#and on one hand like dad that is your MOTHER

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[mr2swap]

The Incident: It's not her

-It's not her, It's not her, It's not her- I repeated over and over again from the laundry room where I was hiding, between one of my hands I held my small slippery cock and with the other I held the gym clothes of " Mama,” his tank top was completely soaked with his hot, sticky sweat and his boxers were so wet that he could squeeze the sweat out and drink it like the most delicious juice.

I felt like hell doing this with my mother's clothes... but she was no longer my mother or at least that's what I told myself to try to silence the guilt, "Mama" or rather Frank was living with me and we were increasingly In the same room all I could think about was kneeling before his long hairy legs and taking out his huge cock and worshiping his huge hairy shaft.

It had been a big surprise for the whole family that my own mother was one of those affected by one of those incidents that a group of terrorists were causing throughout the country. This time it happened in the supermarket. My mother was shopping at the supermarket when they released that gas everywhere.

When we saw the news about the terrorist attack we tried to call mom, but no one answered. And hours later the police knocked on our door to bring “mom” back to her home.

I and dad stayed silent for several minutes watching a huge hairy man, almost 2 meters tall, enter our house with a bag full of groceries. “Mom” looked quite embarrassed. His movements were totally feminine and contrasted with that body. A thick beard. It covered his face and the thin fabric of his tank top revealed his muscular, hairy chest.

“Mama” ran to hug us with his long, strong arms, while a couple of tears of sadness stained his handsome face. Mom still didn't control his strength so that strong hug only made things even more awkward between us.

All of this was too much for my dad, He… just stayed silent for days, the house had never felt so bad, but luckily I lived alone and was only visiting to help mom and all the changes she was going through.

A week after the Incident, Mama arrived at my apartment with a suitcase in her hand and with a sad expression on her face.

-Your father and I... we are taking some time-

I knew what that meant dad was always very homophobic, that's the reason I left home, when I came out of the closet dad had the same reaction, ignoring me completely, but this time it was his own wife who was now a “faggot”

At first Mom's posture, movements and way of speaking were very effeminate, when we went to buy some clothes I heard some boys call us “faggots” without knowing that I was only shopping with my mother, but now I barely recognize her .

In just one month Mom started to change, she seemed much happier with her much younger and fit body, she started going to the gym and made new friends, loud, smelly, and extremely masculine guys, little by little Mom got used to his new friends and his new body and he completely became “Frank” Not only with his friends but also with me.

He stopped behaving like a 50-year-old lady and became a muscular airheaded caveman. When he's not devouring everything in the refrigerator while watching a football game in front of the TV, he's fucking some girl in what used to be my room. .

-That loser? Oh yes it's my... friend, his ex just left him and I let him sleep on my couch... but don't worry about him, now let me see those huge tits... -

That's usually his excuse when he brings a girl to my apartment, to fuck her loudly all night. And I... well, I sneak into the laundry room so I can listen much better as he fucks a new girl while I masturbate with her clothes, just like now.

If you liked this story about the "incident" there is a whole series of stories about people who lost their real bodies thanks to one of those attacks that are happening all over the country in my Ko-Fi archives… if you're lucky you could be next.

[thegreatstoryteller]

Female to Male Fridays!

The Great Shift: Meeting the Parents

“Are you sure you’re ok with this? We can still head home.” Jenny muttered. Clearly a bit nervous staring down at her boyfriend.

“Babe. It’s been almost a year since the Great Shift. I told you. Just because I’m unshifted, doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet your parents.” Youseff said smiling.

Jen and Youseff had met in their freshman year of college and immediately became close. They joined similar clubs, volunteered at the same food banks, and eventually friendship blossomed into romance one fateful summer night! The couple knew nothing could get between them and the love that they found… and a few years later that included the Great Shift. While Youseff remained unshifted, Jen Shale wasn’t so lucky.

They had agreed to meet at her sorority when the craziness of the Shift happened. Youseff was more than a bit surprised to find a larger older man in his 40s sitting nervously on Jen’s bed waiting for him! Since then many revelations have been shared with the couple. The first was Youseff coming out to his girlfriend as bi! He never had the courage to say it before and didn’t know how to share that part of his life with his girlfriend, but the shift offered a unique chance that worked out well with the couple. Two. Jen realized she was in a sports medicine professor who was quite in shape! He apparently was father to three student athletes on campus… and luckily her feelings for her boyfriend hadn’t wavered from the shift. A fact that they both enjoyed learning the first week of the Great Shift. Eventually the two became more comfortable with each other even buying a pair of matching pajamas!

It took quite some time for the world to get back in order. During that entire time communications were able to be set up with most families. Youseff’s family had many linear shifts, a term used by most of the world when your shift put you into someone very similar to your original body. His dad was a man his own age. His mother was a woman a few years younger than her. The only difference was his younger brother who now keeps telling Youseff to call him the bigger brother when he shifted into a former professional athlete. 

Jen’s family… was another story.

“And that brings us to today. Jen. I’m serious. I want to meet them. I know you’ve talked to them, but I haven’t. And when they invited us over for the holidays I thought it’d be the best chance to get to know them.” Youseff said hopefully, placing a hand against Jen’s cheek and training the thick salt and pepper stubble that was ever present no matter how close she shaved.

“I know- I know… but I told you before the shift that they were a bit much… and, well, now since the shift… they are still that! I guess… just… more…” Jen muttered nervously. A feat she seemed to still master despite her new commanding baritone. 

“They can’t be that bad.” Youseff said before knocking. And that’s when they heard heavy steps approaching the door.  

A handsome muscular man answered the door! He wore long pink dishwashing gloves and an apron! Aside from that he seemed to be wearing nothing else. The small potted flower he held seemed to be thriving!

“You must be Youseff! Jen has told us so much about you! Come in! Come in! I was just washing some dishes and watering the kitchen plants! We’re so glad to meet you. You can call me Margot! I’m Jen’s mother, or rather her second father!” Margot laughed. The man before them had a deep voice and almost a bro like tone. The motherly introduction he gave at odds with his gym bro form. 

“You must be hungry! I’ve been making lots of food these days. This young man I became had quite the appetite. And who could blame him. I’ve felt the urge to go to the gym almost every day of the week! Anyway, I just keep blabbering away! Have a mini quiche!” Margot led them to the living room where a small plate of appetizers awaited them.

“Wow, these are amazing Margot!” Youseff said digging in. I always wondered where Jen got her amazing cooking skills from.

“Awww! Jen! You didn’t mention your man was a little charmer.” Margot giggled as Jen blushed. 

“Mooom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Jen complained burying her fuzzy face in her large hands. Her mom was always like this. If it wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Jen, it was finding an excuse to show off her body. Ever since Margot got her new body she had been more than happy to show it off. She would say, “Well this young man clearly wanted to show off his muscles, who am I to cover them up!”. So bouncing around the house in her classic apron was just the way she dressed these days.

“Shush Jen. My little girl will never be too old for a little humor. Just because you have more grays on that head of yours than your father did pre shift, doesn’t mean you can’t laugh a little.” Margot teased.

“Speaking of where is Mr. Shale? Youseff asked.

“Well he’s always in the garage these days. When he got that 20 year old gymnast’s body, he’d become obsessed with the sport! I’ve got some biscuits to take out of the oven. You two should check on him.” Margot offered.

“Anything to get out of this conversation.” Jen groaned pulling Youseff towards the side of their home. As they opened the door to the garage they could see a handsome black man flexing in the mirror, wearing a tight singlet. The chalk on his hands implying a recent gymnastics routine.

“Jen! There’s my little girl turned big man!” Her dad said cutting his flexing short and heading towards Jen. Mr. Shale now was the shortest one in the family at 5’1. With his daughter at 6’0 and his wife at 5’10, the household tended to tower over him. However, he was more than happy with his new body.

“Hey dad, enjoying your gymnastics or whatever?” Jen half heartedly asked.

“Yes I am! I tell ya, being a few decades younger is great! Sure beats my beer belly and sore ankles. A 20 year old body like this is flexible. You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me.” Mr. Shale winked.

“Dad! Oh my gosh! NO! I brought Youseff here! Please don’t gross him out.” Jen screamed.

“Oh so this is the young man that’s caught my daughter’s eye. You can address me as Mr. Shale or sir. DO I make myself clear?”  Mr. Shale looked up at Youseff who just nodded. Despite the size difference between them Youseff was clearly intimidated by his dad-like tone. 

“Yes sir!”

“Good man. I guess I have you to thank for helping our dear Jen finally get some more manly clothes? For some reason she didn’t want my help with a new wardrobe.” Mr. Shale shook his head disappointed.

“Yeah! We actually had a lot of fun going to the store and finding clothes that fit. The toughest part was finding shoes in her new size.” Youseff conceded.

“Youseff!” Jen blushed. She knew it was true. With her larger feet, she realized just how difficult it was to find footwear that fit. The largest most places went up to was size 15. Her now size 18 feet were tough to find anywhere!

“Sorry babe, but it’s true. Plus you said you had a great time shopping. Like old times, remember? You said that you weren’t sure we’d find a single pair, but when we went to the Big and Tall store, they had a few shoes your size! Even sandals!” Youseff explained.

Jen just shook as her dad applauded Youseff’s resourcefulness!

Before long the family was finally all together to share a meal! Jen’s parents were loving her boyfriend, though he could see that she was clearly embarrassed throughout the whole dinner.

By the time they left Youseff was driving them back to their apartment, where he asked. “Jen? Are you alright? I… I’m guessing that night wasn’t the most pleasant for you?”

Jen just nodded and hugged her boyfriend. Her broad frame embracing him with a tight squeeze. “My parents just take a lot out of me. Before the shift they were overbearing in a different way and now… well now they are always just so comfortable in their new bodies! My mom started going to the gym almost every day with her old book club. Each of them became some kind of fitness influencer. And my dad! He won’t stop telling me how proud he is to have a son now and that I need to start acting more manly. I don’t get how they can be so well adjusted to all this! I… I thought I was getting there. With you… being this kind of man feels easy. Even more exciting at times too.”

“I do love your mustache.” Youseff noted, causing Jen to giggle.

“See. It’s stuff like that. You always make me feel like your partner… and… I guess I need more time before I start feeling like a member of my own family again and not some older hairy guy.” Jen admitted.

Youseff kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry I insisted we meet them so soon. I was so ready to take our relationship further and I was so nervous to meet them. But I forgot to consider how you were feeling about your parents. From now on, we can just focus on us.”

“I like that plan.” Jen smiled kissing back.

“Good. Maybe we can start with a pedicure tomorrow. I know you’ve been itching to try that out with your big new feet.” Youseff teased.

“Ha! These big new feet would love to get a pedicure. Maybe a foot massage later too!” Jen smiled, wiggling her big toes. When she was with Youseff she realized, maybe she could get used to this big body.

[leyavo]

| I am my father's daughter |

💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader

PART TWO: Agreeing to let Toff check you over, you make the decision of whether not you want to stay with your dad or just take off, which would be so much easier.

TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort/ some TF141 too. [Part one] [Series masterlist] 3026words

Toff lived up to her nickname, no letters dropped at the end of her words like the team your dad had around him. No she was posh, well spoken and had the accent of someone that came from old money.

The gold designer watch on her wrist and the rock of an engagement ring, also telling enough. Her fingers prodded the yellowing bruise on your rib cage, the rock dazzling under the light, blinding you each time she moved.

She doesn't fit in, too put together compared to the likes of your father. He's still wearing some sort of hat, whether its the ridiculous army bucket hat or a snug knitted fisherman one, if he's not it's stuffed in his back pocket. You're convinced he's still got the same Levi jeans, a few added scrapes and as he says, they wear well. There's an array of plaid and flannel shirts in varying colours hanging in his wardrobe, like another uniform he wears on his downtime instead of his camo gear.

Your dad had slipped that she went to some prestigious medical school before working in the military. Not that it mattered it to you, you'd see a vet if it meant they wouldn't talk to your dad.

Thankfully she made your dad wait in the hall, her office door shut as she assessed you. If you got this over with, you could leave and not have to speak of it ever again. You could just imagine him pacing the hallway, halting to greet the soldiers calling him captain and then resuming his pacing.

Being the Captain’s daughter also meant you had a shared family health plan with him. One you’d never heard of before. He did use to remind you to go for dental and medical check ups, but moving around when you were younger made it difficult. Your mother reluctant to fill out forms to sign you up to a new doctor’s surgery because she wasn’t sure if the new home was long term. Shocker, they never were.

"You won't, uh tell my dad?" You asked as you rolled the layers of clothing back down.

Toff tipped your chin up with her finger, "all patient records are confidential, even if your dad's Captain Price." She pushed her chair back wheeling it to the desk and picking up a pair of tweezers, sliding back to you.

She peered over her thick framed glasses at you, turning your face side to side inspecting the gash above your brow. The metal of the tweezer cool against your skin, she prodded the tape drawing back with a nod of satisfaction.

"Soap patched you up well," Toff said handing you a plastic cup of water and some painkillers.

"Sorry, what," you blurted out, choking on the water.

Humming Toff nodded, "he's good with light touch, probably why your dad got him to fix you up whilst you were out cold." She managed to get hold of some of your medical records, which she requested last night. No doubt your dad had called as soon as you fell asleep in the car and asked her for a favour.

You muttered a string of curse words under your breath, did the whole bloody army base know what happened last night? Toff was too busy reading your record, brows scrunching as she double clicked the mouse.

"You broke your wrist six years ago, but never had surgery," she said, turning the computer screen for you to see the x-ray. "The follow up on here, shows your bone moved during it was in a cast, but your guardian refused surgery." Her pen circling the area of the screen for you.

"We were moving and it felt fine," you shrugged, looking down at your wrist. You wondered if your dad knew about that one.

"Does it bother you now?" Toff said, returning to you and picking up your right wrist, pushing your sleeve up. "Huh, there's a lump there, does that hurt? Any regular pain? Does it restrict you from doing certain things, this is your dominant hand?" Her hazel eyes snapped up to yours as you snatched your wrist back and shoved the sleeve back down.

All of her questions spun around in your head, you hadn't even thought about the pain when there was other things to worry about.

Toff stood from her chair, palms raised as if you were going to bolt out of the room, you wanted to.

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Is that all you need me to take a look at?"

"Yes, thanks,” you snapped, flinging your hoody back on and zipping it up.

You're ready to bid your dad goodbye and never look back, but as you swung the door open you crashed into the back of someone else.

Soap's light touch kept you upright, you're trying not to think of him patching you up whilst you slept. The thought alone making you feel pathetic, small in his presence. Like you can't even look after yourself.

“Captain got called in,” Soap said, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to you. You’re used to him coming and going, more focused on his job than you.

More interested in his team, how he so easily referred to Soap as son. You haven’t even been there for a day and he’s found another family, leaving you to feel like a spare part. You want to hate Soap, but you don’t know him. Don’t know your dad the way they do.

The walls began to press in and you took off down the narrow corridor, your sight on the world outside. You needed fresh air, needed to catch your breath and not fall apart in front of Soap.

"Hey, woah," Soap called after you, his boots stomping as he tried to catch up. "dammit slow down would ya, like a fuckin’ greyhound."

You forced the door open with a bit too much force and they slammed against the stairs railing as you rushed down the steps.

"I am not a dog!" You spun around, jabbing his chest with your finger. The cool air swept your hair across your face, drawing a deep breath from you. You watched Soap's chest rise and fall as if he was coaching your breathing.

He tucked the curtain of hair shielding your eyes behind your ear, "feel better now?"

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you signed me out right now.” You raised your brow, wincing at the tape pulling it tight.

Soap shook his head, falling into step beside you. He waved, signalling for the guard to let you both through the gate back into the residential area “Your dad’s a good man, why don’t you give him a chance?”

“Because I’m not a soldier, he had his chance six years ago.” The three years he didn’t reach out, didn’t bother checking in on you. Only to find out he had another kid, another family.

You didn’t miss the tic of his jaw or the gulp he took. All the little signs you looked for when you said the wrong thing, you were good at noticing the change in people. Knew how even the nicest ones could change like a flick of a switch.

Soap leant down, face close to yours that you could feel his hot breath fanning the curve of your nose. “Look, if you’re only here to piss off your dad, I’ll sign you out right now. Hell I’ll even take the blame for you leaving, just don’t go asking him about six years ago.”

“Got it,” you said, voice low but good enough for him to hear. The tension in your body kept you in place, breath trembling as he backed off and started walking ahead.

You trailed after him, keeping your distance incase he turned around again. The beating of your heart drummed against your chest, palms sweating as you balled them up inside your pockets.

Why were you so pathetic when confronted? You could just hear your dad’s voice in the back of your head telling you to knee him in the groin. Take up some space so they can’t take all of yours.

Space, exactly what you needed after being stuck in house with a team of men. You slipped through the front door, not glancing at Soap as you rushed to the safety of your dad’s room.

Shutting the door, you pressed your back against the wood panel. The lock sliding into place, your body slumping to the floor and arms wrapping around your legs as you brought them into your chest.

Your small area of safety calming you. After a moment of silence, you picked yourself up and climbed under the duvet. The memory foam mattress too hard on your back that you flipped over on your stomach, closing your eyes.

-

The constant buzzing of your phone drew you out of your sleep, your eyes heavy as you squinted at the window. You don't know why your dad opened the blinds, the sun making it harder for you to focus. His half of the bed smooth and tucked underneath the mattress, not a crease in sight till you tugged the duvet.

Numb tingles danced across your upper back, you groaned into your pillow and attempted to roll your shoulder. Searing pain stopping you before you could rise from the bed.

Eying the alarm clock, you stumbled out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. You're glad the others are training this afternoon and you can sort this out yourself. It can't be that bad.

You pulled your hoody over your head, wincing at the pull of your arm stretching the skin across your shoulder blade.

Peering over your shoulder, you looked at your reflection in the mirror and your fingers pressing into the red skin. A weeping wound oozed yellow pus just right of your back below your neck. You'd forgotten about the graze, too distracted by Toff questioning your broken wrist.

You added a little more pressure and clutched the edge of the sink, black dots lining your vision. You heard the thud before you felt your body fall to the floor.

Sweat ran down your forehead, the cool tiles beneath you a welcome addition against the heat of your skin. Since when were you so hot? your breaths quickened as you tried to focus on your phone across the bathroom. Your hand aching to reach for it.

Maybe if you just rested for a little.

John couldn't wait to sit outside and have a cigar. The day had knocked him, your call in the early hours of the morning throwing him off track and his duties as a captain, a father. He hated how he got called away whilst he waited for Toff to check you over, hoping to catch you before you went on another stroll around the base to get away from his questioning.

He pulled his boots off and added them to the shoes lined up by the door, the living room and kitchen were clear. The mumbled tones of his teammates drew his attention to the hallway. He dragged a hand down his face, hoping he wouldn't have to readjust yet another bathroom schedule.

John joined the guys huddled by the closed bathroom door, looking around Soap for a clue of what the hell they were doing. "I mean we could shimmy the door open, pop it out of the frame with a bit of force," Ghost said, his calloused hand tracing the wood.

They’re all covered in sweat from their training session. Thinking they’d revert back to their bathroom schedules like normal, but they’re locked out. Only the new recruits use the communal showers.

"I don't think kickin’ the door in, is gonna make the lass feel safe." Soap said, arm shooting across the guys before they could move. The warped door's been wreaking havoc since they were assigned the house, but they haven't been bothered about taking it off and shaving it down or replacing the temperamental lock. That or wait on the long list of maintenance services.

“What the hell are you boneheads going on about?” John grumbled, their heads snapping towards him as they finally realised he was there. He glanced to the lock picking device in Ghost’s hand and the dagger wedged into the crack of the door.

“The doors locked, she was talking a second ago…” Gaz winced as the captain’s fist banged against the door shaking the whole wall.

John held his hand over his shoulder silencing them all behind him, his head titling as he tried to listen for any movement. Another knock on the door, "hey kiddo, you alright in there? If you can hear me give me something, anything."

A light tap bounced back, the tension in the captains shoulders easing at the sound.

"Can't kick the door in, there ain’t enough room in there for it to fall. Could hurt her," Gaz said, he yanked the dagger out of the door and shoved it back into Soap's hand.

"Could take the window out and go in that way." Ghost added, as if they were planning to scale a building and ambush a rogue team.

Their mumbled voices merged together in the cramped hallway.

"Window it is."

Gaz volunteered to climb through the second floor window and break the lock from the inside. John holding his breath as he waited on the other side, his chest stung at the sight of you in Gaz's arms. The ringing in his ear and the hands pushing him forwards kept him in tow behind Gaz. You were so pale, words slurred and hand dropping over his arm like a dead weight.

John was no stranger to the infirmary, he'd been sat either at someone's bedside or the unconscious one receiving aid. What he wasn't used to though, was his daughter strung up with an IV and sleeping off the medication Toff had given her.

Nurses flitted back and forth from the bed, herding John to the side as they assessed you. Gaz and Soap had gone back to the house to sleep, Ghost fixed the door and the lock and stopped by to give the captain a strong flask of coffee leaving straight after.

The constant questions, ones he didn't know since he'd never been asked before. How could he not know if you were allergic to anything or if there were any underlying health issues? It hadn't even been two days since you'd come back into his life and he didn't know you at all.

Hours had passed since Gaz had carried you through the house and to the infirmary. Your skin pale and clammy, hair sticking to your forehead. He'd never seen you like that, lost for words as he trailed after them.

The marks of another man's grasp circled your bicep, green bruise fading, but visible as you laid in the bed. John thought the split lip and gashes on your head and brow were bad, the wound on your back much worse. Couldn't understand how you carried the pain so well, as if you'd mastered putting up with it. That scared him.

He nodded to the nurse as she finished her shift, the clipboard at the end of your bed falling to the floor. He picked it up flicking through the pages and shuffling them back into the file. His hands hesitating as he read your name, Marston not Price. Was he that detached from your life that you'd dropped his last name? He'd even put his surname for you when he'd signed you into the base and you hadn't said anything when you looked at the visitor pass.

A hand smoothed across his back, chair scraping along the floor beside him. “Lucky girl, Cap. Mild case of sepsis, good that you caught on to it early and brought her in," Toff said, she leant her elbows on her knees and ducked her head to catch John's gaze.

He couldn't glance at her though, his gaze on his hand on top of yours. "You were supposed to check her over," he snarled, more angry at himself for not paying enough attention than at Toff.

"She didn't show me the wound on her back, just some bruising and the marks on her face that were visible. If I'd have known John..." Her words cut off by John's hand patting her knee.

"How she looking?"

"You caught it in the early stages, could be a few days or a week or more. She'll need to be monitored here and make sure the infection has gone. A wound like that though with the placement, would have made it difficult for her to tend to herself." Toff flicked through the medical chart, eyes flitting to the heart monitor as she walked around the bed.

John didn't want to think about you alone, isolated from people that could help and care for you. How you lacked a family and friends to lean on during those times. His mind consumed with finding whoever did this to you. Ghost had already asked him if he wanted him to look into it.

Toff hooked up another bag of IV, silently bidding him goodbye and returning to her office over the other side of the infirmary. Door ajar incase she was needed.

A twitch of your finger tapped against John's, followed by the hurried beat of the heart monitor. You whimpered in to the pillow, rapid movement fluttering under your eyelids.

“You’re okay, kid. Just relax, your old man’s right here,” he said, adjusting your pillow and smoothing your hair out of the way.

“Captain,” you slurred, lazy smile tugging your lips. You struggled to keep your eyes open, but you clutched his pointer finger like you used to as a kid.

You’d called him Captain as a kid, your mother’s doing as she used to tell you stories about daddy becoming one, one day. Playing soldiers whenever he came home and he’d always let you be the captain, your little voice commanding him to play.

