#sol drabbles

You shook your head, trying to peer out to where the road would be - though you couldn't see it past the dense thicket.

"They'll hit ya, pup. Won' even hesitate. Leave ya splattered on the shoulder like roadkill. Did ya papa ever tell ya that?"

You shook your head again.

"His mistake."

"Why would anyone do that?"

"Because there's nasty people out there pup. People that get a lot of joy out of killin' innocent things like ya."

"That's terrible."

"It is. That's why ya gotta stay close. That's why I had to punish ya papa when he tried to run away, when he tried to take you, too."

"Oh."

"Listen ta me, pup. I don't do anything to hurt either of you, but to make you understand. Ya've both gone around too long without someone ta guide ya, but I'm fixing that now."

"I understand." You said quietly. "I didn't know how much I didn't know."

Your nose scrunched, tilting back into Simon's hold. Shifting slightly, an uncomfortable pressure sat heavy in your groin.

"Tha's alrigh'. Can't know everything, hm? That's why 'm here. Here ta help ya and ya papa."

"What am I supposed to call you, then?"

Simon hummed, scratching over your ears as you both watched the sky steadily lighten as the sun climbed higher and higher. You'd been out on your walk for over three hours now, tracing the edges of his property.

"If Johnny's my papa, what are you?"

Simon made another noise of contemplation, leaning down to nose over your cheek, the fabric of his mask surprisingly cold against your skin.

"That'd make me your dad, baby."

"Oh"

"Would'ya like that?"

You thought for a second, swaying side to side on your feet as you tried to ignore the growing discomfort in your bladder.

"Yeah... Does this mean you and papa are married?"

"Depends on how ya papa feels, but tha's not important right now," He turned you toward him, brushing a hand over your hip. "What's got you fussin' like that?"

"Have to pee." You said, cheeks heating with embarrassment. You'd never really had to say it out loud before. Johnny had a consistent schedule for all of your daily needs; eating and drinking, sleeping, exercise, showering, changing clothes, and going to the bathroom.

"The bathroom's all around ya, pup. Need dad to find a good tree for ya?"

"I- I can't go out here!" You cried indignantly, ears pinning back. "That's dirty!"

Simon chuckled, patting your rear. "Tha's alrigh' then. We'll just have to get ya home fast then, huh?"

His pace was fast as he led you back home, hand settled soothingly between your shoulder blades.

You couldn't help the frantic whimper you let out as the house came into view, bolting ahead of Simon to open the backdoor. Under your desperate tugging it didn't budge.

Jingling keys were next to your ear the next moment, but by then, it was already too late. The door swung open, and you collapsed to your knees, a humiliating squelch signaling your accident.

A series of desperate, frightened apologies tumbled from your lips as you felt Simon kneel beside you. His hands came down to rest on your back and stomach, his voice low in your ear, but you were already crawling forward - away from him, dragging your mess into the mud room.

Simon was close behind, uncaring of your mess as he dragged you by the waist into his lap.

"None of that, now. I know ya didn't mean to do it. It was dad's fault, wasn't it?" He hummed, petting over your head as you shivered and whimpered. "Should 'ave gotten ya home sooner, poor thing. Bet ya've never had ta hold it in your life, how were ya suppose'ta so far from home?"

"Should... should've gone by the tree. You told me to." You cried.

Simon paused, and you knew what was coming, flinching into his chest instinctively, but he only resumed rocking you, thumbing your ear gently.

"Nah, pup. Was just jokin' with ya, wouldn't make ya go outside. Ya too proper for tha', huh?"

You shook your head, ashamed of yourself for being such a baby that you couldn't avoid this accident.

"Yes, ya are. Don't cry, baby. It's my fault." He pet over your head gently, tilting your head up to look at him. "'m ya dad, remember? It's m' job ta take care of ya, and I didn't. That's my fault, ya understand?"

You pursed your lips before nodding tentatively.

"Say it, pup."

"I understand."

"Ya understand...?"

"I understand, daddy." You corrected.

Simon smiled at that, squinting beneath his balaclava. "There's m' pup. So smart." He praised. "Now, how bout we get ya in the bath?"

When you love someone, you let them know. This is what Minho’s mother told him when he was very young. Back when he had to tiptoe to peer over the countertop, observing quietly.

