his lips twitch sideways. “I got somethin’ for ya’.”

He sets the pan down on the stove and gestures for you to follow him. You trail behind as he makes his way down the hall toward the laundry room you’d passed by earlier. He pauses in the doorway, looking around thoughtfully, before he spots a big tub in the back corner and reaches for it. It’s labeled with the same marker his shampoo was.

Ellie Winter Clothes

Joel brings the tub out into the living room and cracks open the lid, waving a hand for you to come in and examine the options.

You peer into the tub, surprised to find several neat stacks of folded up clothing. Jackets, pants, long-sleeved shirts and flannels. You look at Joel curiously.

“My kid,” he explains, “she just left last week to go on this tour of the west coast with her girlfriend. They just turned eighteen, all about gettin’ that freedom.”

You stare at him blankly. “You let your eighteen year old daughter leave on her own?”

Joel smiles wryly. “You ain't met Ellie. Anyway, she’ll be back at the end of next month. Just don’t lose nothin’ and I figure she won’t mind.”

You pick up one of the shirts. It’s soft fleece, navy blue, thick and warm to the touch. You purse your lips, doubtful it’ll fit you if it’s something a teenage girl’s wearing.

“I think it’ll fit just fine,” Joel tells you carefully, “‘least until we get some food in ya’.”

Warily, you slide the navy fleece over your head, keeping the towel upright with one hand and rolling the shirt down over the front of it. With dismay, you find the shirt fits nicely. It’s barely even snug.

And it’s so unfair that you almost cry in his living room. Because a girl ten years your junior shouldn’t be wearing the same size clothes as you. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotions from swelling to the surface, blinking rapidly.

Joel clears his throat. “Hey, why don’t you throw them clothes on, and meet me in the kitchen? Grub’s almost up.”

You’re quick to nod, scooping up a pair of leggings and socks before you shuffle across the floor into the downstairs bathroom beside the kitchen. You allow yourself a moment to let the tears race down your cheeks as you dress in the teenage girl’s clothes, sniffling while wiping at your red eyes. You hadn’t realized, alone on the road all those months, how much you’ve shrunk in on yourself. You’ve never been as big as you should be, stunted by lack of food. But at least in the QZ you had ration blocks. It’s been a lean few months of scavenging.

You feel like something inhuman, something wrong, something unworthy. You don’t belong in this well-decorated, well-loved home. In this safe little town.

Finally, you wipe the last of the liquid from your eyes and exit the bathroom, heading into the kitchen. Your footsteps are careful, cautious, each one placed with delicate intention.

Joel’s just finishing up as he sets a plate down on his circular kitchen table. There are two settings, each with glistening silver utensils and a mason jar full of liquid beside them.

Joel spots you entering, and smiles hesitantly. He pulls out one of the chairs, which you assume is your cue to sit. You place your bottom in the chair, surprised when he pushes it in for you. He sits in the other chair and begins to eat unceremoniously.

Taking in the sights on your plate, you find a well cooked slab of meat, seared delightfully. The broccoli is steamed to a crisp, but not burnt, and there’s a slice of fluffy bread sliced beside it. You even see Joel dip a knife into a slab of light yellow paste and spread it over his slice.

“Is that...” your voice trails off in disbelief.

“That’s right,” he replies, “want some?”

You nod eagerly and hold out your bread. He smooths some butter over the top. He takes a sip from the mason jar beside his plate, and you can’t tell exactly what’s in it but, from the smell you think it’s alcohol.

You glance down at your own jar curiously, picking it up with a delicate hand. It’s a faded orange-ish brown color, but smells sweet when you bring it to your nose to inhale. No traces of booze, you don’t think. You’ve never been much of a drinker.

Tentatively, you bring the liquid to your mouth for a sip, eyelashes fluttering with surprise. It’s sweet to the taste, tangy and thin as it drenches over your tongue. The flavor is familiar, though you’re certain you’ve never had this drink. It’s tart and sweet all at once.

“You ever had apple juice before?” Joel asks, watching you make love to the mason jar as you eagerly sip more.

Frowning, you shake your head. “Maybe when I was a kid, before the outbreak. I don’t remember it though.”

“You like it?”

Nodding, you tip the glass back and finish it off, exhaling with pleasure. Then, you get to work on the meal.

It’s been so long since you used silverware you’ve almost forgotten how to properly position the fork and knife to cut into the meat. It’s tender though, and easy to slice into. You spear a piece with your fork and take it between your lips, eyes going wide at the burst of flavor breaking in under your teeth.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever had before. Juicy, tender, flavorful. It fills your mouth, satiates the hunger radiating through your teeth, goes down your throat in a smooth gulp. It settles in your empty stomach, a small portion of relief restored within you.

It’s as if a switch has flipped. Once you get a bite of the meat, you think you need to have more or you might die. It’ll be impossible to stop.

You start cutting into the meat like your life depends on it, ravenously shoving pieces into your mouth in a manner you’re sure Joel finds unladylike. You supplement it with bites of well-seasoned broccoli and soft, buttery bread.

Joel refills your apple juice and you wash down bites with it, practically moaning at the taste. When your bread disappears another is set on your plate, buttered and soft, ready to go.

You barely look up to breathe before the plate is clean, the glass is drained for the second time, and Joel is still working on his first helping of it all.

He smiles at you when you meet his eyes, suddenly feeling something like shame wash over you. You don’t remember much of what your parents taught you about manners, but you’re pretty sure coming into a stranger's house and eating their food like a feral dog doesn’t fall under the umbrella of polite dining.

“Um...m’sorry,” is all you can think to say.

Joel arches an eyebrow, taking a hefty bite of his own and chewing thoroughly before he asks, “sorry for what?”

“It was really good,” you reply hesitantly.

At that, his smile grows, and he looks down at the plate to smooth his expression over. He nods once. “Good. M’glad. Glad you liked it. How’re you feelin’?”

“Like I want more,” you admit, though your voice is sheepish, “is that bad?”

He clears his throat, readjusting in his seat, and your face falls. Oh dear god. You’re humiliated. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with your gluttony and your request, you’ve made this weirder than it already was. Further proof of your fears; you aren’t made for a place like this. You’re wrong, broken, not-

“I’m real glad to hear that, darlin’,” Joel says, “maybe give it a few minutes. I bet you ain’t eaten that much in a while.”

Your face feels warm at the casual use of darlin’, but you ignore that and ask, “wait for what?”

“For it all to settle, make sure you still feel okay.” He shrugs, taking another bite of the meat on his plate, which you’re now noticing is much larger than the one you’d had. “Goin’ from as hungry as you look, to eatin’ like we do here...s’gonna take some time.”

It’s an interesting concept, the idea that there could be too much to eat, when all you’ve ever known is the opposite. You struggle to see how that could be a problem, but it’s his house, and his food, and you don’t want to make a scene.

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, eyeing you as you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling as though your mere presence alone takes up too much valuable oxygen.

“Here.” He hands you another slice of buttered bread, holding it out in his large hand like a peace offering. “Can’t let you sit at my table hungry, darlin’. Just, take it easy, or you ain’t gonna feel too hot.”

Tamping down the glee that springs into your chest at the opportunity for more food, you accept the bread from his outstretched hand with a quiet thanks. You eat quickly, greedily, closing your eyes and letting out a small moan of delight at the taste.

Something funny happens as you eat that bread, a change in the way your stomach feels, a change in the way your body feels. A warmth, pooling in your belly, swelling through you up into your chest, softening your throat and relaxing your shoulders.

You’re full. For the first time in you don’t even know how long, the emptiness doesn’t persist.

“Wow, that’s a sight,” Joel says, and you look over at his face to find a surprising expression of amusement there.

“What?” you demand, voice going sour.

He shakes his head, rueful. “You, smilin’ like that. Didn’t take you for the type.”

A scowl immediately overtakes your features, and your jaw clenches. “I’d have plenty to smile about if-”

His low, dry chuckle cuts off your train of thought. Your eyes narrow, and he shakes his head again, looking a little too amused by all of this for your taste.

“Will you settle down?” Joel teases lightly. “It’s just nice, is all. Glad to see you lookin’ happy about somethin’. We’ve made a lotta progress from you holding a knife to my throat earlier.”

You regard him with cautious eyes. “And you trying to choke me to death.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “M’sorry about that. I didn’t realize you weren’t...”

“A disgusting mushroom monster?” you fill in, lips twitching.

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” He frowns.

“It’s fine. I know I look like shit. It’s been a rough couple of months.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that neither,” Joel replies dryly. “What I do wanna ask is…well, how’d you end up out there on your own? Ain’t you gotta family? Young woman like you-“

“I’m not young,” you bite back immediately. And it’s true. In this world, at your age, you’re considered lucky to still be here

“Alright,” he concedes, “woman like yourself, alone. How’d that happen?”

“Everybody’s got dead people,” you reply, running your finger along the thin glass around the empty mason jar. It’s cool against your skin, sticky with juice remnants. It gives you something to focus on besides Joel’s scrutinizing expression.

You don’t want to do this; pry open this bleeding wound in your empty chest and claw at the flesh until the pain subsumes you. Your family is dead, you’ve never had anything close to a friend, you’ve never been safe enough to slow down in the way you’d need to fall in love. What is the point of rehashing this? What is the point of saying aloud all the scars he can see written plainly on your body?

“Where is your daughter’s mom?” you ask, hoping desperately to shift the subject off of yourself.

Joel clears his throat, sitting up a bit in his chair. “She’s dead. I actually adopted Ellie.”

“Oh, you aren’t her biological father?”

“No. I uh...I was though. My older daughter. Sarah.”

You look at him, the plains of his face, the aged lines around his deep eyes, the flecks of gray in his beard. His use of the word “was” needs no further elaboration. It’s clear, probably should’ve been since even before he showed you Ellie’s winter clothes, this man is someone’s father.

You suddenly realize you’ve left your loaded handgun in the bathroom upstairs, abandoned with your discarded clothing. You suddenly realize, that’s alright.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can muster in reply to such a harrowing admission.

Joel nods once, a brief acknowledgement of your condolence. “Thanks. Was a long time ago. M’alright, these days. Life’s good.”

“Everybody’s got dead people,” you offer up again, a limp shrug to your shoulders.

Arching an eyebrow, Joel replies, “that’s true. Your parents, then?”

“Mhm. Yours?”

He chuckles. “Long before the outbreak, honey.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Old. Yourself?”

“Not old. Not young, either.”

Nodding, Joel’s eyes dart up to meet yours. It’s quiet then, the sort of quiet that lingers between two people when they aren’t sure what the next move is. When they aren’t sure where to go from here, what the future holds, what they are to each other.

“How are you feelin’?” He breaks the silence, of course, with a concerned glance at your empty plate.

You hesitate. How are you feeling? It’s been so long since someone asked you that question.

Yesterday, the answer would’ve been something as simple as an eye roll and a gesture to your ruined body. How are you feeling? Fucking bad. Is there any other way to feel in a world like this one?

Good feels like a stretch. Your head hurts from where you banged it on the floor, your stomach is so full now it’s starting to feel uncomfortable, your body aches and groans with each movement, and your mind is a torrent of uncertainty and confusion.

But...you’ve certainly felt worse, haven't you?

There’s food in you, and something delightful called apple juice. There’s a fire in the living room. There’s utensils, and plates, and warm clothes, and a shower with-

You suddenly remember something you forgot to tell Joel.

“I used your sponge,” you say abruptly.

Joel blinks. Once, twice, then his brow furrows. “Pardon me?”

“Y-your sponge,” you splutter like an idiot as you realize this was not an appropriate time to bring up the sponge. “In the shower. I’m sorry I didn’t…it was the only one, so- ”

“Oh.” Understanding passes over his face, and he looks taken aback for only a split second before he speaks again. “Oh, no. S’alright. I didn’t think about that before I sent you up there. Sorry. You’re good.”

“I rinsed it clean,” you tell him.

He laughs a little breathlessly, and you think you see the tips of his ears hueing a bit red. Clearing his throat, he swipes his used silverware onto his empty plate and stands. The chair squeals across the floor with his sudden movement.

“I ain’t worried about it,” he says, and moves to deposit his dishes in the sink.

Urgently, you scramble to your feet, collecting your own plate and following him. It’s your immediate instinct to take over and begin scrubbing the dishes; so long living on your own that every responsibility fell to you.

You’re stopped by his gentle arm brushing yours, and he shakes his head. “I got the dishwasher workin’ last month. No need.”

“Dishwasher?” you ask, confused.

Joel gestures to a large white door embedded into the cabinets. He reaches down, smooths his large fingers over the material, and pulls. The door draws down, opening to reveal peculiar little rows of racks and baskets.

“Whoa,” you breathe, kneeling down beside it with fascination, “that’s what these things do?”

“You were young when the outbreak hit,” Joel notes, not a question, but more of an observatory reminder. “I’ll bet there’s a lotta shit we used to have that you don’t remember.”

“We had one of these in the QZ,” you say, still transfixed by the inner workings of this dish washer, “but I didn’t know it opened. I thought it was just a weird design thing.”

At this, he bursts out laughing. It’s a bit more vivacious than the dry chuckle he’s been giving you all day, a genuine, pealing laugh that comes from deep within his belly. It’s nice, rumbling in your ears and soothing to your tense shoulders. The timbre of his pleased noises does something odd to you, something calming.

“It takes running water to use,” he explains once his laughter has died down, “that’s why yours never worked. If your QZ was like ours, that is.”

“You were in a QZ?” you look up at him, struck with how massive he seems standing above your kneeling frame.

“Boston.”

“Atlanta.”

“Heard that one ain’t a cakewalk.”

You shake your head. “No, we didn’t have cake.”

His lips twitch. “You don’t know what-”

“I’m fucking with you.” Rolling your eyes, you get to your feet and cross your arms. “I’ve heard of expressions before.”

“Just not dishwashers.”

Annoyed, your hand flies to your waistband, an instinct. You remember your gun is upstairs.

Joel follows the movement of your arm with a disbelieving noise of contempt. “You’re a violent little thing, ain’t you?”

“I didn’t-“

“Where’s the gun you were just reaching for?”

“I left it upstairs,” you admit.

Joel nods approvingly. “I’ll call that progress. Let me load the dishwasher here and I’ll take you up to your room.”

“My room?”

Your room, indeed.

After the dishes have been loaded into this bizarre machine, Joel walks you up the stairs, past the bathroom you used, into a spare bedroom. It’s nice and clean the way the rest of the place is, neat lines and vacuumed rugs. There’s a dresser, and a bed with four posts, a colorful quilt, photos of horses on the walls. It smells like pine.

You haven’t slept in a bed in a very long time.

You tell him as much, stroking the quilt beneath your palm as you approach the bed. It’s sort of itchy, the kind of fabric that has grit to it, but thick enough to keep you warm.

Joel watches you as you investigate the room, perched in the doorway with his ankles crossed and his arms pressed into the frame. “So you made it all the way from Atlanta, to here, on your own?”

“Mhm.” You vault yourself up experimentally on the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath your slight weight. It’s aged, squeaky springs and lumpy spots here and there. The quilt scratches your raw skin and you pull back slightly.

But it’s a bed.

“Must’a been hard,” Joel notes.

You nod in agreement. It was hard. Now it’s over. No use rehashing it.