"I've got you kid, you're safe."

- thank you for all your lovely comments on the first part!! :) more parts to come soon! Hope you liked it - Leya

[lvicevlk]

#mdzs#mdzs meta#nie mingjue#jin guangyao#meng yao#nieyao#of course the inherent tragedy is that nmj is totally THE guy to ask if you want your death to mean something#nmj's reaction the the fact that most ppl's deaths are meaningless is to go: yes and I should change this.#If everyone thought like me this wouldn't happen anymore I simply need to get EVEN MORE HARDCORE about justice to MAKE them care#and this quality- which makes him the one person perhaps capable of making jgy's death mean something- also makes him a threat to his life#so jgy kills him because he needs to live. And then his beliefs about the meaninglessness of his own death are doomed to be true#what else was he supposed to do? just die and TRUST that someone would make it mean something?#like his mother trusted that his father would come back for them?#of course he can't do that.#just like how nmj's upbringing means that by the stairs he can't see how jgy- son of a sect leader and extremely capable-#is any different from the men who wrung their hands and told him that wen ruohan is just *too powerful* they can't do anything about him.#(*guy who killed wrh and wil go on to kill jgs voice* i just can't do anything about my dad being evil)#if jgy had agreed to risk his life and asked nmj to make it mean something if he died nmj would have said yes.#which is why he can't understand jgy wouldn't just ASK that.#jgy meanwhile has not been informed that was a fucking option and if he was wouldnt be able to trust that it'd actually happen.#for reasons outlined above#ahhh tragedy and inability of characters to understand each other i love you (via OP)

So I've said multipe times now (here and here) that thinking nmj is just so blinded by privilege he doesn't undertand that acting out of line gets people killed is, in my opinion, a misunderstanding of his character that ignores the part where he's, you know, actively dying the whole time and thinks that's a good thing. But that doesn't mean I don't think privilege plays no role at all in how he views the world.

Specifically, his view that death (at least premature or violent death) means something.

Death isn't always a tragedy to NMJ, but it is always meaningful. If you kill an evil dangerous person for your righteous cause, that death had meaning. There was evil in the world and now there is less of it. Similarly, if you die in the pursuit of your righteous cause, that death has meaning, because the sheer dedication you gave to it that you were willing to die for it will further that cause, and your bretheren will be invigorated by your sacrifice to fight even harder.

If a death isn't meaningful, that's an injustice and it is up to the living to give it meaning. That's what cuts so deep about his father's murder. There were no consequences, no changes, no meaning. Wen Ruohan was just going to get away with it! He fights and wins an entire war to make it mean something, to make it so that the unjust murder of Nie Mingjue's father is part of Wen Ruohan's downfall.

But this is a view he can only hold because he's the kind of person who's death will be meaningful. Most ordinary people's deaths are meaningless. Not ontologically, not inherently, but they are made meaningless because no one cares. For death to be meaningful you either have to be so powerful that anything you risk your life for will be impacted in some way. (Like, say, if you sacrifice a long life for immense martial power in a faustian bargain with a blade) Or if people with that kind of power care enough about you to do so for you. For most people, this isn't true. A starving street kid has no power to change the unfair world that put them there, even if they risk their life trying, and no one will do it for them once they die.

Nie Mingjue knows this in abstract, and of course rightfully believes it's wrong. But all that does is make it yet another righteous cause people should be willing to die for. Everyone's deaths should mean something, we'll make it so or die trying!

This is what the conflict between nieyao is about at its core. Because Jin Guangyao, fundamentally, cannot conceive of his own death as meaningful. Nie Mingjue grew up around powerful men who could change the world but refuse to do so because god forbid they risk a single hair on their perfect heads. Meng Yao, on the other hand, grew up in an environment where no one of importance would blink twice if you died. He was surrounded by meaningless death. Indeed his entire early life is defined by that lack of care.

Meng Shi dies and no one cares. Meng Yao gets thrown off a flight off stairs and no one cares. He has to be the one to do the caring, and once he's gone no one else will do it for him.

So he has to live.

Jin Guangyao eventually gets far enough that he actually does aquire the power to change some things... as long as he's alive. If he changes too much, holds on too tightly to his ideals, he'll die and it'll all be for nothing. He can't sacrifice himself for his goals because doing so would immediately render those goals unobtainable. No one will care about what he tried to do. He won't be a heroic sacrifice, he'll just be trash that finally cleaned itself up.

And well... Nie Mingjue dies, and someone makes it mean something. Makes it mean so much that the entire story of mdzs would not exist without it. Jin Guangyao dies and it doesn't mean anything. Most people are glad to be rid of him, and the few that are not don't do anything to change that.

[eggfriedricedwasian]

TimKon clone baby au but Tim heals after creating the baby.

Tim disappears after achieving Bruce back from the time stream, well he sent the information on how to get Bruce back from the tim stream rather.

The fight with Ra's, the LOA, all that happens, except, once he's fixed up, he leaves. Drops off the radar.

He's still severely unstable. Almost as if he's catatonic.

But he makes it to the lab, freeing the growing baby from the green liquid, grabbing the thing no, girl, this baby, his baby, was a girl.

He has a daughter.

Daughters are the most precious thing the world can offer.

He now has the most precious thing in the world. The most precious little girl he's ever looked at.

Hell hath no fury like a mother without a child.

So Tim drops off the radar. He goes somewhere secluded, cheap, and away from crime and heroism.

He raises his daughter, he fixes himself, he learns, she learns, he grows, and she grows up.

While he's being the best most doting dad in the world to his daughter, little Mary-Jane Drake-Wayne(-Kent), the Bats, with the newly returned Bruce, look for Tim.

Kon and Bart, who returned from the dead, also look for Tim.

Kon, of course, was the one who finds Tim first. Tim and a baby. An 8 month old baby.

This baby has fair skin, wavy bed headed locks, and bright blue eyes. This baby was on her stomach with her head up, hair standing up all over the place, looking at Kon, while snuggled in the crook of Tim's arm.

Tim was sleeping, legs curled up on his side with his arm out underneath the baby girl and his hand resting on her back.

"Ah"

The sound of the baby's voice snaps Kon's attention to her. She's so small and yet so big. Since when did Tim have a kid? And with who?

Tim stirs awake slowly and Kon holds his breath.

"Mmm.. MJ, what are you doing up so early, sweetie?"

Tim turns on his back, putting the baby called MJ(who is in the most adorable Superboy onsie ever) on his stomach.

Mj doesn't turn her head to him, eyes still transfixed on Kon's figure.

Tim turns to look over and sits up, pulling MJ closer to him chest, hugging her tight, and pulls a knife out from under the bed, backing up towards the wall.

"Hey, hey, it's just me, Tim."

"N-No! I don't know who you are, but you aren't Kon!"

It pains Kon to hear that.

"It is me."

Tim shakes his head.

"If it really was you, you'd tell me something only him and I know.

"One time, when we were on Young Justice, you almost gave away your secret identity to me before Batman said you could, but you did it anyways."

Tim seemed to calm at that. He slowly puts the knife down, and back where it was.

"H-how?"

"Tim travel stuff. Was with the Legion of Heroes in the future recovering for a bit before they sent me back."

That would explain it.

Tim slowly scooted off the bed, standing, but not letting go of his baby. God his baby.

They stand in silence for a while longer, looking between each other, and Kon between Tim and MJ.

"Who's the mother?"

He asks. He's not sure why he did. Why would he care?

Tim seems taken aback by the question. But he avoids it, smoothly, as if he was preparing for this scenario, in this way or another, to happen.

"You can join us for breakfast."

Kon agrees.

The kitchen is small.

It has a counter island protruding from the wall acting as both a counter space island and a table. There were two chairs at it, plus a high chair.

"Sit here, baby."

Kon hears Tim whisper to MJ as he sets her down in the high chair.

She fusses very little as she gets buckled in. She settles just as fast when Tim gives her a toy. It makes noises as she swings it around, smiling brightly.

She has Tim's smile. Kon thinks distantly, looking at the way her cheeks squished and her gummy smile showed. The dimpled weren't Tim's, though.

When Kon looks at Tim, he doesn't know what to expect. Tense? Sure. Shaking? Maybe.

He wasn't expecting Tim to be smooshing bananas in a bowl with a fork, putting a baby spoon in it and putting it in front of MJ for her to eat, all with a small smile on his face.

A smile he's never seen before. It's domestic. Motherly sort of domestic. His eyes are crinkled, his smile is so full of love for the little baby laughing and making a mess of her face, chair, clothes, and bib while she ate mushed bananas.

"Tim.."

Tim's smile falls shortly down, if he wasn't watching all that closely he wouldn't have seen it.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"... Pancakes, if that's alright.."

Tim nods, turning and grabbing an apron, putting it on.

The apron said "World's Best Housewife" on it.

He grabbed a bowl, a pan, flour, eggs, oil, butter, milk, and chocolate chips and whatever else.

He made the batter, started up the heat on the gas stove, then added the batter, before plating and placing the pancakes, three on each. Syrup sat in the middle, which both of them drowned their pancakes in.

They started eating in silence next to each other. MJ's baby noises were the only thing that kept the silence even remotely tolerable.

"She's a clone..."

Tim started.

He looked at Tim shocked. Of course he was shocked. She was a clone!

"...Of us.."

Kon's heart stopped beating for a second. If the white noise generator wasn't going off somewhere in the house, he was sure he could hear Tim's heart beating really fast.

"...that I made."

Kon's world took a turn.

Tim Drake, his best friend, his Robin, someone he had confided in about his upbringing as a clone, made MJ out of both of their DNA in a lab as a clone.

"What."

He no longer felt hungry. He felt.. He didn't know what he felt. There were so many mixed emotions going through him right now.

Anger? His best friend cloned him after he told him how he hated being cloned.

Joy? He has a daughter. A daughter Tim made. Why did Tim make her?

"It was a hard time for me. I lost you, Bart, my dad, and then Bruce. I tried to clone you and Bart, and I had the bright idea of adding my DNA to the mixture when cloning you. It worked, and now she's here, and I'm here, and.. you're back."

He said it as if he didn't want Kon back.

Kon was about to speak up when Tim beat him to it.

"It's great that you're back, Kon, but I broke your trust and promise by making her. But she's my kid, so you don't have to stay, you can leave. I'm fine right where I'm at and I'm not going back, to the Bats, to the Waynes, to no one. Not even for you."

For the first time since their first meeting that morning, Tim looked at Kon. His eyes held such fierce determination, love, and compassion in them. All those felt for MJ, not for him.

What did he even say to that. What did he even do.

MJ was his kid too, right? She was a clone of Kon and him, so that makes her his child as much as Tim's, no?

Would Tim even let him be her other dad? Did he even want to be her other dad?

He did.

Lex and Clark didn't treat him like their son and he was their *technical* kid. He wanted oh so desperately to have parents that loved him, he wanted to give MJ that since he didn't get that.

She didn't deserve it. She was just a baby. A baby Tim made out of grief for him dying.

"What's her name?"

He asks instead of everything else.

".. Mary-Jane."

Tim answers after his initial shock at the question.

Tim turns back to her, seeing her finished with the bananas, now content playing with her toy while she stares at her father.

Tim takes the bowl and goes to put it and the plates in the sink, then cleans MJ up and the chair before extracting her and heading over to the diaper changing table in another room to change her diaper.

The door was still ajar so he could see Tim change her diaper and clothes and hear as she giggled while her father cooed at her and poked at her nose and belly and kissed her face.

I should be doing that too.

"Tim."

He calls when Tim walks back out.

Tim stops right outside the room's door, holding MJ, Mary-Jane, in his hip. She was now in a light blue little blouse and denim blue jean skirt with cute ruffled socks and a little bonnet.

"Can I.. I want to.."

He couldn't form his question.

"Could I be her other father?"

He blurts out instead.

They both stare at each other for what felt like the longest time of Kon's life.

"Really?"

Tim finally asks.

He nods, pushing his lips in a thin line and furrowing his brows, expecting a no for an answer.

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay."

Kon looked bewildered despite hearing his answer.

"I know you, Kon. I know how you felt about Clark and Lex when it came to parenting, I expected this, actually. You want to be there for her, unlike they were with you. I had time to think about it these past few months."

That actually.. made sense, but it didn't at the same time.

Tim motioned for Kon to follow as he sat down on the couch. Kon sat next to him.

"Want to hold her?"

He nodded immediately, and was given MJ before he could finish.

She was small, so very light in his arms as she stared up at him with those big blue beautiful eyes, his eyes.

"She helped me, ya know."

Kon looked at him, adjusting his hold on her so she could hold his finger.

Tim watched her intently.

"I was in a really dark place when I had her, when we first came here. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to take care of her. But I knew I couldn't with how I was. So I got better, for her. She helped me. I've been clean, I've been taking care of myself, eating 3 meals a day, cleaning the house, raising her, taking medicine, regularly working out, meditating, sleeping a full 8 hours, and napping with her."

He paused to get a breath in.

"I don't regret it, leaving, going off the radar. I've never been more healthy and more stress free, and more alive in my life."

"I'm never going back."

Kon leaves it at that.

He doesn't know much about what happened, but he doesn't care anymore. This is his family. And he isn't going to leave it.

[yojeongin]

playing dangerous | k.dy

→bff’s stepdad!doyoung x f!reader

genre: smut, semi-angst, some fluff, forbidden affair, semi-character study

synopsis: summers are meant to be spent having fun with your best friend not fooling around with her step father.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! cheating, age gap (not focused between mcs), yearning, power imbalance, massive frued psychosexual theory undertones (that old man won), morally grey characters, alluding to cycle of predation and abuse of power, manipulation, lowkey ageism, doyoung heavy mommy issues (worrying actually), oral (m receiving), cum kiss, fingering, foot play, unprotected sex, creampie, voyeurism.

wc: 15.8k || anthology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: sorry this took longer than expected, im 3hrs late oops. the corporate lifestyle has been kicking my ass so bad (im so fucking miserable) and i wasn't satisfied with what i was going to post last week anyway so hope this is better (hope).

“Are you sure that’s your step dad and not step brother?”

Disbelief was too soft of a word for what you truly thought. When your friend had given you notice that her mother had married her boyfriend of two years (news to you), you had expected the man to be decrepit and gray haired. Not someone not too much older than what you were. 

Earlier you had confused him with one of the movers who helped bring in your friend’s and her mother’s items into the new home. You went as far as shooting him a flirty smile while making way to your friend who sat peacefully on the porch swing with a glass of cold lemonade to aid her from this horrid summer heat. 

“Yeah…“ she whines, throwing her head back enough to hit herself a tad with the backrest. “He makes her happy. As long as he does, I don’t care how old he is.” She felt judged by your constant questioning. As if she was the one marrying the man. As if she was living through her mother and her decisions to wed someone significantly younger than her. You were the last person she wanted to feel judged by, however could they truly blame your incessant curiosity and shock? Specifically when you never knew her mother was dating. What kind of best friend are you to not be as close as you believed?

Meghan wasn’t the youngest, the woman was sixty and this man looked to be in his late twenties. How could they blame you for your curiosity? 

“So how old is he?” You shift beside her, the swing rocking with every move. “He turned thirty in February. She hasn’t had a partner since I can remember, this is good for her.” Her words attempt to convince her more than you, emphasized by the harsh desperate slurping within the empty glass.

Your friend turned 25 in February too.

“Oh wow, so since he was a kid too?” You joke. It doesn’t land.

“Y/n!” She hits your arm, you laugh in return. “What?!” You whine through laughs, this time purposely rocking the swing. “Come on…” It aches like nails on a chalkboard if she thinks about it. Meghan is her mother, she could easily be Doyoung’s mother as well. She knew Doyoung's mother.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She sighs, hands and glass on her lap. “Yes, the age gap is insane but… they’re old enough.” Your friend frowns, another attempt to convince herself and failing miserably.

Raising your hands in defeat, she smiles, continuing her playful acts of harm. “Want a glass?” She offers, you decline, your mind stuck on the beautiful man standing roughly a few feet away from where you two sat. Your head struggles to not turn his way and gawk like you’ve done earlier. It's difficult, you'll find throughout these months.

You knew you shouldn’t be fawning the way you are. After all, he is now Meghan’s husband. Meghan who has treated you like her own child since Pre-K. But God, you couldn’t help admire the way sweat rolled down his face and the way he wiped it away with the back of his delicate hands. 

At this moment, you’re not too bitter about your summer plans being halted. Not when he’s noticed your covetous glances and sly grins. Perhaps that's what started it all. Your restraint, pulling him step by step to where you sat. Sweat adorning his face and forcing his hair to frame his beautiful features, glistening in this sun.

A tender smile to the public eye but a reciprocative grin to you, “Welcome girls.” He smiles, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from the airport.” He turns halfway to look at the movers entering the home. “Duty calls.”

He was cliche with his words, yet smooth enough to make your grin widen. Like a white collar in those vintage Hollywood movies. His voice, softer than imagined. He drew you in the same way you drew him. It was bound to happen.

Tina shook her head, a dismissive and polite smile. She covers her eyes from the sun which did not ambush either. Rather, it was a futile attempt to shield her emotions, easily projected onto her eyes. It’s not resentment she felt towards him. Discomfort and confusion for his decisions is.

Doyoung looks at you briefly, as if to say “I suppose we are not there yet?”, answered by your own polite smile. He dismissed it immediately, shaking his head with a slight chuckle which forced Tina to uncover her eyes, confused.

“Will you be a dear and get me a drink?” He asks when their eyes finally meet. If it means that he won’t read her any longer, Tina nods standing up. She’s out of the picture faster than he had asked without a care that Doyoung took her spot next to you. 

Doyoung smiles your way, his knee bumping into yours while he settles. You return the smile, looking at the contact. Your legs criss-crossed on the swing and his rocking you both. It’s silent besides the movers and Meghan’s music inside the home. Nevertheless, this feels comfortable, scarily so for a first-time meeting.

“I’m sorry for being the reason you two had to cancel your trip.” Doyoung leans over, elbows on his thighs. His back is on full display, wet shirt clinging to the wide muscles that force your lower lip in between your upper teeth.

Your eyes don’t unglue from him, chills running across your body for such a warm day. You sigh, following a streak and bead of sweat from his temple down to his neck. “It's fine, we didn't want to walk around for hours and see old buildings.” You reassure sarcastically, although the tone deadpans.

“No? But Italy is very beauteous. Meghan recounted, you two had been planning on it as an incentive to get through grad school. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Doyoung did not expect to be met with laughter. He was soft spoken, tender, genuinely sorrowful, and a welcoming host. Why must you laugh at him? He’s not too sure.

His quizzical look does not subside, “I was joking, Mr. Kim.” You giggle, wiping at your threatening tears. His eyebrows furrow, yet, folds his handkerchief to a clean corner, doing the task for you. He's so close. So comfortable with being this near to a complete stranger.

“You’re narrowly five years younger than I. Please don't call me that.” He defends petulantly, forgetting about what brought you both to this topic. It sounds insane and dumb to be called that as if he was his father or an old man, he was only thirty.

It is insane and so is marrying a woman who was his current age when he was born.

You hum a response, turning away from him with a slow nod. “Do you always talk like that?” Your voice lures him again, craning his head to look at you. “Like you’re a pretentious liberal arts professor.” It’s lighthearted and mocking at the same time. Your smile slowly forms and he mirrors it.

“My father is a professor. Not for the liberal arts though but perhaps it rubbed off.” “Perhaps.”

He laughs softly in light of your continuing mockery, “Y/n, correct? I fear I haven’t properly introduced myself.” Doyoung shifts in his spot, his body facing you. He extends his hand and you take it. His fingers are nimble and long, his palms clammy but soft, and his grasp is strong but delicate against your own. 

Your smile doesn’t falter, thumb caressing his knuckles, an act he replicates against your own. “Yes… beautiful house by the way. What do you do for a living?" You ask curiously, met by a scolding shriek when Tina and Meghan come out with glasses of lemonade, something you did not want. Lemonade and their interruption, it's interchangeable.

"Y/n those things are not asked!" Meghan scolds, handing Doyoung his glass. He laughs, shaking his head while taking a sip. You watch some of it slip from the corner of his lip. He is such an unfortunate person when it comes to liquids, it seems. Regardless, you wondered what it would be like to clean it off of him…

Someone cleanse you of these thoughts, this is forbidden grounds.

"Why not?" You ask confusedly, looking at the components inside the cup. Nothing but murky pulp-filled sweet water. Your emotions present on your face, perceived wrongly by the only man there who felt it was your response to being scolded. "It's completely fine to ask that now, don't worry." Meghan shoots him a look, irksome at the use of 'now'. She doesn't have to wonder what he meant, only in dissecting his tone.

"I'm an aerodynamicist. Right now we're working on finding a solution to reduce the consumption of fuel." His voice is a pitch higher, tossing that pretentious tone to his words, forgetting his drink while fully turning to everyone as he excitedly gets into the topic. "The main culprit —or so we think— is the wings… let's say the wings of an aircraft. Their shape to be specific contributes to th—" Before he could finish, Meghan hums interrupting. Her words later followed, "Yeah, yeah, sounds fun. Dinner is ready so it's best we stop the chit-chat if we want something warm to eat."

Both you and Tina turn to her mother, a quick glance full of judgment and some surprise. She's never interrupted any of you when passionately speaking about your interests, this was new. Tina doesn't dare look at Doyoung though, she simply walks back inside with her still full drink in hand. Meghan on the other hand waits for him to stand up and follow her. His shoulders slumped and head low, a reassuring smile thrown your way but his dull eyes say otherwise.

"We're glad to have you girls here." Doyoung utters with a nod, turning to follow his wife. "Welcome." The only thing that leaves Meghan's lips. At the time it sounded like that, a welcoming. Now you realize she was responding to the expected devout gratitude for taking you in all those years ago and even now.

What a way to introduce their relationship to you. What a way to cement the reality of the dynamics between all.

There was a foreign air after that fateful day, something you had never expected when it came to spending time with your best friend and her mother. This was stuffy and suffocating. You chopped it to the different location, you will soon find it's the repressed feelings of everyone in this house and of those that lived before.

Meghan tried her best to not show her unwillingness towards her husband, yet it was evident to all that she held animosity for some odd reason. No amount of smiles and reassuring pats could tell any of you otherwise but they satiated him and no one would interfere with that.

Doyoung was doting and sweet. He immersed in conversations to learn more about his guests and later rewarded them with things mentioned in passing. This was his way of showing his affection. It became paternal in a way that you didn't like and in a way that made Tina uncomfortable but which she could understand. Odd, extremely so, considering he could easily be her brother. If she was to voice her dilemmas, Doyoung would fully understand. Yet like you've told her before: "If you don't speak, God won't hear you."

To you, Doyoung was yet another guy that could have been in your college classes. He made sure to act like it when he finally got comfortable and that resulted in joking and lax conversations about his interests and yours, similar to the first day. Giggles and lingering touches, too close at times for two strangers. This way he felt young and correct again.

The downside came the following day, going back to that paternal and reserved front as if he was the same age as his wife and not what he portrayed with you. Treating you and Tina like kids and that's what you both loathed about his time with Meghan. She only seemed to suck the life out of him when night fell.

Doyoung pandered to her and was at her feet with anything she asked, yet she still patronized him and shut him down when he spoke of his career and parents. Meghan never outright spoke of it but she loathed when he brought up his parents. She hated the house, the basement, the attic, the garden, and the greenhouse. She hated that damn greenhouse more than anything.

You couldn't understand where her feelings stood. She had a family, a complete family. A loving and providing husband, a daughter that would always be there for her, and an established and stable home that was all hers for the time being. What more could she ask for?

Despite Meghan's and Tina's inability to feel at home, you found yourself to fit right in in every groove.