Minho’s mother wore an apron with ruffles and pockets, more often than not. She bustled around their small kitchen with the fluorescent lights, and she was skilled at handling a knife. She always cut the skins off of Minho’s apples, but she made him peel his own tangerines.

“Eomma will handle the knives, but you’re big enough to eat those on your own.”

Minho hated it. The way the undersides of his nails were stained after the ordeal. How the stringy branches of the pith would cling onto the flesh. When the citrus smell would linger hours after the sweet-sour taste disappeared from the crevices of his mouth. It wasn’t worth it to him and his yellowed nails.

It’s funny, Minho thinks, that he’s doing it now without a single hint of a complaint in his head. Minho hates peeling oranges, but Yongbok hates it more. So he sits there, nails orange-yellow, mouth devoid of sweet fruit, and everything is okay because the shine in Yongbok’s eyes is worth every hour he can’t get the stain out from underneath his nail beds.

There’s a certain type of meditation that comes with preparing food. Just stimulating enough to hold Minho’s focus, just repetitive enough to let his mind wander. He cuts an apple into the shape of a crab. Thinks about Yongbok’s pudgy hand curled into a fist when he sleeps. Cuts pineapples into cubes. Thinks about Yongbok sticking his tongue out when the acid bites back.

It’s about the anticipation. The build-up, and the guessing game of how Yongbok will react. Will there be sparkles in his eyes, like how he gets when the toast is just right? Or will his eyes be scrunched up completely, like how he gets when Minho bakes his favorite savory pastries? Chan would argue that the reward is the process itself, but Minho vehemently disagrees. The best part of it is watching, with sore hands, the pure elation that takes over Yongbok’s entire being.

Minho looks at the spread of fruit before him. Ponders the balance.

He'd been put in the kennel for that one, the added humiliation of a muzzle as an add-on for trying to take you away too. But you'd slept outside his kennel every night, crying every time Simon tried to bring you up onto the bed. Loyal little thing you were. Johnny couldn't (and wouldn't) blame you, you just couldn't understand what was going on. He knew Simon had always been sweet on you (just not how sweet), knew you didn't understand the difference between being relocated and being kidnapped He didn't make another attempt to escape after that, though. Couldn't bear to hear you crying like that again, frantic, frightened. Too much like the first time he had tried to leave you with a sitter when he had to go on a work trip for a few days. That too was his fault, he knew. You'd only been living with him for a few months at that point.

You had thought he was abandoning you Johnny wouldn't ever make you feel that way again, no matter the circumstances

So, begrudgingly, he played nice with Simon

Simon, whose steady, calloused hands prepared fine cuts of meat for dinner. Allowing you to sit beside him on a stool while he manned the grill. He also had no issue with you sitting at the dining table with them - even making sure your chair was extra comfortable, with a cushion on the seat and on the backrest. Simon, who didn't get upset with Johnny because he had a very open dislike of him, didn't even seem to be bothered by the way Johnny would always try and usher you out of the room whenever he came in, or the way Johnny would move you to his other side when Simon would sit down next to you on the couch - always putting a barrier between him and you. A smugness in his eyes whenever he watched the way Johnny frantically tried to separate you from him.

More importantly, you weren't afraid or shy around Simon, not in the way you had been with his previous partner. Many times you'd leave Johnny's lap just to curl up in Simon's.

Johnny hated him, but he knew he couldn't show it beyond vicious irritation, because he hadn't seen you this happy in a long time since before he got with his last partner

Johnny hadn't wanted to see it, hadn't wanted to believe it before - after all, you'd never accused his partner of doing anything toward you - but when you didn't pout at the way Simon pawed at him, cower/shut down in his presence, or growl when Simon got too close to your food (even allowing him to hand feed you - something that took him over a year for you to allow)

He realized that perhaps his partner had been crueler to you than he'd realized, and he'd been unknowingly neglecting you for months It was harder, at that point, to continue staying mad at Simon. He made you happy, after all. You always settled under his hands, looking up at him with those big, sweet eyes that pulled him in in the first place.

They cycle through many similar bird hybrids as potential mates to prevent loneliness and depression but (for the first time in your career) you snottily turn your nose, folding your wings over yourself in a huff.

