#and the game calls him a devoted father

[blushouyo]

a female durges relationship with bhaal makes me so crazy like... youre daddys special princess. his little girl. his daughter...

[misswynters]

Pretty in Pink

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife! reader

[WARNING: dark romance, yandere behavior, misspellings

[tags: soft jace, father jace, rude behavior

[a/n: bringing back dark!jace, just thought of this for no reason (if you would like to be tagged for all of the jace content let me know! <3)

The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains of the chamber, casting a soft, golden light over the room. You stirred from your sleep, the warmth of the bed and the comforting presence of Jacaerys beside you making it difficult to fully wake. As your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted by the soft sound of giggles, the kind that could only belong to your daughter.

Jacaerys was sitting up in bed, his wild curls tousled from sleep, but his eyes were bright and alert. He was completely captivated by the tiny figure perched on his lap. Your daughter, with her dark, curly hair and bright, mischievous eyes, was the very image of her father. She was clothed in a tiny pink gown that matched the one you had worn the night before, the soft fabric clinging to her chubby little frame as she clapped her hands, clearly delighted with whatever game Jacaerys was playing with her.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep as you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch them. Jacaerys looked over at you with a smile that melted your heart, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was reserved only for you and your daughter.

“She woke up early,” he explained softly, his large hands carefully supporting her as she wobbled on his lap. “I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become everything to you. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it gently before focusing back on your daughter, who was now babbling happily to herself, her little fists clutching the fabric of Jacaerys’ tunic.

“And how’s my little princess this morning?” you cooed, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. She looked up at you with those big brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, her tiny face lighting up as she recognized you.

“Pretty in pink, just like her mother,” Jacaerys said with a soft chuckle, lifting her slightly so that she was at your eye level. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

Your daughter gurgled in response, a string of incomprehensible baby talk that had both of you laughing softly. You could see the adoration in Jacaerys’ eyes as he looked at her, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around this tiny little being. And it wasn’t just the soft moments like this—no, Jacaerys would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter.

He gave her everything she asked for, every whim indulged, every desire met. Whether it was a new toy, a special treat, or simply more time with her father, Jacaerys made sure that she had it. The maids and servants had taken to calling her the little princess of Dragonstone, a title that Jacaerys encouraged with every passing day.

But there was another side to his love, one that was fierce and unyielding. If anyone dared to ignore her, if anyone so much as thought to mistreat her, Jacaerys would ensure that they understood the consequences of their actions. He had a way of speaking to people, a certain tone that could send chills down the spine of even the bravest knights. There had been more than one occasion where a careless servant had found themselves the subject of a very special talk with the Lord of Dragonstone, emerging pale and shaken, but utterly devoted to ensuring that the little princess was never neglected again.

“Jace, you spoil her,” you teased lightly, though there was no real admonishment in your voice. You couldn’t blame him—who could resist those big eyes and that bright, innocent smile?

“She deserves to be spoiled,” he said, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you. “She’s our daughter. She should have everything the world has to offer.”

“And what if she asks for the moon?” you teased, reaching out to take her from his arms. She settled into your embrace with a contented sigh, her tiny hand wrapping around your finger.

“Then I’ll find a way to give it to her,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes sparkling with determination. You laughed softly, shaking your head at his response. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant it, that if your daughter ever wanted something as impossible as the moon, Jacaerys would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Do you think you could start with something a bit more manageable, like breakfast?” you asked with a playful smile, shifting your daughter in your arms as you sat up fully in bed.

“Of course,” Jacaerys said, rising from the bed with a fluid grace that always left you a little breathless. “I’ll have something brought up for all of us.”

As he moved to the door, your daughter watched him intently, her little face scrunching up as she realized he was leaving. She let out a small whimper, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and you felt your heart clench at the sound.

Jacaerys paused immediately, turning back to her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not going far,” he reassured her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She seemed to understand, her expression calming as he straightened up and left the room. You watched him go, your heart swelling with love for the man who had become not just your husband, but the father of your child—the man who would do anything to make sure she was happy, safe, and loved.

As you rocked your daughter gently in your arms, humming a soft tune to her, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much your life had changed since Jacaerys had come into it. He had been the heir to Driftmark, the strong, determined prince who had always seemed so sure of himself, so confident in his place in the world. But beneath that exterior had been a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who could share the burdens that came with his birthright.

And now, as a father, he had found a new purpose, a new strength. The fierce love he felt for his daughter was something that took your breath away, something that made you fall even more deeply in love with him every day.

When Jacaerys returned, it was with a tray laden with food—fresh fruit, warm bread, and a selection of pastries that had your daughter squirming in excitement. “I think someone’s ready for breakfast,” he said with a smile as he set the tray down on the bed.

You laughed softly, setting your daughter down on the bed between you as you began to serve the food. She reached out eagerly, her chubby hands grabbing at the fruit with a delighted giggle, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She has your appetite,” you teased, glancing over at Jacaerys as you handed him a piece of bread.

“She has everything of mine,” he replied with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “But she’s her mother’s daughter too. She has your strength, your fire.”

“And your stubbornness,” you added with a grin, earning a playful glare from Jacaerys. But there was no denying it—your daughter was a perfect blend of both of you, with all the best qualities of each.

As you ate together, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. There were no dragons to worry about, no battles to fight, no courtly intrigues to navigate—just the three of you, here in this quiet, sunlit chamber, sharing a simple meal and the kind of love that made all the struggles worth it.

When breakfast was over, Jacaerys took your daughter in his arms, lifting her high into the air as she squealed in delight. “You’re getting too big for this, little one,” he teased, though the smile on his face said that he didn’t mind in the least.

“She’ll never be too big for her father,” you said softly, watching them with a fond smile. “Not as long as you’re around.”

Jacaerys looked over at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll always be around,” he promised, his voice low and serious. “For both of you. No matter what.”

You nodded, your chest tight with emotion as you rose from the bed, moving to stand beside him. “And we’ll always be here for you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your daughter babbled happily between you.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter what trials the future might bring, you would face them together—as a family. And with Jacaerys by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

As the morning light filled the room, casting a warm glow over the three of you, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. You were home, with the two people you loved most in the world, and nothing else mattered.

“Pretty in pink,” Jacaerys murmured, his eyes drifting to the gown you still wore, and then to your daughter, who was now tugging at his hair with a mischievous grin.

“Hmm,” you agreed with a soft smile, your heart full to bursting as you looked at your little family. “And perfect just the way we are.

The warmth of the morning slowly faded as the day wore on. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the stone walls of Dragonstone. You and Jacaerys were in the courtyard, watching as Elaena toddled around, her tiny feet pattering against the cobblestones. She wore another pink gown, this one slightly darker, embroidered with tiny golden dragons that glimmered in the fading light.

Elaena had always loved the color pink, a hue that seemed to reflect her joyful spirit and the innocence of her childhood. Her closet was filled with gowns, cloaks, and tiny slippers in various shades of pink, each more luxurious than the last. You often marveled at how your little girl had softened Jacaerys, bringing out a side of him that was fiercely protective yet endlessly tender.

She was playing near one of the serving women, a new addition to the staff who hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the importance of her tiny charge. Elaena’s curiosity had drawn her toward the vibrant flowers that lined the edge of the courtyard, her little fingers reaching out to touch the soft petals.

You watched from a distance, smiling as you saw the wonder in her eyes. But your smile faltered when you heard the sharp, dismissive tone of the handmaiden, who was standing too close to your daughter.

“Go on, girl. You’ll ruin them with your sticky fingers,” the woman snapped, her tone harsher than necessary. There was no kindness in her words, only irritation.

Your heart clenched, and you were about to step forward, but Jacaerys was already moving. His expression had darkened, the playful warmth in his eyes replaced by a cold, steely resolve. The air around him seemed to crackle with a silent fury, a reminder of the dragon blood that flowed through his veins.