Your bare feet are met with soft dewy kisses from the garden's grass as you sprint inside the house towards Doyoung's study. Leaving a trail of dew on the wooden floorboards. Meghan observes you from the kitchen island, pursed lips and raised glasses as you turn the corner and to the hall where those dark panel mahogany double doors greet you, brightening with every knock.

It takes three rhythmic knocks for him to know it's you. Uttering a 'come in' with a light hum. Instinctively, you smile to yourself, hand turning the now golden door knob. Not feeling the grooves of mosaic crystal and cold copper makes you frown. So does the untouched silver tray of breakfast.

You step over it when making your way inside, closing the door behind you and leaning against the cold wood when he does not turn around. Sunlight peaks through the large glass stained bow windows, his desk perfectly curved to fit into the space. The decor on the windows are your favorite.

The greens and pinks perfectly project onto his skin, making him look diaphanous. The lilies and hummingbird paint a story of near-to-death flowers seeking ailment before they perish and like the knights they are, the hummingbirds come to their aid to bring them back to life. He explained it in the way his father had, revealing his mother to be the hummingbird and his father to be the lilies saved from the misery he was in. That explains the devout love his parents had, manifested all throughout the house and the one Doyoung sought.

He now finds the story to be the other way around with no happily ever after. There's no salvation this time.

When he finally turns, he greets you with a tired smile, shoulders slumped and neck aching. He slept on the chaise lounge. The uncomfortable and awfully warm upholstered leather chaise lounge that's too short for his height. He's been there the entire day after last night's argument with Meghan over her trying to clear out his mother's greenhouse and build a shed for her crafts room. She's not content with the basement and she is not content with him giving you your individual room.

"Found you some critters." You open, his smile widens when you pull out the worn paper bag he gave you to put them in. Walking towards him, he takes it from your hands, nimble fingers gracing your drying ones. "Found these stiff on the tomato pots." You point at the caterpillars. "This butterfly was stuck to the tree trunk. Is it acting or actually dead?" Doyoung lets out a sly hum. "No… it does seem like it's near death, though." taking the butterfly out of the bag.

He looks at it for a moment, noticing the lower wings are damaged but covered by the upper wings. "There… clipped." He gently moves the upper wings with the tweezers. "Rather dramatic if you ask me. She is fine to fly but a little caring should not be bad." He stands from his seat, knees cracking to indicate his lack of movement. He places her in the terrarium, it hops around seeking the flowers you've helped him pick.

It's silent for a moment, he hums a melody while scolding the butterfly as he feeds her sugar water. You sit on his desk chair, swiveling while drumming around the taxidermy scalpels — A few of these have left some scratches on your fingers. He makes sure to lock his items inside his desk drawers, Meghan has explained her disdain and disgust for his hobby and in fear of her digging through and tossing them like she's done with the taxidermy decor, he takes extra precautions.

"Why haven't you eaten?"

Your voice makes him turn, closing the door to the terrarium. He leans against the table, crossing his arms across his chest and taking a grasp of his jaw. Rubbing it as if he was thinking of an answer. He can't lie to you though, he knows you're able to see through his lies. At least surface level, it's the small things he grants you.

"I don't like omelettes. She knows that." He confesses. "I don't like black tea and that is what's on the tray." Your leg raises, feet now dry but stained with that yellow-green hue. Your cheek rests against your bruised knee while taking in his words. He watches all your actions, biting the inside of his cheek as punishment for looking at your limbs.

"Want me to make you anything?" There's some innocence in your voice that warms his chest. Interlaced with your desire to please. Please, please, please.

He smiles fondly, eyes fluttering, and a warm feeling in his chest.

"Don't coddle me." "Generosity."

He slowly approaches you, rearranging the scalpels you played with. He looks down, analyzing you like you were one of his dissected butterflies. Pretty, soft, and delicate. Doyoung knows it's wrong to think of you this way. He's allowed Meghan to fuck the thoughts away from him but they cling to his brain while they're at it. It's vile and disgusting. The act to be precise.

"Is she still upset about the room?" You look up at him, resting against the backrest. He takes a closer look at your outfit. Denim high rise shorts, white lace short strap top, and red ribbon in your hair that he wrapped around the strands a while ago and you never got rid of. The same one he uses to decorate bigger taxidermy species like the squirrels the neighborhood cat leaves laying on the porch. You want to think it's metaphoric but you sound stupid trying to find a connection despite the words lingering in the tip of your tongue. Fresh and clear on his mind.

"I don't mind taking the attic, it's nice and cozy. Your dad did a good job decorating it." A reassuring smile that he does not accept. "What are you, Harry Potter? It's your room and it's my house." That first day during dinner, Doyoung expressed his gratitude to you for being part of their family. It did not pertain to him, he believed family deserved their own space.

His actions worked to ease and win Tina over even if it was a tad but Meghan felt a stabbing sense in her lower stomach and a scratch in her brain that made a whirling dark orb manifest. It's the same feeling that brews the longer she stands behind those mahogany doors hoping to hear what is said but the whispered mutters and her aged ear drums hand no aid.

Doyoung pulls his footstool, taking a seat before you. His hands trickle down to your foot, picking off the remaining blades that stain his own hands. He looks up at you when he reaches for a wipe, the green stains cling when the fabric graces the arch of your sole.

"It tickles." You state, he hums. Fingers press harder. "Better?" You nod. He looks at you during the ministration, putting your foot down delicately to do the same with the other. You watch his every move and he receives your gaze with a smile when he meets it. "My mom would do this when I would run around the garden. She hated when I left stains on the floors. Said they wouldn't come off but when I would go to sleep she painted over the footprints and re-stain the floor." He smiles fondly, warming up your skin from the cold, damp wipe. His fond touch doing most of the job.

"It sounds like a prank that turned into preservation. Maybe she liked seeing your growth. Meghan marked our growth on the walls of her apartment. I'm sure the landlord has painted over them now."

He hums, taking in the comparison. It's cute, nice and nostalgic but it highlights the passage of time and how mortal things seem around you and the other two. How mortal things around him can be too.

Doyoung is doting and sweet. Soft and gentle, immersing himself in his actions to not hurt the other. You envy Meghan, you're sure of it now.

"You should really put shoes on, I can't keep cleaning your feet." "You have no obligation."

He looks at you the way Mary Magdalene did when washing Jesus' feet. He looks at you like his savior and redeemer, you're not sure why or you haven't been able to fully understand him yet.

He nods, his growing finger nails pinching below your toes. You wince, confusedly looking at him. "The critters will recognize your pattern and their missing friends. Don't cry when you're pinched," He playfully scolds the way his parents used to do; voice lowering upon seeing a shadow come from under the doors. "I won't be able to kiss the pain away." He raises your foot, the action new but comforting to your taste. His eyes don't tear away when his plush lips come in contact with your newly cleaned feet. It's soft, warm, sort of wet but nice enough for you to let your hand reach for where he touches.

This is wrong, plentiful wrong but Adam (Doyoung) will drag you to take a bite of that forbidden fruit if he keeps going.

Something ate away at Meghan the longer she stood behind those thick doors. The same way ants crawled around the food she had made him earlier. That made her aching worse and if she didn't open those doors now, she won't remain sane.

She takes a few breaths in, noise seizing to come through, making things far more unsettling. Decidedly, she pushes through, opening both doors dramatically, taking in the image of her husband and faux daughter. Her eyes waver as her voice wants to do. Impotence and defeat.

Nothing.

"Must you punish me?" She directly questions. Her eyes fleeting to your lax position on his chair, recognizing the ribbon from the decor she threw out and his proximity to you. "You can't knock?" He turns his attention back to his craft, as if he had not been kneeling before you seconds prior. "Rehydration solution, Y/n."

With a syringe, he injects it onto the body of the second butterfly while you wet a paper towel, taking a beaker of solution to the other side of the room. You don't speak, following the steps he's taught you in the process.

"It's my house." Meghan states. "It's my house." Doyoung corrects.

The older woman glares. If looks could kill, the house would be hers once and for all.

"The ants are eating your breakfast." "Oh good, they'll stay away from the peonies."

He smiles to himself, Meghan can't see it but she's sure of it and that irks her more. She turns to your moving figure, handing him a warmer solution to pour in the container and put the critters in. Taking in the interaction, her eye spasms. The green stains on his slacks and your clean feet. She has no proof nor a concrete case but she knows it was nothing decent. Disturbed by the bond, she swallows her huff but not the irking orb that eats away her love for you.

"Y/n, give us some alone time." She bites, her words laced with the venom of the centipede he's wrapping around stiff caterpillars. "We're not done with this." He tuts. Meghan, appalled by his opposition, allows her jaw to slack. Her emotions are rampant and fiery that he would contradict her. That he found it in himself to not slouch his shoulders and go along with her decisions.

Your gaze flits between them, their glaring not seizing. The tension is palpable, leading you to fumble the cloth holding onto the piping hot beaker. You know how hot glass can be but when you're the magnetic pull that's causing this, it's something you don't focus on.

Your shriek forces them to break their combat, that motherly look Meghan often had returns when she sees your irritated hand and the way you fall back onto his chair the moment the scalding solution splashes over your bare feet.

They rush towards you, watching their step over the broken pieces of glass. While Meghan attempts to question if you're okay, Doyoung is already in the process of rubbing Silvadene over the light burn of your palm. She watches in amazement how delicate he is. His fingers grace over the skin, if it wasn't stinging you'd repeat that it tickles. And if his wife wasn't here, he'd replicate the image of soothing your aching feet with kisses.

With every passing second, Meghan feels that obscure orb grow and grow. Her motherly instinct is consumed by it, disgusted queries plaguing her heart and soul seeing him sit on the foot stool and place your feet over his lap. This is how the stains on his slacks came to be. His nimble digits rubbing the ointment on noticeable ailments and on spots you pointed at with minute pained whimper that she'll take as pleasure.

This isn't right. Meghan no longer feels like a mother to you. And this is only one of many instances her feelings are reassured.

Doyoung didn’t want to argue any longer in the dark depths of his cold bedroom. It was amazing how quickly his marriage was falling apart in the span of a few weeks when the two shared a beautiful —so he’s forcing himself to think— relationship. Now all he can do is whisper his grievances to his wife who finds it disrespectful that he’s rebutting her own arguments due to his age.

Meghan will never say it out loud but she respects Doyoung less and expects him to treat her like his superior for said gap, forgetting they were in a relationship and should both treat each other accordingly and not like mother-son; disgustingly.

Said argument is what led a tired Doyoung to sigh heavily on his way out of the bedroom in hopes of relaxation by either watching something in the media room or basking in the night’s breeze while sitting on the porch swing with a glass of whiskey on the rocks or an ice cold beer.

The latter makes him smile fondly.

Decidedly, Doyoung pads towards the kitchen, his bare feet absorbing the coldness of the wooden floors, ignoring his scolding after you burnt your feet. The closer he got to the large room, the sound of his padding mellowed out compared to the rummaging of items. For a second he feared they'd gotten an infestation of mice. It would not be the first time the house had any.

His inquiries were disposed of once reaching the kitchen when he saw such a pretty image that made him relax. And similar to the mice he once fended against years ago with his father, you sat in front of the fridge, feasting, with a bottle of whipped cream at hand. Allowing the sweet dairy to fall upon a strawberry that you indelicately shoved into your mouth without a care that its juice spilled from the corner of your lips and the dairy followed behind, creating a light pink ribbon to decorate your pretty lips the way those glosses you often smear do.

It oddly reminds him of the first day you two met. He looks at you the same way you looked at him. Lingering and foreign attraction, although it's not so foreign now.

It's not right, but you're closer and closer to taking a bite out of that apple.

You don't bother cleaning the cream off, continuing to push the berries into your mouth. One after another as your stomach yearns for more. You could’ve continued, although halt at his endeared chuckle. You're startled, feeling a cold sweat wash through your entire body. If there was one thing you hated was people catching you eating late at night. More so when you're filling your aching body with self targeted disgust and sweets. Like a child, the one he treats you as when the other two are near but forgotten about when it's just you two.

This is what holds you back, the apple seems so rotten and further at times.

Doyoung doesn't speak, walking towards you with a napkin in hand, taken on his way. He crouches down to your level, making you break out of that frozen state. “I’m sorry…” you whisper, eyes following his, seeking any reaction. “For what?” He questions sweetly, hand cupping your jaw softly. Shooting you a quick glance and smile before continuing his ministration.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come down to eat in secrecy.” You swallow hard, a lump formed in your throat with his touch, unaware of when. “I know she doesn't like it but usually she comes up to tell me dinner was ready and…” You shrug, meek voice making his chest compress, he senses unwarranted guilt. As if it was your fault his wife kept using food as punishment.

Meghan had told him you were asleep, not that she didn't let you know dinner was ready and that disquiets him. His eyebrows furrow, other hand reaches your face, softly wiping the strawberry juice with his thumb. Licking it beforehand. Doyoung is closer and closer with every passing day. Just last night his touch lingered in between your thigh and knee, you imagine he'll reward you and slip his fingers between your lips soon. Whichever ones and you won't be opposed to it like prior times.

Doyoung gives you a semi-scolding look, “I've told you before. It's my house, you can eat whenever and whatever you want, Y/n." He pats your cheek, pecking it for reassurance. The action startles you every time. They never feel soft and innocent. Always intentional but when he pulls back and gives you a reassuring smile, it forces you to ponder how much you want his generosity to be more than that? It's wrong, you're aware of it, always will be.

His touch lingers a little longer, fleeting stares from your own eyes to lips as his pads waltz across your skin until he finally finds it in himself to let go. “Still hungry?” He asks, helping you up. Ready to deny, your stomach rumbles loudly, giving you no time to privy it of its rights for yet another day. Doyoung simply nods with a smile, cocking his head to the entrance.

“Put your shoes on, let's see what's open at this hour.” “It’s very late to eat a big meal, Mr.Kim…”

The smile on his lips attempts not to falter at what you call him. Doyoung hated it with his entire soul. You weren't going to seize as long as he didn't seize treating you like Tina, like you're his stepdaughter too. Although, in this instant it's punishment for making you feel so ill and needy.

You want more, you crave more, but you can't have more.

It's odd to you how both can easily bask in the delicacy of tense intimacy and this… disgusting forced idea of a familial relationship at times. Especially when they would intertwine like it is now. You hate him for it sometimes. 'Coward' is what bounces in your head often when his touch lingers just to treat you like he treats Tina when his sick brain tells him to.

Regardless, Doyoung doesn't get to respond or scold, his bedroom door slams and Meghan has reached the kitchen watching as he crouches over you. She sees the dirtied napkin and your red lips. She sees his hand ghosting over your cheek and the (bitter) smile he had falters when his eyes land on her. While with you it was full of fondness and amusement (she believes), disgust greets her. She's been aware of it for a while now.

"Y/n go to your room." She demands lowly, her hands clinging to her sleeping pants. "No." Doyoung interferes, and like that day in his study, Meghan glares at him, offended by his insistence on speaking back to her like a child disrespecting their elders. "Go to sleep." She grits out, turning to you. You stand up, keeping a distance from Doyoung who immediately speaks. "Go put your shoes on, let's go get you something to eat."

Meghan's lips fall ajar. A scoff and slight cackle hearing his words and the soft look he shoots you. "Are you fucking serious right now?" She asks infuriated, walking closer and slapping his hand off of your arm which aided in stabilizing you when getting up.

"She's hungry, Meghan." Doyoung spits back, disgust building in his gaze. His wife shoots him a response with hers, almost saying "That's not my concern." but the words don't leave her for she knows it will push things further. It's futile, Doyoung scowls and his head slowly shakes the longer he looks at her. There it is, that disgust once again and it eats away at her.

"You told me she was asleep. I didn't take you for someone gluttonous." Meghan could only describe the brewing feeling as embarrassment and pure seething rage. Who did Doyoung think he was to confront her like this? Implication full of disgust and hitting her where he knew it hurt. More so in front of the one causing all the problems. With your faux naivety and innocent looks. With that cunning smile you shoot her when around him. Meghan knows what you are, she knows what men like and she's experiencing it before her eyes. Men are weak.

If you were to peak inside her head and heart, that obscure growing orb was nothing but rotting tar.

"Don't be insolent. Don't bring that up in front of her!" She spits out, "Y/n go to your room!" Disturbed by being undermined by two people she deemed lesser than her. Doyoung attempts to stop you again, his grip a bit harsher than before. You look at where his hand is. This is familiar, revoltingly so. You feel like a child in the middle of their parents' argument. Getting pulled left and right until they tear you apart stitch by stitch. It's painful in all senses and when Meghan opens her mouth to yell at her husband, you screw your eyes, shaking your head and freeing yourself from his grasp.

"I'll go. I'll go… I'll go. Please." You repeat like a mantra, hoping your words will make it all end. The latter begging them to not include you, to leave you alone and forget that your existence is brewing something between them.

You always wonder how Tina is able to sleep through this and not wake up from their screaming. They no longer attempt to hide the potency of their vocal chords nor their words. You know they talk about you when the muffled voices take over or when Doyoung tells her to lower her voice while she laughs maliciously about how much of a vile, disgusting, and infelicitous asshole he is. Otherwise, you know their problems stem from their joint resentment about the power dynamics.

When two people want the same thing at the same time, things are bound to burn over.

Doyoung didn't take long to walk out after she called him those names again. Throwing in his face that he's a pretentious brat with nothing worth fighting for. Meghan has found going against his upbringing to be successful in debilitating him. The only downside is that he loathes her more and more and respects her as much as she does him. Very little to null.

Sleep fleets away. Fear floods you with the idea that Meghan was capable of barging into your room any second now and reproach you for ruining her marriage. She doesn't tell you directly and neither do the other two in the house but her demeanor change is more than clear. Her warm smiles are officially gone, cold and resentful glares replace them. And she no longer cares that they call her out for ignoring you.

Her hugs are foreign to you and her food no longer is edible. That love she once poured into her meals is gone with her motherly instincts. It aches, horribly so. You've known her and Tina since you began your academic career. When your parents couldn't pick you up or take you to school, Meghan was there. Summers were spent with them like this one with the exception that they were the happiest memories.

You have Tina, you know that. She's your sister. Although, you would prefer to not see her argue with her mother about you or see them give each other the cold shoulder after. You don't want her relationship with her mother to worsen, that's the last thing you want but you can't control what people feel. You're aware of that, Meghan isn't.

It's 1:00AM when sleep finally comes back to you and you feel safe enough. The comforter brings you the warmth you're lacking but isn't able to fill your chest. Soft lamentable sighs have left your lips all night over how horrid this summer has turned.

A part of you blames Doyoung. His addition has ruined the balance the three of you had. His cowardice of accepting Meghan's punches and seeking her motherly care during those years blinded him of the bigger picture — it's quite obvious now, confirmation is all you needed.

The other part of you accepts that Meghan is a decrepit insecure woman who seeks power and control of anyone that isn't her and that fills you with both anger and hurt, feeling no immense remorse for threading around Doyoung the way you do. You're allowed to indulge yourself from time to time.

Meghan wants puppets, not family.

Immersed in your pity and vexation, you don't notice when your bedroom window opens. The latch closing is what makes you turn around startled. A dark figure creeping through the shadows, tall and slim. Fright replaces the sleep you felt, manifested in an attempt to scream until your mouth is hastily covered with warm clammy hands that you instantly recognize by the bony nimble fingers. Doyoung.

A finger to his lips, shushes you, he sits on the corner of your bed. You swallow, your head spinning and light front the freight he just caused you. When you relax, you shake your head with a silent laugh. "You scared me," 'Asshole' silently balanced on your tongue. "For a second you made me believe Nosferatu was real." You joke, "But that would mean an old hag has been haunting me for ages, and I just met you." He pats your cheek almost condescendingly without saying sorry but meaning it. At least you think he's sorry.

"Here." He smiles — the most he does to entertain you—, handing you a bag you hadn't noticed earlier. That may explain the sweet smell of warm blueberries waltzing through the room to sedate you and make you more receptive to what he offers. "You didn't have to." You protest, he meets it with a shake of his head and raises a hand letting you know to just be quiet and take it. He does it with a smile on his face and it irritates you but it's also very beautiful that you oblige. "Thank you." You croon, a smile involuntarily creeping on your face. He responds to your words with a caress of your cheek.

"I've told you to not call me Mr. Kim before, haven't I?" His words slow down your movement, smile faltering. "Is that not your name?" You quip, giving him a quick glance while cutting the waffle into squares. It's warm and soft, as he is. Unfortunately if it's left in the open for too long, it will harden and rot. As he will.

There's some tenderness in his gaze, muddled with the same irascibility Meghan looks at him with when he talks back to subvert her. It makes your eyebrows furrow while you slowly chew, it's an odd feeling. Unfortunately for you, he's smart enough to read a person and divert the conversation. It so happens to be that he doesn't do it with Meghan anymore because he enjoys seeing her peeved and red.

He's become so cynical. The things marriage does to you.

"Regardless, please don't call me that, you make me feel old." "You are old." Your teasing makes him gasp, jaw slack with semi-offense before ruffling your hair, destroying the braid. You laugh at his actions, successfully forgetting his earlier look.

"I'm only five years older than you!" He whisper-yells, offense still imprinted onto his being. "Then don't treat me like you're much older." Spoken in between laughs, your words do settle in his mind. Doyoung knows this happens often, it disgusts him but at the same time it keeps him morally sane.

Yes, he touches you more than he should. But he balances it out by indulging your childish attributes that make you act bubbly and younger around him.

Yes, he looks at you with rapidly growing attraction and lust. But he balances it by teaching you step by step on how to maintain perfectly taxidermied insects the way paternal figures do.

He understands and feels that underlying disgust. It's self-punishment for thinking about you when he is married despite loathing the woman. His attraction to you is punishment for that alone.

He should still remain a good man. He is a good man.

Until he learns to enjoy the power trip. He can somewhat understand his wife for that.

Coward.

His smile begins to lose its intensity, nodding while getting comfortable on your bed. He's receptive when you feed him squares here and there, making sure to look directly in your eyes when he takes them into his mouth. Lips wrapping around the black plastic fork and lapping at the syrup hiding between the backside grooves just to watch you immediately replicate his actions. It's a soothing dance, ego indulgent to know you take what he gives.

"Listen," You feed him again. "I'm sorry for earlier." He covers his mouth, "For continuing to put you in those situations, truly sorry." His hand goes up to his chest, his wedding band is gone, causing a warm feeling to brew in your stomach, manifested as an involuntary smile on your lips.

You shrug, nonchalantly as if it didn't matter when you knew it did. "Not my first rodeo." You mutter, feeding him the last bit before placing the tray on the nightstand. He looks at you, taking in your reactions and the stuck sigh that you finally release when he doesn't prod.

You never spoke of your own family. It was always Meghan and Tina this, Meghan and Tina that. At the beginning he wondered if they would be preoccupied knowing you were here, meeting a stranger despite being in safe hands. Yet after a month he noticed the conflicting projected emotions on your face when he spoke about his parents and how loving to each other they've always been. He could tell admiration and resentment were bigger emotions you carried. Now it does not surprise him that you're saying this. More so, it's confirmation.

"How did you even meet her, by the way? I just can't think of a scenario where you'd meet a woman like Meghan."

Curiosity and petulance lace your voice. He smiles to himself, taking your hand into his, reassured he was taking the right steps when you reluctantly relax against his touch. "My mom grew up in a house with four brothers. She always felt the need to prove she was as important as them. You know, rough housing, sports, academics, that sort of thing." He shrugs, "Futile because my grandparents loved and supported her no matter what she did. There truly was no difference in their treatment of the five — very progressive, they were. Kind of holistic— she simply made that rivalry up in her head."