Eventually they stop trying, seeing as you get quite irritable any time they try and set you up, until another one of your exact species is found injured and he's brought in for rehabilitation; and unfortunately your habitat is the only one with the perfect conditions to help this bird rehabilitate.

And oh you do not like him. Kyle now has to divert his attention from you to both of you, it's awful.

Now I can't really decide if I wanna make Johnny or Simon the hybrid.

Johnny

The new hybrid gains a lot of attention easily - far faster than you ever did - and you quickly get jealous that (bc he's just as outgoing and friendly as they are) he's gets more attention because his plumage is brighter and prettier; a vibrant clash of orange, yellow, and blue that mesh together like a warm sunrise splayed over his wings, tufts of his plumage peeking out from the tight, backless tank-top he sported.

It hurts, it really does.

What really gets you is the way Kyle always helps Johnny preen his pin feathers, carefully breaking and pulling off the keratin shell until his glistening feathers are free. Kyle never helped you preen your own feathers - it was always one of the women staff members, who you loved, sure, but not like you adored Kyle. And why… why weren't you special enough to get Kyle's delicate treatment? Were your feathers not as beautiful to him anymore?

You take to sneaking contraband, combing a waxy, sticky dye through your feathers, sniffling because you'll never be as pretty as Johnny. Your feathers will never shine in the sun like him, gather the attention of women and men alike, never be adored like him - he'll always be better than you. You begin to nervously pluck at your feathers and hair, over-preening yourself anxiously, when you look in the mirror all you can see is the flaws in your presentation.

You're not built strong and powerful like Johnny, but you're not slender and delicate like those willowy birds in the other habitats. You're not good at being either… Bad as a female, bad as a male.

You can't help but feel sick when you comb the dye through your feathers, the wax melts on your palms and even after you coat your feathers with it, it leaves a sticky residue. You look a mess, the dye is uneven, only really showing up on your lighter feathers, appearing as sickly blotches on your darker ones. It's humiliating, sitting alone at the lake hidden deep in your habitat so you could bathe in peace without people seeing you.

Looking at your watery reflection, you see why people stopped coming to see you. You were never going to be as pretty as the other birds, less colorful, less powerful, less pretty… less everything.

That's how Kyle finds you, crying over what you see in the water, feathers coated in a wax that dulls their beauty, the color smeared in your hair and over your shoulder blades too.

"Oh, my poor birdie," He croons as he pulls you away from the water, hands on your shoulders to try and get you to look at him. "What's all this then?"

Whimpering babbles were the only response he got, barely parsing out "Johnny…", "Like him more…", "ugly bird…" you cried as you fanned your feathers out.

Kyle takes your hand, taking you to the bath house where staff helped clean hybrids if they were unable to do so themselves for one reason or another, cooing at you the whole way.

Guiding you into the bath, he toed off his socks and shoes, standing in the shallow end of the bath. His hands were nice and cool as he moved you onto your back, your wings floating weightless in the water.

You let out a trill of pleasure, flapping them softly as the warm water weaved between your sticky feathers.

"Yeah, feels good, doesn' it?" Kyle purred, gentle hands guiding your wings to fully stretch out.

He began lathering your wings up, getting between all the nooks and crannies that you had messed up, the only sound was the water in the bath getting cycled around through the pouring waterfall and the drains.

"You know I'm gonna have to take… whatever it is you got stuck in your feathers."

You huffed with disappointment, wings folding in slightly before Kyle stretched them back out.

Johnny watched Simon closely, a deep disdain bubbling in his chest as the man sat down beside his baby. His pup leaving his lap without much coaxing, crawling into Simon’s with a series of joyful whines.

Their tail wagged, practically shaking their entire lower half with the force of it, head butting under Simon’s chin, eagerly laving their tongue over his stubble. Such a nice jaw he had, the dark patches of his five o’clock shadow making him look absolutely–

Focus MacTavish.

Simon wasn’t harsh with you, that’s what Johnny hated most. Their kidnapper could treat him like a king, but it wouldn’t matter if he hurt you; but no – Simon seemed to adore you just as much as he did. There was no reason to actually hate Simon.

Besides the whole… being kidnapped business.