“Well, m’sure you’re exhausted.” He clears his throat and backs off the doorframe, nodding in your direction. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need...if there’s anythin’ at all...just, I’m here, alright?”

“Thanks.” You offer him a small, unsure smile.

He returns it with ease. “That’s two.”

“Huh?”

Holding up two fingers, he moves from the doorway. “Two smiles. Bet I can get three outta you tomorrow.”

With a scoff, you walk up behind him and place your hand on the door. “Good thing there’s no money for you to lose.”

He grins at this, crooked jaw and curled lip all wicked and teasing. There’s something mischievous about this expression, something so out of character for this stern, fatherly presence that it almost takes your breath away. You can picture him, twenty years younger, a rough-and-tumble young man with a teasing sense of humor and a sharp wit. It’s no surprise at all that someone loved him enough to give him a child, someone loved him enough to make him a father.

Joel is confusing, but he’s also quite simple.

He’s a man who cares, fiercely, for those he loves. He cooks, he cleans, he folds his daughter’s clothes up in a neat little bin in the laundry room. He scrubs with lemon soap and stokes a soothing fire in the mantle. He chews mint leaves when his head hurts, he washes dirty undergarments without being asked.

He also laughs, teases, chokes and leaves you to your own devices if you get on his nerves. Though, his patience seems admirable. He loaded your gun, handed it to you with a live round, even after you’d held a knife to his throat. He’d cooked you dinner, caught you when you fell, walked you to the bedroom so you could get proper rest.

You guess, if you were gonna end up getting choked out by some strange man, you’re glad it was Joel. Joel...huh.

“Hey,” you stop him before he can make for the staircase.

“What?” he asks.

“What’s your last name?”

Joel regards you curiously. “Miller. Joel Miller. What’s yours?”

You tell him your name, and he nods. It takes a quick beat of silence for you to continue, “it’s nice to meet you, Joel Miller.”

He smiles again, softer this time, more genuine. “Likewise, darlin’. Get some sleep.”

With that, he turns his back on you and descends the staircase.

______________________________________________________________________

The days go like this.

You wake up in a bed, scratchy quilt wrapped around your sore, aching body. You hadn’t realized how badly you hurt until you stopped pushing forward.

You climb out of the bed, and pad downstairs in the cold morning brisk of Joel’s house. He’s always up before you. He has a fire going in the mornings, heat wafting off the flicker of orange beneath the mantle, and you curl up beside it with the quilt dragging behind you. He’s out of coffee beans for now, but he makes the both of you a mug of hot tea with roots infused into it, and it’s close enough.

You hold the steaming mug to your chest, itchy quilt pulled up around your body like a coat of armor, and watch the fire. Joel asks why you sit on the floor when there’s a perfectly good couch right behind you.

You tell him you want to be warm. You’ve been cold for so long. He seems to understand.

You help him make breakfast, mystified by the seemingly endless supply of fresh produce he has available. He likes breakfast, says it’s his favorite of the day.

You watch as he cracks fresh eggs into a buttered pan; hear the sizzle of heat against runny yolk and whites, watch as the pools of liquid become firm and strong under the duress. Something soft and pliant, made durable through the forges of fire.

It’s so silly, but you relate to those tough little eggs.

You eat at his kitchen table some days, sometimes on the porch in the cold morning, waving to Jackson residents as they begin their work shifts. It seems like fair trades, a barter system built on community where everyone is taken care of in some way or another. It’s bizarre, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Joel’s brother lives here too, with his wife Maria who runs the council. It’s all very quaint, picturesque.

Joel says it works. He explains patrols, explains the work shift rotation, explains the mess hall and the greenhouses and the bountiful supply of food from gardening and hunting. He likes it here, you can tell, and why wouldn’t he?

He tells you about his life before, little bits at a time delivered while passing you a plate or tucking the corner of your sheet back down on your mattress. The damn thing insists on whipping up everytime he sits on the end of it to talk with you. He tells you about Ellie, how they came together, how she healed his broken parts.

You’re envious. Not of their relationship, but of the fact that his missing pieces somehow came back when you know your own are doomed to be lost forever. You don’t tell him about your past.

You eat. You eat like you’ve never eaten before. Eggs and bacon in the morning, fresh fruit and squeezed juices. Sandwiches for lunch; chicken and lettuce and tomato between thick slabs of bread that Joel makes in his oven. Cold, tart lemonade that tingles on your tongue and smooths down your throat. Hearty, tender meat with potatoes and veggies and soft baked bread.

Joel watches you eat with this look on his face that you can’t quite decipher. It’s an interesting mix between what you think is some sort of pride, tangled up with another confusing emotion that makes him watch you carefully. He eyes the fork as it slides between your lips, watches you sigh in pleasure, adjusts in his seat when you ask for seconds. You aren’t sure if it’s discomfort with you eating all his food or...something more confusing. Though, he says there’s no rush to get into your own place. The council will check in soon and see if you’re ready. But he says there’s no rush.

Either way, you’re full every day now, so full and satiated that you’re starting to forget what hunger feels like.

Well...not completely.

Days turn into a week, and a week to two, and it’s on this two week marker that you walk into the bathroom without knocking.

It’s your fault. The door isn’t locked, but why would it be? Joel’s been living on his own since Ellie moved to her little shed apartment in the backyard. Your presence is a recent one, two weeks not enough time to get out of a routine of comfortability in his own home.

And you, so many months alone on the road, any semblance of privacy was a lost venture. You’ve peed behind trees, bathed in streams, found yourself naked by the fire on late summer evenings while your clothes air-dried. Knocking on doors has taken some time to get used to.

So when you push it open haphazardly, not expecting to see the fully naked man stepping out of the shower, it’s a slight surprise.

Joel freezes, hand on the towel he’s reaching for, body dripping with warm water. It’s a split second, just a moment before you fumble out a frantic apology and slam the door shut.

But not quick enough that you didn’t see everything. Everything.

You stand outside the door, hand on the knob, eyes wide, chest heaving. You try to clear your head of these thoughts, but there’s only one thing you can really focus on.

Joel.

Naked. Droplets slowly dancing down his weathered skin; clinging to the dark hair on his chest, the slope of his full belly, gliding down toward his pelvis. His thick legs, muscled and bulging, arms the same. All of him, wet, breathing hard, and...and not just breathing hard.

God, you’ve never seen one so big before.

Everything about Joel is big. He’s a massive presence. His shoulders are broad, hips wide, thighs sturdy. His neck is thick and lined with veins, same as his wrists and hands. His stature towers over you, and his form exceeds yours in every possible sense.

But...well, you’ve never seen one so big.

It had been too quick, to really be able to tell if he was truly sporting a post-shower boner. You think, maybe a little. But you also think...maybe it’s just that big.

The hair was well groomed, you noted that, though you aren’t sure why. It makes you feel...feral. You haven’t had a shave in months, legs thick with coarse down, the slope of your pelvis protected by a soft bush of hair. Razors were hard enough to get in the QZ. On the road? Non starter. You’re a fuzzy decoration of body hair. Joel’s not exactly smooth, but he looked...groomed.

Why are you self conscious? Why do you care what he might think of the haphazard way you look naked? Why are you comparing your road-torn body to his strong, healthy one?

Why are you imagining what his might feel like against yours? How the scruffy beard on his jaw might scratch and tickle yours like that stupid quilt. How his hands, thick and massive, would cradle your flesh, the pads of his rough thumbs leaving lines of desire down each tendon. How his voice, low and gruff, a buttery drawl, would whisper in your ear. Tell you you’re beautiful, tell you he likes having you here, tell you this is permanent.

That’s enough to snap you out of your stupor. You release the door handle like you’ve been burned, stumbling back away from it. Your breath hitches, eyes feeling warm and wet.

Before you can make a hasty exit, the door opens, and Joel appears under the arch. He’s fully dressed now; dark washed jeans and an olive green t-shirt that clings to his large chest and arms in a way that’s almost unbearable.

For a beat, there’s this silence between the two of you that feels almost tangible. Your throat sticks with it, clogging up any pathetic attempts at breaking the tension. You look at him, fumbling for something to say, something to do, fuck to even move.

“M’sorry,” he begins, averting his eyes, “uh, I-”

“My fault,” is all you can squeak out.

“I shoulda locked the-”

“My fault!” you repeat, like a real eloquent genius. You force a laugh out of your lips, but it sounds more like a manic cry than anything.

Joel’s brow creases, his eyes settling on you with clear concern. “No, s’okay. M Sorry, again. Are you...alright?”

Another manic laugh. “Joel, you’re not that special, I’ve seen naked men before.”

His jaw tenses. “You look upset.”

This is too much. This is all too fucking much. He’s got you all twisted up, all confused. Eating his food, using his sponge, sharing tea with him in the mornings and a leaf of mint at night. Letting him worm his way into your mind, make you feel safe and secure.

This is how pieces go missing; get hacked off. This is how a person becomes whole, and then utterly incomplete.

“I’m… fine,” you manage, “gonna… actually, was just going to tell you. I’m gonna talk to Maria today. Let her know I’m ready to be on my own.”

And it shouldn’t affect you, the way his face falls completely at these words. The way his shoulders deflate, his eyes go soft, his lips draw down and his eyebrows flatten.

You’ve hurt him, you’re hurting him. You don’t know why or how, but this hurts him. Despite the quick composure he sweeps over his expression into one of neutrality, you know. And you shouldn't care. It’s two weeks of nothing. You’ve been on your own most of your life.

“Alright,” Joel says, voice rough.

And it shouldn’t hurt you, the way he easily accepts this. The way he doesn’t fight. You don’t own him, he doesn’t own you, you don’t belong to each other.

Two weeks of meals, late night talks, healing. It’s nothing. To either of you, clearly.

But it does hurt. And that’s exactly why you have to leave.

“Okay,” you reply, swallowing hard.

“Council’s closed today, Sunday,” he explains dryly.

“Then I’ll do it tomorrow,” you snap back, voice going a little defensive. “I can find somewhere to sleep for tonight.”

At that, he rears back like you’ve hit him. “What?”

“To get out of your hair,” you explain, gesturing vaguely.

Joel rolls his eyes, crosses those big arms over his chest, and looks down at you disapprovingly. You shrink a little under his stern gaze, hating yourself for doing it.

“You ain’t in my hair,” he snarls, “I told you there’s no rush. Talk to her tomorrow. Sleep in your bed tonight.”

“It’s not my bed.” You don’t even know why you say it, why you’re arguing. You’re just afraid, angry, at yourself more than anything.

His eyes darken. “Do whatever you want, then.”

He brushes past you and heads down the stairs, not bothering to look back up.

__________________________________________

You do in fact, sleep in your bed that night.

The quilt is scratchier than ever, an incessant discomfort that has you tossing and turning all night. It’s never stopped you from sleeping before, but for some reason, tonight is unbearable. You roll on your side, roll on your stomach, bury your face in the pillow and try not to scream.

You’d skipped dinner tonight, for the first time in two weeks. You didn’t want to see Joel, even when he knocked on the bedroom door to tell you it was ready. Even when you said you weren’t hungry, and his worried voice came through the wood.

“Look, you gotta eat, alright?”

“Not hungry, Joel. Thank you though. Really.”

“Is this about-”

“No, I swear.”

“Please?”

It had been hard to say no to that one.

Now, you lie in a suffocating mess of pillows, stomach growling, feeling utterly pathetic and weak. You used to go days with this feeling, gnawing, desperate hunger in your belly, and you persevered. Now, you’re so fucking spoiled you can’t even go to bed without dinner.

You don’t recognize this person you’re becoming. She’s a stranger, a woman of luxury, of contentment, dare you say happiness. She is not you, but some foreign intruder who’s taken over your body in an attempt to finally rid you of your last intact pieces until you’re nothing. Floating in essence, vanquished into an eternity of emptiness.

You rely on him, you depend on him. He feeds you, worries about you, watches you from the corner of his eye to make sure you’re alright. And you don’t know what to do with that. It makes you feel small, futile, like a burden. You know how to take care of yourself. It’s all you know.

So, you toss and turn.

When sleep comes, it brings with it dreams. Haunting memories, things you’ve tried to keep buried deep inside that small little cavern of your brain where bad things go.

The men come, late at night, in a group of six. You’re young, twelve you think. The outbreak has been going on for four years, and you think you’ve got it all figured out now. You’re going to get to this quarantine zone in Georgia, since your own fell. It’s all gonna be fine. Mom and Dad and your big brother Andrew, they’re here and it’s okay.

You’re trying to sleep, burrowed and shivering cold in your thin sleeping bag. Andrew is sitting beside you, one hand on your upper back, shushing your whimpers quietly. His sixteenth birthday was last week. Mom and Dad couldn’t do much on the road, not like you all used to when there was cake and candles and Spiderman gift wrap. Still, he seems older somehow, the last four years have aged him far more quickly than regular life did before the outbreak.

You’re close to the border, your parents say nearly out of South Carolina. It’s southern here, supposed to be warm, but the nights are brutal and unforgiving in the winter. You’re so used to the cold now you’d think you wouldn’t mind, but it aches your bones, freezes your limbs into a stunted position curled around yourself. You hate the cold, always have.

“You’re okay,” Andrew murmurs quietly, trying not to wake Mom and Dad. It’s his turn to watch. They’ve done rotating shifts for days now, until he put his foot down and demanded they both sleep substantially.

“M’cold,” you whine. You know you’re being a crybaby, and maybe once upon a time he would've teased you for it, but not now. You’re bundled up in your layers and sleeping bag while he sits upright against a tree, his thin windbreaker the only barrier between him and the cold. His gun is laid on his thigh, safety on, facing the opposite direction. Guns are a permanent part of your family’s accessorizing these days.

“I know,” he whispers in reply, “it’ll be warm in Atlanta. Just try to sleep.”

“I’m afraid,” you say, even though you’re embarrassed to admit it.

“Me too,” Andrew says, “but we’re all gonna be fine. We’ve made it this far, hm?”

You nod half-heartedly. “Yeah.”

“As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay. Alright?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Get some sleep.”

“Okay.”

That’s the last thing you ever said to him.

They appeared from the trees, too quiet, too well hidden for Andrew to spot them in time. By the time one of the men got close enough to reach out and yank your sleeping bag up with you in it, he was out of time.

Andrew shot, blindly. He nailed the man who’d scooped you up, and you both fell to the ground. He cried your name, rushing toward you, and then another shot rang out. Andrew hit the dirt with a spurt of red liquid that splattered across your face.

You remember screaming. You remember your parents waking up, frantic. You remember fumbling around on the ground and grabbing Andrew’s gun, only to feel a vice grip on your arm. One of the men grabbed you, while your parents shot and fought off the others. Your mother screamed, and a body hit the ground. You struggled against the man’s hold as his greedy, chapped hands combed your adolescent body to see what of value you had.

“Nothin’ on this one!” he’d shouted, tossing you to the ground like you weighed nothing. Your head hit the hard dirt, and you found yourself even with Andrew’s face. Well, what was left of it.

“The lady had some ammo, there’s some stuff in these packs,” another man replied.

“What do we do with this one?” asked the man who grabbed you.

“Eh, she’ll die out here on her own anyway. Might as well put her out of her misery.”

That was the moment you knew you were going to die.