You'd ask what any of this had to do with your question, but Doyoung likes to speak, he likes to speak about his parents. Even if it was a simple redaction.

"So she spent her entire life doing things that would put her far away from those related to housewives. Never learned how to cook, clean, gardening was her only token but that's because she was a botanist. My dad did everything else." He laughs, fond memories of seeing his dad in frilly aprons and pink mittens. He chose them, all the decor was his pick. Doyoung only ever lets you use them when you're in the kitchen.

"This was ten years ago, I was visiting them from college for the summer when I found she had created a crafts room out of this room." His free hand points around the walls of your room, wallpaper in a quilt design explaining it all. "She said she was too old to not know basic things like mending a hole in dad's socks or helping him with dinner. That he was getting old and weak too, it was a job for two to get anything out of the oven."

He hums, gaze on your interlocked hands. "So I drove her daily to these classes at the community center. That's when I first met Meghan, she was there to teach the classes. Nothing went past pleasantries and my mom joking about how I'd look good with Tina."

Selfish you are for letting vile manifest and spread through your chest when hearing those words. Tina… Tina couldn't handle Doyoung. They can't even stand to be in a room together without it being awkward. So selfish of you to make this about yourself, squeezing his hand scolding. He takes it with humor, feigning not noticing for the sake of his ego.

"Of course my mom didn't know Tina's age, when she realized how much younger she was, she stopped the jokes. They became somewhat friends, never seeing each other outside the community center to my knowledge. I didn't see Meghan for years after that but three years ago when my mom's Alzheimer's worsened and she had forgotten the difference between toxic versus non toxic liquids, she ended up poisoning herself by drinking insecticide. Later we found cleaning supplies with her lipstick on the mouth. It's at the funeral that I saw Meghan again and she was there for my dad and I…"

You didn't imagine this would take that turn. He always spoke so fondly of his parents like they were still around somewhere. Never said where but still around. You now realize it's their lingering presence around everything here.

"I'm sorry, Doyoung…" He dismisses you, shaking his head and kissing your hand. He's trying to control his labored breathing, warm and harsh against your skin, his hand clammy.

"Dad felt so guilty for it all. He taught about the development of the human brain, did neuroscience studies for the university and certain labs here and there all his life and he couldn't save his own wife. So… he left me too. He left for a study, who knows where and I haven't heard from him since." He smiles, a sort of bitterness that he didn't want to have for his father. Reluctance to accept that it was perhaps more than a trip. "Lawyers came days after he left, everything left to my name on both their ends. Meghan had been the only one to check in on me besides extended family but they live far away, there's not much they could do."

Guilt floods you. Why couldn't you just push back that desire to belittle Meghan more in your mind. The worst part is that your brain won't stop telling you that she only took advantage of his vulnerability. Sweet, vulnerable Doyoung who lost his parents in a span of weeks left to rot on his own with a huge house, assets, and a desire to give and give to anyone willing to comfort him. Convenient.

Doyoung hums, sitting up. The silence helps him admire you, or simply distract himself from this gushing open wound. The braid he destroyed, cascading over your shoulder. Shoulder covered in a thick light yellow lace strap with matching ribbons on the chest. He smiles noticing the small details, he recalls helping you sneak into Meghan's craft room to make that night gown. Fabric and ribbon he took from his mother's stash.

She would like you, he believes so.

"You've made good use of the marigold dye." Doyoung smiles, his hand reaching to touch the strap. His fingers dance over it, letting them touch your skin. It's cruel and mean but very elating. He's been playing this teasing game and unfortunately, it's you who wants it more. From then on, they inch closer to the ribbon. Fingers jumping on every spot and ending on the bow, delicately admiring it.

Truth be told he kept his touch there to feel the increase of your respiration. Chest moving up and down faster than previously. He smiles to himself, almost mischievously when he notices a new item around your neck. "The roses too… my mother would have been so content with you." He giggles, patting your cheek prior to giving himself the liberty to touch the rose beads that form a necklace.

She would like you, he's sure of it.

"Very ingenious, so good." Doyoung hums, his hand trails to hold your neck. You nod slowly, entranced in your humiliating arousal from just his touch. You feel pubescent, frothing at the mouth from one touch. Stupid. He's just another man… a man that coddles and holds you in secrecy. It's the forbidden excitement laced with guilt at how treacherous the human mind and body can be.

Clearing your throat, you look around, avoiding his gaze. "Yes, well, she has a lovely and fruitful garden… Greenhouse too, I found some purple cabbages from the spring season, they'd make a lovely dye." You divert but his touch doesn't fall, his other hand opts to join on your cheek, cradling it.

Instinctively you lean into it, forcing you to look at him. There's no teasing or patronizing looks on his end and you're thankful for it. It's full blown admiration and desire in those dark orbs that pull you closer to him while he caresses you. They allow themselves to rake your face. Every feature but most of all your lips and eyes, longing to land on your pupils as to bless whatever you see. On your forehead to reassure that he is your safe haven as you are becoming his. It oddly reminds you of the looks he gave when cleaning your feet before the accident. Like Mary Magdalene admiring her savior.

Doyoung thinks he is allowed this indulgence for once. He can punish himself after but he can no longer go without tasting your skin on his lips, he feels so famished. Letting out a shaky breath, he softly rises, bringing your head closer to him. Breath labored with every move and warm against your skin when he's mere centimeters from it. Shutting his eyes and pursing his lips, letting them fall on your eyelids.

Velvet and moist, that's how his lips feel. You sigh in relief, unaware you had been holding your breath. His lip travels to the other eyelid, it's quick unlike prior, for he rushes to kiss your forehead, lingering for as long as he can before letting out a content sigh of his own, and a liberated smile. He wants to laugh at how absurd he is being but that would only keep wasting time.

Doyoung is so close to your lips when he decides it is best to take the full risk, however you both hear the soft knocks against your door and the rattling of the doorknob. He can't describe the feeling as freight, more so irreverent wrath.

"Y/n? Y/n why is the door locked?"

Tina.

The man instantly pulls away. His touch burns you both and guilt manifests itself through blown out pupils — your own, not his. Your lips are ajar when he places his finger up to his own, like the way he entered your room and disappears the same way. He says nothing and neither do you, opening the door when he's not in view.

The doorknob continues to rattle until she feels the weight of your hand on it. You sigh heavily before opening the door, looking at her blankly which she notices but does not mention. She never does.

"I heard voices." "I'm watching a movie."

She hums. She believes you. She believes you. She does…

"Why was the door locked?" She asks, concern on her face. When your eyes divert from hers, she can tell something had gone on. You usually enjoy having her know everything about you. That's what best friends do, yet at the moment you loathe her for it. That's what sisters do. That gnawing disturbance of frustration and impotency. The type she's felt this entire summer break.

You simply hum, she giggles.

"How bad was it now?" She now finds humor in knowing she always sleeps through their arguments. It's not so funny to you. "Nothing special, I was in the kitchen when he stormed out then she followed behind and they went at it after I left." She giggles once more. Unsure now if it's because she actually finds it comedic or she doesn't know how to respond.

This is her mother and her happiness they're talking about. This is you, her best friend and your friendship on the line.

It’s not like you can tell her that her stepfather defending you from her mom for the millionth time isn’t pushing her into deeper hatred. It’s not like you can tell her that her mother purposely starved you for the day out of pure unadulterated jealousy because her husband desires you more than her. No, can you? No. Silence and lies will do.

"Hey, did you know how Meghan and Doyoung met?" You ask, looking at where had laid. Tina shrugs, "She told me they saw each other at a coffee shop from time to time and talked since then. She doesn't like coffee though." She shrugs again.

Oh Tina. Willfully ignorant and avoidant. Perhaps the story is right but you're sure that if Tina fully knew her mother had met doyoung ten years younger with baby fat still on his cheeks and younger than she is, her dilemma would only worsen. Coward.

Unlike Tina, Meghan didn't hesitate in barging in after a few minutes. It leaves you and her daughter dumbfounded when the angry look becomes bewildered and disappointed, like she had expected to find something (or someone) to prove her suspicions.

"Mom?"

Meghan acknowledges it with a sigh, "Go to sleep, it's late." Making you both feel ten again at one of multiple sleepovers during school nights. Tina responds with a nod. You, you look at her for any trace of something. There's worry, that's for sure. And there's also anger. Nothing new.

The front door is slammed downstairs, causing Tina to get a startled look on her face that is reassured when Meghan shakes her head, dismissively. She opens her mouth to calm her daughter when a disgusting thought tells you to do the talking for her. She deserves even this bit.

"It's Doyoung, don't worry."

And it's disturbing to Meghan that you spoke her thoughts, word for word while looking at her.

Meghan has gotten her confirmation for the night.

That night had given some clarity to Doyoung. Arguments with his wife seized for the most part and before they could begin, he was out the door for his nightly runs. That's what she believed at least. He tampered with his smartwatch to mark his steps knowing she would look through it.

Reality is that he crept up the trellis to your room. Spending the nights under the covers with earphones in, door locked, lights off, and a movie lulling you to sleep while getting a few whispered conversations in here and there. His lips or yours pressed against each other's ear. It was the closest to kissing you would get at.

When you do fall asleep, he tucks you in. Caresses your hair and kisses your forehead goodnight before crawling back down the trellis and entering through the front door. To continue his reality of being married to a woman that no longer treats him with the care he sought but at least he can provide it for you and that you've slowly been returning.

Doyoung has taken that into account and rewards you for it. The gifts were small at first, snacks that Meghan wouldn't allow into the house, books in your wish list. They later became more intricate. Your personal taxidermy and diaphonization kits (locked in his study), pendants of the critters utilized, a camera to document your process, and the most recent being two chickens and doves.

The animals irked his wife more than anything. She has spent the past two months arguing about tearing down the greenhouse and it only took you a mention of the excess of caterpillars and worms in there for him to bring in the chickens. You looked after them, sure, however the chickens with free range left their eggs and droppings everywhere. It felt intentional how she found them laying on her clean laundry, pecked her if they saw her, and worse off stained all of her fabric. They abhor her as much as she does them.

At least the bleeding-heart doves are lovely to look at despite their cold shoulder towards her. Tina gets a ruffle of feathers, you and Doyoung some crooning, and spooning among each other when it's you and him peering upon them. It's the small things that drive her deeper into her madness.

Like seeing you sit criss-crossed on the plush bright grass. It's dewy again, much taller now than it was before but he promised to mow soon. Right now he's too busy hammering in old nails onto stained wood and footprints —yours and his— to create a coup for the chickens. Not by her demand, no. He'd never take hers seriously, but yours.

"Diaphonized insects are horrid. They're all brown. I think I should give wet species a chance." Doyoung takes your words in, a simple chuckle looking at your pout. Petulant and spoiled. "Y/n, you're not drying them fast enough." He corrects, you shrug knowing he may be right but working with insects has bored you. "Either way, centipedes and spiders look disgusting in those vials."

The chickens flock around you, pecking the ground. Their clucking became louder, frustrated the longer they weren't able to obtain what they wanted. Doyoung gives them a quick glance, a fastidious kind of melody, one he isn't used to. Neither are you according to the stink eye you give them. It's pleasant to Meghan, leaning against the sink with peering bright eyes, it feels like justice for once.

It's a delicacy. Your desperate attempts to calm them down, Doyoung's hammering exasperating the chickens, and finally… A loud and pained screech from you, pushing away the hen that victoriously clucks as it swallows the culprit of your scream. One of the neighbor's centipedes.

Doyoung drops his tools, rushing to your aid. He watches you tumble, attempting to stand, however the aching sting and burn on your foot doesn't allow it. Meghan watches every movement from you both. Your disgruntled whines and moans, his shushes in an attempt to calm you down. Hands clasping around your feet, soothing the inflamed bump in hopes it did something. It didn't, it irritated the wound further.

"I told you the critters would recognize your feet." He jokes, scolding in the process. The stinging is intense enough that waspishly, you huff, pouting his way. "Nuh-uh." You reply, rolling your eyes when he throws in a glare. He shakes his head, finally sitting, his knees aching. Like the day you burnt your feet, he takes your feet in his lap, looking over the wound while your soles leave stains again.

He smiles to himself, an airy laugh as if he was coming up with something, fingers waltzing over the bite. "I told you to put shoes on, I won't always be here to help you." Smile turns into a grin, teasing as he lets his lips fall over the wound.

It stings. The warmth of his own flesh against the boiling fire of yours, it's not pleasant and you make it known. With the exception that it comes out strangled and pleasured. Much to his delight, making his lips part, tongue gracing the area just to add more pain and more pretty sounds to leave you.

It's an erotic image to anyone who experiences and sees it. Meghan feels the boiling pain in her chest, the same way you do on your foot. The only difference is that Doyoung won't attempt to soothe hers. He won't even acknowledge it.

Doyoung is looking up at you with a curling smile, lips pulling apart from your skin, eyes raking the expanse of your exposed thigh when the dress rode up. " Met with a harsh pull, Meghan reaches both of you, hands on Doyoung who stumbles to stand up. It's hard to decipher what her expressions read, all emotions coursing through like a bad acid trip, colors roaming around in a slew.

Anger, disgust, pain, defeat, resentment. It made no difference, it was all negative.

"How do you plan on defending this now, huh?" She asks, wavering voice when she looks between you two. "What could you possibly say to make this look normal, Doyoung?!" Her voice rose, startling Tina who had been in the entertainment room when she heard your scream. Like usual, she opts to remain where she's at. It's no use involving herself when she's known how this would all end since the beginning.

"Sucking the venom out, Meghan. Fuck me, why do you have to make everything so salacious?" Doyoung grits, a tone she had not fallen for years ago.

His speech and tone has changed within these months. He no longer spoke like a poised character, he spoke like you. He smelt like you and his quirks adapted to yours. Doyoung was no longer Meghan's and that's a fact she's finding difficult to deal with. Similar to how parents aren't able to understand the autonomy of a child as they grow.

Frustratingly so, his response made sense to her. She's seen it in movies, she's read about it — so she thinks. Unfortunately for her, this was only a sting, like a mosquito or a bee sting, something that will subside with ointment just like your burns weeks prior. There was nothing to suck out nor was it recommended.

"How convenient." She scoffs. Meghan hated how upset she was. She knew this was bound to happen and why she kept her relationship hidden from you for the past two years.

Meghan knew your interests, knew your beliefs, and knew you her entire life. She knew how drawn everyone instantly is to you and woefully, she knew Doyoung would be one of those people too. She was proven right the first day when she saw him approach you on that swing and converse so easily. Touch you so easily…

It never got better as the days went by. Why was it so easy for him to cave and give you a room? A room meant for her hobbies. A room meant for hobbies, as his mother had wanted. Why did he allow you into his study without hesitance when she could only remain for five minutes or so? Why did he have to please you by offering dinner? It's been a while since he's taken her out to dinner. Yes, it was wrong of her to privy you of basic needs but earlier in the day she had seen you so content in that stupid greenhouse and understood fully why he kept refusing to tear it down besides grief. You kept it alive just like his mother did.

Her jealousy doesn't outweigh her disdain for being undermined. Like a person working night and day, loyal to one job for years on end and aging throughout them to be replaced like nothing by a new set of fresh meat. A kick to the rear and a big "Fuck you, you're no longer useful and too old for us to care about your opinion." That's how her relationship with Doyoung felt when he met you.

When they started dating, Doyoung sought her sweet reassuring words and pet names. Her gentle touches and pats when he did a good job. Her comforting food and the affection she gave Tina. It was pleasant, she knew what he wanted all along and she was more than willing to give it to him as long as he reciprocated her own desires. Surrendering control and devotion.

Those things no longer belonged to her. His devotion shifted to you —she's witnessed it on multiple accounts— and control is his again. That's one way of looking at things. He moves her and Tina into his home, doesn't let her make any changes and instead rubs it in her face that you adore the house and its quirks. His house and his quirks.

If everything reminded her already of his parents, it now reminds her of you too and how much more power ghosts and a child have rather than her.

Meghan scoffs and huffs every now and then while rebutting his arguments. He mimics them to show her how absurd she is being. It's a never ending cycle they've grown comfortable with but that needs to stop. This isn't what either signed up for when they legally bound their love. If you can even call it that, it's more than clear both were pitifully lonely and disturbed.

"Are you even hearing yourself, seriously?" Doyoung sighs, offended at the implications she kept throwing at him. His thoughts may be vile and depraved when it comes to you but he's punished himself enough. Meghan doesn't seem to understand that while he now recognizes he never did love her, rather sought the affection of a mother, he was bound to honor those vows.

But he was only a man and men are weak.

Meghan has double the years of experience he does and she knows that if you ever stop seeing her with those same eyes Doyoung once saw her with and which Tina is bound to by the universe's request, and gave him free reign, he'd take the opportunity without a thought.

"No, are you hearing yourself? Better yet, do you see what you do?!" She glares, "You enable her to do whatever she wants. Parade around my home as if it was hers. Make a mess of the floorboards, lock herself with you in that stupid study, for what? Your disgusting bugs? Really, Doyoung it's odd how much time you two spend together, you don't even spend that time with your own stepdaughter, neither of you have spent time with Tina. She’s supposed to be Tina’s best friend."

Doyoung felt his frontal lobe develop for the second time in his life. Stepdaughter… Fuck, he was only thirty with a twenty-five year old stepdaughter. Does anyone see how disturbing and odd this fucking is? No, he definitely cannot stay in this for much longer.

"And you know what? Jesus, you're acting like a fucking brat yourself." She scoffs. "The longer you spend with her, the more immature you become. Genuinely, what use was it for your parents to give if you're going to act like a child." She shrugs.

"Don't even bring my parents into this, fuck off." Doyoung disturbed glares at her. "Don't fucking do that. It only seems that way because you hate when anyone is better than you. Smarter and secure than you, get a grip, Meghan. Don’t forget that I’m closer to her age than yours. I’m allowed to be childish, remember that… Don't fucking bring them up ever again."

He was right but that's exactly what she hated most.

"Honestly Meghan," Dumbfounded, Doyoung sighs, hands rubbing upon his face exhausted. "You've known Y/n longer than me. If you don't plan on trusting me, at least trust her. What kind of mother are you if you can't offer her that?"

His tone quickly twisted into condescension, the sheer feeling of being talked down upon by someone who knows nothing about life irking her furthermore and the slight consideration that gnawed at the back of her head was ultimately consumed by that twisted rotten tar in her soul.

"Well she isn't my daughter is she?" Meghan spews without thinking. "She's not my fucking daughter. Not by blood, not metaphorically, nor by law. Tina is my daughter and you know what my daughter doesn't do? Throw herself at my shithead of a husband like any other hussy does!" Her hands meet with his shoulders multiple times, abrasive like every word. No regard that those words were loud and clear for you who remained on the grass and Tina in the entertainment room with the TV on full blast. No longer able to hide and ignore like she's done all along.

Doyoung doesn't mind the contact or the harsh words towards him. What he does mind is her rejection of motherhood. Yes, she's correct to an extent, however how harsh must one be to deny the impact their motherly doting has left on a young and impressionable child? He has fairly understood your restraint and guilt after each encounter is interlaced with your respect towards Meghan and now all he can think about is how that shattering reality will affect you.

Will affect him…

It's disgust and resentment that meets Meghan— she takes it with pride. It's empathy that meets you when he turns to face you. Seeing the instant heartache aflame in your eyes and through the cracks of your chest.

Pity is what you take it as. Disturbed by such, you stand up, the walk of shame towards that stupid greenhouse his wife detests so much. A soft shut is what makes him turn back to Meghan, disdain so palpable that Tina can feel it as she peers through the window. Relenting to the reality she's been trying to avoid these months. It's odd to be a background character in something that affects her directly. She knows there's more to come and when it's done, she'll have two options, only one right answer.

Her mother or her best friend… her sister.

Their words are muffled on the further end of the greenhouse. You imagine this is what Tina would hardly hear in her slumber and it was nice to an extent. You've always admired her discipline. You can't say you admire it now, many of those arguments could have been prevented if she spoke up about her discomfort towards her mother dating a man near her age, a man that sought the affection she was given. A grieving man.

Tina was disciplined but she was also a coward just the way Meghan wanted her to be. The way Meghan wanted all of you to be. Fearing yet adoring her. Devout like a disciple to their God.

Meghan was nowhere near a God. She was closer to a pathetic haggard with no accomplishments in life besides her daughter's, living vicariously through her. She attempted to do the same with Doyoung and it may have worked for a while. She soon realized that she couldn't do such a thing with someone that's always had more opportunities than she's had.

Doyoung had two loving parents his entire life. Just like you.

Regrettably, they weren't able to be near him as much as he would have liked them to be due to their career. Just like you.

However, they provided no matter what — even in the after life — and it showed throughout the house and the love he still holds for them. Their presence is felt in the grooves of doorknobs she replaces, the carvings on the wooden doors she plans on modernizing, the stained windows she'll break, the chips on the kitchen island she will fix, the garden with horrid flamboyant flowers that are eaten away by pests, and that ghastly greenhouse with plants that pretentiously have to mean something.

There's no grasp of control in a house that is meant to exude security, love, and reassurance. No grasp if she's not the one to plant that seed.

Fortunately for you, the house welcomed you in and now you don't care how much you rub it in her face. This was meant for you and if she thought of you as the complete opposite of what she's groomed you into, you'll let the entire world know that Doyoung and everything she wanted to obtain is yours by prophecy.

"How's your foot?" The soft voice that greets you nightly approaches you, his warm fingers taking your shoulder, spinning you around and forcing the pen in your hand to drop. The solemn look on your face and the exaggerated pout makes him sigh, your shrug forcing his touch away. "Better."

Doyoung nods as a response, approaching and taking you in a tight embrace to reassure you that it was all going to be okay, that Meghan was nothing but bitter and defeated.

"I'm sorry…" He whispers against your hair, leaving kisses here and there. Your sigh, tightening his embrace. "It's not you who said it." You expel, burying your head in his chest the way your doves do. He kisses your head again, reward for such a sweet action.

"But it's my fault she did." "It doesn't matter now."

Doyoung peels away as much as he can without breaking the embrace. His eyes search yours for a hint of sadness, however all he can see is fiery anger and vindictiveness.

His hand takes your cheek, both warm and soft. "It does..." He hums, "You know it does." Eyebrows furrowed, concerned with how easily you've given it up. He knew you'd be upset but relent is not what he expected. No, he does not like this.

You pout, grip on his torso tightening to leave the feeling of your touch lingering for as long as it could. "It'll pass."

Doyoung truly didn't know how to fix this on his own, it's not his duty to do so either. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to see you upset over the words of someone so vile who did not deserve any strong emotion conveyed. Prior times he was able to pacify you with his gifts or embraces, nowadays it's been a bit harder.

"Will it?" "It has to. I'll have time to mourn later."

Mourn.

Doyoung thinks about the last time he allowed himself to mourn. He wonders if you'll follow in his footsteps and ignore it, falling in the embrace of a rancid older person who will only take advantage over the loss of a profound relationship. He doesn't want you to do that, you should seek comfort in the arms of someone who can oddly comprehend you despite the hierarchy being completely different.

It should be him.

Decidedly, Doyoung leans in, like that first night in your room. His lips don't linger above your features or your lips like last time. This time he dives in, taking your lips into his in a slow and tender kiss. You reciprocate it instantly, holding onto him for dear life, afraid to be tossed around once more.

Your lips part slightly, seeking air although inviting him further in. Doyoung moans into the kiss when your hands creep under his shirt, they're peculiarly cold for such a hot summer. Alluding to the death that floods you from Meghan's rejection. He can tell you're replaying her words over and over every time your kisses get hungrier. Tongue overlapping his and savoring him further. Fingernails raking his smooth pale back. He'd be glad to parade those pink streaks, it's the least he could do.