It didn’t matter, though. Johnny’s fingers twitched restlessly as he watched you snuggle into the space Simon allotted for you between his deliciously muscular thighs, brimming with power. There were bobby pins stored in the lining of the couch, already bent at the proper angles (couldn’t risk wasting precious seconds when the time came) to pick the several locks Simon kept on the inside of the door.

Simon’s eyes, deep brown like freshly turned grave soil after a thunderstorm, found his – a smug glee in his eyes that said ‘Your pup, but I still won them over’.

That smarmy fucking attitude wouldn’t last for long. All he had to do was wait for Simon to go in his shed to do god-knows-what, then he’d get him and his baby free. Johnny forced his hand to still, relaxing against the couch in faux nonchalance. Not long now, not long at all.

He was nearly asleep when a familiar weight was dropped into his lap, his arms immediately wrapping around his pup without second thought.

Baby settled easily, despite how much they adored Simon, he was still their Papa. Their cold nose pressed against his artery, snuffling softly before settling back into a gentle snooze.

His sweet baby.

A leveled glare was thrown Simon’s way, but if the big bastard noticed, he didn’t even bother turning around. Simon went out the back door – the distinct sound of several locks signaling his exit.

Johnny waited a good fifteen minutes – counting all nine-hundred seconds – before he dared to get up. Despite being sure Simon was far enough away – the hunting shed near the edge of the clearing the home was settled in, just barely skirting the forest line – Johnny wouldn’t risk it; especially not with the precious cargo sleeping soundly in his arms. He deposited you where the carpet turned to cold tile, leaving you in the comfy spot in hopes that you wouldn’t wake up.

Tiptoeing around you to retrieve his hidden stash of bobby pins, he set them next to him and got to work, carefully trying to pick the locks one by one. It was when he was on the third lock that the problems started. The traditional padlock fell to the floor with a loud clatter, Johnny’s hands too preoccupied with the bobby pins to catch it in time. Wincing, he glanced at you, mentally panicking when he saw your sleep-glazed eyes blinking up at him.

“Papa?” You squeaked, crawling forward on your belly to poke at his stashed tools.

Johnny shushed you softly, gently trying to nudge your head away from his work station. You wouldn’t budge though, too curious about his actions. He watched with dread as your eyes flicked from the bobby pins, to the three busted open locks, to him, and back between those three things over and over until you let out a blubbering cry.

“Where are we going…?”

“Nowhere, Baby… Jus' a little trip, yeah?”

“But, what about Simon?” You whimpered, looking toward the back door.

“Dinnae worry about Simon.”He murmured under a thick swallow. “'S jus' a little trip fer you an' me, like old times, yeah?”

You shook your head, parting your lips to try and protest but all that came out was a worryingly loud wail. Johnny tried to hush you, gently curling his fingers around your nape, just under your collar like he knew you liked, but it didn’t help. You only jolted away from him, crying even louder.

Unsure of what to do, he tugged you into his lap, rocking you back and forth – a hand over your mouth to try and muffle your cries.

“Shh, jus' take a nap, Baby. Please.” He begged, trying to get you back to sleep.

Your crying only turned to full yowls, and it wasn’t long before the back door was slamming open.

Simon’s mask was back on, the same black surgical mask he usually wore at work back on his face. It was only a for second, but Johnny could’ve sworn he saw panic in Simon’s eyes before it disappeared upon seeing Johnny manhandling you into his lap.

“An’ here I though’ I was gonna find someone tryin' ta hur' my pups, but no…” He hummed, tugging his mask off and tossing it to the side as he lumbered over to the two of you. “Jus' one bad pup tryin' ta gi' tha other in trouble.”

You whined at that, tears wetting Johnny’s hand; he couldn’t help that his grip loosened, nor the way he fully relinquished his hold on you when Simon’s arms wrapped around you. Simon wiped your tears away, nosing against your forehead while staring Johnny down with that same, smug look from before.

“Don’ worry, Baby.” He cooed, petting over your soft ears. “’M not gonna punish you, didn’ do nothin’ wrong, did you?”

Johnny frowned as you shook your head frantically, blubbering and whimpering so frightfully he couldn't help but recall the way you whined when his ex-partner was around - that stuttered, high-pitched sound squeezed his heart like it was trying to pop it.

Simon stood, bouncing you in his arms like a baby.