The woman, sensing his approach, straightened up, a look of confusion crossing her face as she realized who she had just scolded. Elaena looked up at her father, her lower lip trembling as if she might cry, but Jacaerys was there in an instant, scooping her up into his arms.

“No one speaks to my daughter that way,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. The courtyard grew deathly quiet as his words hung in the air, the tension palpable. “Do you understand?”

The serving woman paled, her eyes wide with fear as she stammered out an apology, her earlier haughtiness gone in an instant. “I-I didn’t realize… my lord, I’m so sorry…”

Jacaerys held her gaze for a moment longer, his grip on Elaena tightening protectively. His voice dropped even lower, laced with a venomous edge. “You’ve made a grave mistake, and I don’t tolerate mistakes when it comes to my daughter.”

The woman’s knees buckled slightly, and she looked as if she might collapse under the weight of his words. “Please, my lord, I meant no harm…”

But Jacaerys was unmoved. He turned his attention to one of the guards stationed nearby, his expression cold and commanding. “Take her to the dungeons. I’ll decide her fate later.”

The handmaiden gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she realized the severity of her situation. She tried to plead with him, her voice trembling with desperation. “My lord, have mercy—”

“Enough,” Jacaerys interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You showed no mercy to my daughter. Now, you will learn the price of your cruelty.”

The guard stepped forward, grabbing the woman by the arm and dragging her away as she continued to plead for forgiveness. But her words fell on deaf ears. Jacaerys was already turning away, his attention back on Elaena, who had buried her face in his shoulder, her small body trembling slightly.

You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you caught up to him, he was already at the entrance of the keep. “Jace, what are you going to do?” you asked quietly, glancing back at the courtyard where the woman had disappeared from sight, her fate now in his hands.

“She will not remain in my household,” he said simply, his voice cold as he shifted Elaena in his arms. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t have her thrown off the cliffs into the sea.”

The finality of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you understood the protectiveness that surged within him. “She’s safe now,” you said softly, reaching out to brush a stray tear from Elaena’s cheek. “You’ve taken care of it.”

Jacaerys softened as he looked down at his daughter, who was now snuggling into his chest, her earlier distress forgotten. “I’ll always take care of her,” he murmured, his voice filled with a fierce love. “No one will ever hurt her. Not while I’m around.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you wrapped your arms around the two of them, feeling the warmth and strength of your family. Elaena let out a contented sigh, her tiny fingers clutching at Jacaerys’ tunic as she drifted off to sleep.

As the evening shadows lengthened, the three of you remained in that embrace, bound together by a love that was unbreakable, a love that would protect Elaena from any harm that might come her way.

Jacaerys might have been the heir to the throne, but in that moment, he was simply a father—a father who would move mountains, who would face down dragons, to keep his daughter safe. And as you held them close, you knew that no matter what, you will always have strong and unyielding little family.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @beebeechaos @malfoycassimalfoy

banner: @cafekitsune

[limpfisted]

Wyll is not well-adjusted he is repressed and there is a difference

Sometimes being nice... is worse!

Does wyll forgive his father. Does he even know. Does he let himself feel that pain out loud. Does he let his Father see how much he hurt him. How much that will always hurt him

He hasnt told anyone about mizora in seven years. He doesn't talk about other punishments from her. He doesn't defend himself when u call him a liar, a hypocrite, a monster.

Suffering in silence is still suffering. And he's had to deal with a lot of silence these past seven years

He was a homeless disabled queer teenager with a literal devil that STILL follows him around and he ONLY says no to her bc he doesn't want to kill an innocent person. And he tells you he's scared for himself after he doesn't kill karlach. That there will be a reckoning for him. He says it in a vague riddle bc he can't even tell u about mizora

Like he's been hunting devils since he was 17 and he doesn't even talk about avernus or devils except to talk about how evil and cruel and vicious and dangerous they are like hmmmmm I wonder how he knows that. I wonder

Like there are some people who never talk about their trauma but it doesn't mean they're well adjusted it just means that despite all wylls poetry, he doesn't know how to express how deeply he's been hurt. And that's sad!

He can say the most beautiful words to support u and tell u how he loves u, how devoted he is to other people, how proud of them he is

But when it comes to himself. I just did what was right. What's done is done. Let's keep moving

And u know that's certainly one way to get thru it but also he just dismisses his own needs and weaknesses and soul like that

Damn you can't even tell him you're proud of him the whole game. U can't give him a hug. U can't tell him you'll take care of him for a change. Fuck broe

[hoseokshobagi]

† Reborn in Sin ⸸ | Sneak peak | PJM

† Reborn in Sin ⸸ sneak peak

✞PAIRING: demon!jimin x fem!reader

✞ 【SUMMARY】: for years jimin was your constant and loyal companion in the church, a shining example of humility and compassion. but when he was tragically taken from the world before he could experience life, his heart was filled with anger and resentment. and so, in a moment of weakness, he struck a deal with the devil, trading his soul for a second chance at life. but when he returned, he was no longer your kind and devoted boy you once knew.

✞ 『GENRE』: dark ✟ supernatural ✟ fantasy ✟ angst ✟ smut

✞ RATING: 18+ / minors do not interact

✞ WORD COUNT: loading...

✞ [WARNINGS/TAGS] : dead dove, dark, death, manipulation, corruption (kink?), church & religion, blasphemy & desecration, [oral(m) - not with reader, headpusher jimin, face fucking, spit play], dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, dubcon, public fingering, exhibitionism, sexual "nightmares" & hallucinations, mind games, jimin is the worst & the BIGGEST warning!!!!, oral(f), cunt drunk jimin, unprotected sex, rough sex, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, unrealistic amount of cum lmao, cum play, betrayal, mind break

✞ NOTE: hi beautiful people!!! this story was written for the @btsfests writing fest. actually this is the first time i publish my writing and omg ahcbdjs i'm so nervous while writing this note. i always wrote for myself and my closest friends but thanks to bts fests and their never ending encouraging words i decided to show off my writing. this little part is the reason why i started writing this whole story and i hope you'll like it just as much as i enjoyed writing every word. :] this demon jimin is the most cunty & selfish character i've written so far so yall better prepare yourselves ajfnsjxnsjs

english is not my native language, but despite that i'll write and communicate in english. please if you see an error in my writing or grammar lmk!! <3

my dearest beta read: @liveyun 🐢♡

COMING SOON

❗this is the darkest fic i've ever written so please read all the warnings before reading❗

The delicate chimes of the church bell echoed softly through the cavernous rafters, casting an unsettling shadow over Jimin’s mind. Like ghostly whispers emanating from the very walls and pillars of the church, the sounds seemed to taunt him. Whispering to him that he no longer belonged in this sacred space.  

He couldn’t believe how he used to devour Father Seokjin’s every word, eagerly drinking up his sermons like it was the finest wine he ever tasted. In this very church, where he had spent countless hours sitting in the pews, Jimin felt like a stranger in the world he once called home.   

He looked to his left and gazed upon the sweet, delicate flower — the very reason why he was there. Innocence shining in your eyes, your eyelashes fluttered like the softest butterfly wings. Sitting next to him with hands clasped tightly together in your lap, you looked as pure as new snow, listening to the mass.  

Oh, how much he forced himself to resist the urge to reach out and ruin you right then and there. To feel the delicate petals of your innocence as they crumpled beneath his fingers. But he was going to do so slowly, savoring every moment of your fall from grace.   

So, he grit his teeth and forced himself to endure the priest’s words and the choir’s music, at least, for a while.   

Despite his best efforts, this place was as dull and lifeless as the stones that made up its walls. He spent half of his life trapped within these confines, he knew every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of light, every word and phrase of the Bible that was engraved in his mind, the product of countless wasted years.  