He wasn't far off. It's interesting how easy one can hate someone they've loved for so long. All you had in mind was punishing Meghan for what she just said. She's killed you. She's killed that little girl that looked up at her like a mother. Mother's are supposed to be nurturing and kind. But like she's said, she doesn't owe it to you. You're not her daughter, never were.

Cruel, cold, and a bitch she was. You could be that too, you've become aware of it with every cold shoulder and scowl from her. You'll be what she truly sees you as if that'll make her happy.

Men are weak, you've known this too. She's taught it to you. So why not start proving it with her husband? Giving him that chance everyone knew he awaits.

Your hands warm up the longer they roam around his torso, ripping the buttons off his shirt. He doesn't seem to care, not when it's a piece Meghan made him. "Will you make me feel better, Doie? Will you help me forget? I think we both need to forget?" You whisper against his lips, his labored breathing mixing with yours, chasing your lips as a response.

He whines like a pet being denied a treat, teased and laughed at. To satiate him, you peck his lips, nipping them and earning another whine, pleased this time. He nods fervently, his own hands grasping your body, making sure you're here with him.

Swollen lips leave open mouthed kisses along his jaw, trailing to his throat. Nipping softly at the taut skin. He hisses and gasps here and there but he never pushes you away. He takes what you give, just like you.

Thankful for such, it's time you take a bite of that apple, rotten and all.

Doyoung groans when he feels your teeth cling to his Adam's apple, fingers pressing into your own skin. His body is now cold, similar to how your hands were at the beginning, it's infectious but delicious. He needs more of whatever you give him. Greedy, greedy, greedy.

It's easy to read his mind, the way those eyes look at you, ten times more intense than before. Enough to push you into creating a trail down his torso, similar to the stream of sweat that clung to him that first day you met. This felt nice against his cold skin. The warmth of your mouth and delicacy of lust intermingled into making his groin harden. You notice the need, fingers clumsily toying with the belt buckle until it's gone.

You tease here and there, fingers clinging to the hem of his underwear, scratching above his pubic hair and making him hunch over, only stopped by the feeling of your forehead on his exposed torso, purposefully giggling to have your breath tickle his greedy skin.

"It tickles." He utters, looking down at you with blown pupils. You smile, looking up at him with wide eyes, pressing your knuckles into his skin. "Better?" You question, he grins and nods.

You use his shirt as a cushion underneath your knees, it's futile and barely aids but it's better than bare concrete. Seeing there was no use to taunt him any longer, your fingers crawl within his underwear, grasping the phallic in much need of attention. He hisses feeling your grasp, it's soft but firm, tugging him out brusquely on purpose. He liked that.

Doyoung pants, attempting to control his breathing. It's been so long since he's been touched, any time Meghan attempted he was flooded with disgust and self hatred, pushing her off when she aimed to at least kiss him. He could live with it, believing his sex drive had died before you came into the picture. But with you around the house and him 24/7, it was becoming very difficult to do anything about his increased sex drive.

"You're so hard… When's the last time you had any action?" You ask casually, hand rhythmically rocking against his shaft, thumb collecting any drop of pre-come to smear against him. He's reluctant and embarrassed to answer but your sweet smile is so convincing that he responds with a guttural moan.

"I see." You hum, kissing his tip as a reward, eliciting another moan. Masturbating in the shower was not enough. Sometimes Meghan tried to get in there with him and it would make him flaccid immediately. It seemed the only times he could ever relieve himself was in the comfort of his study. His favorite times when you and Tina took advantage of the pool and sun bathed with his research papers in hand. That excited him most, the image of you in a skimpy swimsuit in front of his window and reading his thoughts on a subject you couldn't care for as much but would take just because it was made by him. You took anything he gave you.

The memory alone made him twitch in your hand, a giggle leaving your pretty lips. Like this, he would get so much harder like this. "I get it, Doie. I won't stall any longer." You relent, leaning further to take him in your mouth. The damp and warm cavity force a moan out of his own, holding onto your hair as he throws his head back. Fuck, he's been craving this for so long.

Doyoung feels his ears ring. His own breathing along the squelching of your throat floods them. He thinks this is heaven, although he doubts an act like this would allow any of you in. Right, it wouldn't. Not after you both submit to the temptation of forbidden fruit. But it's better this way, what fun is there in being a garden when you can't have what makes you feel good? Even if it is a sin.

He relishes in the feeling of your mouth around him, head bobbing on its own despite your free hand giving him permission to push as much as he wants. Your tongue swirls around his cock, pressing firmly against the veins and dancing around the rest. It tickles, but he's sure you're aware. It is your favorite game after all.

He looks as pretty as the first day you met him. Beads of sweat rolling down his face, forcing his hair to frame and emphasize those pretty features of his. His ragged moans sound like those of an angel, pushing you further down his cock. It feels suffocating, he's not as girthy but he is long and it makes it much harder to push through. Even so, you want to be good for him, you've always wanted to be. This forces you to push through, gagging a few times but persevering until your nose hits his pubic bone.

Doyoung feels elated at this new found feeling. Your throat is so tight and warm, it feels like a reward for all he's endured. Sadly for him, it's torn apart, gifting him with an image of you teary eyed, gasping for air and a mixture of come and spit threading you both. He couldn't think he could get any more hard but this image alone makes him spurt pre-come onto your chin.

You give him a quick glance, smiling sweetly at him. "Close?" You ask, "You can come in my mouth, Doie." You utter, leaning in to take him in. He closes his eyes feeling your mouth around him again, dizzy and seeing stars. He feels the breeze enter from the windows of the greenhouse, whirling around you both. He finds that his body is no longer cold, it's scorching as yours.

Doyoung didn't think he could be so overstimulated before coming, it may be with the fact that he hasn't been touched for so long or how one of your hands clutches his into your hair, yanking to feel arousal from the sting. He swears can see a bead of your wetness roll down your leg when he looks down at you, cursing and bucking forward.

It hurts, you won't lie but that is exactly what made you keep taking him and pulling back out. The strain against your throat elating until he finally took it within himself to do as you wanted. His jutting forward with a harsh grasp on your hair, fucking your face and forcing you to gag while one of your hands plays with his testicles, only pushing him to go faster. Your other hand pushing aside your soiled panties and playing with your clit. It's a slick sticky mess, uncomfortable at best but the feeling alone does enough for you.

Doyoung mutters curses here and there. Pretty words too which you receive with moans that make him increase the pace. Both of his hands are on your hair when he finally feels himself spill in your mouth. His moan is so loud you wouldn't doubt that anyone outside of the greenhouse could hear him. You squeal, taken by surprise and also feeling yourself suffocate. Even when he's still inside of you, some of his come spills from the sides of your mouth, rushing out like water from a broken dam when he rips himself apart from you.

He feels out of it, trying to calm himself after such an intense orgasm as you are. Head thrown back, gasping for air without spilling any come still in your mouth. When you think you're stable enough, he helps you up. Kissing your soiled cheeks and licking his lips to savor himself. The image makes your pupils dilate. Taking himself in like it was melted ice cream, without a care. No one is as receptive to taste themselves but he was.

You hadn't come yet, and this image only made you want to reach that high more and more. Doyoung cluelessly smiles at you, appreciative of what you've done. It's wiped away when you take his face into your hands, kissing him. Instinctively, his lips part, allowing you to push his own cum into his mouth from yours. He's taken aback but weirdly aroused.

Narcissistic, egocentric, or whatever anyone wants to call it. It does not change the fact that Doyoung immediately hardens at the taste of himself mixed with the taste of your spit. The sweet tones of the lingering chocolate you two ate with the saltiness of his orgasm. Similar to a disgusting and corrupted salted caramel dark chocolate. It's not for everyone but it is meant for you two.

Hastily, he helps you up on the data table. Pulling down your wet panties and rubbing them along his hard and aching cock. He moans into the kiss, ragged and needy while he jerks himself off to increase the feeling. His tongue mingling with yours, swirling his come around both your mouths until it becomes warmer and lesser.

Fingers intertwined in your hair, tugging to hear more of you. Desire to hear more and more leads to shaking nimble fingers to trail the inside of your thighs. He smiles into the kiss feeling the scorching warmth within. Claiming and begging to be touched. He's no cruel man, not all the time at least, so he grants you this reward after all the ones you've given him.

Slowly, his ring and middle finger enter you easily with the slickness he's caused. The intrusion causes you to moan against his mouth this time, giving him the advantage to nip your tongue. It doesn't take Doyoung long to allow his fingers to move within you, pumping relentlessly to hear your pretty sounds. Guttural with the remaining come you two interchange.

You've always thought he had pretty fingers, since you met. Purposefully scraping yourself and staining your feet with grass to have him touch you. Nimble, long, and delicate enough to curl within your walls and cause a shiver down your spine. With the length, it doesn't take him long to reach your sweet spot. His pistoning motion and curl forcing cries and withering beneath him. Doyoung isn't as cruel or sadistic but this… he can understand why sadism exists.

Your legs don't seize to shake, a sheer layer of perspiration coating your body and face. He needs to let you finish, he just has to. It's not long until your body gives out, you need this or you'll probably pass out on this table alone.

But Doyoung allows himself to indulge that sadism he's contemplated for the past few minutes – enjoying his contradiction on cruelty. Halting his moves and ripping his hand away, taking the last drop of remaining come into his mouth to greet you with a cheshire grin as you look at him in surprise and betrayal. Every nerve in your body stings you left and right, punishing and taunting you for the lost glory.

"What the actual fuck?!" You gasp, looking at him, panting harshly with a body ready to explore from heat and desire.

He doesn't respond, letting the come and his spit trickle down to his glowing red cock, slacks and underwear pooled around his ankles. Now that his mouth is free, he chuckles. "Had to save some for lube." He shrugs, positioning himself between your legs. He kisses your cheek reassuringly, rubbing the come around him until he pushes within you. It feels different than his fingers and your mouth for the both of you. Surely, nothing will ever be as good as the actual thing.

Doyoung doesn't move just yet. Allowing you to get comfortable while he contemplates on whether you should leave the red gingham dress on. It's too pretty and he was there when you made it. Meghan had hated when you told her he allowed you to use his mother's machine and fabric. She hated that you were taking over her on her own craft.

Hm… yes, just for that he'll let you keep it on.

"Come on, Doie… Fuck me as hard as you can." You lean in, whispering against his ear, biting his earlobe. That was enough incentive for Doyoung to begin thrusting. It's slow but hard at first, setting the pace. It doesn't take long for him to quicken it, increasing your moans with it. You hold onto him tightly as he pounds into you. So deep into the pleasure of being full again that neither of you speak.

Legs pushed wide open against the table, his glute muscles flexing with every hard stroke. He kisses you here and there, licking away the beads of sweat from your neck like a starved animal in need of more.

The taste of your skin drives him insane, nipping and licking until he reaches your breasts. Pushing down the fabric of the dress to take one into his mouth. Engulfing it, harsh suction that leaves you wanting more. His teeth aren't as kind to your nipples but you don't mind as long as he is well fed. As long as you're able to please him.

"You feel so good, Y/n… I won't ever be able to get enough of you." He pants, thrusts hardening, hips swiveling to get closer to you, enough that his pubic bone creates friction against your needy clit. That intensifies the feeling that pushes you further into an orgasm. Doyoung feels it when you squeeze around him and moan his name like a mantra, pulling at his hair like he's done to yours.

"Please… I've been good. Please, let me come, Doie." You beg, implore. You couldn't handle it any longer. He's come once before, when this is finished, he'll have two orgasms. Yet all you have is aching, an overdue orgasm that will knock you out soon if you don't release it.

Pretending to ponder your prayer as he harshly pounds into you, lips consuming yours. Tongue gracing yours in search for a sliver of his come's taste still lingering within you. It's not as evident as before but he eventually finds it, smiling into the kiss and nodding.

"Let it go, baby." He croons, shushes leaving his lips as he keeps fucking you. His permission setting your body free that each thrust makes you feel so sensitive and it's not until he reverts back to those initial harsh and deep thrusts that you squeal and moan loudly. Clinging to his body for dear life while your legs spasm and come around him. The image sends him into his own orgasm. Feeling your body tremble against his while you cry out in pleasure from something he's caused. It's beautiful and if possible, he'd have you as the main piece with those pretty red ribbons you love so much on your hair, surrounded by his taxidermy as the main attraction because you're precious enough to preserve.

The thought peeves him but he won't dwell, not when you still feel so warm and good around his spent cock.

"Has she ever made you come this much?" You ask between giggles, looking at the pool of cum seeping into the wooden table and dripping onto the concrete floor. Doyoung groans remembering his reality. "No. I don't even touch her, why do you think there's so much?" He glowers, shaking his head in the process. "I don't want to think about her. Not now… with you so pretty and open for me." He grins, leaning in for a kiss.

You hum against his lips, wrapping your arms around him. "All this come for me?" You question sweetly, faking naivety, he nods, a light chuckle. "Only you have made me feel so alive and hot." He utters, burying his face in your chest, kissing your tits slowly.

A content sigh leaves you, eyelids fluttering, a malicious grin when you look forward.

There she is, five feet away with a dull and dead look on her face, Meghan.

"I bet." 

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[milliesfishes]

Heyyy Millie!

Can we get a coryio as a boy dad fic?

Bc I looooved the girl dad ones smmm

<33

But don’t write it if you are too busy :)

I hope you have a wonderful dayyyy

this took an angsty turn hehe <3 ౨ৎ꣑ৎhaving a baby boy with coriolanus౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

Not a single inch of Coriolanus' body was in motion. The blur of the air was thick, choking him from the inside out. For a second, his mind lapsed, and he wasn't sure if he was real.

Then it all came back at once. The shriek of a new life, the mutter of the doctors pushing him out of the way and attending to you, unmoving on the bed. There was a mess of crimson between your limply spread legs, and the color he'd loved so much on you before suddenly had him feeling faint.

He couldn't take his eyes off your face. You were pale as a sheet, looking almost like a stranger even though he could map out every detail of your face without looking. A nurse had the sense to guide him away, placing something wrapped in blankets in his arms, which suddenly became stiff enough to hold it.

"Here," she said softly. "Just sit with him for a minute. It'll be okay."

Coriolanus barely registered what she said, wearily looking down. The face of a squirming baby greeted him, and it hit him all at once. His son. He was a father.

The future was stretched out in front of him, only one sure thing in it. He hated that it wasn't you.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there outside the door, blankly holding his newborn. In Coriolanus' life, there had been very few things that he knew were certain, but he'd thought you being here was one. His success had made him sloppy, his money, reckless. Now you were on death's doorstep because he'd become greedy, wanting more and more of you until it killed you. Had his mother's death taught him nothing? Another mouth to feed wasn't worth losing you.

Mulling it over, the last thing he wanted was to be holding the product of his failure. He looked around desperately, but nobody was in sight. The baby in his arms was still wriggling, cries softening.

The same nurse came out to tell him. It was a close call, but you were stable. You were okay. The relief that poured over his heart lifted some of the weight from his shoulders, and everything he'd considered while imagining a life without you evaporated into thin air.

Passing the baby off to the nurse, he went in to see you straightaway, ignoring the doctor's mention that you wouldn't be conscious for awhile. He needed to see you breathing, receive confirmation that you were alive and you would stay that way.

Time meant nothing when he was at your side. He watched you sleep, stayed at your side while the nurses changed the sheets and produced a fresh nightdress for you. The doctor left behind a list of instructions, and Coriolanus assured him that he'd call if there were any further problems.

He was right there when you woke, blinking sleepily and wincing at the leftover ache of childbirth. You looked around confusedly, and he reached for your hand, squeezing it lightly. "Darling."

"The baby," you muttered, trying to sit up.

Gently, he reached out his arm, guiding you to lay down again. "Easy. He's fine." Coriolanus moved closer, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

You winced as you shifted, eyes widening in joy. "He? We have a baby boy?"

"Yes," he said, frowning as he studied you. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart?"

"I want to see him," you said softly, looking up into his eyes. "I want to see our son."

"Later," he promised, getting up to sit on the side of the bed, fluffing your pillows and using a guiding hand to rest your head there again. "You need to rest."

"Coryo." He paused, reluctantly meeting your gaze again. "I've been resting for the past month. I want to see him."

Looking at you, worn out from birth and pleading with him, he who should be giving you whatever you wanted, there was no way he could deny this request. You deserved to see what you'd nearly lost your life to have.

So, with a sigh, he went to the nursery, where the baby was being supervised by the nurse he'd hired. You'd said it was unnecessary, having wanted to do all of the work yourself, but now he was glad he'd insisted.

Bringing the baby back, Coriolanus deposited him carefully into your arms, watching your eyes light up. Swaying back and forth, you hummed softly, smiling when your baby boy made a happy little noise.

"He's so beautiful," you whispered, tracing a finger down his little face. "Oh..." Finally, you looked up at him again, nearly glowing. "He looks just like you, Coryo."

Nodding, Coriolanus forced a smile, itching to whisk the baby back to the nursery so he could care for you properly. "Sweetheart, it's time for you to rest."

Your brow furrowed when he reached for the bundle in your arms. "He can stay."

Coriolanus breathed out through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek. "The doctor said you need to sleep uninterrupted, darling. You can spend as much time as you want with the baby tomorrow."

Reluctantly, you surrendered at the mention of doctor's orders. When he returned from the nursery again, you were sleepy, trying to keep your eyes open as you rested your head on your pillow.

Stripping himself down for bed, Coriolanus carefully positioned himself under the covers with you, stroking your shoulder when you curled into him, coming to attention when you winced. "What hurts?"

"I'm just a little sore," you managed, sighing when he set a heavy hand on your back, rubbing each tender spot. "I'm okay."

"Shh," he soothed, guiding your head to lay on his chest. "We'll get you some more medicine after you sleep."

He managed to work you into rest, draping you over his chest and thanking deities when you stayed that way. In the morning, he woke before you, using the breathy moments of the early hours to watch you, assure himself that his love was alive and well.

The very second you awoke, you were asking about the baby, pleading with Coriolanus to bring the cradle closer to you. He bent, staying at your side while you held your son, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

His name had been chosen months ago, though neither of you had known the gender. Martius. A good, strong name, you'd both decided. You were whispering it as you held him to your chest, kissing his forehead and rocking him back and forth.

It was sweet. He never could have foreseen how much more he would love you as a mother. With the child you'd carried and nurtured that hadn't been real to him until this moment. Coriolanus found himself winding his arm around you, suddenly wanting to hold you. He forced himself to look down at Martius, stunned to his core once again. You were right. He was the spitting image of Coriolanus. Except for his eyes. The color right now was similar to his own, but the shape was so precisely you.

He kissed the side of your head, every touch still careful. You'd had your medicine, but he wasn't sure if you were still hurting. You leaned back against the pillows, smiling when he pulled the blanket up over your legs. "I'm okay, you know?"

"Yes," he lied, your screaming still echoing between his ears. Trying not to shiver, he smoothed a hand up and down your arm.

It was quiet for a moment, and then you looked up, brow furrowing as you did. "Have you held him yet?"

"I did," he said, leaving out the circumstances. "Do you need a break? I can put him back in the cradle-"

"No," you assured, shaking your head. "I just...you haven't asked to."

"It's fine, sweetheart," Coriolanus promised. "You wanted to hold him."

"But I want you to hold him," you said, sitting up and moving to give him the baby. He shook his head, and you frowned, searching his eyes. "What's the matter?"

The way you were looking at him made him feel like you already knew. Still, he tried to maintain the mask that had never worked once with you. "Everything's fine, I promise."

"Coryo." He almost melted. Your eyes were wide, and he felt as though he could fall headfirst into them. If Martius' eyes ended up being the same color as yours, he was in for it.

His shoulders slumped. He kept his eyes on your shoulder. "When they made me leave the room, they gave him to me."

"Oh," you said softly. He dared to look at your face. You reached out, squeezing his wrist, and he wanted to hide in your shelter. "Coryo." The repetition of his name was softened now. "I'm here. I'm okay."

"You were dying," he countered, shaking his head. "It was my fault. And he..." It was something he could never admit out loud. But you knew instantly, your grip on his wrist moving to his cheek. He leaned into your touch, letting the mask slip down.

"This is not your fault." You were looking into his eyes, shaking your head just slightly. "Coryo he's perfect. I would do it all over again."

"I couldn't lose you," he breathed, reaching both hands up to hold your face. His thumbs found your cheeks, moving up and down. "Sweetheart I couldn't do it again."

You breathed out, quieting for just a moment. Then you shifted Martius in your arms. "I want you to hold him, Coriolanus. Please."

There wasn't any way he could have said no. Not when he'd let this piece of himself slip, revealing a memory he knew he was ashamed of. The wound of almost losing you was fresh, and he'd tried to cover it before you could see.

He silently held out his arms, and you slid Martius into them. Coriolanus was surprised to find his arms knew exactly what to do. For a moment he was worried the baby would cry, but he only cooed, shifting comfortably against him.

It was like a sunrise. At first a flicker, and then a light rising from within. It was real to him in this moment, in the quiet of the room with his healing wife there next to him. You were beaming, cheek to his shoulder as you watched Martius settle. It was as if you were feeling it with him. Your hand was on his elbow by your son's head, and you reached up to kiss his cheek.

There was something constricting his throat as he stared down at his little boy. He tried to find his words again. "I..." Was it an apology on his lips? A declaration, maybe. But of what? Never in his life had he been at such a loss.

You hummed softly, snuggling against his side. "I know." Pressing your lips to his shoulder, you rubbed your fingers over his arm. "I know."

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington thought he'd managed to keep him being an omega a secret from his parents. He'd been on suppressants since he was 16, a late bloomer, and his parents were rarely home the last few years. But one fateful day, as he was in the midst of his heat in his room, his father burst in, yelling behind him to his mother about what a disappointment Steve was as a son.

The harsh words cut deep, and Steve felt his heart sink. His father stormed out of the house, leaving Steve reeling. His mother stood outside his door, a sad look etched on her face.

"Mom," Steve called out, his voice shaking.

But she just turned and walked away, leaving Steve feeling isolated and alone.

Steve's father didn't return home until the early hours of the morning, a self satisfied grin spreading across his face as he puffed on a cigar. A complete 180 to his earlier demeanor was jarring.

It wasn't until the following evening that Steve discovered the reason behind his father's sudden change in mood.

His parents summoned him to the dining room, a space that had once been the heart of their family but now felt like a relic of the past. The fact that his mother had cooked dinner only added to Steve's growing unease.

"Sit down,son," his father said, his voice booming through the room. Steve hesitated, but his mom's encouraging smile put him at ease. He took a seat, his eyes darting between his parents.

"We need to talk ," his father said, his grin returning. he could feel his gut twisting with anxiety.

"You see, son," his father began, "while I was away, I went to the bar to clear my head, and wouldn't you believe it, I ran into, the owner of all those restaurants from the commercials you know, with that catchy jingle." His father snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

Steve's face fell. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father smiled. "Well, he was telling me he was looking to marry, and I mentioned I had an omega son... and one thing led to another, and we signed a contract." He looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve's eyes pleaded with his mom, but she looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"Please... I can't," Steve whispered, his eyes fixed on the table to avoid his father's gaze, knowing he would see the anger and disappointment burning within them.

"Why not, Stephan? Huh? You have a long line of suitors, do you?" his father sneered.

"Richard," Steve's mom cautioned, her voice soft but urgent.

Steve's dad slammed his hand on the table, making both Steve and his mom jump. He smoothed his hair, attempting to compose himself. "You are doing this, son. And that's final," he declared, his voice cold and unyielding.

With that, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. Steve's mom followed suit, her eyes cast downward in a mixture of shame. They left Steve alone, the silence in the room oppressive and heavy.