"'S enough o' tha'." He cooed, tucking your head under his chin. "Must've been quite a fright. Why don' we gi' ya down for a nap, hm?"

Johnny stood to follow, only to freeze as Simon turned around, an unreadable look in his eye.

"No' you, Johnny." He said lowly. "You stay, we need ta have a talk abou' house rules."

He wasn't sure why, but he stayed - just as Simon told him.

He didn't even dare look at the discarded bobby pins as he waited for Simon.

"Is Papa in trouble?" Johnny heard you ask from the hallway, Simon's response unintelligible to him.

It was another five minutes, three hundred seconds counted, before Simon returned; moving to stand over Johnny till his boots were touching his knee, then he crouched.

Even at a near even height, Simon still towered over Johnny, over six feet and three-hundred pounds of unyielding power.

"Don' know why ya think escaping is any good. Or smart." He huffed, brushing the back of his knuckle over Johnny's cheek, who couldn't help but flinch away. "Wha'dya think's gonna happen ta ya once you leave here, hm?

"Cuz our baby ain't goin' anywhere withou' me… Imagine wha' people will think when you mysteriously return… No puppy…" He sighed, pausing before his hand clamped down on the back of Johnny's neck, tugging the younger man close.

"An' no partner."

Terror jolted down Johnny's spine, confusion quickly making way for horror. He knew what Simon meant, but he didn't want to believe it.

"Wha'… wha' did ye do tae them?" Johnny didn't want to know the answer, not truly, but he couldn't help but ask.

Simon's eyes met his - assessing - then barked out a harsh laugh. "Did wha' anyone would do to a feral mutt tha' threatens their own. Now do you understand why ya can' leave?"

Johnny's stomach twisted, bile rising up his throat before Simon squeezed harder on his neck.

"None o' tha' now." He hushed, bringing his lips to Johnny's. "Don't you want to be a good Papa for our baby? Imagine how upset they'll be if they lost you. Can' leave em like tha', go off ta jail just 'cuz you want to be the hero. Havta be careful with wha' ya do to piss me off now, else they might star' hating you."

Johnny's head throbbed, forehead dropping down to rest in the hollow of Simon's throat, trying not to spill bile in his captor's lap despite how much he wanted to, unwilling to anger the brute even more than he already had.

Simon hefted Johnny up into his arms like he weighed nothing - and perhaps to Simon, he didn't - quickly crossing the threshold into the hallway, then into Simon's room.

You were already in Simon's bed, tucked under the covers, and by the steady rise and fall of the blankets, he could tell you were asleep. He was roughly dropped in front of Pup's kennel, the door still open to allow you to freely exit and enter at your leisure.

"In." Simon grunted, nudging Johnny's side with his boot.

"Whu'?"

"In."

"'M no' gettin' in there."

"Ya are. Bad pups go in the kennel, an' tha's wha' ya are. Be grateful it's jus' the kennel this time, considerin' how much ya scared the baby. Now, ge' in or I'll really give ya somethin' ta hate me over."

Johnny swallowed, indignant to this treatment but… He couldn't ignore the way his cock subconsciously hardened. Now, intent on hiding it from Ghost, he crawled into the kennel - which he was happy to find more than spacious for himself - meaning it was definitely good enough for his pup.

He curled up on the plush mattress, turning his back to Simon like a pouting child, which only cause the man to chuckle.

"Oh, stop pouting. Can' possibly be uncomfortable with how much I spent on gettin' a bigger kennel. I mean really, the one you had before just wasn' good enough fer our pup." Simon grunted, crouching down next to your kennel, lifting the curtains he had draped over top. "Should be thankin' me."

Johnny's brow furrowed, "Yer an ass." He grumbled.

"Oh yeah, I am. At least I don't neglect my pups." He chuckled pointedly, his knees popping as he stood.

"If yer good, I'll let you out a' dinner."

The rich smell of stew woke him up, sitting up only to curl down when the top of his head brushed the ceiling of the kennel.

At least it was cushioned.

When he looked down - through the parting of the frilly curtains, he saw you wrapped up in a bed sheet laying in front of the kennel door.

"Baby…" Johnny sighed softly, reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek through the bars. He pressed his fingers harder to your cheek. "Baby, wake up."