Jimin raised a hand to his face, tracing each perfect curve of his newly manicured nails, scrutinizing them from every angle. He raised an eyebrow in anticipation, marveling at Hoseok’s handiwork.  

He couldn’t wait to make another deal with the bastard later.  

You noticed his attention was drifting and Jimin’s reverie was broken by a gentle tap on his shoulder, causing his thoughts to come crashing down around him like a house of cards. He turned to see your confused eyes peering up at him, your delicate lips murmuring a soft “pray”.   

He couldn’t help but mentally roll his eyes. Oh, you were so annoying. He was going to make you pay for all the stress and frustration that he had to go through and endure because of you.   

Jimin lowered his head and with a deep breath, closed his eyes, pretending as if he was lost in prayer, his mind far from it. Wandering anywhere but there.  

As you finally turned back to offer your own prayers, he couldn’t resist and raised his eyes, glancing back at you.  

And he was so fucked.   

You were a sight to behold, more divine than the sacred paintings that adorned the walls of this church.  

As your eyes drifted shut, your lashes like feathers of a sleeping bird, delicately brushed the curves of your eyes. The soft radiance of the lights danced upon your face, creating a tender veil of shadows that caressed your skin.   

Your lips moved in silent devotion as you murmured in such sincerity, clutching the Holy Book tightly in your hands. And he swears, he could feel his dick twitch just at the sight.   

You were so breakable, so vulnerable and so fucking beautiful.   

Yeah, he was so fucked. So lost in you.   

Park’s burning desires had been building to a crescendo in the last few days, a boiling point that seemed to threaten to engulf him whole. He felt like his longing for you was an aching fire that was on the verge of exploding. The mere sight of you at the church was a powerful trigger to him, fanning the flames for this fire.   

And he thought it was ridiculous.   

He couldn’t believe how he couldn’t control himself, his body yearning for yours, needing to stain the purity of your grace, to spread his sin all around your soul. To corrupt the sacredness of who you were with the foulness of who he had become.  

He glanced around and took in the sights and sounds of the church, noticing that everyone was enraptured by the mass. Their focus was solely on the priest at the cathedral, their attention directed nowhere else.   

With a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he slipped closer to you and your sweet scent filled his nostrils; making him feel intoxicated. He knew exactly what he had to do; a little play won’t hurt anyone.  

Jimin’s touch was like a gentle caress of a summer breeze, soft and tender, caressing your skin like the lightest of kisses. Your eyes flicked open, searching for the source of such unexpected warmth.   

And there he was, with his legs crossed, - his gaze fixed on you with such intensity that always made your cheeks warm for some reason – one arm resting comfortably on his elbow on the church pew, the other continuing to idly play with the soft fabric of your long skirt.   

You never wore anything revealing; preferring modesty over anything else, however this time, you felt utterly exposed as his eyes roamed over your form like that. Jimin always enjoyed this, stripping away your layers one by one, revealing the true you that lay beneath.  

Slowly he drew near, his aura spreading like a thick mist, wrapping around you. The scent of his cologne swirled around as his body pressed against yours, his knee gently nudging yours. His warm breath brushed against your cheeks, like the caress of a dead night.   

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Keep praying." You looked at his hand, still playing with your skirt, unsure of what to say. Jimin’s voice was calm and soft, yet, there was something about his dark eyes that made you feel uneasy. Like he was biding his time, planning his next move.   

It clearly made you uncomfortable, but you were too naive to say anything, too afraid to speak your mind, not to mention that you were sure Jimin would never do anything wrong, so you turned back again and closed your eyes to pray.   

But what you didn’t know was that you were already entangled by the snake’s coils; Jimin waited for the moment when you would break. He was so curious, so eager to see just how far you would go, how much you would endure before you finally stepped up and told him to stop.  

Would you wrench his hand away? Would you yell at him? Would you make a scene in the middle of the church? He knew you wouldn’t, knew you were just too gentle and too timid to disrespect your favorite little church.   

And so, he kept pushing, pushing your boundaries and invading your personal space, inch by inch, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in the wake of his touch.  

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying desperately to break free from his touch, but he only tightened his grip, making your heart race with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.  

"Jimin, can you please stop?" Oh, that was it. Your question was hardly above a whisper, as though afraid of you would be heard by those around you. The snake’s grip finally ensnared his delicate, little flower and he had no intention of stopping.  

„Keep it down. You wouldn’t wanna disturb the praying souls now, would you?”   

A devilish smirk played on his lips, eyes like black holes bearing down at you. His voice was like honey dripping from his lips; so soft and alluring. A stark contrast to the real meaning behind his words and actions. He continued to run his hand up your thigh, pushing your long skirt higher and higher until it was bunched around your waist.  

"Jimin, st—" His other hand slithered around from the back of your neck, forcefully covering your mouth, silencing any words that wanted to escape your lips. Whatever you tried to say it came out muffled by his hand, leaving you feeling panicked and completely helpless.   

You grasped at the material like a lifeline, desperate to pull it back down, but Jimin’s arm was like a steel barricade, preventing you from covering yourself. You felt trapped, your body burning with the shame of exposure. 

 "I said keep your mouth shut. We don’t want others to see you like this, do we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to escape as the fear of being discovered and shamed in front of everyone took over. All you could do was fix your gaze on Jimin’s intense, brooding eyes, silently pleading for mercy with your own desperate ones. Ah, so pretty for him.  

As you gazed into the depths of his dark eyes, the windows to his no longer existing a soul, you revealed a darkness that engulfed you, and you knew there was no escape.  

You were at his mercy, and he had none. 

Jimin’s pupils dilated at the sight, your skin was soft and flawless, causing a shiver to run down his spine as he gently touched you. The delicate fabric of your white panties teased him, giving him just a glimpse of what was hidden underneath.   

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, he lazily played with the tiny, little, pink bow adorning the center of your panties. His actions were a clear taunt, a display of the control he had over you and your vulnerabilities.  

It was clear you wanted to push him away, to scold him, yell at him, but he knew the fear of causing a scene in church held you back. You tried to glance around nervously, hoping no one would notice what was happening.   

The world seemed to come to a standstill, the only thing that existed was the fast, thumping beat of your heart as Jimin’s hand slithered closer and closer to the place where it had no business being. You felt trapped, your body frozen, unable to break free as if you were held captive by a coiled serpent;  its grip tightening with each struggle. The sound of your unsteady breaths filled the air, the only thing grounding you in reality, that, and the heat from his touch, because this serpent was crafted from the finest satin. 

„Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, keep praying so God won’t mind, yeah?”   

His words made you paralyzed, like a spell, breaking you down. Words like those should never have left the lips of the kind and caring Jimin that you thought you knew. Your mind was reeling with shock and pain, struggling to make sense of how someone you had trusted completely could suddenly become a stranger. Jimin’s actions were like a knife to your heart, a stab that pierced through the trust you had placed in him.   

With the grace of a feather dancing on skin, Jimin traced his fingers over your clothed clit, making you tremble beneath his touch. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your eyes widening as you felt the weight of the moment sinking in.  

And he chuckled softly, a low rumble that only you could hear, taking your response as a cue, he increased the pressure. His skilled fingers now applied a firm yet tender touch, coaxing your body to new heights of pleasure, and your body tingled in response, betraying you by a throbbing ache that grew stronger with every touch.  

As the ripples of pleasure swirled within you, you tried to pull back, to resist the sin that was happening in the very place where you sought solace and salvation. The guilt gnawed at your soul, the snake’s venom that seeped into every crevice, tainting the flower’s beauty.   