“Hold it,” another man said, “she’s a fucking kid, just leave her. We got what we needed.”

“Yeah she ain’t worth the bullet,” chimed in another man.

“I’ll choke her out,” one suggested.

“Just leave her,” a more commanding voice ordered, “grab this shit and let’s get going.”

You remember lying there in the darkness, watching the bits of chunky red substance leak from Andrew’s eye socket, waiting for someone to tell you what to do. Waiting for your parents to sit up and give you an order.

The night grew colder. You weren't strong enough to bury them, even move them on your own. For a long time, you just lay there, staring at Andrew. The image burned into your brain forever.

By the time the sun rose, your bones were so cold, lips blue, eyelashes stiff, you felt like you’d died right with them. Four corpses lying unceremoniously on a campsite. Rigor mortis set in early for you, a paralyzing terror of the next steps rendering you utterly immovable.

After a while, you got hungry.

Isn’t it funny, how that’s what motivated you to push your small body away from your brother’s hollowed face? Your own selfish need, your own emptiness, always threatening to swallow you whole.

The walk to Georgia left you breathless a lot. You stumbled, more than walked. Drank from streams the way your parents taught you, foraged for food as best as you could with no weapon besides the little knife holstered in your sock. You hid from infected and more raiders, using your small body to your advantage as much as possible.

When you finally made it to the giant cement wall of the QZ, it felt like you’d lost your breath forever. Your lungs rattled, air came in short, quick bursts, your throat ached from dehydration. Your legs didn’t work, not how they were supposed to.

You remember the FEDRA guards holding guns at you, a scanner to your neck, shoving you through the gates roughly. You remember telling them your family was gone. You remember lasting a week in the orphanage before you ran away, doing odd jobs for older QZ residents in exchange for places to stay.

Mostly, you remember Andrew’s face. You remember the biting cold contrasted with the warm splatter of blood on your face, you remember his insides leaking out, you remember wishing you could scream, but not having enough power in your lungs.

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

You remember knowing that you would never be okay again.

The remembering hurts, restricts your lungs into a tiny little ball in your chest. You struggle to inhale, struggle to fill your sternum with necessary oxygen. It burns, the hunger for air with no satisfaction. The emptiness consumes you.

You gasp, you see Andrew’s face, it hurts, everything hurts.

Alone on a campsite, alone in the woods, alone in the QZ, alone on a cross-country trek, alone in a cold gas station.

A warm fire, mint on your tongue, tart lemonade down your throat, food in your belly. A dry chuckle in your ears, a steadying hand on your back, a comforting presence beside you.

Alone. Afraid. Broken. A burden. Couldn’t save your family, could barely save yourself-

A burden.

Alone.

Broken.

“Hey.”

A voice, low and urgent. Familiar, gentle but concerned.

You gasp.

Alone.

Burden.

Broken.

“Hey,” more insistent this time, “hey, wake up honey.”

You gasp, your body freed from its rigor mortis as you bolt upright, air circulating through your lungs like a broken fan blade. Your hands fly out, a desperate attempt to shield your face from whoever is currently saying your name.

“...breathe, breathe,” he’s saying to you, a little frantic, “s’okay, you’re okay, breathe.”

“Please,” you wheeze, but you don’t know what you’re begging for. There are tears in your voice, a fragile broken blossom of desperation.

“I know, I know baby, s’okay,” he’s touching you now, delicate fingers tracing up and down the protruding knobs of your spine. “Listen to my voice, darlin’. Take a deep breath for me, s’gonna be okay, I promise.”

You try to follow his example, try to steady your breathing to an even pace. He’s doing it for you, showing you how, patiently inhaling in a slow motion and letting it go in one soft exhale.

“I-I can’t,” you gasp, feeling hopeless, helpless, pathetic and like a burden in every sense of the word.

“Shh, yes you can honey. In, with me now, in.”

He inhales, slow, lowering himself to look up at your trembling frame perched on the bed. The sheet’s come up, the fading cream color of the mattress almost too bright in the dark room. Pale moonlight illuminates Joel’s face, scruffy beard, wrinkles around his gentle eyes, broad nose. His lips part, and he breathes in, keeping gaze with you.

You follow suit, inhaling in a choppy, half-hearted attempt at the smooth breath he’d accomplished.

“That’s good darlin’,” he nods at you, even though you know it wasn’t good. “You’re doin’ so good. Breathe out.”

You exhale in a stunted whoosh.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “keep goin’.”

With his hand on your back, rubbing slowly, delicately, you fight to steady your breaths. Your eyes are wet, your lips trembling, his voice soothing in your ears. He’s saying all these things, all these nice, lovely, wonderful things that people don’t say to you.

“Attagirl, good job.”

“S’okay honey, you’re doin’ good, just breathe.”

“You’re okay, you’re safe, promise, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ hurt ya.”

Mercifully, you come back into your body, chest expanding the way it’s supposed to. Your fingers unclench from the tangled up sheets, aching from how tightly you’d been gripping.

Through a curtain of hair, you draw your eyes to him. He’s still there, rubbing your back, murmuring sweet nothings, keeping his own breathing steady.

Still there. He’s still there. You aren’t alone.

“Joel,” you gasp, and he moves toward you in an instant.

Large, warm arms pull you in. His chest, thick through his t-shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a rhythm in your ear. His chin at the crown of your head, his breath in your ears. You curl up like that useless little girl in a sleeping bag, and cling to his shirt.

“M’here,” he whispers, “you’re okay, honey. Was just a dream.”

He’s here. He’s warm. He’s here and you’re safe and not alone. Four walls around you, a quilt underneath your cold legs, a kitchen full of food just down the stairs.

Panic leaks into your veins, memories of the road, cold and lonely and frightening.

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

You want to tell him you’re afraid. You want to admit it; be forthcoming about just how damaged you are. You want to tell him just how heavily you’ve come to rely on his steadying presence, his warm food, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkle up and his teeth show when you make him happy.

You’re so, so scared. So alone, so petrified, not at all as tough as you’d like him to think.

But the last time you admitted you were afraid, you lost everything in the blink of an eye. Your own weakness, always your undoing.

“You’re okay,” Joel says into your hair, not realizing he’s speaking empty words into a hollow recipient, “I gotcha. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You can’t tell him how badly you want him to stay. That will only make him leave.

“Joel,” you repeat, breathless, unsure of what else to say.

“M’here honey.” He reaches down with one hand, cups your face in the rough of his palm, strokes his thumb over the delicate line of your cheekbone. And you feel safe.

Desperately, you lift your own trembling hands, taking his cheeks in them. He seems surprised, but doesn’t pull back, allowing you to explore with your own frail fingers. You trace the bridge of his large nose, the slope of his full lips, the broad jaw and stern forehead. His eyelashes flutter, and you move yourself closer, cradled in his arms, faces only inches apart.

“M’here,” is all he says. And you must be tired of hearing it, surely you must, but you can’t find that anywhere within yourself. All you feel is safe.

You don’t know exactly how it happens. Your face moves, his does too, hurried breaths and warmed air between you. His lips press into yours, soft and lush and tender. You don’t know who leaned in first, but you feel his caution, his carefulness as you deepen the kiss from something superficial to something that has meaning.

He allows you to part his mouth with your tongue, falling into one another as your noses bump. His grip tightens around you, and you’re awash in the smell of lemon soap and mint, the itch of the quilt beneath you, the squeak of a mattress underneath your combined weight.

After a few seconds, your lips part. Your noses touch, the frame of your foreheads making a heart against the shadows of moonlight through your window. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused, yet unbelievably gentle all at once. It’s as though his grasp is a shield, impenetrable and solid. You’ve never felt so safe, so cared for, so protected.

And so, so scared.

Now that you’re here, safe and cocooned in this warm house, this gentle society, the arms of this incredible man…

How can you ever let yourself love something that would hurt so badly if it were lost? You’ve done it before. You can’t do it again.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Joel rasps, thumb still soothing small lines over your cheek.

You shake your head quickly, but the words spill out as if in spite of your body’s intentions. “Just… mm. My parents. My brother. Just-that’s all.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, “what…can I ask what-”

“Raiders. I was twelve.”

At this, he looks down at your face, brows furrowed. “You saw it?”

��Yeah, I got away. They let me go, I mean. After some debate.” You clear your throat, breathing settled and eyes drying with each word. You’re feeling grounded enough to be utterly humiliated. “Um, I’m really sor-”

“I know you ain’t about to apologize for havin’ a nightmare,” he interjects dryly.

“More for what happened afterward,” you mutter.

Joel’s fingertips tuck a lock of hair back behind your ear, even though it falls right back out again. “Now why on earth are you apologizin’ for that?”

Because I can’t stay.

Limply, you shrug.

He laughs, that low, dry sound. It smooths from his chest like a bass drum, reverberating in your ears. And you smile in spite of yourself, a small, gentle pull of your lips. You love making him laugh.

“Sorry I barged in,” Joel says, even though he’s still holding you in his lap like a stray dog.

“S’okay. Thanks for…thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me.”

“Be kinda rude if I didn’t.”

His lips twitch. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Okay.”

“Did you do that just now…kiss me…’cause you wanted to, or ‘cause you were upset?”

Swallowing thickly, you reply, “can it be both?”

“If it’s both, it’s both.”

“That’s fucking vague,” you grouse.

“Pot, meet kettle.” He smirks down at you.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” you say.

“Don’t be,” he responds, “I’m not.”

You have nothing to say to that.

“You oughta get some rest.” Joel squeezes you once, then moves like he’s going to get up and leave.

Your fingers dart out to clench his shirt, gripping the soft cotton in vice like digits. Wild-eyed, you look up at him, terrified of being alone, terrified of seeing Andrew’s face again all night.

“Hey, easy.” Joel pries your fingers off his shirt. “You alright?”

“I-I-“ you stumble over the words, throat choking up. It’s all so confusing. You need to be away, pull back, stop this before it goes too far. At the same time, you’ve never needed to be close quite this badly.

“I can,” he answers a question you didn’t ask, “if you want.”

Limply, you nod.

“Go on then, scoot.” Joel gestures for you to make room on the bed, and you do. He adjusts the pillows and lies flat, opening his arm for you. You curl up at his side, cheek on his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat underneath the cotton shirt. He smells like lemon soap, and a faint musk of sweat from sleeping. It’s enticing, the mixture, and you don’t know why.

You press your face into his shirt, breathing in the security that this strange man somehow brings. You don’t know when the shift happened from him being a man you wanted to stab, to this, but it’s happened now. It’s too late to deny this: Joel means something to you.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” you tell him quietly.

He hesitates. “You…didn’t say nothin’ bad. That was always the plan, for you to go out on your own darlin’.”

He’s right of course, that was the plan. For the past two weeks, all you’ve been doing is letting him take care of you. The end goal, ultimately, to help you become a functioning Jackson resident.

“But can I ask?” He continues, voice low and soft in the dark bedroom.

“Yeah?”

“Do you…do you want to leave? S’okay whatever you wanna do baby, just… that is what you want, right? To be on your own?”

As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.

No, no, no I don’t want to be alone. Ever again. I want to stay with you forever.

“Yes,” you lie. It’s a lie. You’re so afraid. Why can’t you just tell him the truth? Why can’t you just let someone in? If it’s gonna be anyone…well, it’d be someone like Joel.

No. Not someone like Joel. Just Joel.

“So all that time on the road,” he adjusts your body slightly, tugging you up higher on his chest so that his chin rests on your head, “didn’t make you lonesome?”

An ache in your chest, sharp and spearing overwhelms you. “It-it did.”

“N’you like bein’ lonesome?”

The lie is on the tip of your lips before he says, “be honest, honey.”

“No,” you say, shoulders deflating.

“It’s hard,” he whispers, “lettin’ people in when you lost so much before. Believe me darlin’ I get that.”

“Then you know why I have to leave,” you tell him, desperate that he’ll understand, but also hoping that he’ll argue against it.

“I know why you think you gotta leave,” he corrects.

“This isn’t good for you anyway,” you’re shaking your head as you speak, fingers splayed out on his chest, “I’m a burden to you.”

At that, he manages a small, dry chuckle. You look at him, confused by what’s made him laugh.

“Honey, havin’ you here…well, I think I needed it just as much as you did. You got no idea how much I like watchin’ you eat what I cook, listenin’ to you hum in the shower ‘cause you’re too shy to sing, watchin’ you curl up by the fireplace with that damn quilt around your head like a sherpa.” His fingers come down to cup your jaw, tracing the line of bone that leads to the curve of your chin, up to the bow in your lips. “How nice it is havin’ a pretty girl around to talk to, someone smart, someone funny, someone who’s like me.”

“Like you?” you inquire.

“Mhm.” He presses the pad of his thumb against your lips, parting them slightly as he uses his finger to study the contours of your mouth. “Someone hurt, someone who thought they had no chance in this world. Someone who can get better, if she lets herself.”

Your throat feels tight. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re already doin’ it, baby.” He tilts your chin up with the meat of his palm, looking down at you through the silver streaks of moonlight. “Every day you get up, eat breakfast, and keep goin’. That’s all it is. Takin’ it one day at a time. Takin’ care of yourself. Letting yourself get better, slow n’ steady.”

You blink up at him, trying to process his words. You guess he has a point; two weeks ago you barely felt human, didn’t feel like you could ever belong in a place like Jackson, or somewhere like Joel’s home. But lately, through these routines of care, you’ve begun to feel…alive again. Still agonized by loss, still hopeless and confused and frightened, but something more than that too.

“You don’t gotta stay,” he assures you, “not if you don’t want to. But don’t go just ‘cause you’re scared. Ain’t no reason to punish yourself. Not when I like havin’ you around so much.”

“What if you get tired of having me around?” you ask weakly. It’s no far stretch; every other short term partner you’ve ever had got sick of you after enough time. Every adult you roomed with in the QZ kicked you out sooner or later. Nothing is permanent, especially not people.

“You think I could at least get a chance to prove myself ‘fore you go ahead and write me off?” He smiles down at you, hand still cupping your cheek. “I actually ain’t all that bad a guy.”

“No, no,” you’re quick to reassure, “Joel, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. You are- you are a good guy. It isn’t that, it’s-”

“It’s not you, it’s me, honey, that one’s a little played out.” There’s gentle amusement in his voice.

With a groan, you start to pull away. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, m sorry.” he pulls you back in, gentle but demanding, and you concede, all too eager to lay against his warm chest. “All I'm sayin’ is, no one’s asking you for your hand in marriage or nothing. Just…stick around for a while. Let me make sure you’re real healthy, ready to go. Get some meat on these bones. Get you feelin’ good. Might take some time. Two weeks ain’t much.”

“I’ve got meat,” you defend.

He snorts. “Me too.”

“Joel-”

“S’gonna take time, that’s all I’m sayin’. Just, stay, alright? Let yourself…have this.” Joel presses a firm kiss to the top of your head.

Finally, you exhale and find yourself nodding. Although it’s against your instincts, and better judgment, you know he has a point. How can you ever get better if you don't give yourself the opportunity?

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you admit, “I’ve never really…been a person before. Y’know what I mean?”

He makes a quiet noise of consideration. “Gimme an example.”