That night, Steve sat in the darkness of his room, his mind racing with thoughts of the arranged marriage. He debated calling Robin, knowing she would freak out, but he desperately needed to talk to someone. The weight of this was suffocating him, and he couldn't bear the thought of carrying it alone.

The next day, Robin dragged Steve to a carnival, hoping the bright lights and lively atmosphere would lift his spirits. But Steve would have rather stayed home and wallowed in his misery.

"I seriously hate your father, Steve," Robin said, her voice indignant. "I can't believe your mom just let him do that. I really wish we could run away together." He felt a pang of longing he wanted to escape with Robin too, but he knew it was impossible.

As they walked through the carnival grounds, they stumbled upon a colorful tent with a sign that read "Eddie the Powerful Reader." Robin's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Hey, Steve, want to check it out?" Steve just grunted in response.

Inside the tent, a guy about Steve's age sat across from a woman with a crystal ball. He looked up, catching Steve's eye, and flashed a warm smile then continued talking to the lady.

She scoffed at Eddie, "What a crock of shit!" Gathering her things, she stormed out of the tent.

The guy who had been sitting across from her raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Some people can't handle the truth," he said, smiling wryly at Steve and Robin.

Robin and Steve sat down, and Eddie's eyes sparkled with interest. "So, what can I do for you guys? Maybe a couple's reading?"

"Nope," Steve said, while Robin chimed in, "Platonic."

Eddie nodded, a hint of satisfaction etched on hir face then his expression turning serious. "But there is something we really need to know," Robin continued. "Steve's parents are arranging a marriage for him, and he doesn't want to go through with it. Is there anything that can be done to prevent it?"

Eddie's eyes locked onto Steve's, then shifted to the crystal ball. "Uh huh," he murmured, his voice filled with conviction.

"What?" Robin asked, wide eyed and leaning on the edge of her seat.

"The spirits say the wedding won’t happen," Eddie declared, his voice firm.

Robin said excitedly, "Really?"

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "Robin, come on. The wedding is happening. My dad will make sure of it. Let's just go." He stood up to leave, but Eddie grabbed his hand.

"Steve, am I right?" Eddie asked, his eyes intense. "I can guarantee a hundred percent it's not happening."

Steve felt a shiver run down his spine as he met Eddie's gaze. For some reason, he believed him. A spark of hope ignited within him, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him as he left the tent with Robin.

It was the day of the wedding, and Steve's father, Richard, had orchestrated everything to perfection. He had spent the preceding days yelling at Steve's mother, criticizing her for not doing enough to prepare for the wedding. "It's a woman's job to plan these things!" he would bellow, his face red with annoyance.

Steve's mother would remain silent, her eyes cast downward, as Richard's anger simmered just below the surface. Toward the end, she had brought in her sisters to help with the preparations, and despite Richard's grumbling, everything was falling into place.

As Richard surveyed the wedding arrangements, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had secured a large dowry, and soon he would be rid of Steve, the son he saw as a burden.

Steve's aunts swarmed around him, helping him get dressed in the cramped, chaotic room. They threw clothes and accessories around, dabbing makeup on his face and trying to squeeze him into a elaborate wedding dress. Steve protested, his face red with frustration. "I don't want to wear this!" he exclaimed.

But his aunts just exchanged stern glances. "Do you want your father to come in here?" one of them asked, her voice low and warning. Steve's heart sank, and he reluctantly submitted to their ministrations, his eyes fixed on the floor in resignation.

As Steve stood there, trapped in the chaos his mind wandered back to the words of. "The wedding won't happen," Eddie had said with such conviction. Steve's rational mind told him it was just a fantasy, that the wedding would indeed go on as planned. But a small spark of hope had ignited within him, and he couldn't help but cling to it, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Steve's mother burst into the room, her eyes hidden behind black glasses, a deep frown etched on her face. "Is he ready?" she asked, her voice tight with tension.

Maria, one of Steve's aunts, nodded hastily. "Yes, he's all set."

Steve's father, Richard, strode into the room, his eyes scanning Steve's attire before nodding in approval. He grasped Steve's arm, his grip like a vice, and began to escort him down the aisle.

As they walked, Steve caught sight of his groom, a man with a permanent scowl etched on his face, eerily reminiscent of Steve's father. Steve's heart sank, his earlier hope dwindling in the face of this bleak reality.

Steve's eyes locked onto his groom, and the of his father and then a wave of panic washed over him. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't. With a surge of adrenaline, Steve pushed his father out of the way, ignoring the cries of "Steve, come back!" and "What's wrong?" from the guests.

He sprinted down the aisle, his wedding attire fluttering behind him, and burst through the doors of the venue. Outside, the bright sunlight was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the wedding.

As he looked around frantically for an escape route, a sleek motorcycle roared into view. Eddie, the physic, was grinning at him from the driver's seat, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Told you it wouldn't happen," Eddie said, chuckling, as he gestured for Steve to hop on.

Steve didn't hesitate. He swung his leg over the bike and settled in behind Eddie, feeling a rush of happiness as they sped away from the wedding venue, leaving his father's angry shouts and the stunned guests in their dust.

[arcanefox207]

These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed this past month and would like to recommend. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. I apologize the list is so short this month… it’s been a rough one and I’m trying to get out from under this dark cloud. I am going to be doing a monthly rec list in an attempt to read more and help reblog and support some amazing authors out there. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤

Joel Miller

Solstice // @covetyou Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A Step Into Hell // @aurorawritestoescape After you move into his house, Joel finds himself possessed by the idea of having you. Trying to quench his lustful thirst he decides to get his hands on your nudes. To his surprise he finds something even better. Stepdad!Joel

Honey, Stomach, Mine // @netherfeildren Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. A/B/O

Purr // @joelstummy Joel is a simple landlord. He is really very generous, offering up great deals on his spare apartment units for desperate parents housing their new college students. But he does have one stipulation: No Pets. When an innocent little Freshman breaks that rule, Joel has another deal on deck to make it right again. DarkLandlord!Joel

Lost in the Dark (series) // @iamasaddie One time you decide to cheat on your boyfriend is, of course, the time his dad catches you. Once normal relationship turns into something new, and you are forced to face the fucked up reality of your life. BoyfriendsDad!Joel

Change // @pedgito Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

Throat Coat // @strang3lov3 Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse. DarkDaddy!Joel

A Firm Partner // @whocaresstillthelouvre Mr. Miller needs you to stay late... even if tomorrow is your birthday. Lawyer!Joel

General Marcus Acacius

Love is Heartbreak // @myownwholewildworld Kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for.

Frankie Morales

Eyes on the Mirror // @itwasntimethatdidit40 You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you.

Agent Jack Daniel’s

Rope & Ride // @magpiepills Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance

ICYMI (Previous Fic Recs): December Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika 🖤

[kookochan]

Trust

You don't know why you feel this way towards him. Neither does he know. Maybe you need some time, maybe you need to spill some secrets.

Summary: What if Jungkook, the boy who does everything to annoy you, finds out some of your secrets? +18

student Jungkook x fem! student reader

(Private University & rich families)

warnings/content: cigarettes, use of drug (weed), sexual content (unprotected sex - do not, oral fem rec.,), violence (mentions of beating up someone), mentions of blood, family issues, alcohol

wc: 5,3K

༊*·˚

You're sitting on a bench in the middle of the park. Watching the moon and smoking a cigarette. The silence feels heavy, your thoughts going wild. You feel warm although it's freezing outside. Your grandmother's voice in the back of your head. 

"With every day that passes, you look more like your mother."

"She was a bitch who only wanted the money of my son."

"You wonder why I don't like you, but did you ever think about the fact that your own mother left you?"

"I will never see you as my family."

Every time you saw her, you had an argument. She never accepted the fact that you're her grandchild. The only one. You also had a lot of discussions with your dad about her attitude towards you, but he always told you that she is old. That she will never change, and it's too late to change her. You will never tolerate that. And that is the problem. Today she overstepped the line by arguing with you in the hallway of your house. The Jeon's sitting in the living room and enjoying the scene. At the end, it's a big no-go for your dad to have a family dinner without you. But you don't even care anymore. 

Opening the little metal box, you see that you only have one cigarette left. A sigh leaves your mouth. You hear some steps coming towards you; turning your head in the direction you see Jungkook's wide smile, you realize that the night will be longer than usual.

"You really are a little crybaby," he says with a teasing voice. You roll your eyes at him. "Fuck off". He sits next to you and looks around. It is funny because nobody is here. "I would rather fuck you," he says, voice a little lower. You choose to ignore him. He notices that you are shivering and puts his jacket over your legs in your short dress. You grab it to throw it back to him, but he is quick to stop you. 

"I'm not here to tease you this time. I overheard your conversation with your grandma and felt bad. Don't get me wrong; I'm not pitying you, but I can understand how you feel. It must probably suck," he tells you; this time his voice is more gentle. "You don't need to waste your time here. I will go back soon. Oh, and I hope you didn't expect to hear my story or whatever," you say. He nods, already prepared for this answer. 

You sit in silence with him for another thirty minutes. It's time for your last cigarette, but you can't smoke in front of him. He would definitely use it against you because, at the end of the day, nobody knows about it. "I will go back home. Have a good night, and thanks, I guess," you say while standing up and handing him his jacket. He quickly gets up too and walks with you. You turn towards him and frown, "Leave me alone, creep". His soft laugh fills the cold night. "You don't expect me to let you go alone at night, right?" he asks. 

The walk is silent but surprisingly peaceful. When the realization hits you, you stop in your tracks. "I can't go home. They are still there," you say and squat down. No, you will not show weakness, but you're ten seconds away from crying. To your surprise, Jungkook squats down next to you. "Hmm, you're right. Your dad is leaving tomorrow for a business trip, right? So how about turning back tomorrow?" he asks. You look at him, unsure if he wants to help or make fun of you. "Yeah. I will go to a hotel," you answer. "Nah, don't worry; you can stay at mine," he says and stands up. He reaches for your hand to help you. You don't bother to answer him, just following him to his house.

The door of his apartment closes behind you. It's funny that he gives you a place to stay. After all, your father and his father are hating each other. They are sitting at the same table just for work. And like them, you and Jungkook hate each other too?

"I will give you something from my closet," he says and goes to his bedroom with a walk-in closet. You sit down on his couch. The last time you were here was one month ago when you both argued about something Jungkook did, and the teacher thought it was you. Jungkook took the opportunity and acted like you were the bad guy. But the argument ended differently; it ended with him fucking you. And neither of you ever talked about that again.

Jungkook comes back with some clothes in his hand. "Here, wear these," he says while handing them to you. Maybe he wanted you to change in the bathroom, but you start to undress in front of him. His eyes watching you with sparkles. You put on the shorts and the shirt he gave you. Both a little bit bigger than expected. "Thank you for letting me stay," you murmur and sit down. He thinks that you look adorable with his own clothes on. "Are you hungry?" he asks. You shake your head in response.

"Can I have a pillow, please?" you ask him. The tiredness has a grip on you. "You can sleep on the bed," he says instead. "I don't want to," you answer right away. Laying down on the couch and turning your back on him. Your hair is messily on the couch, and he dares to play with some strands. You're really sleepy to notice anything, and it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. He stands up and carries you to his bed. Making sure that you can sleep well.

The next morning is cold. You already left his house without a sound. Jungkook expected it already but felt strange anyway. He doesn't know why you're both acting this way, like hating each other. It's also confusing to him to call it 'hate' because what he is feeling is a lot different than that. At the end he decides to ignore all of it and goes to school.

•

"She is crazy. If she lived years ago, they would definitely call her a witch," Jimin says in utter disbelief. You laugh at that. "I really don't understand what she wants from me. Just let me live, you know?". He feels sad about your family drama and wishes he could do more for you. "But you said you slept somewhere else. Where?" he asks. "Don't judge me, but I was with Jungkook," you say a little shy about the confession. But yes, he dramatically turns his whole body towards you. "What the fuck? Why wouldn't you call me?" he says a little mad. "He heard everything and followed me when I left the house. It was already late, and I was like, Fuck it, I will go with him," you say. You don't care about Jungkook. "He will use that information," Jimin says and plays with your hair. "If he annoys you, tell me and I will talk to him. He listens to me well because he loves me," he adds. You laugh and hug him right away. "Everyone loves you," you tell him. You're happy to have a best friend like him. 

•

The uni day is hectic like always. It's not like old schools anymore because everyone is from a rich family and too serious to have actual fun. Sometimes you wonder why your family insisted on a private university. "I want to go home," Yuna says after a drag on the cigarette. Yuna was one of your closest friends, and now you're sitting on a bench hidden behind the building. You watch your own smoke leaving your mouth. "Same," you answer. At the same time, you hear a loud noise and turn in the direction. The source of the noise leads Yuna to stand up in panic and walk in the opposite direction. You roll your eyes at her. 

Jungkook is standing there with his phone and goes on with the recording. "I think your dad won't like this," he says with a grin. You take the last drag. "Stop filming me," you tell him, which he listens to. He walks over to stand right in front of you. You look up with an annoyed smile, "What do you want?". Jungkook grins at that and asks, "What can you offer?". It's a green light for you to tease him. Your fingers move from his chest to his belt. You can feel that his breathing changes. His eyes are watching you with lust. "A lot," you answer to the question some seconds ago. You start to move your fingers a little lower to feel him more. He puts a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You look pretty in this position," he tells you. "I know, and I also know that you want me to go on. Maybe in your dreams," you say with a low voice. You push his chest to stand up, and he laughs at that. "We will see," he says as you walk away.

•

The lunch break begins, and you are having a conversation with Jimin. "She could behave at school," someone says while looking towards you. "Why are they looking at us?" Jimin asks. Since you are sitting here, more people started to watch you. You have the feeling they're also talking about you. "What's the matter?" you ask a random boy. He looks a little shy but answers, "Someone said that you're smoking in the uni-blog on Twitter.". Oh, that's right; you really thought Jungkook would keep it for himself? 

"How did they know?" Jimin whispers. "Jungkook saw me today," you answer. These people will talk about it for some days, so it's not a big deal. Until you see a proud Jungkook waving at you. He wants to play, so you accept that.

The next tweet is about Jungkook and his failed love life. It's not a big thing but a good distraction from your scandal. I mean every girl is talking about him, but he never dated anyone. There must be a reason, right? Maybe a small dick. What you didn't expect was that he didn't give a fuck. He also laughed at the rumors and told some girls, 'I can show you if you want'. In summary, you hate him a lot. 

•

Jungkook turns off the water of his shower. He puts a towel around his waist and walks out of the bathroom. Already checking his notifications on Twitter. Everyone is talking about you and him. The combination is cute to him, so he lets out a chuckle. When he walks inside the living room to get to the kitchen, he freezes in his spot. It's dark inside, but he can see a figure sitting on his couch. He turns on the lights to see you sit there and look at him.

"What the hell. How did you get inside?" he asks. Jungkook is shocked for real. "I saw your passcode last time," you answer while tilting your head. The view is nice. His toned abs and some tiny water droplets on his skin. He knows that you're checking him out. "I will change and come back," he says, despite liking the attention.

After putting on some grey sweatpants and an oversized black shirt, he turns back to the living room. "Okay, what do you want? It must be urgent if you break into my house," he says. "First of all, are you Gossip Girl? Why would you say that to the uni-blog?" you ask him annoyed. "I thought it was fun. And why are you questioning me after doing it yourself?" he asks back. You roll your eyes. "I know that your little tweet is just the beginning. And I really don't want my dad knowing about it. So I want to find a solution," you say with a smile this time.

He looks at your lips. It's the first time that you're not forcing yourself to smile at him. And he definitely likes that. "Okay, let's find a solution. How about being friends?" he asks. "Oh, come on. That's what you suggest? You're the one who has been bullying me since the first day. Now you want to be friends?" you ask back. This time he rolls his eyes and adds, "We can try at least". You think for a while. 

Option one is that he is pretending to be interested in finding a solution. Option two is that he is thinking of something else, so he is acting right now. The last option is that he wants to try.

You hope it's the last option when you say, "Okay, let's try". He smiles at you and shakes your hand. At the same time, his eyes catch the paper bag on the coffee table. "Did you buy food for me?" he asks. "No, dumbass. I bought it for us," you say and sit down on the rug. Opening the bag, you put everything on the table so he can eat too. He watches every single movement you do, and he is happy that it's so peaceful. 

Both of you are sitting on the rug and eating while watching a movie. You talked a lot about the plot and the food. When the movie ends, Jungkook suggests drinking a little. He fills up some wine, and you start drinking in silence. "My father is cheating on my mother," Jungkook says all of a sudden. You look up to him. "What?". He shrugs. "Yeah. My mother knows, but because of the name of the family, she stays. That's also the reason why I'm living alone," he adds. "Why are you telling me this?" you ask. "To gain your trust," he answers. You nod at him. "I'm so sorry about that. I can imagine that you're mad at your mother for staying silent, but sometimes you can't change their minds. Try to be there for her anyway because she must be feeling lonely. She is old enough to make decisions," you say. 

There is a moment of silence. He grabs your hand and plays with your fingers. "Thank you," he says. This time he looks vulnerable and kind. You smile up at him only to see that he is already looking at you. The eye contact feels heavy but peaceful. When he gets closer, you close your eyes and feel his lips on yours. The kiss is so slow and intense that you need to hold on to his shoulder. He slides his tongue inside your mouth, which makes you moan. Pulling back, he whispers, "I need you close". It's a sign for you to sit on his thighs and continue to kiss. The makeout session gets deeper, and he starts to walk to his bedroom with you in his arms. 

He puts you down on the bed and gets rid of his shirt. You do the same thing and watch him get over you. "You're so pretty," he says and starts kissing a way from your chest to your tummy. It doesn't take long for him to undress you. He is on his knees between your legs, and his tongue is playing with your heat. You moan his name when he starts pushing his fingers inside. The sensation hitting harder than you remembered. He takes his time to savor your taste. It's almost embarrassing how quickly you start shaking against his lips. He quickens his pace, and his free hand caresses your tummy. "Come for my baby," he says while locking his eyes to yours. It's the final push you needed to come undone with a little moan. 

You watch him pull out his fingers and lick them. When he starts kissing you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers find a way to his chest, gently touching his abs, and they stop at his hardened dick. You stroke him in a tight grip, and his needy moan fills your ears. He kisses your neck and behind your ear. "I want to fuck you," he whispers. He pulls away a little, and you smile at him, "Fuck me".

"Get on all fours," he says while pulling away a little. He slowly strokes his dick and watches the way you're positioning yourself. "Condom?" he asks and helps you to spread your legs. "No, I'm on the pill," you say. He comes close and pushes your head down. His other hand positions his dick to your entrance. With a quick push, he is nestled inside you. You moan at the sensation and his hissing. He doesn't wait for a sign of you; he starts to thrust. "You're so tight," he murmurs at the feeling. His pace quickens with every thrust. His lips press against your hips and back. You wonder how he can be so gentle and hard at the same time. 

When he turns you on your back, only to watch your face, you close your eyes. "Look at me," he says while holding your hips to quicken his pace. Your eyes flutter open, and you watch his dick going in and out of you. "koo.." you moan at the sight. "Fuck," he grunts at the nickname. He can see that you're already fucked out and that you're near coming again. When you start shaking against him, his hips falter for a moment. You moan his name while coming down from your high. "Good girl," he praises you while his own climax is reaching him. With a final thrust, his dick twitches inside you. He pushes his whole length inside and spills his cum inside you. Both of your mouths leave a moan. He rests his head on your belly without putting all his weight on you. Your hands quickly find his hair. 

He looks up to you with a lovesick smile and watches your tired eyes with awe. Then he slowly pulls out of you, which makes you whine. "Sorry, baby," he says and throws himself next to you. It's weird this time because all he is doing is watching you. You don't know how to feel and also why your heart is beating so fast. He stands up and pulls you into his arms. "Let's take a bath," he says and walks to the bathroom. The night goes on with a long bath and a peaceful sleep. Hugging each other tight until the morning. And also you eat breakfast together.

•

"One more round?" Jimin asks. He looks a little drunk with pink cheeks. You smile at him and nod. At the end it was his idea to go to the house party. You accepted right away because the last time was a long time ago. You watch Jimin walking to the kitchen, and at the same time, you see something suspicious. A nice-looking guy exchanges something. They look like weeds. You never tried it out, but it looks appealing. He looks over to you with a lazy smile, and you return it. That's a good excuse for him to walk towards you. 

"Are you watching some business?" he asks. "I mean, you're doing it in the middle of the room," you say. He hands you the drink that he's holding. You take a quick sip and scrunch your face. "It's too strong". He smiles at that and drinks it in one go. "What's your name?" he asks. "Yn, and yours?". "Yoongi," he answers. "If you're interested, that's my number. Call me and we can meet up," he says while giving you a piece of paper. Then he walks away without looking back. Weird you think, but you also keep his number. 

"Nice to see you," you hear from behind. When you turn around, you see Jungkook standing there with a cup in his hand. "Same," you answer. Without a single word, you start to dance with him. It's weird how both of you started to move in rhythm. He holds your hips and sings to the music. You laugh at his cute expression and sing along. All of this moment starts to feel like it's in slow motion. Your eyes catch Jimin's worried face and the way he tries to get to you. 

You stop dancing, and Jungkook gives you a questioning look. "We need to go," Jimin says without looking at Jungkook. "What happened?" you ask him. Instead of answering, he pulls you away, but Jungkook's strong hand stops him. "What is going on?" he asks this time. Jimin sighs and shows his phone. It's a tweet from the uni-blog. 

Hi, my lovely followers. Today's topic is Y/n l/n. Her mother left after giving birth to her. Such a heartbreaking story. But how can she be the school's queen everyone fears? Let's think about that.

See you in the next post! 

Your eyes widened while reading it. Everyone thinks that your mother died after your birth. Only your family knows about the truth. And Jimin, and Jungkook. You freeze at the realization and turn towards him. He looks shocked and confused at the same time. "That's so low. Even for you, Jeon," you say. His eyes find yours, but he doesn't answer. You walk to the door knowing a lot of people are looking at you. This gossip will be haunting you for days and months. 

When Jungkook starts walking towards you, Jimin stops him. "I thought you guys would be at peace. Did you tell them?" he asks. Jungkook turns to look at him. "No. I swear this time it was not me," he answers. Jimin watches his expressions, and it's weird that he thinks that he is not lying. Both of them rush to the door, but you're long gone. 

While getting your phone out of your pocket, you see the paper with a number on it. First you text Jimin that you're going home and want to be alone. Second, you save the number and text him, 'Can we meet?'. Maybe the decision is thoughtless and you will regret it, but right in this moment you need to relax. Your head hurts from thinking about all the rumors and the reaction of your family. Yoongi sends his location and tells you to come in one hour. So you go home and change into more comfy clothes and walk to his place.

The location Yoongi sent to you is a garage in a quiet neighborhood. After a small knock on the door, it opens to reveal Yoongi standing there. He waits for you to come inside, and you start looking around. You had a wild imagination of the space, but to your surprise, it looks really good. There is a big couch in the middle of the garage on a red rug, and in the back you can see some instruments. On the walls are some posters and signs. "Do you like it?" he asks while walking to a chest with drawers. "It's suits you," you answer and sit down on the couch. He comes back with two rolled-up bars. "Are you going to smoke too?" you ask. He nods and makes him comfortable on the couch.

You pull your knees to your chest and hold the blunt in your hand. It's already burning, and you take your first drag. You can feel the difference between weed and the usual stuff you smoke. All of your nerves are relaxing. "So tell me what brings you here," Yoongi says while smoking his own. "I got exposed. Everybody knows what happened with my mother. It sucks," you say. You feel like it's easier to talk, and your thoughts are more collected. "What happened to her?" he asks. He is not the type who is interested in drama, especially because he is older. "She left me after my birth. She saw me as a burden," you admit. You don't know why the tears are streaming down your face. 