Slowly, you roused. Blinking the sleep free from your eyes, you chattered happily when you laid eyes on him. Despite the shitty situation, he couldn't help but smile when he saw that sweet look in your eyes, a dopey grin of adoration stretched on your cheeks.

"Hi, Baby." He cooed as you slowly came to, watching as the sleep slowly cleared from your eyes. "Wanna help me, Baby?"

You nodded quickly, nuzzling your face against his two fingers.

"Can ye open the door fer me? Hm?" Johnny prompted, keeping his tone even and sweet so as to not alarm you, but you were already curling away from him. "Bonnie… Please."

"I don't think I'm supposed to…" You whimpered.

"Nae, it's fine, bonnie. Just… please. Help your Papa out."

His words grew more desperate as you began to back away, and then you were gone.

Not moments later, the door swung back open, Simon's socked feet pacing toward him. His hand grabbed the curtains hanging over the kennel and tossed them back, glowering down at him disapprovingly.

"Ya just don' learn, do ya?" He grunted, folding his arms over his apron-covered chest. "Givin' our pup a fright, interupptin' me makin' dinner. Just unruly you are."

Simon paced over to the walk-in closet, coming back out with a gleaming muzzle.

"Ya've lost speaking privileges until ya can learn to be nice."

The kennel door was only open for a moment before the muzzle was secured over Johnny's head, a rubber bit shoved unceremoniously between his teeth, then it was shut again. Even if it had been open longer, Johnny wasn't sure he'd manage to get past Simon's bulk at all.

"You can come out for dinner after I've put pup down for bed."

And just like that, he was gone.

A few hours later, he watched as Simon tucked you into bed, turning on the white noise machine that he'd bought for you, and finalizing it all by pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he was letting Johnny out, a finger hooked in the straps of his muzzle - to steer or contain him, Johnny wasn't sure.

"Gonna le' ya out of tha muzzle," Simon murmured, dragging him over to the kitchen table and sitting him down on the left side of the table head. "But ya try and yell, run, or bite? I'll take ya over ma knee, leave ya arse raw, ya hear? Don' disappoin' me."

The lump in Johnny's throat was hard to swallow, though - ashamedly - he couldn't help but watch the way Simon's hips swayed, wide and thick with fat and muscle, moving like he was carrying an excess amount of weight on his hips.

A large pot was still on the stove, steaming as Simon ladled the stew into a bowl. Heaping ladleful after ladleful into his bowl. Setting down the bowl and spoon in front of Johnny, he quickly removed Johnny's muzzle - placing it on the center of the table - and took the seat at the head of the table, angling his chair toward him.

"Baby said ya'd like it. Said lamb was ya favorite."

"Seems like they jus' tell ye everything." Johnny pouted, grabbing his spoon.

"'S 'cuz they trus' me." Simon purred, "Did a lo' ta earn tha' trust. I'll earn yours too, eventually. Whether ya like i' or no'."

Johnny wanted to ask what exactly it was that Simon did, but… he wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore - not after he had time to ruminate on what Simon was doing in the shed. Silence stretched as Johnny reluctantly began to eat, begrudgingly agreeing that he did really like it. Only internally, though.

"I'm not going to hurt either of ya. D'ya understand tha'?"

"I dinnae."

Simon sighed as if waiting for Johnny to continue, when he didn't, Simon let the silence continue; knowing better than to push a stubborn dog like him. He'd get him to cow willingly, one way or another.

It was another three days in that kennel, only let out to eat, stretch, and take bathroom breaks (under Simon's supervision, of course), and you sleeping in front of the kennel on one of the large dog beds Simon dragged in for you, before he was finally let out on good behavior. The muzzle came off too, and you were more than happy to kiss at the wear marks left on Johnny's cheeks, nuzzling into him like you could heal all wounds.

The day passed like all the other ones before his punishment, breakfast made by Simon, relaxing in the living room - Simon throwing a rope for you to chase and play tug of war with, lunch made by Simon - today eaten in the living room so you could keep watching the movie he put on, then he left to chop wood out back - leaving the back door open so you could lay on the porch and enjoy the sun, and Johnny was left clenching his hands at the way Simon's arms and chest moved with every raise of his arms, then dinner.