“Like, the apple juice,” you explain in a rambly sort of voice, “or the dishwasher. I don’t know how to do things like you do. I mean, fuck, I walked in on you in the shower today.”

At that, he clears his throat. You must be imagining it, but you’re sure you can hear some sort of…something in the noise.

“That kinda stuff takes time,” he replies quietly, “s’okay.”

You arch an eyebrow. “What else am I missing then?”

“You’d have to tell me that, honey.”

Abruptly, you remember his body, naked and wet from the shower. Something about him is so desirable; whether it’s simply the masculinity of his form; hairy and strong, the impressive endowment between his legs or something else, you aren’t sure. Could it be that he’s simply an attractive man, who’s kind and thoughtful and funny? Of course.

Could it be that everything about Joel represents what you’ve always wanted? The security of this home he’s created, the warmth of his fireplace and the way he’d thought to set out mint leaves for you to chew on? The heft of his body; his large shoulders, his thick thighs, his soft stomach, well fed and dense with nutrition. He is whole, broken pieces glued back together painstakingly to build back up this incredible man. This beacon of recovery, healing, strength and happiness.

What are you missing? Everything that Joel has, it would seem. The chance to finally become the way he is… to be okay again.

And…well, it’s also been a while since you had a good fuck. That wouldn't hurt either.

The thought is so ridiculous, so sudden and inappropriate, that it makes you laugh. A real laugh; a genuine, deep-chested sound of amusement that has Joel pulling back with surprise.

“Somethin’ funny?” he inquires, arching an eyebrow at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“No, m’sorry.” You press your fingers against your lips in a pathetic attempt to stifle the laughter. “So stupid.”

“What?” he demands.

“No it’s- god Joel it’s so ridiculous I can’t-”

“Oh, just tell me damnit.”

“I was just thinking, you know, what might help make me feel normal again. Haven’t had it in a while…” you look up at him expectantly.

It takes a moment for the message to land in his brain, and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. I-I see.”

“Yeah…” you clear your throat quietly.

“Well, shit honey. All y’had to do was ask.”

Your eyes widen. “Pardon me?”

He takes your face in his hand again, tilting your chin and gently pulling your body until you’re face to face, noses brushing. His lips twitch, eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones as he studies your face.

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “ain’t nobody proposing marriage or nothin’. But there’s no reason you can’t…enjoy yourself. If you want to, that is.”

“You…we…are you sure?”

“Ain’t nothin’ you haven’t already seen,” he quips.

You groan. “Joel.”

A low chuckle in his chest. “Sorry baby.”

“If you’re just gonna tease me the whole time, then you can go fuck yours-”

Your retort is cut off by his lips pressing into yours, and you startle a bit, though you don’t pull back. Your body melts, tension leaking out of your shoulders at the feel of his gentle mouth on yours.

And you’re consumed. There’s nothing else in that moment except for Joel.

His mouth on yours, his tongue pressing forward until it parts your lips. His body, thick and warm against your chest. The tangle of his graying hair, the way his breath grows more heavy when you intertwine your fingers with it and tug. His hands, one cupping your cheek, keeping you close, the other delicately beginning to roam your body.

And maybe it’s wrong; hooking up with him on the heels of a horrific nightmare about losing your family, or doing it after you told him you were going to leave, or doing it at all considering you barely know each other outside of these serene, isolated two weeks of eating and sitting by the fire and laughing.

But you want him, and he’s good and you want to be a person again. You want to eat meals and drink tea and sleep with a quilt and fuck often. You want to ride a hard dick, suck on a thick, veiny cock, be caged in an embrace of big bulging arms, hear the guttural moan of a man in your ear as he cums.

It’s a hunger, like any other. The way your stomach growled and gnawed for the relief of a hot meal, your body yearned to be filled too. That warm, wet space between your legs, at times so empty and vacant you thought you might just die from the need. Fulfillment, desperate for it in all its forms. Yearning, hunger, pleas to live a life where such simple pleasures are not only permitted, but taken with ease.

It won’t make you whole, it won’t heal your scars or fix your wounds. It won’t change what’s happened or secure your future.

But for a while, no matter how fleeting, it’s going to fill you up.

Isn’t that enough for someone who’s spent so long being hungry?

“C’mere,” he murmurs, so gentle, so soft, that it’s impossible not to do as he asks. You let him readjust you so you’re sitting on his lap, slender thighs spread around his thick ones, arms hanging off his neck, foreheads pressed together as he hungrily meets your lips again. He’s warm, heat radiating off his large body, and you instinctively lean in.

“Gonna make you feel good,” Joel’s words are muffled by the skin of your jaw as he leaves lingering kisses there, slowly traveling down to your neck. His tongue flicks delicately at the column of your throat, eliciting a small moan from your lips.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched…

“God, you’re so pretty baby.” His fingers slide into the neckline of your nightshirt, which is really just one of his. It’s so large on you that you wear it as more of a dress, the only thing guarding your intimate areas from the outside world is your solitary pair of underwear, that’s been washed to death as you wait for more fabric to come into Jackson’s seamstress to make more. You’ve been going commando a lot.

It’s your immediate instinct to argue; you haven’t been pretty for a while, you’re not sure if ever. Survival is all you know; not caring for yourself or putting effort in to appear beautiful.

But what’s the point, anyway? He’s here, he’s seen you for what you are, and he wants to make you feel good. What does it matter if you’re pretty?

Though… you do like the way it sounds coming off his lips.

“Can I…” his lips explore the small patch of skin on your neck that’s exposed above the shirt, “can I take this off, honey?”

He’s tugging lightly on the shirt, asking your permission, even though in every way you’ve really already given it. You hesitate only briefly, concerned about the state of your sickly body. Then, you nod.

Calloused hands moving with a practiced tenderness, he bunches the shirt up at the hem and carefully slides it over your head, exposing your breasts and abdomen. You hear his sharp intake of breath, feel the warmth of it washing over your skin, and for a moment you’re paralyzed with fear.

He doesn’t like what he sees. How could he? You’ve become something inhuman. Scars, bones poking through flesh, discolored bruises. You’re something so ugly and unsightly that-

“Jesus, baby, you’re beautiful.” The pad of his hand smooths out to cup your breast, his thumb brushing elegantly over the bud of your nipple, which is rapidly coming to life from the sensation. “Lookin’ so healthy these days, so so pretty. You feel better?”

Robotically, you nod. “Y-yeah.”

“Love gettin’ to feed you, baby. Watchin’ you eat my food, gettin’ healthy n’soft.” He leans in, cradling your back to keep you upright as his warm lips explore the expanse of your chest, kissing down your sternum until he replaces his thumb on your nipple with his mouth.

And he’s right, you think as you look down critically at your form. You’ve put on weight, surely not enough, not yet. But… you’re softer now, edges rounded out to a more gentle plush, knobby knees more full, bony hips more tender, slender thumb joints smoothed out.

And you do feel better. Not dizzy or aching all the time, not sore or struggling to sleep from the pain, not burning from dehydration or growling from hunger.

You’re almost there, almost as full as a person can be. So, so close.

“I like it too,” you breathe, the last word pitching up with a surprised noise as his teeth graze across your nipple. A pleasant, but unexpected motion.

“That okay honey?”

“Mmm…yes…”

“Gonna make you so soft n’happy,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than you, you think, “gonna take care a’you.”

“Okay,” you whimper, pliant in ways you’ve never been with a partner before.

You aren’t sure why, because he’s just sitting there, kissing you and holding you and telling you all of these kind things, but you feel the pooling of tension in your lower belly and the beginnings of a wet patch on your panties. It’s bizarre; other than teasing your nipple he hasn’t done much in the way of sexual advances, yet from his touch and his words alone, you need him.

And you didn’t imagine it, that his cock was big. You can feel it beneath your spread thighs, through his boxers and sweatpants, the thick girth and diamond hard weight of it pressing into the fabric.

The heat between your legs feels almost unbearable now, the growing need and tension from his ministrations of your nipple spurring you on. Your fingers tangle in the wavy hair atop his head, and you feel his lips curve into a smile around your breast.

“Mind if I take this off?” he asks, removing his lips from your skin to tug at his own shirt. You nod quickly, eagerly, watching him slide it over his head.

In the soft glow of moonlight, the contours of his body are illuminated like the artful scenes of a movie. The tendons and muscle in his large arms, bulging and pulsing each way he moves, the clench of his jaw beneath his well-groomed beard, the mapping of dark hair over his thick chest. His stomach is full, wide and round and healthy, a sturdy man in every sense of the word. A big, meaty body to match that huge cock in his pants. It’s only fitting, you think as you admire the large score of his body. He’s scarred too, like you are, the lines and wrappings of a survivor beaten into his flesh.

“Ain’t as trim as I used to be,” he remarks offhandedly, though you think you sense a beat of hesitation in his words.

Your delicate fingers trail between his pecs, smoothing the hair down there until you reach the place beneath his belly button where the hair connects to his boxers. You tug experimentally at the hemline of his pants, eyeing the desperate thing there that begs to be freed. You watch his breathing pace up, his stomach and chest moving in synchrony with each hurried breath.

So big, so full and warm and secure. Solid and strong, an impenetrable wall around you.

“You’re perfect,” you tell him, and you don’t just mean his body.

He ducks his head then, surely embarrassed by the praise, and buries his face in your neck once more. His lips and teeth graze the skin there, sucking and biting and kissing, leaving little wet spots as he moves along.

His large hands grip your hips then, lifting you with such ease it’s almost startling. He heaves you upward and then gently lays you on your back, head against the mound of pillows pushed up on the headboard. Your legs splay out before you and he positions himself above, careful not to lower his weight on to yours.

His lips return to your neck, dancing slowly down between your breasts, kissing the scarred flesh of your stomach and hips, teeth bumping into the cotton of your panties. His eyes dart up to you when he reaches them, eyebrow quirking. A question. He’s asking for permission.

You nod, too eager you’re sure.

“So pretty…” he breathes, pressing his lips to the wet fabric of your panties, eyes closing as he tastes the flowing liquid through the cotton. “‘Bout lost my cool when I saw these little things hangin’ off your pack, darlin’. Wondered what they’d look like on you, wondered what they’d look like off you…” He kisses the wet patch again, which makes your legs tense up, and slides his finger into the hemline, murmuring thoughtfully.

“Don’t fit so good anymore,” he notes, and you realize he’s right. There’s a pinch of fabric at your thigh that wasn’t there before, the mark of underwear too tight. It leaves little indents on your skin when he pulls at it, angry red marks that line the contours of your body.

“You’ve been feeding me too much,” you manage.

He chuckles at this, deep and throaty. “I think we can do better, even.”

With that, he carefully glides the panties down your legs, the stickiness of your arousal clinging to the cotton until he finally separates it from your ankles. He holds it up, admiring the damp fabric. He balls it up in his hand, and then presses it to his nose with a deep, hungry inhale.

You blink, surprised. You’ve never had a partner…do that before.

Joel’s eyes open, underwear still pressed to his nose and mouth. You can see the twitch of his jaw, the smile on his lips even though it’s hidden by your wet underwear, and it does something odd to you.

He wants you so bad, is so hungry for you that he’s taking in every piece he can, breathing in your smell, your taste, even where it clings to the underwear that used to fit you and no longer does.

It makes you need, the way he wants you. It makes you ache desperately, makes you yearn and hunger for him too. Being wanted, being desired, it’s not something you’re used to.

“Smell so nice, honey,” Joel mutters, “bet you taste even better. So sweet, so wet.” He lowers himself between your legs, grabbing your thighs in his large hands, fingers pressing into the meat.

It’s a reflex for your legs to tighten up, tension pooling at the sight of a relatively new man between them. He pauses, noticing your trepidation, and glances up at you without moving forward.

“Hey, you okay honey?” his voice is measured, composed.

You nod.

“You sure? Talk to me baby, I gotta make sure you’re alright. You here with me?”

“I want you,” you manage, “please, Joel, I want it.”

“I’ll take real good care of ya’,” he promises you in that low, sultry drawl, “be real gentle. Treat you real nice.”

You’re nodding, already lost in whatever it is he plans to do to you. You feel a brief stab of insecurity for the state of your body hair, and you want to tell him as much, but you’re afraid it’ll kill the moment.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either way, lips pressing into your inner thighs, seeming completely heedless of the thick hair there. He pulls your body closer, gripping your hips in his strong hands, bringing your dripping cunt closer.

Joel’s head drops down, lips covering a delicate pattern on your lower belly, gliding easily over the soft hair on your pelvis, finding his mouth at your lips. Experimentally, he smooths his tongue over the wet slit there, glancing up when the action makes you inhale sharply.

His eyes are teasing, mouth quirked up in a small smile. Teasing, cocky, mischievous.

“You’re g-gonna have to do better than that,” you tell him with a small curve to your lips.

“There’s that smile,” he muses, before burying his face between your legs again.

And there’s no ability to think of anything else, because he’s there. His tongue, expert and well practiced, running whirlpool motions over the bud of your clit, sucking and kissing and licking hungrily at the dripping bellow of your opening.

Every sense is alight, each breath you take heavy with elation. The bundle of nerves between your lips is in overdrive, tensing and pulsing with desperate need as he gets you closer and closer. His tongue works miracles, the speed altering at just the right moment, switching his motions at just the right interval, lapping up your sopping liquids with his tongue like a starving man at a buffet.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby girl,” he groans into your wet folds, “such a pretty little cunt, so wet and soft for me.”

“For you…” you echo in a whine, fists gripping the sheet that’s come up off the mattress again.

The noises are obscene, the wet squelch of his tongue against your body, the almost frantic way he devours you. Hands holding your trembling legs in place despite the way you tense and move from the sensations, face buried against your wet center, the mess of liquid dampening his face and your thighs and the sheets underneath.

You cum with a whining cry, a noise you didn’t know a person like you could make. It’s an innocent sound really, despite the debaucherous context. A noise of pure, primal pleasure, ripped from deep within your chest, a release and elation you haven’t felt in…you’re not sure if ever.

Knees clenched around his head, you’re expecting him to pull back now that you’ve gushed more fluid onto his face. But dutifully, he keeps eating. He drinks you in, the overstimulated, swollen clit beneath his lips is begging for relief, pleading to rest, but he doesn’t let it.

Joel is hungry, and he won’t leave until he’s satisfied. Until you’re both satisfied.

“Taste so good when you cum for me,” he breathes when he pulls his lips back for air, “so sweet n’wet. Cum on my face, darlin’, do it again. Wanna eat you, all of you. So wet f’me baby.”

You think you cry his name, you aren’t sure, but you rip your fingers through his thick hair, tighten your thighs around his face, tears budding at the corners of your eyes from the ruthless sensation between your legs.

Then, a thick finger, gentle and careful probing at your entrance. He slides it in just a bit, moving with caution and curiosity. You buck your hips toward him eagerly, the desperate clench of your wet cunt around nothing is almost too much to bear.

Slight relief as he glides his finger in all the way, pumping it gently in and out, back and forth to get a feel for the tightness of your slick walls. It’s been so long since anyone touched you this way, since you had anything substantial inside you, and Joel’s got the biggest fingers of any man you’ve ever met.

“That feel good baby?” he grunts as his lips ghost over your pulsing clit and his index finger smooths inside of you, “hurtin’?”

“No, good, good,” you pant.