And yet, Jimin reveled in your pain, basking in the darkness of your suffering as he watched the guilt consume you whole. The venom of your remorse was a feast for his senses; the holy wine, the sweetest elixir to be savored with every devious sip.  

"Look, what do we have in here." He pressed his thumb against the dark spot on your panties, causing you to shiver. For him, the sensations of your wetness seeping through the fabric was like an euphoric rush, the sweet nectar of his delicate flower, intoxicating and irresistible.  

Heat spread across your cheeks, horror and shame washing over you at his words, you shook your head, tried to move, tried to tell him to stop, but you found yourself lost in his eyes, searching for any sign of the person you once knew. But all you saw was darkness, a void that seemed to swallow you whole.  

"Deny it if you want, baby, but aren’t you a nasty girl? You’re fucking soaking."

And it was true. Your body felt like it was betraying you, and you were mortified. He ignited a fire within you that you couldn’t deny. A soft cry slipped from your lips, but you couldn’t bear to face him, knowing that you were powerless in his grasp.  

You were unable to believe what was happening. As someone who had always followed the Catholic faith and held its teachings in high regard, there you were, in this sacred place, allowing something so forbidden to take place.  

But as his fingers slipped under the fabric of your panties, your mind went blank. The back of Jimin’s hand clung to your sticky panties as his fingers found their way down to your folds, the feeling making him shiver. 

„Fuck— you’re so wet, can’t wait to feel you around me.”   

You squeezed your lips together under Jimin’s hand to keep from making any noise, your eyes squeezed shut, tears threatened to spill down your cheeks as his wet fingers continued to rub and spread your folds apart, smearing your sticky arousal all over your cunt.  

„Shh, this won’t make you a sinner baby, it’s okay. You won’t mind just one finger inside, yeah?” His middle finger probed at your entrance, teasing it, making it wetter still, as he slowly pushed in.  

„Y-yeah baby— just one finger?” He teased and removed his finger, making you clench around thin air, and Jimin swears, the feeling made him twitch inside his pants. Teasing you – or himself, it didn’t matter anymore – he plunged back in, tauntingly slow. 

Jimin’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, his hard dick pressing firmly against his pants, yearning for release. To him this is how true Paradise felt like, the feeling of your silk walls wrapped around his digit.   

He was about to lose it. 

He bottomed his finger out inside you, knuckle deep, until his small 13 tattoo on his wrist met with your lower abdomen. 

But he craved more. Fuck, how much he wanted to slam you against the pew and spread your thighs wide open, stretching your pretty little pussy right out with his dick. And who could blame him with the way your cunt gripped on his one single digit like that, dripping wet and sinfully warm. 

But he couldn’t— not now. And it made him crazy. 

You sank into the pew, your body trembling as he started to move his finger, his other hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet. Every part of you was on fire, your mind and body in a constant battle between desire and shame. You were supposed to stop him, to push him away, but all you could manage was tremble and it made your eyes water. 

It was a mixture of remorse and the burning desire pounding between your thighs; something you had never experienced before and something you knew you shouldn’t have felt at all in this holy place. And more likely you should’ve never clenched harder around Jimin’s finger when you heard the small shudder in each breath he took. 

"Ahh baby—" The faint, breathy little whimper shattered his voice. "fuck.. you’re so perfect… so f-fucking perfect." 

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath shallow and ragged, mirroring the rhythm of his finger. With his warm breath tickling your ear, his whispered words were barely audible, but they still managed to send shivers down your spine.  

"Ooh, h-how I wish to see this perfect fucking pussy."   

Jimin couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he watched your face intently, committing every single feature and expression to his memory. The way your brows were furrowed in pleasure, the way you fought to keep your eyes open due to the sensitivity. 

He couldn’t help but admire the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the way you tried to stifle your moans under his hand, and the way your juices flowed from your aching cunt.  

You were a captivating sight, sinful and alluring, flesh heated and glistening with arousal, and he knew you couldn’t deny it even though you tried. Your trembling body and the slickness on his fingers were evidence of the truth.  

He slowly added a second finger, stretching you open further and moving faster, his fingers stroking your sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure through you. With every stroke, you felt your body weakening, and your thoughts began to succumb to the corrupting pleasure.  

Despite your protests, your body responded eagerly, arching towards him in a desperate plea for more;  seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he was giving you.  

You never felt so conflicted in your entire life, your mind was a battlefield; torn between your beliefs and the undeniable pleasure that was now coursing through your veins. Every creak of the old wooden pews felt like a judgment, a cruel reminder that you were committing a sin that would send you to the depths of damnation.  

But when Jimin serendipitously grazed your swollen clit with his thumb, your mind went blank. You’d lost it.  

Your hips involuntarily jerked against his hand, unable to contain the overwhelming pleasure. You gritted your teeth, determined to keep your cries of ecstasy at bay, but it was a dead effort as you squirmed and moaned, muffled by his hand covering your mouth.  

"Fuck— Don’t moan like that, you’re getting too loud, keep quiet."  

But you couldn’t. It was as if your head was spinning, unable to focus on anything except the pleasure. The way he slid his fingers in and out of you, his thumb perfectly stimulating your clit, it was too much.  

Despite your efforts, you couldn’t contain the small moans that escaped your lips. The church was now just a blur in the background, the stained glass windows casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the floor.  

"Shit, baby, keep fucking quiet or do you want me to slip those fucking panties off and stuff them in your mouth, hm?" Jimin’s whispered words sent shivers down your spine, making you clasp around his fingers right back in. 

"Y-yeah, you want that baby? My nasty girl, s-so good... so fucking perfect." He moved his fingers faster, his thumb circling deliciously on your clit, building up the pace for your climax, your body crying out for release. And oh, how he reveled in it, savoring every moment, every sensation as his little flower finally opened its petals to him. 

"You’re so close, baby, f-fuck— just let go, let me take you there."  

As Jimin’s fingers brought you closer and closer to the brink, you couldn’t help but give in, feeling all the guilt and shame wash away in the face of the intense pleasure you were feeling.  

„Ooh, fuck— Y-yeah, baby, go on. Come all over my fucking fingers.” 

Just as you were about to reach the peak, a sudden thud broke through the lustful haze. Your tear-filled eyes fluttered open and you glanced up to the top of the church’s gallery, where you saw the organ player, Mr. Min sprawled on the ground at the bottom of the stairs, amidst a sea of fallen notes.  

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as your eyes met his, and you saw the shock and disbelief on his once serene face.  

Your heart plummeted like a falling star, sinking into the depths of your stomach as you realized what you must look like to Mr. Min. Your cheeks burned with the heat of a thousand suns as you met his gaze, his face a canvas of flushed embarrassment, crushing you with shame and guilt. 

For in the eyes of Mr. Min, you were no other, but a sinner caught in the act of sin in the house of the divine. And as the notes of the holy music lay scattered at his feet, you couldn’t help but wonder if they were a reflection of your shattered innocence.  

Mr. Min quickly ascended the stairs to the organ, his emotions were in disarray, a tumultuous blend of arousal and embarrassment. With each step, he tried to push away the image of what he had just seen, but it lingered like a haunting melody in his mind.  

His cheeks burned with shame, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance at you before he reached the top of the stairs, his feline eyes burning you whole.  

Exposed and vulnerable, you were unable to look at the organ player in the eyes anymore. You closed your eyes tight in an attempt to block out the intensity of his gaze. But even with your eyes shut, you could feel his feline eyes looking down at you.  

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the image, Jimin’s skillful fingers never faltered to move inside you, your body feeling like it was exploding. A soft whimper escaped your lips, which got silenced by his firm grasp.  

With each second you felt yourself surrendering to the overwhelming ecstasy.  

As you teetered on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure, you were suddenly jolted back to reality, finding yourself next to Jimin who was kneeling humbly on the wooden pew of the church, praying.   