"I'm sorry for you. But at the end it's her loss. As I can see, you also managed to grow up without her. So you shouldn't be sad about it," he tells you in a cold voice. You glance at him. "It's easy to say. Maybe we would be a perfect family?" you say. He laughs at that. "I know your dad, yn. He would be the same as now, and probably your mother would work with him too. Nothing would change. It's the dynamics of your family. They are focused on working and making money. They need the power". For a moment you're quiet and think. He is right; probably nothing would change. You sigh, "You're right". That's the final word you say, and both of you start smoking in silence. 

Your phone is ringing for the 10th time this night. Not that you're aware of it because you fell asleep on the couch an hour ago. But Yoongi starts to feel annoyed by the ringtone. He pulls out your phone and answers it. "Where are you? I'm standing in front of your house, and it looks empty!" Jungkook asks in worry. Yoongi chuckles at that. "She is at my place," he answers. Jungkook freezes at the voice. It's kind of a familiar voice. "Oh, it's me, Yoongi," he adds. "Why is she there? Don't tell me she smoked some shit, hyung," he asks a little angrily. "I know you told me to stay away from her, but she came on her own. Don't get mad; she is alright and sleeping. You can take her home if you want," he explains. Jungkook doesn't answer; he hangs up and starts driving.

When he walks into the garage, he looks at your sleeping figure. You look so peaceful. "Hi, do you want a drink?" Yoongi asks. "No thanks. I will bring her home," he answers. He picks you up carefully and puts you in the car. After making sure you're buckled up and safe, he drives to his apartment. 

•

You open your eyes and look around. You can't remember coming here or falling asleep. The distant noises are a sign that you're not alone. You walk to the kitchen only to be met with Jungkook cooking. He doesn't catch that you're standing behind him. For a moment you're enjoying the view. It doesn't matter what he wears or does; he always looks good. When he turns around to place something on the table, he looks at you. "Oh, good morning," he says and smiles at you. You don't answer him and sit down to start eating. He frowns a little, but also he understands.

He sits in front of you and watches you eating. "It wasn't me," he says. You watch his eyes for a moment in hope of catching some mischief in them. But he seems honest. "Okay," you say and smile. "You don't need to go to uni for a while. You can stay here, or I can drive you home," he suggests. "Actually, I don't want to go home. My dad will ask a lot of questions about it," you answer. "You can stay as long as you want," he tells you and grabs your hand. His fingers moving gently on the back of your hand. "Thank you. I appreciate that, but I will stay with Jimin," you say. A little sad to break his heart. He quickly masks the disappointment on his face. "I also will go to school. No need to act like it's affecting me," you add. He nods at that, and both of you return to eat.

•

The school day is as expected. A lot of students asked you about the news, and you told them that it's a family issue. Also, you got a lot of weird looks from people you didn't like. You feel a little lonely when neither Jimin nor Jungkook is in sight. You wonder what they are doing.

At the same time, Jungkook and Jimin are standing in the sports hall. Some of their friends holding the door and others standing in front of it to give a signal when a teacher comes. The poor boy is sitting on his knees on the floor. Apologies leaving his mouth in fear. Jimin and Jungkook were on the search for the responsible person. And it was easier to find him than they were expecting. He was the son of a famous family. His mother was friends with your grandmother. And that explains how he knew about your secret. Jimin wanted him to apologize to you, but Jungkook wasn't satisfied with this idea. So he started beating him up and then made him apologize. "I will text YN to come," Jimin tells him. 

After receiving the message, you walk to the sports hall. A little confused but also curious. When you step inside, you see a boy with blood all over his face looking at you. Jimin and Jungkook standing in front of him. "What the fuck is going on?" you ask. Both men turn towards you. "That's the guy who told it to the blog," Jimin answers. You roll your eyes. "So you started beating him up?" you ask. "He deserved that," Jungkook says and shrugs his shoulders. 

The boy looks at you in hope and says, "I'm sorry. It was dumb of me. Please forgive me". You look him up and down. "Don't act like you're sorry. If I were you, I would run," you whisper the last sentence. He stays in place for a while, and then he starts running away. You turn to Jungkook, "I don't need a lame apology". "Everyone should know that they shouldn't mess with you," he says. You look down at his red knuckles and sigh, "Look at your hand. So stupid of you!". Jimin crackles at that but shuts up after getting a glare from Jungkook. You hug Jimin's side. "Thank you for being there for me," you say. He quickly hugs you back. "Everything for you, princess". You giggle at him and catch Jungkook's frown. "What about me?" he asks. For a moment he looks like a lost puppy, and you snort. "Thank you too," you say. But you can already see that he isn't satisfied with that. Despite that, you walk out with both of them and make fun of the boy who was seconds from crying. Your heart is feeling a lot lighter.

•

The weeks go on, and every day it gets quieter. There are some people left who talk about the topic, but a lot of them dropped it. You found a good bond with Jungkook and Jimin. Feeling like you were friends for more than years. Okay, you know both of them since childhood. But Jimin was your friend since then, and Jungkook your enemy. Not anymore, though, and it doesn't feel weird. You can feel that he is developing some feelings for you. And you can't deny that you have feelings too. But no need to rush it, right?

Your family was more affected by the gossip than you. They were worried that the business would be destroyed. Your dad and grandmother scolding you for being dumb and telling people about it. After you told them that it was the son of your grandmother's friend, they left you alone. Sometimes you were staying at Jungkook's house instead of at home. And you think that this was the best decision you ever had.

Tonight you planned to go on a date with Jungkook to spend some time together. He picks you up in his fancy car. Lending you a bouquet of red roses. You smile at him and lean in for a kiss. "You look beautiful," he says while looking at you. If you had seen this months ago, you would have laughed. But now you're happy with him and smiling wide every time he talks.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

I'm not a smoker, so don't come for me if I used wrong terms etc :( .

I would be happy if you could leave a review. Feel free to ask me questions or talk about anything (press the button in my bio)! Feel loved ♡

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friend’s Brother (part 4)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Silence. The house was silent. Nothing but snores from the men. You curled into In Ho’s bare chest. His big wrapping tightly around you as you slept.

“In Ho” his mother spoke softly, entering his room. She saw you cuddled up to In Ho, a smile on her face. She quickly snapped a photo of you before closing the door, quietly to not wake you. It was only 7 am on a Saturday, no work meant everyone was sleeping in. Every Hwang in the household was knocked out, including you, who if Mrs. Hwang Jung-Sue knew anything, you were definitely going to be one soon.

Jun Ho was the first of the men to awake. Walking softly into the kitchen and sitting at the table.

“Good morning, honey” she said patting his thigh.

“Good morning” he said yawning.

“Did (y/n) make it home safely?” She inquired. She obviously knew you were sound asleep in her eldest son’s room.

“She spent the night here. We were drinking and watching movies in In Ho’s room after dad kicked up out of the living room so he could watch the game” Jun Ho said.

“Oh? Where is she? There’s no bed made up. Is she sleeping on the floor in your room?”

“No, it was too late to ask you to make her a bed, and In Ho’s bed is bigger, mine’s only a twin. So we agreed she could sleep in his bed.” Jun Ho told her. “We didn’t want her walking home alone at night, and she was drunk.” He added.

“I raised such amazing boys” she beamed. She began making breakfast; eggs, sausage, rice, and toast. The smell of food drifting through the hallway and into In Ho’s room.

Your eyes fluttered open to see In Ho still sleeping soundly. His low snores rumbling in his chest. Not too loud, but just enough to tell you he was deeply asleep. You moved slowly out of bed, trying not to wake the sleeping giant. When you sat up and swung your legs over the bed, you felt and arm wrap around your waist.

“Where are you going?” He sighed deeply, his eyes unopening.

“I smell food, I’m starving” you say with pleading eyes.

“Not yet, i just want to cuddle you some more” he pulled you back to him. “And leaving without telling your boyfriend good morning is a horrible thing to do” he said with a scoff.

“Boyfriend?” You whisper.

“Yes, idiot” he responded. His stoic expression softened into a slight smile. “You gotta problem with it? No? Then shut up” you sighed heavily and rolled your eyes. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could he spoke. “Are you always this agitating first thing in the morning? Will dick fix it?” He asked.

“No… but food will” you respond slyly. He attached his lips to yours. Letting you out of his grasp.

“Go, I’ll be out in just a moment. I need to fix my morning wood” he said, lighting tapping your ass as you pulled on his sweat pants. You walked out of the bedroom, your hair in a messy bun, your tiny body enveloped in In Ho’s large clothes.

“Good morning, my darling” his mother said, handing you a cup of tea as you sat at the table.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep Jun Ho” you ask your best friend.

“Really good. Drinking a little helped knock me out.” He admitted. “You?”

“I slept alright, In Ho’s bed is really firm.” You complain. “I like yours better, the mattress is softer” you explain.

“Just sleep on the couch next time, then.” In Ho spoke from the hallway. His messy hair and lightly toned body shining in the morning light. His abs coming to a perfect V into his boxers which sat low on his hips. He scratched the back of his head, ruffling up his hair.

“In Ho, don’t be so harsh.” His mother spoke. He shrugged.

“Well, I give light weight over here my bed to sleep in, instead of making her sleep on the couch with dad, and she still complains.” He sassily replied. “And she likes to be right on top of you, careful sleeping with this one Junnie, she’s gonna be all in your space” he rolled his eyes. Jun Ho turned pink. You were his best friend, he never thought about sleeping with you… in fact, he didn’t want to either.

“I wasn’t aware of that I was in your space. Sorry, In Ho” you dip your head.

“It’s whatever. Just don’t expect a charity spot in my bed when you sleep over again” he announces. He stood in the fridge, leaning over slightly. “Mom is there any more chocolate milk? All i see is plain.”

“Yes, honey, in the back. I just went grocery shopping yesterday.” His mom said sipping her tea.

“(Y/n), i understand your father is going away for a long business trip. Would you like to stay with us until he gets back?” Mr. Hwang spoke. He worked at the same law firm your father did.

“Oh, you don’t have to keep me. I’ll be fine all alone, besides I have a cat-“

“It’s no problem! We can set up the cats litter box in the laundry room and you can stay here! You’re really no bother.” She spoke over you. You could sense she knew that something was going on with you and In Ho.

“Okay, I suppose if you don’t mind then, I’ll stay for awhile” you agree reluctantly.

“Great” she exclaimed. In Ho and his brother shared a look.

“Wait, where’s she gonna sleep?” Jun Ho asks. “I don’t have space in my room. Dad’s sleeps on the couch after watching the game 4 nights a week, and she hates In Ho’s bed.”

“Well I didn’t say I-“

“She can sleep in my room” In Ho sighed. “I’ll buy a new mattress today for the damned unofficial princess of the Hwang household.” He spoke gingerly of you. You knew it was all a facade to keep Jun Ho from noticing the slowly burning romance between the two of you. He could also clearly see what his mother was doing.

“Perfect”

“Jun Ho, do you work today?” His mother asked.

“Yeah, I’m training a meter maid today from 1 to 4” he said. “ I wasn’t supposed to be working but they needed someone to train the new guy.

“I think that’s a waste of your potential, little brother.” In Ho said.

“Well, not everyone can be top detective of the SPD” Jun Ho counted gingerly.

“Well, I’ve worked there longer”

Tag list

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @angelofthorr @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll

[cloudbug08]

Pious Hands

Caitlyn Kiramman x femme!religious!reader

Men DNI

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

TW: Religion, Religious guilt and trauma, descriptions of violence, abuse from a parental figure, mentions of blood, descriptions of wounds (black eye, split lip, lashes on the back) not super detailed though, brief internalised lesbophobia, fear of sinning.

Synopsis: After a violent argument with your oppressive, pious father, you run to the safety of your girlfriend, Caitlyn, she offers to care for you, her anger boiling as you tearfully explain what your fathers done.

Your feet pad against the cold marble floors of the Kiramman house, Cassandra having opened the door for you, her eyes tired as she tugs her sleeping gown around her shoulders tighter, fighting off the autumn chill. She wakes up slightly when she sees you, quivering on her doorstep, dressed in only a silk night dress, your feet dirty, eye swollen, red blood dripping down your chin; your fingertips, toes and face glowing with the cold.

She ushers you in, a lithe hand pressed to your shoulder, the door shuts and the warmth of the homes hearth eases the freeze of your hands and feet. She pressed her hand to your hair.

“Whatever happened dear?”

Your glazed eyes well with tears, you hiccup, your lungs choking on the suddenly warm air.

She frowns, her face tight with sympathy

“Caitlyn is still awake, would you like to see her?”

You nod, blinking through the tears, she moves her hand back to your shoulder, carefully guiding you through the halls of her home, stopping when you reach Caitlyn’s closed door, she knocks, gently, but enough to be heard.

“Come in.”

Caitlyns voice rings out, calm and eloquent.

Cassandra pushes the large door open, Caitlyn is laid back on her lavish bed, flicking through her journal, a thin blanket is strewn across her legs.

“Caitlyn”

She lowers the journal, leaning up against her pillows, long hair thrown over her shoulders, her eyes widen when she sees you, the book is tossed carelessly, and she rises from her bed, tall.

It doesn’t take her long to get to you, lithe, gentle hands catching your shoulders, her eyebrows furrow, eyes glowing with worry.

She thanks her mother quietly when she leaves you.

“What happened?”

You gasp brokenly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you clutch at her nightgown.

“My dad, he found photos of us.”

You choke out, slumping against her

“I’m a filthy sinner, I shouldn’t be here, I’m so sorry.”

She grits her teeth, your father, she’s met the man, thankfully briefly, he was a pious man, as was your mother, and by extension so were you, but you were different, kinder, you weren’t intolerant, you didn’t look down upon the people of the city. You didn’t adhere to most of your father’s beliefs. But she knew your father was a skillful manipulator, convincing you that you were tainted, dirty, thankfully, he hadn’t managed to twist your mind into hate, and Caitlyn intended to keep it that way.

She rubs a hand against the back of your neck, breathing heavily before speaking.

“Do you believe that I am dirty? A sinner.”

You hiccup, shaking your head

“Then why do you think you’re a sinner? If I’m not, why are you any different.”

You stare up at her, your eyes doe like, she thumbs under your open eye, careful of your swollen one.

“Your father lies, how can love be sinful?”

Your cracked lip quivers

“You must know, God will still love you regardless of who you love, God doesn’t hate, why would he punish you for something so pure?”

More tears stream down your face.

“Do you understand?”

You nod, your head falling to her chest

“I think I love you.”

Your voice trembles, Caitlyn smiles

“I think I love you too.”

She lifts your head, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, you smile gently up at her

“Come, we must clean you.”

She smiles slightly, her hand grasping yours gently. She leads you to her bathroom, the porcelain shines, her mirror still steamed, she runs a hot bath for you, the water sloshing up the sides of her claw foot bath, spilling oils and salts into the water.

“We must warm you up, I’ll clean your eye after, Ok?”

You nod, smiling at her.

She kneels down, gently rifling through her well organised draws, pulling out golden oils and lotions, before she rises, a splatter of red catches her attention, she peers down, there’s blood smudged on the tile under your feet

“Lift your foot, my darling”

You oblige, she holds your manicure foot gently, grasping the ankle, her eyes widen at the state of your soles, they’re littered with cuts, luckily there’s no glass wedged in them, but dirt clings to them.

“Oh my dear, can I clean these for you?”

You hum, blinking with one eye.

She swiped the dirt and blood away with a wet cloth, before she cleans the cuts, she walks you over to the tub.

“Would you like me to turn away?”

You shake your head

“No, you’re gonna see it either way.”

You smile, laughing slightly through your nose, she smiles back, her eyes filled with nothing but fondness.

You pull your night gown over your head, letting it fall to the ground

“May I?”

Her pianist fingers reach out, questioning, nodding, you watch her hand gently grasp your hip, her touch out of nothing but love and admiration.

“You’re breath-taking”

You flush, feeling blood pulse in your ears, you look away shyly, carefully reaching your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra before slipping your underwear off.

She just stares at your face, her face relaxed, smiling leisurely at you. You breath shakily before you turn, facing your back to her.

You can hear her gasp sharply at the lighting strikes of scars down your back, lashes from your father, they’re not fresh, scarred over and pink, she runs a gentle finger along them.

You turn your head when you hear her choking around a sob, her eyebrows are knitted and her eyes glow with sympathy, her palm splayed across your spine.

“How can someone be so cruel.”

It’s your turn to wipe away her tears, she grinds her teeth when she thinks about the evil creature that gave you these marks, leaning over your young, scared form, and lashing at you until you bled, she needed him dead, for how much he hurt you.

She bends slightly to wrap her arms around you, pressing fluttery kisses to your ear and neck.

She breathes deeply.

“I’m sorry, dove.”

“It’s not your fault.”

You hum, running your fingers through her silky hair, she breathes shakily. Focusing on the bath that’s still running, she holds you against her, turning the nob of the tap. She guides you to the tub, easing you into the hot water.

You ooze into the steaming water as she scrubs gently at your skin, humming an old song her mother used to play to her when she was young.

When you emerge out of the tub, she helps towel you off, before she’s rubbing sweet oils on your skin and working moisturiser into your joints.

She dressed you in a pair of sleep shorts and a camisole from her wardrobe, she smiled at you as she tied the fastening of the top, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. Caitlyn snorts at the way the top hangs off of you, her taller stature making the borrowed clothes appear much to large on you.

She leaves a handful of candles lit to light the room, giving it a comfortable glow, she pulls you close under her blankets. Your body between her long legs, her arms criss-crossed over your back.

She whispers into your hairline, thumbing over your spine.

“I love you, nothing will change that”

You nose into her chest, smiling sleepily up at her before you doze off, curled up on your beloved girlfriend, no fear clutched at your heart, you’re not worried about what your father will think, you just feel loved, content.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first Arcane work, and I hope it wasn’t too ooc. Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated.

My request are open, please feel free to send me an Arcane request, I Only write WLW works, all men steer clear! This is a lesbian space.

[ladykailitha]

Spellbound Part 5

Hey guys!! Here we have the next part of this lovely fic. I've been steadily working on it, just not on WIP Wednesdays because... well... it's getting really spoiler-y and I don't want to ruin your fun.

In this we Chrissy acting suspicious and Steve deals with a couple of Fey. Yep. Fey.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~

Steve decided that he was going to do his own errands this morning, as he had been using the kids after the attack on Bav to make sure she was going to be okay. But she nudged him out the door today with a basket full of his medicines.

His nosy curious nature brought him to the Munson’s door first, Wayne’s arthritis medicine in hand.

He knocked on the door and wasn’t surprised when Chrissy came out of it when it opened. He nodded. “Miss Cunningham.”

“Oh!” she cried, blushing bright red. “Hello, Steve! Wayne isn’t in right now, but I can take that for him.”

Steve stepped back, clutching the basket to his chest. “I’ve got other errands to run, I’ll just come back.”

She reached out for the basket and he took another step back. “It’s fine, Steve. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t trust her. He tried scrying on her after Robin’s pronouncement that she was visiting Eddie and couldn’t. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to find out.

“I’ll come back,” he said, firmly. “Have a good a day!” He turned on his heel and hurried down the path, careful not to look back. His heart was going a mile a minute and his lungs tightened around his quickening breaths.

Behind him he heard Eddie’s voice call out, “Who was that?”

“No one,” was the unsettling response and then the sound of the door closing, echoed in his ears.

Steve hurried down the path. He didn’t know what her reasoning for lying was, but it sent a chill down his spine. There was something rotting in this town, but to be fair, that was why his mother sent him here in the first place. It was too closed off for a town of it’s side to be normal.

He quickly finished his errands, with the head of the watch’s house last. Jim Hopper was a good man who had left Hawkins to start a new life, but had come back after the death of his daughter and his wife subsequent descent into madness.

Wayne wasn’t the only one to use his arthritis medicine, Jim used it often too. Especially after a long day out in the rain.

Steve enjoyed visiting Jim for another reason.

“Steve!” a voice cried out and suddenly he had a armful.

Steve wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “Good afternoon, Elinor, is your dad home?”

The little girl looked up at him with a big grin. “Yes, he’s home. But so is Father and Mother...”

Ah. That would explain how gleeful she was.

Elinor Hopper was a changeling. She had been swapped with another child like they always were, but what they didn’t count on was the baby being dropped off at a way station and picked up by Jim Hopper. He, still grieving the loss of his own daughter, Sara, nursed the changeling back to health and properly took care of her.

And when the fae came to take back the stump they had used to swap create her, they found a happy, healthy child instead. A child they could not take back to the faerie lands without Hopper’s permission. One he refused to give.

Steve had managed to intervene in time before the sidhe got upset enough to raze the whole town. He got them all to agree to terms that Jim would raise Elinor as his own and she would return to the faerie lands when she was grown and could make her own decisions and they would pay for her upbringing.

After all, it was their fault she was created in the first place. It did make for some awkward moments over the years. Most when the fae got tired of paying for her upkeep and would show up to demand her back.

Honestly though, Steve thought it was the funniest thing because try as they might they could never get his name to bend him to their will. Because he would go by Jim or Hopper, never James. Steve didn’t think there was a single soul anywhere who knew it was for sure, James.

“I’ll go smooth things out again,” he promised kissing her forehead.

Steve walked into the house and there stood the most graceful, elegant beings you had ever seen. Both were tall and thin, but in an uncanny valley kind of way. Their hair was long and blond, coming to the middle of his back and her waist. Their eyes were a bright, unnatural blue and their clothing screamed wealth in ways no human could match.

“Lord Eanethreal, Lady Melisande,” he said bowing, “it is good to see you again.”

Both pairs of blue eyes and a third more natural pair of blue eyes turned to him. Steve looked unassuming most days, but not in that moment. Not then.

He stood up straight and his clothes that were a warm, olive green most of the time, had shifted from an earthy tone, to a glittering emerald green and on his head was a matching pointed hat that denoted his profession and rank. The change made the green in his own eyes stand out, making them more hazel than brown.

“Steven,” Lady Melisande said with a nod, though Lord Eanethreal just ignored him with a sniff. “We have come to take the child you call Elinor. She is missing vital teachings as she wastes away up here in the mortal realm.”

“That was not the bargain, my lady,” Steve said with a gentle smile, “as you well know. Would you really go back on our deal?”

That was when Lord Eanethreal took notice of him, spitting in anger. “It was a trick! A low down dirty trick and I refused to let it stand!”

Jim chuckled. “Don’t like it when it’s you on the receiving end, huh?” He shook his head in amusement.

“To break your word,” Steve warned, “once it freely given will bring a curse upon you for one hundred years. Is that really what you would like happen here today? Because you could take her, but there is no prison strong enough or deep enough to stop her from clawing her way back to Jim. So not only will you be cursed as the deal states, Elinor will have wrecked havoc on the faerie lands that will be felt for centuries and all because you doubt the love of this human man for that little girl.”

He pointed at Jim who glared at them, daring them to refute Steve’s statement.

Steve held Eanethreal’s gaze for a long moment before the fae lord broke contact first. He snarled something feral and dark, but suddenly pantry was full and the coffer overflowing. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the house, the smell of lightning crackling behind him in his wake.

Melisande shook her head. “My apologies, yet again. It is a sore spot for my husband to be bound to the mortal realm thusly.”

Steve bowed his head respectfully. “I understand, but the usual laws don’t apply here. He not the person you sought to punish by swapping out their baby for the changeling, and Elinor did not die as most do. So it created an unique situation that must have unusual rules.”