“Good girl, attagirl.” He kisses your clit again and your hips buck once more, but he pins them down with his other hand. A second finger inside of you, matching the pace of his first, stretching you around the thick width of his digits. Preparing you for what’s to come, the massive, hard cock that’s going to spear you against the headboard.

Fuck, fuck.

“Joel,” you groan his name, feeling his fingers curl up in a crude little gesture inside you, coursing against your walls, brushing up against that place that makes you feel like you’re going to erupt. “Joel, Joel….”

He hums a low sound, lips and tongue still violently, rhythmically devouring your wet cunt. Between the pulsing thickness of his fingers, and the circular motions of his tongue on your clit, it’s not long before you white out. The pleasure is too intense, too sudden and overwhelming. It’s too much, too much, more than you’ve ever had before.

Tears track down your cheeks against your will, your chest heaves with desperate, panting breaths. Your fingers have gone numb from their vice grip on the sheets, legs aching as they spread around his head to give him easier access, not a shred of resistance in your body as you submit to his expert touch.

And it happens again, more intense this time. A black film teases the corners of your eyes, a devastatingly intense pooling in your stomach and through your cunt, a pulsing, thready explosion of pleasure bursting through you.

You soak his face, legs jerking, hips convulsing, voice raw from crying out. The feeling is so intense that it dizzies you, your head floating off your body and spinning into a whirlwind somewhere in outer space.

Joel licks it all up, tongue dragging across your drenched inner thighs, gliding across the shimmering wet slit of your lips, sucking on the raw skin until it’s nearly unbearable. Then, his wet mouth is moving, kissing up your thighs, the slope of your hips, your stomach and your breasts, sucking on your nipples and cupping them in his rough palms.

Once he reaches your ear, teeth grazing the lobe, voice gruff, he whispers, “you with me, baby?”

You whine a small sound, feeble and needy. You feel the curve of his lips into a smile where they’re pressed into your ear, and he kisses your temple, lingering there.

“M’gonna take these off, hm?” he slides a hand down toward his sweats, where you can see the large, intimidating shape of his hard dick outlined.

God, you need it, you need it like you’ve never needed anything in your life. So many years spent hungry, never realizing just how painful it could truly be to want something and be empty of it.

Your pulsing, desperate pussy aches for him, dripping with the evidence of his prowess. Your thighs clench around nothing, pleading, begging, needing to be filled with whatever he can give you.

Joel slides the pants off, boxers following suit, and your eyes widen a bit at the sight of his large cock springing forward. There’s a well-groomed crop of hair at the nape, heavy, even balls framing the thick protrusion of his shaft. The tip, angry and red, dripping with his need.

“Joel, let me-” you make a move to take it in your mouth, but he stops you with a gentle shush.

“No baby, just you tonight.” He lowers himself back above you, the hard tip just barely brushing your sopping cunt.

A synchronized moan fills the air, both of you shuddering at the teasing contact. Holding himself upright on his thick, powerful arms, he lowers his forehead to yours, noses bumping. His lips ghost against your own, and you kiss him greedily, whining into the touch as his dick presses against you once more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, “you wan’ me to fuck you, honey?”

You nod desperately.

“Talk to me, honey.” His lips press delicately right beside your mouth, smoothing his large nose over the supple skin of your cheek. “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“I-I want you,” you croak, voice frail and shattered, “want you inside me, Joel. Want you to fuck me. Fill me up, fill me with you. Please, please. I need it.”

He smiles down at you, no trace of teasing or mischief there, only a genuine, earnest warmth. Gradually, his hips roll into you, pushing just the slightest bit of him inside. You shudder, gasping at the beginning of the stretch.

“Gotta go slow, honey,” he breathes, eyes closing as if in concentration, “don’ wanna hurt you.”

“N-no, I don't care,” you insist.

“I do, baby. Gonna take care of you, promised. I got you. I got you. You’re safe with me.” His lips warm against your collarbone, kissing wetly there as his hips inch forward, shoving more of himself inside.

The stretch is intense, painful despite how wet and glistening you are for him. The head of his cock, fat and dripping, grunts into you with restrained desperation. His thighs push forward, hips moving slowly, slowly, giving you time to adjust, giving you all the focus and care and attention.

Finally, mercifully, he bottoms out, both of you groaning out a noise of agonized want. Your thighs are speared apart by his wide body, balls of your feet digging into his lower back. His arms cage you in, one hand flat on the mattress to prop himself up, careful not to put any of his massive weight on your light frame, the other touching you. Your breasts, your cheek, your hair, your lips, every part of you he can see he explores while he allows you to adjust to the heavy weight of his dick inside of you.

It’s huge, spreading you and stretching you so intensely that you’re grateful for his godlike patience. You feel it bumping up inside, tip scraping the mouth of your womb, almost enough that you swear you could touch it through your belly.

“So big, Joel,” you tell him, your voice a thready imitation of your usual cadence, “so big n’strong…so nice…”

“I got you baby,” he cups your cheek, bending his body down to kiss you lightly. The movement sheaths his cock forward inside, and you both groan.

“Please,” you beg, “please fuck me…please fill me up. Want you to fill me with your cum. Keep me full forever.”

“Fuck, fuck, honey girl,” he bites at your lip, pulling hard between his teeth until he draws blood. He licks across the soft pink flesh, taking more of you into him; the thin red line decorating his tongue before he swallows it up like a good boy.

Then, his hips grind into yours and you let out a shrill noise, a wounded animal crying out. He moves, slowly at first, allowing your body to stretch around him, getting used to the impact of his impressive girth.

Quickly, he picks up the pace.

You’re begging at this point, nails raking down his thick back, teeth gritting into the hot meat of his shoulder, feet forcing his hips into you. He grunts your name, spits curses into the soft flesh of your neck, grinds and pounds his hips against yours so hard it feels as though he really could split you in two.

But split, you do not. Rather, you become more. Full, whining and screaming his name, sated and hungry all at once. Desperate and satisfied simultaneously. A hungry, soaking little mess underneath this massive man. This man who at first glance, had tried to kill you, a favor you quickly returned.

A man who’s done nothing for the past two weeks but try to make you whole. A man giving you all the pieces of himself he can spare to try and mend your broken ones. A man who knows what it’s like to fall apart and be put back together again.

He sees you; scarred flesh, fear, loneliness, all your worst, all you have, and he takes you as his own.

“Goddamnit,” he growls into your skin, “so fuckin’ tight baby, so good…so wet f’me…so tight, fuckin’ gripping me baby.”

Your nails dig deeper into his back, which only seems to spur him on. His hips somehow continue their breakneck pace, pounding against your deepest point so hard that it makes your head feel floaty all over again.

“Feel so good, you okay baby?” his lips against your skin are slurred, sloppy and greedy.

You nod, nod your head so fast you feel dizzy, and he laughs a little breathlessly. Then, you feel the rough pad of his thumb move from your face down to your clit.

You do white out then, with the combination of his hard, massive dick spearing you against the pillows, and the grind of his thumb against your swollen clit. The sensations are overwhelming, so intense, too intense. Your legs clench around his waist, and you let out a low, guttural scream.

“Fuck,” Joel gasps, eyes shutting as his rolling hips grow sloppier, less rhythmic, “fuck baby, fuck, fuck you just came all over my cock. God, so fuckin’ tight, so good so good honey, m’gnonna-fuck-”

And you’re full. The hunger, the emptiness, it all fades away in that instant.

Joel empties himself inside you, cock jerking and pulsing against your throbbing walls. He groans deep in his throat, cursing and grunting as he fills you up, liquid gushing out over your pelvis and thighs.

It takes a few moments for both of you to come down, his spent cock still sheathed inside your warmth. He hovers over you, and you feel one of his hands cup your cheek, fingers tracing slow lines across the bridge of your nose.

“Baby,” he breathes raggedly, “talk to me.”

“M’fine,” you assure him, though you feel like you’re on another planet.

“You sure? Everythin’ okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“You’re stupid,” you tell him.

At that, he snorts. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

He moves to detangle himself from you, but your legs clench around him, arms clasping desperately around his neck. He’s so warm, so solid and safe, and you’re so full.

“They used to have a word for this,” he muses quietly, jerking his chin toward the cage of your legs around his waist, “think they called it baby trappin’.”

“As if you couldn’t get off right now if you wanted,” you mutter.

“Already did that, sweet.”

“Okay, you know what, get the f-”

He presses into you again, and you’re silenced by the low moan that slips from your mouth at the pressure of his heft inside you, even soft and spent. He smiles, teeth digging into his lower lip as he looks down at you with admiration.

“M’gonna make you a real nice breakfast tomorrow,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That so?” You arch an eyebrow, amused at the ridiculous attempt at conversation he’s making with his dick literally still inside of you. “What’s the Joel Miller Morning After Special look like?”

“Waffles, homemade batter ‘course. Blueberries, the ones we been savin’. Big ole jug of apple juice, just for you.”

“Just for me?” You smile faintly at him.

“Just for you,” he confirms, “whatever you want, just for you.”

A small laugh drifts from your lips. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

“So you ain’t leavin’?” he asks, a note of hope in his voice.

“No.” You shake your head. “Think I'll stick around and annoy you for a while.”

He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear with the pads of his fingers. It stays put this time.

“I’d like that, darlin’.” His teeth flash white in the darkness again. “Think I could go for a little somethin’ now actually. You need anything? Some water?”

You nod, fighting the instinct to get up and get it yourself. Maybe, just maybe it’s okay to let someone else take care of you once in a while. Even if it’s something as simple as a glass of water.

“Sounds great,” you admit, wincing slightly at the pull as he finally slides out of you with a sopping noise. You don’t even want to look at the mess on the sheets.

“How about a snack?” he asks. “You hungry?”

And you look at him, sliding his t-shirt on over his sweat-slicked body, reaching for a towel on your rack to pass toward you. So gentle, so caring, so tender and pragmatic all at once.

You aren’t alone. You’re warm, and full, and for the first time in a long time, you’re happy.

“No,” you tell him in earnest, “I’m not hungry.”

“You sure?”

You nod, managing another smile for him. Surely, he’ll add it to his annoying internal tally.

“I’m sure. I actually…I actually feel pretty full.”

What a wonderful feeling it is.

#dontlooknow #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #tlou #the last of us #joel tlou

157 notes · View notes

gyuswhore · 5 months

Text

Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst.

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise.

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness.

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask.

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound.

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless.

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength.

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out.

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince.

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn.

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end.

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths.

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless.

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed.

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you?

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward.

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room.

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth.

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here.

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out.

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp.

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair.

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands.

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now.

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words.

“You can leave.”

You hear the guards begin to file out the room.

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.”

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him.

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him.

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement.

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there.

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table.

“No,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds.

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be.

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue.

And then he says your name.

You falter.

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so.

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.”

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face.

And, of course, with the way you lunge.

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing.

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings.

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag.

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass.

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself.

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.”

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison.

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes.

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff.

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve.

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice.

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes.

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.”

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home.

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless.

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again.

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.”

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?”

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up.

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not.

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring.

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says.

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear.

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Chan?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead.

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base.

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch.

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation.

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right.

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan.

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates.

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating.

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud.

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside.

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him.

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.”

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?”

You haven’t.

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp.

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago.

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side.

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains.

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down.

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response.

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says.

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down.

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you.

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.”

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response.

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap.

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts.

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was.

“What about what you thought?” he tries again.

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff.

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.”

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.”

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly.

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes.

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats.

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.”

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked.

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo.

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.”

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says.

“And then?”

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King.

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge.

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month.

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately.

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated.

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies.

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company.

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other.

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away.

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that.

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains.

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow.

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously.

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding.

“Why’s that?”

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.”

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset.

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same.

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature.

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions.

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.”

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away.

You want to kiss him.

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face.

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual.

“Why’d you move away?”

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?”

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say.

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind.

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before.

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him.

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings.

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk.

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place.

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting.

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you.

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #minghao #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #the8 #em.writes

309 notes · View notes

soul-controller · 4 months

Text

The Man of Steal II

When Clark Kent first left his farmhouse in Smallville to help assist a nearby town with a museum break-in, the man also known as Superman thought it would be a quick and simple encounter of disarming the criminal and handing them over to the police. Unfortunately for him though, this was proven to not be the case as Clark’s attempt to stop the criminal led to a huge fight that traversed through several areas of the museum. In fact, one of these areas included a special Krypton-themed exhibit, which proved to be quite detrimental to the superhero.

As the fight continued through this area, the criminal that broke into the museum (whose name was Darren) was desperately trying anything possible to stop Superman and allow himself to escape from him and the authorities. Searching through all of the rubble and toppled over display cases, Darren was able to stumble upon a rock that he thought could potentially give him an opportunity to flee. Upon slamming the rock against the hero’s impenetrable skull though, Darren found himself blessed with a perfect weapon in the form of a small piece of red Kryptonite.

Given the fact that Clark knew about the random effects that the crystal could have on him, the hero tried his best to deter the man from using the crystal for both of their sakes. The stubbornness of Darren was unwavering though and Clark was unable to stop the man in time before his broad chest was pierced by the crystal. Now after that impact, Clark immediately began to regret his constant desire for helping others as he found himself staring back at his own smiling body and realizing that he was now in the weak and unattractive form of Darren.

“Darren, did you hear me? It’s that kryptonite! That red one is super rare and has too many possible side effects for me to count. That must have caused us to swap bodies! Grab it and walk over here so we can swap back,” Clark desperately said, his voice shifting to a whimper as he struggled to sit up and deal with the intense pain of the impact with the wall. In fact, he was in such pain that the superhero didn’t even pick up on how he was now speaking with an awkward Midwestern accent that was a far cry from his formerly deep and booming voice.

Hearing the declaration of wanting to swap back though, the imposter Superman was adamant about not making that reality. As such, he slowly sauntered his way over to the now-frail superhero while puffing out his chest. “Like I’ve already told you Darren, by the looks of it, I’m Superman now,” he began, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk before letting out a chuckle seeing Clark’s terrified face. “I don’t really care about how this happened to us, all I know is that I’m not going to go back to that pitiful body just to go back to jail for whoever knows how many years!”

To punctuate the sentence then, Darren gripped onto the piece of kryptonite stuck in his chest and pulled it out. Grunting while this occurred, the man breathed heavily for a few seconds and stared intensely into his former eyes. Luckily for the terrified hero, this only lasted for a moment before Darren’s head soon began to turn and scan the expansive museum. Watching as the imposter Superman clenched his fist and pulled the arm holding the kryptonite back, Clark couldn’t even gasp in shock or scream for the man to stop before Darren’s new superhero strength sent the kryptonite flying through the air and shattering against the concrete wall from the velocity of the throw.

Feeling completely hopeless at what was going on, Clark found himself getting understandably quite emotional. It was absolutely infuriating to find himself graveling for the first time (and to his own body nonetheless), but it was something that he was more than willing to do in order to get his body and life back. He couldn’t allow some random criminal getting close to his wife and kids or taking over the role of Superman, Darren would surely destroy his family and his reputation as a good guy!