With eyes wide open, heated cheeks and heavy breathing you gazed at your own clasped hands on the pew.  

Was this all in your head? How could you have let your mind wander to sinful desires in the sacred walls of the church?   

Jimin’s innocent devotion to his God only amplified your own guilt, making you feel like a fallen angel in the presence of his pure soul.  

Jimin couldn’t help but smirk, he bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn’t help hiding it. He moved his clasped hands toward his mouth to hide the devilish smirk that appeared on his lips. 

For he knew the power he held over you, the power to seduce and corrupt your very being. And with each passing day he was one step closer to claiming your body and soul for his own. 

And as you sat there, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, Jimin continued to pray, his facade of innocence masking the devilish intentions that lurked within. 

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!” 

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play. 

Life. 

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told. 

“Sweet dreams, papa!” 

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies. 

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too. 

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls. 

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear. 

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair. 

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own. 

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”  

“Yes, Miri—bad.” 

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them. 

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!” 

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips. 

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least. 

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough… 

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest. 

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure. 

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future. 

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping. 

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today. 

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him. 

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin. 

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him. 

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality. 

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now. 

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…” 

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?” 

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?” 

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers. 

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡

more Dadstarion content

tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall..im workin hard on the last part of fbrc rn....BUUUUUTTT--

i thought of childhood friend (im sorry i cant help it) bodyguard katsuki being hopelessly devoted to big boss' daughter reader.

let's say the environment he grew up in wasn't good at all. he lived in a horrible neighborhood that had a survival of the fittest mentality. he had to rob n steal and fight to survive. and them maybe he got recruited by some crime syndicate who saw his potential from a young age.

he feels indebted to them cus they got him out the streets, so he decides to devote his entire life to this syndicate and his boss, who just so happens to have a child : you.

you're the same age as him, maybe a year younger. his first thought is that you're a pushover. you hide behind your father the whole time he's introducing you to him and you barely even look at him, but he's been told he has a bit of a stink eye because he's just sorta used to glaring at people.

as your father keeps introducing you both your eyes widen at him saying katsuki will become your new best friend. yours out of joy cus you've always been sheltered and you've never really had friends your age before, and katsuki's out of shock. he thought he was here to kick people's asses, not babysit some random girl !

when your father pulls katsuki aside later that day he explains that since he's a very dangerous man other dangerous people will try to endanger not only him but his family and since he's strong he'd like him to watch over you. katsuki doesn't like it, but your dad did save him from his life on the street, so he can play nice for now.

he's never had friends either, so he doesn't know how to play like other kids do, and definetly not like you do.

you have him follow you around calling him your knight, you stick stupid clips in his hair and get all pouty when he won't let you put that pastey makeup shit on his face. you have him kiss your ouchies away when you trip over your own shadow and you whine and whine until he let's you jump on his back to give you a piggy back ride.

though, the more he spends time with you, the more there are fun moments. he hates to admit it but it's fun to be a kid with you. you play games that he likes to play and you share your cookies with him and he carries you around and plays dolls with you in exchange. he kisses your ouchies away and you put a cool bandage over his cheek when he's done training for the day and press a big get better kiss on it. you tell him it's to energize him and he huffs and puffs about it but he always looks forward to his kiss after training.

you've complained to him about how you can't spend much time with your dad since he's always out working, you don't have friends because everyone is a threat and you're always being surveyed and watched from a distance and you cry and say you hate it. you tell him that he's your fifth body guard and that he's your favorite one by far. you smile at him and the apples of his cheeks burn, he tries but can't supress the proud smile that grows on his face "of course i am, i'm the best !"

he's been your favorite and last body guard since that day because katsuki has made it his life's mission to devote himself to his clan, his boss and most of all, you.

[judebellswife]

Twin boys with Mason and one is a full on daddy’s boy while the other is always on your side and you just can’t help but fall in love even more each time you see how Mason has his daddy son moments after games as he insist on putting the boys to bed after an away game of the time allows it and just a cute scene about Mason rushing home and reading a bed time story or something x

Home Is Where The Heart Is - Mason Mount

— REQUEST status OPEN

— summary • Mason Mount is not only an incredible football player but also a devoted father of twin boys, Austin and Aaron. After every away game, if time allows, Mason rushes home to share precious bedtime moments with his sons, despite his exhausting schedule. Austin is a full-on daddy’s boy, always seeking Mason's attention and affection, while Aaron sticks closely to your side. The way Mason balances his career and family life makes you fall in love with him even more every day. This story captures a heartwarming night, where Mason makes it home just in time to put the boys to bed, reading a bedtime story that leaves everyone feeling safe, loved, and connected.

— warnings • Pure fluff, family dynamics, with minor mentions of post-game fatigue.

You glance at the clock—9:45 p.m. Mason’s away game ended two hours ago, and you know how long it usually takes for him to shower, talk to the press, and get on the team bus. He promised to be home tonight, to read Austin and Aaron their bedtime story. Even after grueling matches, he insists on putting the boys to bed if he can make it in time.

Beside you, Aaron clings to your arm, eyes drooping with exhaustion, but still holding out, waiting for Mason. His twin brother, Austin, is doing his best to stay awake too, a smile on his face as he talks about how his daddy will be home soon.

“Mommy,” Aaron mumbles softly, leaning his head against your shoulder, “is Daddy gonna make it?”

You smile at him, brushing his curly hair back. “He’ll be here soon, sweetheart. He promised, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and Daddy never breaks promises,” Austin chimes in, his voice full of certainty. There’s that sparkle in his eyes whenever Mason is mentioned—a reflection of his bond with his dad. Austin has always been Mason’s shadow, a daddy’s boy through and through.

Aaron, on the other hand, is more of your quiet companion. He mirrors your calmness, often content with just snuggling close to you, whereas Austin is always full of energy, ready to play, especially if it involves his father.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening fills the house. Mason’s voice follows, low but full of warmth. “I’m home!”

Before you can blink, Austin is up and running down the stairs, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!”

You scoop Aaron up, cradling his small body against yours as you walk to the door. You both arrive just in time to see Austin launching himself into Mason’s arms. Mason catches him easily, spinning him around as if he’s not exhausted from the match. His eyes meet yours over Austin’s shoulder, and his tired smile makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re home,” you say softly, meeting him halfway. He pulls you into a quick kiss, Aaron still in your arms.

“Told you I’d make it,” he murmurs against your lips before turning his attention back to Austin. “Did you behave for Mommy?”

Austin nods enthusiastically, his arms still tightly wrapped around Mason’s neck. “Yeah, but I missed you, Daddy.”

“I missed you too, buddy,” Mason says, ruffling his hair. “What about you, Aaron?” He reaches out to ruffle Aaron’s hair as well, but Aaron squirms a little closer to you.

Aaron gives a small smile. “I missed you too, Daddy.”

Mason’s face softens even more, if that’s possible. He steps closer and gently takes Aaron from your arms, holding both boys now. “I’ve got time for a story. How about it?”

Austin’s eyes light up. “Yes! Can we read The Gruffalo?”

Aaron’s head rests against Mason’s shoulder, his voice quieter but just as eager. “Yeah, I like that one.”

You follow the trio upstairs, your heart swelling with love as you watch Mason carrying both boys toward their bedroom. Austin, as always, is chattering excitedly about the match, asking Mason if he scored a goal, if he tackled anyone. And Aaron, quiet but equally engaged, is listening to every word.

Once in the boys’ room, Mason sets them down gently on the bed and tucks them under their blankets. He grabs the book from the bedside table and settles between the twins, flipping through the well-worn pages. You sit in the armchair by the door, watching as your husband leans back, Austin snuggled up against his side, and Aaron resting his head on Mason’s chest.