“There is wisdom in that,” she murmured. “I will try harder to convince him of such wisdom.” She nodded to Steve and swept out the door without so much as a backward glance to Jim.

Then Steve was back to his normal every day self. His head began to pound and he swayed on his feet.

Then everything thing went black.

~

When Steve woke up, he wasn’t surprised to see that he was laid out on Jim’s bed. No, what was surprising was that Eddie was there at the bedside looking concerned.

Steve blinked up at him in confusion. “Did I hit my head on the way down?”

Jim chuckled from behind Eddie. “No, kid. I caught you in time. Eddie was passing by when he saw our visitors and was curious as to the nature of our little get together.”

“That’s a whole story for someone other than me to tell,” Steve huffed, staying lying down. He knew his limits and he had blown past them. “Short version. I make the fae pay child support.”

Jim chuckled. “Steve just used too much of his power forcing the bastards to back down.”

“Why the hell would you need to use your powers to tell them to fuck off?” Eddie asked, frowning.

The room stopped spinning so he carefully sat up as Jim passed a plate of food over Eddie’s head. Steve took it with a grateful smile.

“Because they would only negotiate with those they deem equals,” Elinor said grimly. “If his power wasn’t half the level it should be, he wouldn't need to be using glamour to make himself look bigger to them.”

“Well, Miss Thing,” Steve teased, “unless you have a solution about unlocking my full potential that isn’t finding my soulmate, shush!”

Elinor giggled. “Nope, pretty sure that’s the only way.”

Eddie looked over his shoulder at her and then back at Steve. “I thought you didn’t hold to the notion that you were that ultra rare super witch or whatever you called it was.”

Steve sighed around a piece of bread and cheese, putting down the piece he had in his hand. “That’s what everyone thought were I grew up. That I just wasn’t as powerful as my mother because I’m a male witch, but...”

“Well that’s sexist,” Eddie huffed. “And I’m guessing that every soul powered super witch were lesbians?”

Steve burst out laughing. “Well no. A lot of male/female pairings in the centennial sorcerers as my Auntie Muriel liked to call them, a handful of lesbians, too. But the reason they didn’t–um... think it was me because there’s never been a male/male pairing in any record. Granted there hasn’t been that many because it’s once every hundred years...”

Eddie smiled. “Still out say the last ten or so, it’s never happened?”

Steve nodded. Not many people in the village knew that he was gay. In fact with the current mayor, it was a safe bet that no one outside his very intimate circle knew that fact.

“Still sexist, Steve,” he said softly. “You just said that about of a third of the most power witches were men if there were heterosexual powerful prestidigitators in the past. So your family just dismissed as being male without cause.”

Steve opened his mouth in shock. “Oh shit. I never thought of it that way. You’re right, that was pretty awful of them.”

Eddie smiled at him and then got to his feet. “Well, now that I know you didn’t kill yourself protecting the little miss, I’ll be on my way.”

“Since you’re here,” Steve said, pointing to the basket on the table, “you might as well take your uncle’s medicine with you. He was going to be my last stop.”

Eddie picked up the basket and one of the packets, frowning at them. He picked up the rest of the packets and tucked them into the safety of his inner pocket of vest.

“I’ll make sure he gets them,” he murmured. “Seriously though, you need to stop using up all your power to protect others, or you might just burn out before you meet your soulmate.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I’ll probably never meet them here, this town isn’t very friendly for people like me.” He tilted the head to side. “The witch thing doesn’t help either.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “You really are something else, Harrington. Take care of yourself. you hear?”

“Will do,” Steve murmured softly. “Say hello to Wayne for me.”

Eddie nodded and then slipped out of the house. Both Jim and Elinor turned to Steve.

“He didn’t touch you or Dad,” Elinor said succinctly, tilting her head to the side. “But he rustled my hair, why?”

Jim huffed a breath through his nose. “Probably for the same reason Steve here doesn’t touch men. He knows his soulmate is a man and it would be pitchforks and torches if happened to be the wrong man.”

She nodded sagely. “I’m sorry you were forced to use your powers so soon after the incident with the Carver boy. I hope you find your soulmate quickly. I fear there is a storm coming that will alter this town forever.”

Then she smiled and skipped out of the house as if nothing had happened.

Jim and Steve looked at each other in concern.

“Well,” Jim said darkly, “that was fucking ominous.”

Steve could only agree.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @watermelonmite @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @cryptid-system @kultiras @kimsnooks

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @wheneverfeasible @micheledawn1975 @gloomysoup @dotdot-wierdlife @tartarusknight

10- @ollyxar @yesdangerpls @two-vampires-kissing @themoonagainstmers @estrellami-1

[jamieroyjamieroy]

Bucktommyfluffebruary Day 2 - The secret ingredient

@bucktommyfluffebruary

“I thought we were cooking this together” Tommy laughs as Evan kisses the back of his neck and runs his hands down his sides. 

“We’re together. You’re cooking. It counts.” Evan replies placing more open mouthed kisses to Tommy’s neck, his hands firmly gripping Tommy’s hips and pulling their bodies together.

“I thought you wanted to learn so you could impress Bobby on your next shift.” Tommy smiles at the contact, he’s not really complaining at the attention he is receiving. He loves being close to Evan no matter what they are doing.

“Hmm, you put the ingredients in. You stir. I got it” Evan murmurs distracted by the skin under Tommy’s shirt. That little bit of extra padding on Tommy’s stomach is exciting to Evan. While they were apart Tommy had lost too much weight and stopped taking care of himself. Once they got back together Evan made it his job to cook and bake for Tommy so he would regain what he lost. He doesn’t even miss the definition of his abs like he thought he might. Tommy has always been attractive to him and he had spent many hours kissing and licking those abs but he much prefers Tommy like this. The evidence of his ability to care for and provide for his boyfriend is even more arousing than the sacrifices Tommy needed to make so he could look good without a shirt.

“Missing a few steps baby but if you aren’t interested in my family recipes we can stop and you will never know the secret ingredient.” Tommy sighs pretending to be disappointed. He hopes the mention of a secret ingredient might just be enough to get Evan to pay attention. Not that he wants the attention that is being paid to him to stop, he was just excited to share another part of himself with Evan.

“Secret ingredient?” Evan asks head popping up to look at what Tommy’s hands are doing. It reminds Tommy of the meerkat documentary they watched last night the way Evan is looking over his shoulder and around the counter, trying to work out which one is the secret to pulling this dish together.

“Well my secret ingredient. My mother’s mother made this one a little differently. My mother changed it again slightly when she would make it for me. And I make it different again, not much but I’ve put my own little spin on the recipe.” Tommy explains measuring out each ingredient carefully. His mother was a more of an ‘add until you think it looks right’ type of cook. He has always been more precise, more controlled just like with his flying. With his life really. He is learning to be more flexible especially now that Evan has given him another chance.

“So if I teach it to our children would I get to put my own spin on it or do I have to teach them your way?” Evan asks resting his chin on Tommy’s shoulder to watch him work. He feels the moment his words register with Tommy, both their bodies tense up. Likely for different reasons, Evan didn’t mean to say that out loud so he is bracing for Tommy to reject him. He breathes deeply when he feels Tommy relax. 

“You, you think about us having children?” Tommy asks trying to look back at Evan, his arms had clenched tight around him. He can feel the worry emanating from Evan.

“I, uh, well. I know. It’s uh” Evan struggles to find the words, burying his head into Tommy’s back to hide the emotions written all over his face. 

 “I think we would have to try your version before I let you teach our children.” Tommy says rubbing a hand over Evan’s arm. Trying to comfort and reassure Evan he isn’t running away from this.

 “Yeah?” Evan asks hope filling his voice. “You, you want kids? With me?” He replaces his chin back on Tommy’s shoulder to watch him prepare their meal.

 “It’s definitely something I’ve thought about. It may be a little early to think seriously about that for us but I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me happy knowing you are thinking about it too.” Tommy answers as honestly as he can. He has a lot of concerns about being a dad especially given his shitty relationship with his own father. It’s something he hasn’t closed the door on now that Evan is back in his life.

 “I know it’s early I didn’t mean to bring it up, I’m not even certain if I want that. My parents weren’t the best role models so I don’t know if I want to pass on that generational trauma. But I’ve never really thought about even the possibility of having my own family before you. Maybe we can just be the fun uncles for Maddie and Chim’s kids. You can be their favourite Guncle, I’ll be their favourite Buncle.” Evan laughs at the thought.

 “What are you even talking about? What is a Guncle? Or a Buncle?” Tommy asks confused. His mind completely off his task of cooking, sometimes he feels every single one of his 40 years.

 “Gay uncle and Bi uncle” Evan grins ridiculously as Tommy shakes his head.

 “You are such a dork. Now pay attention so you can teach our children or our niblings how to make this.” Tommy chides pulling Evan’s arms around him tighter enjoying the feel of Evan’s lips against his cheek as he peers over to watch.

 Future Tommy and future Evan can worry about children, all he wants to do right now is enjoy the feel of his boyfriend against his back. To share with him some of his history and then maybe reassure Evan that he isn’t running away from the scary topics they both seemingly want to talk about. The way Evan is moving his hands over Tommy’s body suggests the order of those wants might be reversed. Tommy makes the wise decision to turn off the stove, cooking together can wait a little while.

Read on Ao3

[stawberri]

Sinners - heejake (+18)

Summary: just heejake fucking instead of attending their weekly mass.

gender: Smut, church boy, Delinquent, Degradation, BDSM, Knife Play, but there's no blood, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, ass eating, blowjob, Top Lee Heeseung (ENHYPEN), Bottom Sim Jaeyun | Jake (ENHYPEN), Face-Fucking, Troublemaker - Freeform

Ethan's family asked Jaeyun to take Ethan to the church in hopes of their son's change, but little did they know that Jaeyun hides something sinful beneath his angelic smile.

"Dad, what the actual fuck? I am not a kid for you to ask someone to look out for me!" Ethan shouted hysterically. Just the thought of someone guarding him irks him.

"I already told you that one more trouble and I'm gonna force you to change! I am a man of my words Ethan, and it's either you follow my orders or you'll end up with nothing on the streets." His Dad said sternly.

Ethan was left with no choice but to obey. He couldn't risk his great life. Also, it's just for 6 months, and after that, he could go back to making trouble again.

He flopped his body on his bed and closed his eyes. He's still annoyed from earlier, but there is a growing feeling of curiosity and excitement emerging in his chest.

"Who is that Jaeyun? And How is he supposed to help me? My parents are fucking crazy for thinking that a mere boy could change me to something better."

The next day came by so fast. Ethan was getting ready for Sunday's morning mass. There is a wrinkle in between his eyebrows as his hands harshly fix his necktie. He is wearing a powder blue button-down which is very unusual in his everyday outfit, which is any dark oversize tee and black ripped jeans.

"I look like a… good boy." He muttered as he grimaced at himself. He is not used to seeing himself like this: hair neatly brushed up, clothes well-ironed, and no excessive accessories hanging on his body.

He went down, and as he steps his foot towards their living room, the voices get louder and clearer. Ethan caught everyone's attention inside the room, including the pretty boy standing in front of their ancestral piano, which was owned by his late late late late late late grandfather.

"Oh My, Son! You looked good!" His mom said proudly; happiness danced in her orbs as she scanned her eyes on his only son.

"Ethan," his Dad called, "–this is Jaeyun, Jaeyun this is my son Ethan." His Dad pushed him gently towards Jaeyun, and Ethan couldn't help but be starstruck.

He never saw someone– particularly a guy– this pretty. Jaeyun is the total opposite of the normal Ethan; his whole being screams purity and decency– far from Ethan's impurity. His eyes scanned Jaeyun's divine features, from those dainty eyes that seemed to sparkle like those animated characters he watches online; those apple cheeks that are dusted with pinkish hues, and those saccharine smiles that took Ethan's breath away.

"Hello, my name's Jaeyun and I'll be your acquaintance for 6 months." even his voice is laced with purity. It is so endearing to Ethan's ears that he couldn't help but gape at the pretty boy standing timidly, arms tucked behind his back, in front of him as he gives Ethan the sweetest smile he has seen in his entire life.

"Enough with the introduction! You two will know more about each other in those six months. You guys can't miss the mass." his mother interrupted.

Ethan's parents guided the two to the door, his Dad whispering to his ears to drive slowly, and his Mom reminding him to act right and be kind to Jaeyun. Ethan only nodded to his parents' words as his mind was still clouded with Jaeyun's ethereal beauty.

"Ethan, listen to the priest's sermon."

"Yeah, Mom…" Ethan answered, his eyes rolling a bit.

The two hopped in the car. Jaeyun sat on the shotgun seat while Ethan sat in the driver's seat. None of them said something on the whole ride; they were just painfully silent throughout their way to the church. Jaeyun's fiddling his fingers as he waits for Ethan to park the car properly. He didn't waste a second getting out of the car once it was settled on the space because the tension inside was too much that he felt suffocated.

They sat in the backmost part of the church as to Ethan's request. He couldn't fathom sitting near the priest and the altar. Ethan was obviously ignorant the whole ceremony, contrasting with Jaeyun, who seems to know everything about the church.

Ethan sighed in relief when the mass ended. The both of them decided to wait till the waves of people who attended the ceremony abated. The growing tension between them once again suffocates Jaeyun, like a clamp squeezing his airway.

"The mass ended earlier than usual, we can have a cup of tea in my apartment if you want to," Jaeyun said hesitantly, afraid that Ethan would reject him, as they made their way towards the car.

"Sounds good," Ethan answered, which got Jaeyun's knees weak.

They arrived at Jaeyun's apartment after 40 minutes since Ethan doesn't know the way and he is driving very slowly. Jaeyun led Ethan to his living room and made the older sit on his two-seater couch as he prepared their tea.

The entire room was silent and the only sound that could be heard was the Black Oolong tea gushing out of the white teapot's nozzle. Before sitting beside Ethan, Jaeyun switched on his TV to lessen the awkwardness spreading around the four-cornered room. Because of their proximity, Jaeyun's captivating scent brushes his nostrils.

Even his smell is divine. Jaeyun smells like a whole-ass garden filled with fragrant flowers.

Ethan's lips slowly formed a smirk when he noticed Jaeyun's sideway glances. He had heeded the stolen gazes Jaeyun was giving him earlier, but he disregarded it. But it's piercing his soul, so, to confirm his assumptions, Ethan manspreaded and elevated his hips, showing the prominent bulge on his crotch (not because he's already hard, but because there is a monster hiding underneath the thin fabric of his pants). He let out an amused chuckle that caught Jaeyun's attention when he saw how Jaeyun's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he watched Ethan's move earlier.

He placed the tea cup on the table in front of them, creating a thud sound when the ceramic bottom of the cup met the wooden table.

"I can see you glancing, Jaeyunie, is there any problem?"

Jaeyunie… Jaeyunie… Jaeyunie

The nickname made his mind whirl. His breathing staggered as he noticed the playfulness laced in Ethan's voice.

He gets it. Jaeyun gets it.

And within a blink, Jaeyun switched into something– someone– that regaled Ethan.

Gone is the innocence in his eyes. Gone is the gentleness in his voice. Gone is the purity in his smile.

Everything about him is now entwined with sinfulness.

"You did so well earlier, Hyung. You listened obediently to the priest and I wanna make you feel good as my reward. D'you want that?" Jaeyun seductively said as he slowly crawled down towards the gap of Ethan's thighs.

Ethan was surprised. Who would've thought that the renowned angel in their town hides something filthy.

"Mhm. Let's see how good my reward is." After Ethan said that, Jaeyun scrambled in his place as he eagerly unbuckled Ethan's belt. His fingers held the waistband of Ethan's pants and boxers and pulled it down. His jaw fell as the long, girthy, and veiny cock of Ethan was displayed right in front of his eyes.

"Are you gonna suck it or– ugh." Ethan groaned midway as Jaeyun licked his rosy tip. His neck slacked on the headrest of the couch as Jaeyun continued playing the slit on his shaft.

He fondled his balls like those mushy toys you can buy in the market, along with the long strokes of his tongue on Ethan's cock. He is teasing the older with his warm tiny tongue, lips slightly tracing the thin skin. There is a sly smile on his face as he watches Ethan lose his mind. His eyes lingered on the vein on Ethan's slender neck as the older tried hard to control himself.

Jaeyun let out a gagging noise when Ethan pushed his cock all the way in his mouth, the tip poking the back of his throat. It was painful, but it's the kind of pain that Jaeyun would surrender again and again to. Ethan didn't let Jaeyun recover from the sudden push and just fucked the younger's mouth to his content, until there is white spurts of cum drizzling Jaeyun's throat.

"Fuck…" Ethan mutters along with an amused chuckle as he watches Jaeyun swallow every drop of his cum, not letting anything go into waste. "You did so good too, Angel. Do you perhaps want a reward too?"

And like an eager dog wanting to have a treat, he nodded his head hastily.

"Bend over the table, Angel." Jaeyun immediately followed and positioned half of his body above the wooden table as he perched his ass high up.

"Oh!" Jaeyun moaned when Ethan slapped his ass, red marks immediately appeared on his delicate skin.

Jaeyun dreamt about this every night for so long. He would play with himself all night, dreaming that it was Ethan giving him the pleasure; That it was his cock drilling his hole; not the pink dildo he bought in their neighboring city; that it was Ethan's mouth engulfing his pink bud and cock, that it was his fingers stretching his rim. Jaeyun would always go nuts whenever he heard one of his schoolmates bragging about how good and inhumane Ethan fucks.

He wants to experience that too.

And finally, after months of torture, he is here bent down on his coffee table as Ethan eat his ass.

"Right there!" he grumbled when Ethan's digits hit his spot, that got his mind into a whirlpool. Ethan's eyes turned into slits as he watch Jaeyun's pink hole clenched his thick fingers. He is so warm and tight inside that he could feel his cock go hard again under his boxers.

That wasn't the end of their obscenity because it just got progressively worse as days passed by.

Just like now, instead of attending the mass like what they're supposed to do, they're here in Jaeyun's fluffy mattress instead. There are series of groans and moans coming out of Jaeyun's luscious lips as Ethan fuck his hole with his thick and long digits, while there are black leather straps looped all over Jaeyun's body, stopping the younger from moving and touching Ethan.

Even though Jaeyun isn't untarnished as what people think he is, he still feels guilty sometimes, but the guilt can't stop him when Ethan is like a blazing ball of fire and Jaeyun is a weak moth that is drawn to his heat.

He keeps succumbing to him.

Ethan is fucking his hole mercilessly making him moan in deep pleasure, but it's not enough. He feels full but not full enough. He wants Ethan to stretch his rim with his girthy shaft– but the older kept teasing him even though he asked– begged nicely.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt Ethan stand up on the bed. He wanted to protest, but he couldn't wait any longer. The man walked over to his pants and grabbed something inside. That thing seemed to glow under the dim light of Jaeyun's room, and his breath hitched when he saw what Ethan grabbed in his pants. His chest heaves up and down as another bolt of excitement and desire crawled in his mind and body.

He stayed silent as he laid pliant on his bed, patiently waiting for what Ethan will do next. But he is never ready for Ethan's schemes. Never. He let out a loud yelp when Ethan removed the leather coiled all over his body and slapped it multiple times on his scorching skin. Jaeyun’s body writhed underneath Ethan from the delicious pain. His jaw dropped open as a long-drawn-out moan escaped his throat when a cold, hard thing entered his slicked hole. Ethan was slowly thrusting it, waiting for Jaeyun's response, but when the younger continued to moan, Ethan did not hesitate anymore. Jaeyun watched as Ethan fucked his wet cavern with the handle of his stainless steel pocket knife. His eyes rolled at the back of his head when Ethan angled it up, hitting his sweet spot, abusing it again and again.

"W-Wanna… come– please!" Jaeyun gritted, tears streaming down his pink cheeks.

"What is it, angel? Tell me what you want me to do." Ethan smirked, still thrusting the knife into Jaeyun's hole.

"I want to come, E-Ethan. Please t-touch me… fuck me… h-hard." he managed to say along with the hard thrusts of the knife in him.

"The angel wants to be fucked so bad?" Ethan mockingly asked which Jaeyun answered with chants of Yes! Yes! Yes! "On your knees you needy, slutty bitch." Ethan growled.

As much as he wants to further tease the younger under him, he can feel his cock painfully twitching in anticipation.

Another moan came out of Jaeyun's throat as Ethan parted his cheeks to have a better view of his slicked pink hole, stretched and ready to accommodate Ethan's monster cock. Jaeyun shuddered under the older when he stroked his rim, applying pressure that got Jaeyun's mind numb. He is so sensitive from all the foreplay Ethan did to him that a slight touch from either his hole or cock could make him reach his climax already.

His head sunk between his shoulder blades when Ethan placed his cock on top of his hole, dragging it up and down, creating friction between their heated sex.

"Please, Ethan, fuck me," he begged, voice trembling from too much stimulation.

"Alright then, since you've asked nicely and you've been an obedient and patient slut for me."

Ethan slammed every inch of his cock in a blink into Jaeyun's hole, forcing a scream of pleasure out of the younger. Ethan sucked in a breath as he felt the warmth of Jaeyun's while the younger's a moaning mess from the feeling of fullness.

Jaeyun could feel himself reaching his climax, but before he could beg Ethan to let him reach his high, the younger blurted out something that literally made his visions turn white.

"You're so loud, Jaeyunie. Do you want your neighbors to know that their angel is getting a good fuck right now, Huh?"

He wanted to answer Ethan with a loud yes, but he couldn't form a sentence in his state. He is so fucked up that half of his body is laying flatly on his mattress. If not only because of Ethan's palm gripping the sides of his hips, the other half of his body would surely surrender too. Jaeyun's hole clenched Ethan when the older fastened his pace, drilling his hole with animalistic thrusts.

"You like that, angel? You like my cock hitting your spot repeatedly as I fuck your brains out?"

"Y-Yeah… h-harder please!" Jaeyun pants, beads of tears forming in his eyes.

Ethan withdraws his cock and changes their position so he can better see Jaeyun. He wasn't disappointed at the view served to him. Ethan mutters a low thank you (not audible enough for Jaeyun to hear) to his parents for bringing this beautiful man into his life.

"Go on… act like the fucking cockslut that you are." Ethan said as he watched Jaeyun lose his mind, tongue lolled out, spit dripping down his chin, and eyes crossed from too much pleasure.

Jaeyun looked through his long lashes and his skin burned at the sight of Ethan watching their bodies connect while his mouth is open as it retreats series of moans, his veiny hands gripping Jaeyun's milky thighs, and his chest heaving up and down. He doesn't slow down the drilling of his hips, abusing Jaeyun's spot. The younger couldn't do anything aside from moaning. His brain is so fucked up that all he could see is white, that all he could feel was the undying pleasure that Ethan is giving him. The older angled his hips up and hung Jaeyun's legs on his shoulder as he thrusted deeper so the both of them could feel the most pleasure from connecting their bodies.

Not long after, Jaeyun screamed Ethan's name as he came along with Ethan. The cum painting his insides made it more pleasurable for Jaeyun. He felt so full and stuffed that he didn't want Ethan to withdraw his cock.

This was one of the most intense orgasms both of them had.

"Holy shit. Angel, that was so good." were the last words Jaeyun heard before he passed out.

Because they never did it slow, always rough and fast, Ethan prepared ointments beforehand to treat Jaeyun's rim and wounds as the younger succumbed to deep slumber. Unlike earlier, he is moving so gently to not wake Jaeyun up. He's been so rough today and he doesn't want to interrupt his rest.

"Sleep well, Angel. You did so good today." Ethan whispered to the younger's ears as he cuddled the man tighter while peppering his temples with sweet kisses.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona , @acousarah