“Please Darren, don’t do this. We both know that these aren’t our real bodies, so let’s just be grown adults and I can find a shard or something so we can swap back,” he started. But as he finished his first sentence, his extreme sadness and fear finally caused the usually composed man to crack and begin crying. With those tears beginning to stream down his face, Clark tried his best to beg for his own body back. “Please, I’ll do anything you want to get my body back. I’m the real Superman, and I just want to get back to my family,” he continued, his sentence abruptly stopping as he began to full-on sob. Just the simple thought of having this stranger going to bed with his wife or going to his sons’ high school events was enough to break down the last remaining morsel of Clark’s pride. Despite his passionate plea though, Clark was absolutely appalled to find that his own hearty laugh was being used against him and filling the empty atrium of the museum.

“Wow, that was so pitiful and pathetic. With behavior like that, I don’t think we should swap back,” Darren began, his laughter continuing as he put his hands on his hips and looked down at the frail man who was sobbing and desperately wrapping an arm around his right leg. “Honestly, all of that emotion and desperate whining is perfectly fitting for such a weak body. In fact, I think I’m rather content with remaining as Superman,” he continued before suddenly stopping himself. “Or would you rather I refer to myself by my real name? Do you prefer I go with Clark Kent or Kal-El?” he said as he cockily placed his hands on his hips, finally causing Clark to look up in horror at the revelation that the criminal somehow knew everything about him.

“H-how did you know that,” Clark desperately inquired, struggling to comprehend what’s going on.

“What are you talking about Darren, I’m just thinking about my life and memories... especially my gorgeous wife and those two teenage boys that are eagerly waiting for their father to show up back in Smallville. You know what I really can't stop thinking about though? Getting Lois to moan my name as I fuck her mercilessly, a reward for continuing to make the world a better and safer place," he began, the smile turning quite devious as he easily recounted Clark’s last encounter with his family before heading to the museum. To make matters worse for the terrified superhero though, the man’s next statement proved to leave him weak in the knees. “I mean, I don’t think any of those memories feel fitting for a petty criminal and low-level gang member that would stage some break-in at a museum right? Go ahead and try and think about your life though Darren, I think you’ll find that those are more fitting for your life!”

Desperately, Clark tried to recount a recent and important moment in his life. The first thing that came to mind was the reason behind the family’s move to Smallville - the death of Clark’s mother. But to his horror, a brief glimpse through his mind was unable to pull up that memory. Instead, he found countless memories that informed him of a frail and sickly looking woman that was constantly in and out of the hospital. Even more bizarre, those memories also referred to Clark by the name belonging to the body he was now in: Darren.

Gasping in shock at what was going on, Clark tried his hardest to recall more important events and information about his life. But instead, all that happened was that a broader picture was painted about Darren’s life. By doing so, Clark was able to learn more about Darren such as his last name being Hyde and his history of going in and out of jail countless times in his youth. Continuing to pull on this string of Darren’s past allowed Clark to learn more about the man’s history with a local gang who first recruited him when he was 14 and got caught stealing some cigarettes for his mother.

Despite the gang’s best attempts at helping the man bulk up and gain more muscle to become some sort of brute to help them during any heists, Darren’s body was unwilling to grow beyond the pale and bony frame that he’d been stuck with since his childhood. With no real incentive for keeping the man around, the gang soon found a special job for Darren - by being their personal guinea pig and constant fall guy. Whenever he wasn’t in prison for one of the gang’s crimes, the man had no other options but to stick with the gang and endure their various tortures that came in the form of the knife scars that adorned Clark’s new pale skin. As he ran his fingers along the various cuts that crisscrossed on his skin, Clark found himself instantly cringing as he could somehow recall the pain Darren felt as he tried his best to flee and escape the rugged and bulkier men who tormented him.

“This isn’t right,” Clark cried out, the words coming out as a bizarre warble as he struggled to comprehend the extreme yet widely different expressions of his shame, fear, and pure rage. “You’re going to give me back my body one way or another,” he continued, his voice shifting into a surprisingly aggressive scream as he suddenly got up onto his feet and began to rush towards the shattered remnants of the red kryptonite. As he watched for a moment, Clark smirked seeing that the criminal was seemingly so caught off-guard that he hadn’t even attempted to chase after him yet. In a moment of athleticism that Darren’s body had never experienced before, Superman slid along the glass-shattered floor and allowed the pants he was wearing to be torn to shreds as he reached down to quickly pick up a small shard of red kryptonite that was the size of a paperclip. Given his multiple experiences with kryptonite in the past, Clark knew that the small piece was more than enough to hopefully restart the transformation and place him back in his original body.

Upon grabbing the piece, the man slid up from his knees and jumped back into a standing position to face the criminal who had stolen his body. But to his shock though, all he saw was a blur as Clark’s body flew directly at him before grabbing him and throwing him against the thick concrete wall. As Clark gasped and attempted to catch his breath from the impact, the imposter Superman was able to quickly grip onto the man’s kryptonite-wearing hand and slam it against the wall as well. But despite the struggle to regain his breathing, Clark kept a death grip around the shard in hopes of eventually stabbing the criminal with it. However, this quickly changed as Clark looked directly into the eyes of his former body and watched as they began to quickly redden.

“If you want to keep that hand of yours, you better drop the shard. Right now,” Darren warned, causing Clark’s friendly face to shift into a terrifyingly ill-fitting expression of pure rage.

Fearing the concept of losing a limb to his own laser vision, Clark let out a defeated whimper as he dropped the shard and watched as it slowly fell down and clattered against the tiled floor. Feeling as tears once again began to stream down his sunken-looking face, Clark lifted his head up to avoid making eye contact with the body thief who had easily outsmarted and outpowered him.

“Hey hey hey,” Darren lightly cooed, the friendly and calming tone he was speaking with being severely at odds with the reality of the situation. “Don’t worry Clark, I’ll be taking good care of those wife and kids of yours. Hell, based on how poorly your relationship with Jordan is right now, I think you could use all of the help you could get,” he continued with a chuckle, finding great amusement in being able to not only so easily defeat the indestructible Superman but also seamlessly take over his life as well.

“You motherfuck-,” Clark began, growing enraged as he heard the imposter bring up his strained relationship with his son.

But before the superhero could even finish his rare moment of profanity, Darren was quick to grab the man’s head and slam it back against the concrete wall. With his former body immediately slumping into a state of unconsciousness after the impact, Darren couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he had overtaken the apparent Man of Steel. Although he had found such glee in tormenting the superhero and watching him plead for his body back though, the imposter Clark was growing increasingly antsy in terms of getting home and meeting his new family.

So as he dragged the still-unconscious “criminal” out through the front doors of the museum by the collar of his shirt, the brand new Superman flashed a wide smile as the various police officers were unaware of the fact that the criminal that they were searching for was who they were congratulating. Just as he prepared to fly off though to the house that his memories informed him was the Kent household, the former criminal tried his best to cover his tracks for once the real Clark woke up. This attempt came in the form of some dialogue with the paramedics who had quickly handcuffed Darren’s former body to a gurney and began to inspect his head for any potential damage.

“Hey, just so you guys now, that guy refused to go down without a fight,” Darren began, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he tried to appear overly heroic to the paramedics. “Obviously I didn’t want it to get that far, but he left me with no choice other than to rough him up a bit. Just in case he starts saying some crazy and unbelievable things, please check and make sure about whether he’s concussed or not. I know he hit his head pretty hard against one of the concrete walls while we were fighting,” he continued, giving a light grin and nodding his head towards the duo of workers before flying off to meet his new family.

* * * * *

Just a few minutes later, Darren had traversed the several miles of vast farmland before arriving on the Kent property. Opting to have a bit of time to mentally prepare before encountering his new family, the man made a landing near a large barn and slowly began to prepare to adopt the identity of a sweet father and husband rather than the gritty gang member he once was. After reaching the front door of the house, the brand new Clark Kent took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and walking in.

To his surprise though, the house was completely dead and silent beyond the TV in the living room that was still playing the local news station. “Uh hello,” he said aloud, continuing to walk around and looking for his new family. Instead though, the only thing he saw was a lone plate of food resting on the dinner table while all of the lights remained off. Thinking that his new family may have gone somewhere in town, Darren made his way through the hallways before entering the bedroom that his inherited memories told him was Clark and Lois’ bedroom.

After entering and finding that the room was just as empty as the rest of the house, the imposter took a moment to take in the sights of his new residence before noticing an ajar bathroom door connected to the main bedroom. Eager to get out of this suit and see what his new body looked like, the man eagerly made his way in there and began to undress.

As the suit finally slumped down to the floor and Darren stepped out of it, the man was in awe at just how godly his body looked now. Not only did the superhero opt to wear no underwear beneath the suit so the man was in immediate awe of Clark’s impressive 8.5” cock, but the sight of such a buff physique left Darren quite slack-jawed as well. It was incredible to feel such intense strength buried deep within the thick biceps and firm hairy pecs that he now possessed, so much so that the man’s brand new manhood was immediately hardening in response. Fuck yeah, I can definitely get used to this, the man thought to himself as he used one hand to graze his fingers along the well-defined ripples of his six-pack abs and the other to slowly squeeze the shaft of his new cock.

Before he could get too deep into the fondling though, a sudden flick of a lamp caused Darren’s eyes to widen and turn to face the source of the disturbance. Upon doing so, his eyes suddenly found himself staring at his new wife Lois sitting on her side of the bed and watching with a curious expression. As he observed the woman, Darren’s cock couldn’t help but firm up further due to just how gorgeous she was to him.

“Hmm,” she began, her lips curling into a light smirk as she looked her nude husband up and down. “I presume your trip to the museum went well?” Lois coyly asked, her eyes clearly narrowing in on the rock hard cock that was jutting out and pointing directly at her from across the room.

Attempting to come up with a response, Darren found his words beginning to jumble as he attempted to explain himself. “I- um, yeah the whole trip went great. It took a bit because the intruder was wearing this mechanical suit, but as soon as I got him out of it, it was a piece of cake getting him handed over to the authorities,” he said, his words coming across quite direct and intense due to his inner worry of somehow having Lois figure out that something had happened to her real husband.

Luckily though, Lois seemed to think that nothing was amiss, especially as Darren watched her stand up and slowly make her way over to him. As one hand ran her fingers along Clark’s pecs and twirled his chest hair, Darren found himself gasping as his new wife delicately wrapped her hand around the sizable manhood and began to slowly stroke it.

“Wha- what about the kids,” Darren asked, worried about any possible intruders before he truly gave into his newfound attraction towards the woman and fucked her senseless.

“Oh don’t worry, Jordan’s playing video games in his room while Jonathan is video-chatting with his girlfriend,” Lois purred into Clark’s ear. “There’s nothing to stop us from having a little fun tonight babe,” she continued, which immediately pushed Darren over the edge.

Feeling his attraction reaching its limit, the man put his superhero skills to use as he effortlessly pulled the woman into bed at impressive speeds and tore off the woman’s clothing. As they leaned in and passionately kissed each other, Darren’s bad boy tendencies began to quickly come out in full force.

It started out small, with Lois finding her lip bit by her hunky husband as he tightly gripped onto her breasts and sensually massaged the nipples. To her surprise though, she found the action oddly erotic, so she told Clark to keep going as he finally took a moment to slide his massive cock into her needy pussy. With the man sliding in and out with a surprising amount of force and conviction, the journalist couldn’t help but gasp and moan for Clark to “go harder”.

Luckily, Lois’ imposter husband was more than willing to comply with the request, using his wide hands to grip the back of her skull and pull her into a deep and passionate kiss as he ran his tongue down her throat. When pulling away from those kisses though, the brand new Clark was quick to dive into some dirty talk as he told his wife to beg for his cock and to call herself “daddy’s little cunt” if she wanted him to keep going. To Darren’s surprise though, the journalist was all too willing to allow “Clark” to assert dominance as she begged for more and referred to herself as that kinky nickname. As such, it didn’t take long before Darren reached climax and shot his superhero seed into his brand new wife’s eager pussy.

After finishing up and falling back into bed, Darren couldn’t help but smirk as Lois raved about how great that was and talked about how it felt like he was “a brand new man”. As he chuckled and retorted that the woman had no idea how true she was, the brand new Superman decided to flick off the light and head to bed. With Lois now fully believing that nothing was amiss, Darren was somewhat excited to meet his new children the next day and become a better father to them than the real Clark Kent could ever be!

Like what you read? Please consider signing up for my Patreon to not only support my work but also get access to longer and more explicit stories like this one.

#male transformation #male body swap #stories involving superheroes #superhero tf #body swap

155 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Nothing to Hide - A Joel Miller Story

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

she learns a couple new things about her man over the course of a night.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, and nothing but(t), yes this is a pegging fic

a/n | it's here! welcome, everyone, to the inaugural night of the Peg that Middle-Aged Man Campaign 2023! over the course of the next week or so, I as well as a handful of my favorite writers will be putting out some excellent fics under this campaign for the whole spectrum of Pedro Pascalian characters! so keep your eye out! much more to come, muahahahaha

i know for a fact that both @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs will be posting or have already posted two other spectacular PMAMC fics on this fine evening, so go check those out as well!

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

“What is that?”

“Don’t– you can’t laugh.”

“Oh my god, Joel. What the fuck is it?”

“Well what d’you think it is?”

“I think you lost a bet is what I think.” He’s silent for a moment, his lack of a reply all the answer she needs to burst out into laughter.

“No, really?” Joel lets out a huff.

“I was really really drunk and dumb, ok? Jesus, woman, stop looking at it!” She stifles her laugh enough to turn him around by his shoulder so he’s facing her, running a quick hand through his curls, his face flushed and set in a scowl.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna be looking at it a lot with what I’m about to do to you.” She can see the bob of his throat in the faint light of her bedroom, the way his eyes go a touch hazy, drooping under his lashes. He’s pretty, something she’s known since they started dating, though she also knows he’d probably short-circuit if she ever called him that. But tonight, she intends to treat him like it, giving, providing, where he’s always so eager to do the same.

“Why don’t you lay out on the bed for me, handsome?” He gives her a jerky nod, seeming to think twice before he cups her cheek in his palm, dragging a hot kiss from her before he complies. He’s still in his boxers, long expanses of tan, bare strength laid out on her sheets, propped up on his elbows to watch her as she rifles through a dresser drawer to find a few things. His eyes widen when she turns back to him, baby pink strap in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re gonna work you up to it, ok? And if you don’t like anything, just tell me and I’ll stop.” It’s setting heat threading through her core, thick and warm, the silk of her panties sticking to her cunt from the pulse of arousal, coaxed on by the stark contrast of how he normally is to how she gets him right now. Her man, always in control, always the strong one, the dominant one, the giver, laying it all willingly at her feet.

It had started with a bit of pillow talk one night. Joel knew that she had been with women in the past, but he had never been so bold as to ask anything about it, not until that night, drunk on sweat and sex, a boyish grin slipping across his lips, turning dark and reverential fast when she was more than happy to tell him about her experience, going so far as to show him the toys she had held onto. But what she hadn’t been expecting was Joel Miller, the walking homage to southern masculinity, asking his next question.

“You ever used that, um, with– with men?”

They had talked about it more afterward, Joel eager to bring it up, ask questions, seemingly just as perplexed as she was that he was so interested in it.

“I don’t know, I mean– never thought about something like this before. But, with you it just– fuck, it seems kinda hot.”