Mason begins reading, his voice calm and soothing. He’s always been a natural at this, slipping into the different voices for the characters, making both boys giggle and smile.

“‘A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood…’” Mason’s voice fills the room, and as he reads, you notice the way Austin hangs on every word, his eyes wide with awe. Meanwhile, Aaron’s eyes start to flutter shut, his small hand gripping Mason’s shirt.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you watch them. These moments, when Mason balances being both a football star and a father, always make you fall for him all over again. He’s so dedicated, not just to his career but to your family. The way he makes time, even after the toughest matches, just to ensure he’s there for the boys—it's enough to make your heart ache with love.

As Mason reaches the end of the story, both boys are nearly asleep. He closes the book and softly kisses Austin’s forehead, then Aaron’s. “Goodnight, little man,” he whispers to Austin, who’s already drifting off.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Austin murmurs sleepily, his hand still gripping Mason’s.

Mason then turns to Aaron, gently brushing a strand of hair off his face. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

Aaron, already half-asleep, mumbles, “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too,” Mason whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You stand, walking over to Mason as he slowly eases out of the bed, careful not to wake the boys. He slips his arm around your waist, and the two of you step out of the room quietly, closing the door behind you.

In the hallway, you turn to him, your heart full. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Mason looks at you with that familiar, boyish grin. “Just doing my best.”

You pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest. His arms wrap around you tightly, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. In this moment, it’s just you, Mason, and the beautiful family you’ve built together.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he replies softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And as you stand there, wrapped up in his arms, you know without a doubt that this—Mason rushing home to be with his boys, the bedtime stories, the quiet moments of love—is what true happiness looks like.

[cjrae]

Carelessness. Or; Lakan's crime in Maomao's eyes is worse than malice.

There is a temptation to take Lakan's character lightly. After his initial, sinister introduction had played out and we are given the story of how Lakan met Maomao's mother, much of Lakan's devotion to his wife and daughter is played for comic relief, allowing him to be the butt of the joke, along with Maomao's exaggerated reactions of disgust and insistence that she has no relation to this man.

It is worth remembering, though, that Lakan is referred to as the fox for good reason - the fox is a trickster figure and Lakan's whole character lies in how he can turn on a dime between being funny in a very pathetic way to those same qualities becoming extremely dangerous when his fun is threatened.

Lakan's heroic qualities do exist, but they are overshadowed by his carelessness and selfishness; it is these qualities that have, so far, doomed the relationship he craves so badly with his daughter.

Spoilers under the cut all the way up to Vol 11's English translation.

Fengxian

We see it in his relationship with Fengxian. While Lakan does not deserve all of the blame for Fengxian's fate, it is his carelessness that puts her in the position of becoming a common prostitute to support Verdigris House after her actions nearly ruined it. Let's pay attention to the sequence of events.

"…Lakan now found himself persona non grata for having been too close to him [Luomen]; he was told to go on a long trip and not come back for awhile. He could have ignored this, but it would have only been a headache later. His father was in the military too, making him not just a parent but a superior officer. At last, he wrote to the brothel saying he would return in half a year's time. This was after he had received a letter saying the contract buy-out had fallen through."

So, first and foremost, we know the following:

1.) Lakan did not strictly have to leave. It was the politic thing to do, but if he had pushed the issue, he could have stayed. If the goal had been to simply have Lakan out of the public eye, while his father may not have been pleased with it, his marriage to Fengxian could have also served a similar purpose as he began to focus on domestic affairs and kept a low profile. But his convenience weighed more heavily than his feelings for Fengxian.

2.) Fengxian tells him that the buy-out has fallen through BEFORE HE LEAVES. Assuming she's just barely pregnant at that point (call it eight weeks, ish) and his letter indicates that he's going to return for her before the baby is born, this is still a terrible sign for her. As he himself puts it later;

"Did he not grasp what happened to such women?

A little thought might have revealed the answer, but his head was full of Go and Shogi and nothing else, and he had been unable to arrive at the truth…It was all his fault for being so impulsive."

But Lakan didn't think and sure enough, three years later, Fengxian isn't waiting for him in her polite little box at the Verdigris House. Because love is not convenient and Lakan values convenience above almost everything else. It's not until he loses Fengxian and their baby (and has the loss driven home to him in a very visceral manner when he finds the fingers in his un-forwarded mail) that it occurs to him that he wants more than endless game playing.

Luomen

We know somebody did check Lakan's mail, though, as the letter with Maomao and Fengxian's fingers is the only piece that's opened. It's easy to guess that it attracted Luomen's attention because it was bloodstained, but Luomen does what Lakan should have - he immediately makes for the pleasure district to find this woman and her child.

It takes him years of patient work on behalf of the Verdigris House to be trusted to adopt Maomao. We know it takes years because Maomao is initially raised by the Three Princesses and the madam, while Luomen is slowly building trust with the courtesans by providing them medical services. At no point does Luomen stride in, demanding to be given custody of his great niece because he's her family. Instead he recognizes that she has a family already in the brothel and works on becoming a part of their lives - because that's what's best for Maomao.

Luomen understands that filial duty goes both ways - a child has responsibilities to the parent, certainly, but those duties imply a reciprocity of care. First, the parent cares for their child, which means that the child's needs must be the priority. What Maomao desperately needs is care, education, safety and stability. All of which, Luomen prioritizes making sure Maomao has to the best of his ability.

Contrast this with Lakan's immediate reaction to finding Maomao in the pleasure district.

"One day, out of the blue, a strange man had appeared and tried to lead her away. The madam had shown up shortly after and beaten him with a broom and the sight of the bruised and bloodied man had inspired fear in her young heart. Anyone would be scared by a man who reached out to them grinning, even as blood poured from his face."

Lakan literally tries to take her off the street, believing he has the right, because he's her father. He doesn't care that he's scaring Maomao, he's described as grinning and reaching for her despite the reactions of everyone around him. Which is why Luomen's reaction to Lakan reception in the pleasure district is very telling - this is a man who is described as far too kind for his own good and having been very close with Lakan.

"Nonetheless, while her old man was compassionate, he did grasp the broader situation, and he never tried to stop the old madam from chasing the other man out of the brothel with her broom. He knew that wrong was wrong."

The manga adds the context that Luomen also "knew the woman with the missing nose." Luomen feels for Lakan, but his duty is to Maomao as her adopted father and to Fengxian as her doctor. His feelings do not outweigh those responsibilities.

Maomao

Lakan adores Maomao from the moment he lays eyes on her. But his love is inherently selfish - the loss of Fengxian and his estrangement from Maomao do not inspire him to do better with his talents consistently.

The ironic part is that Lakan could have made a very compelling argument to be given custody of Maomao. We know that the whole reason he decided to use his strategic brilliance to take back the headship of the La Clan is inspired by Maomao and the life he feels she deserves to have. He also goes back to Verdigris House and although it takes him ten years, he pays off two and a half times the damages he caused - in the world of the red light district, he has paid for his initial crime. So we see that he is capable of putting forth effort when he feels inspired to do so.

If he had applied that same strategy and patience toward working on finding a place in Maomao's life that honored the relationships that supported her when Lakan had abandoned both her and Fengxian, he might have been able to convince those that cared about her that it was in Maomao's best interests to be raised by him as a princess of a named clan.

If we need further evidence that Lakan's carelessness is still a dominant character trait, we can look at a more recent example in the story; the Shi Clan's assassination plot against Jinshi.

Gossip is one of Lakan's hobbies and that, combined with his intuition, means that he's the first person to realize that something is going on. He sees all of these supposedly coincidental acts happening around them and intuits that there is a grander purpose at work. And, to his credit, he doesn't ignore it - he puts his talent of using the people around him to good use. We see him rope Gaoshun into looking into the poisoned seaweed under the guise of a colleague asking for a favor, we see him prod Jinshi into letting Maomao investigate the metalworker. Lihaku is one of his direct subordinates and he's tasked with investigating the explosion at the warehouse and following the trail as they realize that the arson was a diversion.