This time it was a succulently prepared pot roast, supplemented with carrots, potatoes, and caramelized onions. You delicately tore the meat apart with your hands, eagerly devouring the juicy meat, and when you were done, you began swiping portions off Simon's plate - who happily humored you by ripping apart some portions and leaving them at the edge of his plate for you to easily access.

When dinner was done, Simon insisted on both of you staying seated while he cleaned up. You moved to Johnny's side, straddling his lap, nuzzling into his neck. He sighed with contentment, as horrible as he felt all this was, at least he still had you. And you were happy.

That's all he really wanted…

And when Simon tucked you in bed the same way he used to tuck you into your bed in the living room when his partner - ex-partner - came over, he couldn't help but watch the way your tail visibly wagged under the sheets, only calming when Simon placed a kiss on your forehead and turned the lights off.

He supposed, Simon trusted him more now, he used to sleep between the two of you - now you sleep in the middle, with Simon closest to the door. When you tucked yourself under Johnny's arm, Simon moved closer to you, easily cradling the both of you in his arms.

Johnny woke up before the sun had barely crested over the horizon, noting the cold, empty space beside him. He jolted up, looking around, hearing nothing to indicate that either of you were still in the house. He threw off the sheets and stumbled out of bed, padding down the hallway just to hear your whimpering…

And the distinct smell of urine.

He rounded the corner, only to find you curled in Simon's lap, his heavy hand petting your head. Soothing you.

The trail of your accident followed you from the open doorway, soaking your sweatpants.

Johnny couldn't hear what Simon said to you, but it seemed to get you settled. Settled enough for Simon to work your sweatpants and underwear down your hips and legs, leaving them on the floor as he pulled you into his arms. Bouncing you softly, your head tucked into his shoulder, he rounded the corner - only glancing at Johnny before carrying you into the bedroom and the attached en-suite.

Tentatively following, he turned into the bathroom to find Simon knelt over the tub basin, testing the waters as you sat on the toilet - waiting with your tail tucked between your legs. When the water was at a desired temperature, he turned to you, pulling a washcloth out of the tub - wringing it out and bringing to to your thighs, gently wiping you down.

"'S alrigh', pup. Daddy's no' mad. Didn' mean ta do it, an' I'll never fault ya for tha'." He whispered as he cleaned off the majority of your humiliation.

"I'll help you clean it up." replied softly, Simon only shook his head.

"No, you'll stay in the bath." He said, guiding you into the warm, bubbly water - a musky, lavender scent filling the bathroom. "Deserve ta relax after tha' littul acciden'."

You whimpered, leaning your head on Simon's forearm as he grabbed another washcloth that had been soaking to help scrub you down. Once you were fully scrubbed down, Simon grabbed both washcloths, wringing them out in the sink and tossing them into the laundry hamper.

"Stay there, Baby." Simon commanded gently, turning out of the bathroom and herding Johnny with him.

"Yer no' mad?"

"Nothin' ta be mad abou'. Jus' an acciden'."

Simon seemed to have no issue cleaning up your accident, not a wince or twist in his expression. Soaking it up with several rags and binning them, then mopping the mess away. Johnny watched with a furrowed brow, eyes following Simon's movements as he stood.

When Simon's eyes met his, he shrugged. "Seen much worse before they discharged me."

"Ye were in the military?"

Another shrug. "'S behind me, now. Glad for i', too. Wouldn've been able ta rescue the two o' ya otherwise."

Johnny opened his mouth to argue, only to close it and nod.

It was silent as Simon dumped out the mop water, putting the bucket away, and moving to loom in front of Johnny.

"'S tha' wha' we are tae ye? Rescues?" He hadn't meant it to come out as harsh as it did, especially not after he felt so thankful, he couldn't seem to help it though.

Simon's look turned contemplative, tilting his head like he was analyzing Johnny.

"Ya, ye are." Simon clasped his hand over Johnny's nape. "Lost littul thing ya were. Prancing around like ye had it all figured out, lettin' your pup wallow in their loneliness all for what? A good lay?"

"Ah… I' wasnae jus' fer..."

Simon only tutted, silencing Johnny's whining yaps with only the sound of his disapproval.

"Don' have to lie to me, pup. I know how you felt. Could see it. They didn't really care about you, did they?" He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Johnny's lips. "Convinced yaself that's wha' ya wanted, too...