And that’s how they’ve ended up here, her kneeling between his spread legs on her bed, palms rubbing up and down his thighs as she leans over and lays a kiss to the little swell of his belly, smiling against the jump of his muscles.

“Relax for me, Joel. I promise I’m gonna take good care of you. You trust me, right?”

“I– yeah, I do.” She slides one palm up from his thigh to his chest, pressing lightly to get him to lay back.

“Then just let me do all the work, alright? Gonna make you feel good.” With that, she draws her attention back down to the waistband of his boxers, hooking her fingers in the sides to tug them down and off his legs before settling back between his thighs, her fingers tapping the joints of his knees as a light command.

“Can you bend your knees for me, baby? Need you a little more opened up than this.” She’s surprised by the groan he lets out at her simple question, a breathless shake of his head.

“Fuck, I– you– that–” She cuts off his floundering, her palm rubbing a soothing circle against his chest.

“Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable, we don’t have to do anything different, seriously.” “No! I mean, no, I want to. It’s just– different. But different’s good. I’m good.” How could she say no to that?

“Ok, baby, I’m gonna warm you up. You tell me if I do anything you don’t like, alright?” He nods, his eyes staying glued on hers as she ducks back down, lips ghosting over the underside of his already hard cock before lapping gently at the tip. She works him over with her mouth for a while, taking him down as far as she can, her hand stroking the rest, reveling in the way his muscles slacken and tense beneath her ministrations, the way he starts to let himself go to the pleasure, his head pressed back into the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, shaky pants and curses leaving his lips. When it seems like she’s gotten him nice and relaxed, she pulls off of him, continuing to lap at his length while she fumbles around for her bottle of lube, spreading a dollop between her palms before getting her hands on his length.

“Just want you to get used to the feel of this stuff, alright, baby?” He hisses at the cool contact, but lets out a breathy, low-rumbled uh-huh as she swirls her slicked-up palm down his cock, slipping her hand down to cup his balls, a move that sets a broken groan thrumming in his throat. Her other hand presses against his thigh, getting him to open up more for her as she slips a finger down a little further, finding that tight ring of muscle and applying a bit of pressure, Joel’s hips bucking up at the sensation.

“Easy, baby, gotta stay relaxed for me if I’m gonna open you up.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, throwing his head back as she presses her finger in, her other hand lazily stroking his cock as she does.

“Jesus, fuck– you’re good, so fucking good. Never felt anything like this be-before.” She smiles up at him, pressing a kiss to his hip as she slowly pumps her finger inside of him, only stopping to lathe more lube over her hand.

“Think you can take another one, baby? You ready for that?” He nods, a long sigh leaving his lips, but that’s not good enough for her.

“Need words, Joel. You gotta tell me what you want.”

“I– yes, more, please. Want more.” To get a please out of Joel Miller is no small feat, and she revels in it, just a little, easing a second finger in along her first one, stretching him out even more. He’s a vision, chest flushed, cheeks ablaze, one hand tugging at his mussed-up hair, the other balled into a tight fist in the sheets as she works him open. It’s messy as hell, lube slicking up everything, dripping between his thighs, his cock throbbing in her hand, his words a filthy slur of praise and curses that go straight to her aching core.

“Do you wanna finish like this, baby? Or do you wanna take it a little further?”

“More, yeah, want you– want you to go further.” She slips her fingers out of him with a smile, crawling further up the bed to steal a kiss, his mouth insistent and devouring before she pulls away with a lewd smack. His eyes trail up and down her body as she stands at the foot of the bed, first slipping her bra off, followed by her panties, before reaching for the strap. And he’s an intent and willing audience, following the way she slides the harness over her hips, deft fingers fitting it snug to her body.

“Can I have you on all fours, handsome?” He moves tentatively, a dazed look on his face when he glances over his shoulder at her, trying to watch as she spreads lube over her silicone dick. Her eyes, meanwhile, are focused back on the thing she had been so shocked to see earlier, moreso surprised that he had somehow managed to hide it from her over the months that they’ve been dating. Thick, dark ink, one of those culturally insensitive, faux-tribal numbers she’s sure he walked into a parlor and just pointed at on the wall, goaded on by Tommy and his construction crew buddies no doubt. There’s no two ways about it, Joel Miller has a tramp stamp, and she can’t help but lay a giggling kiss to it, causing him to let out a huff over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get it removed, ok? Just– haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“And what if I kinda like it?” She can barely keep a straight face saying it, biting back a laugh as he huffs at her again, though she’s quick to soothe him, running a palm up his spine before her hand settles at his hip.

“I’m sorry, baby, no more teasing. You ready for me?” When all he does is nod, she taps him on the ass, a few pats of her palm seeming to remind him what she wants.

“Yes, fuck, ready.” She keeps one palm splayed over his lower back (and his tattoo), holding him steady as she slowly presses forward, easing him into it with gentle rocks of her hips. He’s breathing hard, little groans loosing from his chest, but he doesn’t tell her to stop, letting out a long sigh when she’s finally seated fully inside. She curls over him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, her words a faint rasp into his skin.

“Doing so good for me, Joel. Tell me when you want me to move, baby, take your time.” He cranes his neck, looking for a kiss she’s happy to give him, a desperate tangle that’s still so sweet.

“You can move, I just– fuck– it’s good, feels really fucking good.” It’s what she wants, wants him to feel good, and to keep feeling good, leaning slightly back on her knees to find a slow rhythm with her hips, one hand reaching around to stroke his throbbing cock, Joel letting out a harsh moan when she does. She’s never heard these sounds from him before, broken grunts and breathy chants of her name with each thrust of her hips, completely losing himself in the sensation. She curls back over him, her hips set in a deep grind as she drags her lips over his temple.

“That feel good, baby? Nice to have someone take care of you, huh? Taking it so good, Joel. You gonna come for me? Gonna let me have it?”

“Jesus fucking christ, feels so fucking good– you’re gonna kill me, shit– fucking close, so fucking close.” With one more pass of her hand over his cock, one more rock of her hips, he comes on a punched-out exhale, slumping down onto his elbows with a shuddering heave. She presses kisses all over his shoulder blades as she pulls out, trying to soothe the hiss he lets out at the ache, quick to guide him onto his back so he doesn't flop down into a pool of his own spend. If he hears her low-murmured be right back, he doesn’t show it, forearm slung over his face, chest still heaving as she slips out of the bedroom to get him a glass of water.

“Is this how you feel? After we– when I– when we–” She cuts off his stumbling question with a light laugh, sitting down on the side of the bed next to him and coaxing a few sips of water out of him.

“So you liked it?” He quirks a brow at her, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing the swell of it when she laughs again at his expression.

“Gotta be honest, darlin, my expectations were low. Kinda wanted to try it just to see, I guess. But fuck, that was, uh, that was something else.” She can’t help herself, leaning down for a quick kiss that he chases after with a much deeper one, greedy hands squeezing and pulling until she’s getting dragged onto his lap, wincing at the slick stick of it and pulling away.

“What? What’s wrong? C’mon, darlin, wanna take care of you now.” Though he tries to pull her back in for a kiss, she plants a firm palm on his forehead to hold him back, stifling a laugh at his perplexed expression.

“That sounds nice, but you are covered in lube and it’s sticking to everything. Can we continue this in the shower, baby?” Ever the gentleman, Joel acquiesces to her request, letting her get up before shuffling into the bathroom in all his bare glory to get the water warmed up.

It’s an irresistible urge, walking into the bathroom, seeing his back facing her, his cute little ass and the hilarious art just above it, and she just has to give a quick pinch to his hip before raking her nails over the ink, grinning at him as he turns around with an exasperated huff.

“Ain’t ever gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“That depends, do you have any other tattoos you’ve been hiding from me?” His grin goes smarmy, drawing a gasp out of her when he pulls her into him with a hooked arm around her waist, pressing a hard kiss to her lips.

“Nothing else to hide, darlin. Think you’ve seen it all now.”

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

tags for folks who i think would enjoy this lmao: @wannab-urs @beskarandblasters @jksprincess10 @cutesyscreenname @swiftispunk @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine

504 notes · View notes

andraxicated · 11 months

Text

Married to Wild Eyes

Pairings: Jing Yuan x f! reader

Synopsis: Your husband returns home and rails you after he deduces something that you've hidden from him.

a/n: this Wild Eyes manhwa popped up on my tiktok fyp with those iconic pwop and squelch panels. i'm like...interesting~

+ smut always takes so long for me to write because I always have to close the tab and run a lap around the house when I start on the nasty stuff.

wc: 4.9k (porn with some kinda plot)

will proofread in the morning😭

General Jing Yuan was a kind man to all, logical and strategic are only a few of the praises you hear for him. After all, he's the reason that the Xianzhou enjoys many years of peace to come. But just as the praises that resound from people's mouths—and the peace he brings by fulfilling his military duty, none of it compares to the lewd praises and ecstasy he delivers as he fulfills his duty to you as your husband.

"Augh~ Yuan, right there! F-fuck keep on hitting it-n-not too deep!" You babble a mix of words as you bounce on his cock, placing your shaky hands on his shoulders that are about to slip. Still, you try your best to regulate the rhythm with your eyes closed that Jing Yuan finds a little too slow for his liking. But who he is to deprive you of your wants? Although, he did find it unusual that you asked to top for a more sensual pace than him railing you into the mattress.

"Come on love, show me how good you can ride."

Jing Yuan does his part by thrusting up his lower body into you, abs flexing as he held tightly onto your waist. It then sent you opening your eyes, tears coming onto your waterline with your mouth agape, body sinking down on his fat cock to quell the itch brought by your hormones.

"You need help?" He notices how you're struggling to move and you nod. It seems like you want to go on but your legs are sore and shaking.

Your cunt throbs crazily and has Jing Yuan whipped, he lifts you by the hips and brings you down only to the length you can take. "I-I'll go faster!" You squeal, chasing the incoming high that has both of you reaching for the other's lips, making a messy exchange of saliva as his cock repeatedly coaxes your walls to make way. Jing Yuan's grip tightens and you immediately remove them, not wanting to feel his strong hold near your stomach. Instead, you relocate his hands to your breasts, moaning when he lightly squeezed. Much to his puzzlement at your abrupt removal of his hands, for now, he'll set his confusion aside just to kiss you softly, tucking away the hair that falls on your face.

"You look beautiful" His voice reverberates, praise going straight to your pussy.

"Do I, general?" You whisper as you elicit a moan when the bulbous head hits your spot.

"Believe me. That's why you're the one on top of me, isn't it?" Jing Yuan teases with a hearty laugh. He finds it all mesmerizing to see his dear wife falling apart above him. These skin-slapping sounds, the lewd faces you make, and the sight of him repeatedly disappearing into your folds have him losing the strength in holding back for your sake. He began to plump upwards at a speed that has your vision rocking and your nails finding expanse at his chest.

You continue to impale yourself on his cock, relishing in the sensation of being filled up repeatedly. Your lower belly starts to feel a coiling tension, one you're all too familiar with since the wedding night. And the sight of your husband's face going red with his lip bit was the one that pushed you to the edge.

The only thing you could say was a whimper of his name "Jing yuan—!", and then had a euphoric urge to close your eyes, but the sudden shift of his golden orbs from where you're connected to your own is what compels you to stare at him while you finish.

You look dumb and mesmerized above him, cunt soaking his length from your release, and the one thought behind your lovestruck gaze was the title that people called him.

"Wild Eyes"

You now know why he's dubbed a ridiculous name such as "wild eyes". The name is deemed true on the battlefield when he's in action, leading the alliance to victory and inflicting enemies with fear when he summons the Lightning Lord. And now it shows most true when he's in bed, breeding his lovely wife as he should.

"You okay, darling?" He asked, half-amused with shaky breaths. His thrusts suddenly slow down, groaning, only to shoot warm cum inside you as you fall down on his chest and take what he's giving you.

After being cleaned up, both of you settle on the bed and then you notice the mini cakes settled on a platter. The sudden cravings appear to be strong that you gradually reach out for the snack.

"I prepared those for you. I heard you've taken a liking to sweets. You like it?" Jing Yuan suddenly speaks and you look over to him. He's half-covered by the sheets, displaying his abs and war scars unabashed. But then you've seen his body multiple times now, what's there to be ashamed of?

Your cheeks burn at the view so you focus instead on savoring the sweetness. "I like it. Thank you for this."

Jing Yuan sighs while looking fondly at you. He has to leave you before dawn to attend the subjugation of the Stellaron monsters, one that will probably take days or perhaps weeks before he comes home to you. And Jing Yuan is currently facing the dilemma of how to break the news to you—

"You're going tomorrow, right? The mara-struck have been increasing in numbers along with the monsters that suddenly seem to appear out of nowhere." You take the words out of his mouth, looking over at him to see his eyes rounded in shock. "Jing Yuan, you're needed. So you should go, no need to feel guilty"

"Well I'm feeling guilty, I heard you've been sick every morning and I'm not there to take care of you. Perhaps I should call for the best physician in the Luofu? "

You smile yet it didn't reach the ends of your lips. "My maids take care of me and besides, the attending physician is fine."

"I'm your husband, they're taking my job." He sighs, hair falling in front of his face that you immediately tuck away. He takes it as an opportunity to grab your hand and kiss the back of your palm, keeping those golden eyes on you all the while.

You could feel yourself shrink from the intensity of his gaze. It felt so weird that it kind of tickled your stomach and nerves in a good way.

"Dearest (y/n), I don't want you to feel lonely in this manor. I know that it's my fault that we haven't been moving forward as we talked about but-" He suddenly gets cut off by you pressing your lips to his soft ones. You had your eyes closed to protect yourself from his eyes because you don't know if your heart will be able to take that gaze.

You wanted to be upset, you had every right to be upset as his wife. You wanted to say "I'm used to it" with a tone that demands coaxing and cuddles before you cry. You wanted so much time with him despite being married as strangers. Yet he has a responsibility to the people, one that often kept him away from the confines of your room—from your arms.

You could only force yourself to be mature about it and push down the urge to cling.

"Jing Yuan, we'll have plenty of time to be with each other. Besides, I have my maids to keep me company. I won't be lonely." You always knew you were amazing with lies but it took great effort to keep your voice from breaking. You hope he doesn't notice the glimmer of water in your eyes.

"And I-"

You wanted to tell him the good news but it seemingly got stuck in your throat.

"Hmm?"

You stopped yourself from speaking, quickly changing your words in a fit of internal panic.

"—want to say come back soon. Safely."

Jing Yuan noticed you wanted to say something else but he chose not to dwell on it. He'll just wait for you to tell him whatever it is.

"I will" He says before leaning in to kiss you, his large hands snake to your ear to the back of your head, keeping you firm within his lips as he lays you down for another round or two.

As soon as the maids heard the large patter of Jing Yuan's boots, they immediately scurried to your bedroom, hushed whispers of your name as she shakes you gently from your sleep.

"My lady! The general is now leaving the house! Hurry!" She says and you immediately wake up to find your robes and see him off. You knew he wouldn't wake you up for the sake of rest but who knows when will you see him again? The subjugation takes weeks or months if you're unlucky and from what you've heard, the current situation of the Xianzhou isn't pretty.