But at no point is he doing any of this because of anything so prosaic as duty or responsibility. This is a fun game to him that's serving a dual purpose of getting him closer to Maomao. Everything is entirely about what will amuse him or further that one, singular goal. And he's greatly amused - until Maomao puts the pieces together and realizes that this is an assassination attempt.

It never occurs to Lakan that simply maneuvering people around him to get things done and amuse him carries any danger - because he doesn't care that deeply about anyone else aside from a few select individuals. Everything in his mind was entirely about getting him and Maomao into the same place where she couldn't run away from him. Where she would be forced to accept his help.

Which is exactly what happens; Maomao can't get into the temple on her own and she needs Lakan to vouch for her. It is an extremely clumsy, transactional way of trying to build a connection.

So then what happens?

First Maomao is bludgeoned by the guard - a Go stone of a man, unimportant, except for the damage he inflicted on his little girl that Lakan did not anticipate. But worse is when Jinshi carries her out of that temple, bleeding and unconscious, after having saved his life. Everything Lakan has done to try to force his daughter to acknowledge him has instead lead to her being seriously injured.

Maomao points out, later, that if Lakan had simply stepped forward and used his official position as a Grand Commandant to spearhead an investigation, this plot might have been discovered much sooner. Maomao, having a few self-absorbed tendencies of her own, is focused on Suirei's promise of resurrection medicine. But Lakan should be more focused on the fact that, had he actually done something himself, perhaps Maomao wouldn't have been hurt.

Lakan

I said before that Lakan's heroic qualities do exist and it's important to acknowledge them, while also realizing how they are caught up in his self-serving behavior. For all that buying Fengxian out is about Lakan finally getting something he's wanted, there is also virtue in the fact that he does not see the damage the disease has done to Fengxian and think of her as damaged goods. To him Fengxian has just as much value as the day he lost her, simply because she exists. Forget an attitude that's rare in the red-light district, that attitude is rare in the entire setting, which is acknowledged as extremely patriarchal.

Lakan also gets a chance to redeem himself somewhat during the Shi Rebellion. By the time Maomao is kidnapped, it's not because Lakan has been lazy - we see that he's been actively involved in the investigation about the feifa, with a chilling understanding about what improved firearms technology could do for military tactics. He is actually using his position and subordinates appropriately, setting Lahan to investigate the financial trail, which provides Jinshi the concrete proof needed to officially put the rebellion down. This time, the danger to Maomao is not Lakan's fault, and when he realizes she's been kidnapped, he does whatever he must to get Maomao back.

"Silently, Lakan turned toward Jinshi. Then he got up, knelt before Jinshi and pressed his fist into his palm in a gesture of respect. 'I come in supplication. I humbly request that you mobilize the army to strike against the rebel, Shishou.'

Lakan was a grand commandant, in other words, a secretary of military affairs. Jinshi understood what it meant for such a person to ask for the army to be mobilized."

Jinshi observes that his motives have nothing to do with the good of the nation and he is entirely concerned with his own, selfish needs, but while Lakan's motives may be selfish on behalf of the nation, he IS actually acting the way a father should. Maomao is in danger and his priority is doing whatever he must get her to safety, whether that be using the full authority of his rank or putting aside his pride to get Jinshi to mobilize the army.

Neither Malice Nor Virtue

Book 11 gives us an interesting look at Lakan, first in the war conference where Gyoku-ou is gauging Jinshi and Lakan's support for invading another country and we see that Lakan does not care.

"'What do you think, Sir Lakan?'

Lakan once again stopped working his Go problems and studied the map intently. He wore the same look with which he would appraise a board game…

'I don't know about your reasons or excuses. All I know is how to win at Shogi,' Lakan said and then he started arranging the pieces on the map. The aide gave Jinshi an apologetic look.

There was no malice in Lakan - but neither was their virtue. So long as something didn't harm him or his family, he paid it no mind. If there was a chance to participate in an interesting game however - that he wouldn't miss…to the strategist war was just a combination of his favorite games; it was a Shogi match using human pieces and a game of Go in which you captured real territory."

Jinshi's evaluation of Lakan is rather damming. The man has neither malice nor virtue. He cares only about himself, his family and his simple pleasures. This is the core of the issue that has doomed his relationship with Maomao, who despite having inherited a great deal of Lakan's characteristics, values two things above all else in her relationships; work ethic and compassion toward others.

Lakan desperately wants that paternal role with Maomao, but his behavior means that the roles are often reversed - when they are forced to interact, Maomao is often stuck taking care of him, thinking about what will be best for Lakan so that she can maintain her own peace as much as possible. He cannot possibly be her parent if he insists on being a perpetual child to those around him.

And indeed, Jinshi treats him like a child, cutting Lakan's support out from under Gyoku-ou by laying out for him that his daughter and his uncle would both be hurt by this war, giving Lakan a reason to care.

Rikuson

While Book 11 is rather damning in it's evaluation of Lakan as a truly neutral figure, there are hints that Lakan is capable of at least expanding his circle. Rikuson provides first a different perspective of Lakan than we're used to, giving us his first impressions as a child;

"Among the nomadic tribes, it was said that some herdsmen could distinguish each and every one of their sheep - but Rikuson could never do that. Maybe Lakan saw people's faces the same way Rikuson saw sheep.

'Well, what do you do when you really need to remember who someone is?'

Lakan was silent for a moment…"I remember them by the shape of their ears, or their height. I look at the quality of their hair. Memorize the stink of their sweat. Or I listen for the pitch of their voice…'

'Wouldn't it be easier to just remember their face?'

'I don't get faces. I can see people have eyes and a nose and a mouth, but when I try to put them together they get all tangled up and all I can see is a Go stone. Now the size of a person's nostrils, the length of their eyelashes - those, I can understand.'

So he didn't remember an entire face, just specific details about it. That sounded exhausting. No wonder he only did it for the most important people."

Rikuson is right - that DOES sound exhausting. With this perspective in mind, it makes more sense to the reader why Lakan constantly appears lazy and apathetic; because he's always riding the edge of exhaustion just to function. And because Rikuson hasn't had to live with the consequences of Lakan's carelessness, he is better able to empathize with how Lakan interacts with the world around him.

Later, after Rikuson has killed Gyoku-ou, Lakan walks into the situation and instead of exposing his former aide, he protects Rikuson.

"'He was already murdered when you entered the room. So you killed the rebel - is that not right?

It was, of all people, Lakan standing there…What was he doing here?

…Ah, Rikuson thought, it was all over now. There was no hiding anything from Lakan. He had neither good intentions nor bad, but would simply lay out the facts…

'You heard the man,' Lakan said to those around them.

'Wh-What do you mean, Grand Commandant Kan?'

'Hrm? He's telling the truth. He killed the rebel who killed the man. Where's the crime in that? If anything, this is all your fault for leaving such scant security.'

…There was much murmuring, but the general consensus was that if Grand Commandant Kan said it, then that was that…Their suspicion of Rikuson had been dispelled in an instant."

You'll note he doesn't lie for Rikuson. In fact, he offers a perfectly truthful understanding of what happened. The man is Takubatsu, whom Rikuson did in fact find murdered when he entered the room. And Gyoku-ou had essentially taken Jinshi hostage and was actively undermining the Imperial Brother's authority and legitimacy, which does make him a rebel.