You could only whisper a prayer as you watch Jing Yuan's back go further away along with a gentle caress to your stomach.

"Let's hope he comes home in a week...or less" You chuckle and shake your head, finding it funny to talk to the child inside you. So this was the little surprise that Fu Xuan keeps on being cryptic about.

Jing Yuan could go on further but the stamina of the Cloud Knights wasn't exactly quite like his. He settles them down for rest and he had hoped to take the time to nap but a knight suddenly came over that he couldn't refuse. He's about to doze off but it seemed like he had to listen to his subordinate.

The knight bowed as a greeting, a wide grin splattered on his face. "General, I'm here to thank you on behalf of my family for saving them from the attacks last month. My mother almost fainted upon hearing it because apparently, my sister was pregnant during that time. It's only because of my incompetence that I failed to protect her that you had to step in-"

"Slow down young man." Jing Yuan commands and the knight shuts himself immediately. "No incompetent one becomes a Cloud Knight, we all undergo rigorous training to ensure that we're worthy of defending the Luofu."

The young man nods, apologizing for his words.

"And your sister's pregnant you say? How is she then?" Jing Yuan is not one to meddle in somebody else's personal life but he's just tiny curious about this particular matter.

"She's well, general. Now that she's far in, her cravings for sweets became worse along with the morning sickness. She's nauseous at the smell of some food—General? Are you all right?"

Those little details present during that afternoon suddenly came slapping him in the face for not realizing sooner.

Jing Yuan is a fool. He had become a father and he had no idea at all.

"Excuse me. I need to talk to Yanqing for a while." He flashed a smile and nod before scurrying over to the boy dressed in blue.

"General? What's the matter?" He noticed his master's face in distress, although rare, Yanqing has seen it every time something concerns you. It's natural for him to mirror the expression of the general as the boy sees you as his mother figure.

"Yanqing go back to the city at once. I will take charge of here, we should be coming back in three days."

"Three days? But general-"

"(y/n) is with child. Go protect her in my stead."

And that's how you come to see the blonde-haired boy at your door. You immediately came rushing when the maids told you Yanqing arrived at the manor. Every worst-case scenario suddenly came flashing like reels in your mind. Your heart was pounding like crazy as you await Yanqing's response to your question.

"Weren't you supposed to be in the expedition? W-where is a Jingyuan?" Your throat felt constricted due to the immense panic you felt since the boy returned home alone. Usually, after a long expedition, he comes home to your abode with your husband ahead of him. Yet this time the boy had a conflicted expression that worsened your anxieties.

"The general sent me ahead of them...because he found out something about you. He asked me to protect you that's why I'm here, I'll be staying until the general returns." Yanqing says sheepishly and you realize he's beating around the bush.

"What did he find out? I don't understand."

"Y-you're..." He struggled to find the words until, finally he spoke while scratching the back of his head. "You're pregnant. The general found out."

How in the world did he? You were pretty sure he remained clueless until he left. The thoughts of his reactions plagued you at night as you rub your belly. You only hope keeping this news doesn't anger him. If he knew of your condition before departing, he'd be extremely worried on top of all those battles he'll face. You counted day by day until it was finally the third day where Jing Yuan and the Xianzhou troops would arrive.

The morning sickness kept you confined to your bed and bathroom. You closed your eyes for a minute and you felt the door open to which you sit up-right in anticipation. And there he was, walking towards you like some sort of saving light. His long white hair swayed subtly, gold eyes sparkling with delight, and the smile you've grown to love made the corners of your lips rise. He pulled out a nearby chair and kissed your forehead. His hand suddenly went from your stroking your hair to your tummy and you flinched, wide-eyed.

"You kept this a little secret from me huh?" He muses and you're glad from the tone that he isn't angry. Jing Yuan just happily gazes back and forth between your face and your belly. "I'm not mad as I understand why you had to hide it. You don't have to apologize." His words make you melt, you wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to cover your shyness while you complain about your morning sickness and everything in between.

Jing Yuan strokes your body as he mindlessly repeats the happy thoughts of being a father. Surely he has to reward you for being so good to him, right?

Night had fallen and you settled in the bed with a sigh. Jing Yuan followed you as he got out of the bathroom, shirtless. Your eyes naturally drifted to his body and filled your mind with sin, shifting uncomfortably when the itch between your legs started.

He dries his long hair with the towel, muscles flexing with each movement and you couldn't help but stare at him and what he's hiding underneath, your eyes lingering as he goes to dress his lower half. To think this man's seed is growing inside you makes you feel so damn turned on. You feel wanted by him and Jing Yuan himself confirms your feelings.

He soon lays on the bed, it dips with his weight and you scoot over because you know what he's waiting for. Jing Yuan leans down to meet with your lips, tongues clashing in a fit of passion and he grabs you by the waist to move you closer.

All he felt was cold nights in tents these past few days. The warmth of your body along with the comfort of your shared home butters the general in a sweet mood to make love. He lightly kneads the flesh of your ass through your nightgown, distracting you with his kisses and expert handwork as he takes off your clothing. Those nimble digits creep up between your thighs, cupping his favorite toy as you pull away to let out a moan.

He doesn't let you though. He immediately grabs your chin to connect your lips once more at a pace that starts to pick up. You didn't even notice how you're suddenly caged under his body. Jing Yuan pulls away when he notices it's been too long without breathing, he's not one bit fazed about the makeout but when he sees you looking absolutely debouched, his cock twitches as the animal inside him craves to devour you.

"Pretty pretty wife" Your husband muses with a smile as you suddenly feel him pushing aside your panties. The tip of his fingers teasingly touches your part like butterflies and every sensation you feel goes straight to your throbbing pussy. Jing Yuan wants to go down on you like a madman but he holds back for your sake and his. And it's all because his fingers don't want to leave your pussy at all, he missed this so bad since he's left to fist his cock at nights when you aren't there.

"So tight—missed this amazing pussy." Two of his digits enter your puffy lips, parting them slowly and checking your walls if it can accommodate his size. You always had a hard time taking him. He fights the same tightness that's currently enveloping his fingers while he ignores your pleas to stop.

"Shh shhh you like this, look at you." He drawls, putting on speed with the way he's fingering you. "And when I stop, you whine for me to put it back in. What do you really want hmm?" Two digits are thick enough to fill you completely, what more if it's his cock filling you up? You moan when it hits the spot, squirming inside you and then pulling out only to play with your clit.

He laughs when you cry out in surprise, cooing at the tears that decorate your eyes and wiping them as if he's not the cause. Jing Yuan positions himself above you, quickly discarding the material that hides your treasure. The throbbing between your legs got worse as he starts to unbuckle his pants. You could faintly make out its hardened outline before its leaking tip shows itself to you.

Jing Yuan chuckles, watching how your eyes followed his movement when he strokes himself to spread precum. "Shit, you want this? Want my cock?" He groaned and as expected, your legs automatically tightened around his waist, begging for him to slide it.

"Jing Yuan, please don't be mean. I missed you so much, I need you! Fill me up please!" Your cries passed by him in a daze as he already heard that countless times from you, sure it makes his dick twitch but what moved him was your eyes that showed how much you needed him. They were glossy and conveyed so much emotion other than feeling lust.

It was feeding on the general's urge to take care of you and his child, to love you even if you don't feel the same. He's determined to make this marriage work, you're not backing down now that he's sealed you with his seed.

His thoughts made him touch your stomach mindlessly, the other hand lining up his cock against your folds. Jing Yuan kisses the top of your head, whispering assurance that he'll be gentle. "I'll be gentle, slow pace right? Don't want me hurting you." He says, pushing in to be met with warm walls that grip his cock like a vice.

"Fuckkk, taking me so good." He hissed but suddenly his attention was directed to you who mewled his name.

"I-it's okay to be rough—I want it anyway, just be careful." Your voice dwindles with each word and heat rushes to your face when you realize what you just said. It was embarrassing but on the first night together, you remember Jing Yuan telling you it's important for you to say what you want during sex. So even though you wanted to cover your face with a pillow, your resolve stayed strong until you hear Jing Yuan chuckle.

He leaned down to kiss you on the lips, resisting the urge to pinch you when you look at him with puzzled doe eyes. "Of course. Anything you say, I'll keep in mind." He coos, snuggling his kisses to your neck down to your soft breasts.

He eases the penetration by pushing slow yet continuous, both of you moaning when he buries himself slightly to the hilt. "Is this okay? Deep enough?"

"Y-yeah so good!"

Jing Yuan knows he's big and the effect it has on you. You're shaking beneath him and he could feel it with the way your legs are around his torso. And along the way home, he somehow picked up the knowledge that pregnant women are sensitive especially in their erogenous parts. He was almost overcome with the instinct to pull out if it felt too much for you but when you're saying stuff like wanting him to cum inside you over and over—Jing Yuan knows the only way to please his needy wife is to shoot the load that got you pregnant in the first place.

You shiver when he slides out and prods at your entrance, waiting for him to plunge back in and the second stretch of your hole never fails to open your mouth in shock, sneaky Jing Yuan takes the opportunity to slide his mouth and indulge in sloppy kisses.

"Mmmh-s-stop-ahh!-move inside now!" He pulls away only when you break the kiss and ask to move inside you already. It felt bratty to him but for tonight, he's gonna heed to everything you say. It's only right that Jing Yuan fucks this pussy so good for bearing him a child.

"Impatient are we?" He clicks his tongue and begins to tie his loose hair with the red ribbon. Your attention was so caught in his muscular arms that you didn't even anticipate the movement of his length in your walls. He begins to fuck you while he ties his hair and your eyes were left frozen in shock that he couldn't help but break out a laugh. "Stop looking so cute or else I'll forget that I'm supposed to be holding back." Jing Yuan chuckles before putting his strength in his lower half to work, pulling out halfway through before surprising you as he pushes back to hit the spot.

"Feels good?" You nod dumbly at his question, moaning at how delicious his cockhead feels when it pounds. You wanted to speak but only incoherent babbles makes it out of your mouth that you chose to shut up instead, taking and enjoying his large cock that's breaking your pussy open. He keeps up his pace, his groans in tandem with his thrusts and your body moves along, creating jiggles on your breasts and stomach.

"Look at you, so pretty and tight as fuck. Taking me so good—ugh" He got cut off when your walls pulsed around him, sending shivers down his spine as he lets out a mix of lewd sounds that tickles your ear.

Jing Yuan suddenly latches his lip onto your nipple, sucking ravenously at your nipple and you scream in pleasure, kicking your feet only for him to push deeper to keep your legs in place.

"Can't wait to see—mmmh—these breasts full of milk—won't have another chance to suck at you like this". Jing Yuan mumbles between lapping at your mounds. His words made you gush below, obscene squelches overlapping your whimpers. Your hands desperately grabbed at the sheets as Jing Yuan pounded furiously with his mouth attached to your boobs. It looked so so dirty—so wrong but you can't help but enjoy how he's using your body.

Everything was so sensitive, your body felt like it was on fire. His movements were coming all at once yet he had another trick up his sleeve. Your flesh gets bitten down by his teeth, a sharp pain shooting up in your body that made your walls clench tighter around him. He thrusts in response to your enclosing walls, feeling him grin with your nipple between his teeth.

"Hah! 'm close, Jing Yuan!" Your hand flew to your mouth to hold the moans that threatened to surface but your husband doesn't like that. He prefers it when you're lewd and noisy, the sounds you make were a stark contrast to your image.

He moves your hand to his hair all the while looking at your debauched expression. There was no thought behind your eyes, only thinking of the way his cock fucks back into your hole, molding your cunt to his shape.

He took pity on your senses, you must be so far gone now that only breathless moans are coming out of your mouth. But the primal urge to claim you even though you're his always gets the better of him. Jing Yuan pulls away from your body and hovers to see you in your entirety. He experiments on your obedience for the fun of it, shoving one finger at first and then adding another two to see your reaction.

The look on your face with three fingers stuffed inside your mouth fuels him to pump his cock harder, to give it to you better because you look absolutely ravishing right now. And when you wrap your pouty lips around his digits before he could say anything, his heart does a little backflip as the corners of his lip rise. You were so fucking good for him so he pinches your clit, earning a yelp.

Jing Yuan feels like he's falling harder for you. He's so lucky—so blessed to have you underneath him, he wonders if this marriage wasn't orchestrated then who would be the one to see you like this? The ugly thought has him wanting to claim you one after another, leaving marks on your skin so people would know who you belong to. He'd have you know nothing but his name, the feeling of pleasuring and being pleasured, bearing his child and showing off that you're his and his only.

You're his wife now and that's the only thing that matters, besides you have a child on the way. And Jing Yuan groans loudly to match the pace of his thrusts, one that got you crying and sobbing out of the immense onslaught of pleasure. He fucks so good to the point you feel like your eyes are gonna go to the back of your head or your jaw is gonna lock from how frequently you're opening your mouth.

"Gonna cum?" The veins on his cock glide on your walls, balls swinging from the impact as you take a slight peek at how his dick stretches you out before falling back onto the pillow and nodding your head. "Cum for me then. Show me how good I am to you."

His deep voice lulls you to release, his loving gaze directed to you, and the fulfilling way his hips continued to rut into your cunt. And the filthy words that he whispers near your ear, bordering on degradation and praise. All of those combined and you couldn't help but close your eyes and feel him meeting your little thrusts, chasing your high. As you were nearing your closure, Jing Yuan suddenly attaches his lip to your boob and gets the timing right, provoking your screams as you have an orgasm that absolutely wrecks the lights out of you. You're nothing but a mess beneath his strong arms, his pretty little wife that keeps on crying and thrashing from having an orgasm ten times more intense than normal.

"Fucking take it—take it all." Jing Yuan pants from putting all of his energy left to chase his high, cock hitting you at the best depth that has your feet kicking. Sounds of 'pwop' and squelches fill the room alongside his groans. He leaves your mounds to go seal a fervent kiss to your lips, performing a few more thrusts until it's slowing down as he paints your walls milky white, ropes and ropes of warm cum shooting inside your cunt until he feels spent.

All that's left to do is to clean you up and run another bath, no doubt there's already warm water prepared for both of you. The intensity of doing it with Jing Yuan left you unable to focus and now that you're gaining clarity of your surroundings, you see his eyes that stand out from the background. It's like a swirl of gold that pulls you in and renders you speechless yet you mumble unconsciously "wild eyes" that didn't escape your husband's hearing.

It left Jing Yuan in a fit of giggles, brushing your hair behind your ear as you bury your face in his chest. "So you've heard that one? I wonder if our child will inherit these wild eyes of mine."

You reply while gazing up at him. "I hope so. Your eyes are really pretty."

"Thank you" Jing Yuan broke out a smile, not able to hide what he was feeling as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead that you savor with your eyes closed. His hand traveled to your stomach, caressing it as he looks up to the ceiling, wondering about the future.

Then he says "I'll be present more. I'll be a great husband and father just as they call me a great general." He suddenly declares that you slightly sit up to look at him with awe.

Your lips part, unsure of what to say but you know that from those golden eyes alone that anything you say will be fine. You could feel love—see love emanating from their so-called wild eyes.

"I...would like that"

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #jing yuan x you #hsr x you #hsr jing yuan #hsr headcanons #honkai star rail smut #honkai smut #honkai star rail jing yuan

536 notes · View notes