But in protecting Rikuson, he offers a counterpoint to both Jinshi and Rikuson's observations that he has neither malice nor virtue, good intentions nor bad. Perhaps it is just that Rikuson has earned Lakan's liking and loyalty over the years, but it is growth.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Where Lakan has earned moments of redemption and growth, it is when he has shown that his fun is less important than those he cares about. There is an opportunity within the story for Lakan to act as Maomao's father in a way Luomen cannot - in the matter of her marriage.

If Lakan is willing to put all of his intuition and political cunning behind Maomao's choices regarding marriage and family, then he has the chance to finally perform an act of duty by his daughter that would establish a reason for Maomao to begin to display filial piety toward him.

But Maomao's marriage would absolutely challenge Lakan's fantasy of playing 'daddy'. It would literally require him to give away his child but more critically, it would mean giving up his fantasy of Maomao as a perpetual little girl and fully acknowledging the grown woman that she has become.

Whether Lakan is wiling to put Maomao's needs first above his own will be the crux of his character development. At no point has Lakan been malicious, but his carelessness has done more to shape Maomao's early life than any other influence. Could he do better? Perhaps. Will he? The answer to that question and how it affects Maomao's adult choices will shape his role within the story going forward - whether he will continue to doom the one relationship he wants more than any other in service of his own needs and fantasies, or if he will sacrifice them to do his duty by his daughter when it matters most.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Pack mom!Stiles steter fics?

i anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

How A Pack Should Be by xcaellachx (1/1 | 25,071 | Teen | Steter) Ever since the Nogitsune caused havoc and nearly killed several people, Stiles had been alone. No texts, no emails, calls, nothing. Even his father had become distant and no longer acted when Stiles woke screaming in the night.

Giving the Hale/McCall pack one more chance, Stiles arrives at the loft for the pack meeting and is greeted by an unfathomable violent attack. From nearly every pack member.

After being warned he would be killed if he stayed in California, Peter and the few who supported Stiles, left for a new pack who loved them, taught them and made them a pack with a surprising new alpha.

In Violent Devotion by friendlyfiction (4/12 | 23,331 | Mature | Steter) 10 years ago, Peter Hale ran away from Beacon Hills and the promise that he made to a boy in love for the first time.

10 years ago, Stiles woke up in bed alone, left with broken promises and empty bed sheets.

In the decade since, they’ve both grown and changed, putting years and miles between themselves and the memory of what almost was until disparate circumstances bring these two men back to Beacon Hills, where their lives will once again collide.

They may be different people now, but will they still feel that same pull of violent devotion that drew them together in the first place?

All I Need Is You (And Cookies) by SincerelyLittle (13/13 | 18,196 | Gen | Steter) “Daddy Stiles!” those are the words that ring out the Hale’s backyard, everything seems to stand still for a moment while Stiles opens his eyes to the sight of long brown hair, beautiful brown eyes and a freckled face. He doesn’t blame anyone for believing the kid when she looks so convincingly like a daughter of his own would.

Since said child is so cute, he can forgive her for potentially starting world war 3 - or at least he thought he could until the next words were "Daddy Peter and I brought cookies!" At least he'll have cookies in the middle of battle.

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down by Ravenxxx97 (3/? | 9,481 | Explicit | Steter) Still wracked with guilt months after Peter's death, Stiles struggles to move on from the loss while everyone else focuses on the Kanima. His dreams are plagued with memories of Peter, both good and bad. After getting kidnapped by Gerard the night of the lacrosse game, Stiles is faced with the Argents' lies and is pushed to his limits as he fights to rescue himself, Erica, and Boyd. When he arrives to the warehouse to rescue Derek from Gerard and Allison, his world is turned upside down once again when he finds Peter Hale there, alive and breathing as if everything from the past few months never happened.

Can things between them be repaired?

I Crave Your Bite ( I belong to you ) by Suzuki_Motors (1/1 | 4,132 | Explicit | Steter) Stiles has known for awhile now that he wanted the bite. So what's stopping him when Derek would love to gift him such a thing?

[ultravioletqueen]

Some time ago my sister introduced me to the world of the video game Hades and its sequel, all the lore and references to Greek mythology fascinate me (I'm a Greek mythology nerd, it's my weakness), I didn't think there would be anything that would bother me about the game Well, except one thing, ODYSSEUS.

Odysseus is by far one of my favorite heroes in Greek mythology, not only for his cunning, gray morals and determination, but also for his immense love for his wife and son, that made him different from the rest of the Greek heroes for me. ,that he was a genuinely loving father and a truly devoted husband even with the situations with circe and calypso, which to clarify, NEITHER OF THE TWO WAS CONSENSUAL, it was extortion and sexual abuse, Odysseus did not want to be with either of them.

For this reason it made me sad to see that Supergiant showed Odysseus as an unfaithful man (when in the Odyssey this man is the personification of simping) who is separated from his wife.

Even if I find the idea interesting that he is lying and Penelope is and working from the shadows like the partner in crime that they are, I have another idea:

After what happened with Circe and Calypso, he thinks that he no longer deserves Penelope, who according to his words "was waiting for years for an unfaithful man" and that is why he separated from her and calls himself "unfaithful" even though both situations were far from his control.

He loves penelope,he loves telemachus,he waited for years to meet them again,but the calypso and circe incident make him feel DIRTY(wich is common in victims of sexual abuse) and not deserving of the love of penelope and penelope in general.

using the lies about being unfaithfull could be a form of trauma block to avoid thinking about the incident,but at the same time it makes him feel WORSE because he thinks he betrayed the WOMAN HE LOVES,HIS SOULMATE AND LITERALLY HIS OTHER HALF.

Im not okay guys...i just want them to be happy again.

(Español)

Hace tiempo mi hermana me introdujo en el mundo del videojuego hades y su secuela,todo el lore y referencias a la mitología griega me fascinan(soy una nerd de mitología griega,es mi debilidad),no pensé que habría algo que me molestaría del juego,bueno,excepto una cosa,ODISEO.

Odiseo es de por lejos uno de mis héroes favoritos de la mitología griega,no solo por su astucia,moral gris y determinacion,sino tambien por el amor inmenso hacia su esposa e hijo,eso hizo que para mi fuera diferente al resto de heroes griegos,que fuera un padre genuinamente amoroso y un esposo realmente devoto aun con las situaciones con circe y calypso que para aclarar NO FUERON CONSENSUADAS NIGUNA DE LAS DOS,fue extorsion y abuso sexual,odiseo no quiso estar con ninguna de las dos.

por esta razon me puso triste el ver que supergiant mostro a odiseo como un hombre infiel (cuando en la odisea este hombre es la personificación del simping) que esta separado de su esposa.

incluso si me parece interesante la idea de que esta mintiendo y penelope trabajando desde las sombras como los partner in crime que son yo tengo otra idea:

que después de lo ocurrido con circe y calypso piensa que ya no se merece a penelope que segun sus palabras "estuvo esperando por años por un hombre infiel" y por eso se separo de ella y se denomina a si mismo como "infiel" aun cuando ambas situaciones estaban lejos de su control.

El ama a penelope,el ama a telemaco,el espejo por años para volver a verlos,pero los incidentes con circe y calypso lo hicieron sentir SUCIO(que es común en víctimas de abuso sexual) y no merecedor del amor de penelope y de penelope en general.

Usar las mentiras sobre ser infiel podría ser una forma de bloqueo traumático para evitar pensar en el incidente, pero al mismo tiempo lo hace sentir PEOR porque cree que traicionó a la MUJER QUE AMA, SU ALMA GAMELA Y LITERALMENTE SU OTRA MITAD.

no estoy bien gente...solo quiero que sean felices otra vez.

[blackwomanwriter]

"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her. 

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him.  Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading. 

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Shackles of Love ||

Summary: Your husband Pete reads the epilogue of the book you're on and there's only one way to keep him from spoiling it for you now… 

Pairing: Dark Husband!Pete Brenner | Naive Wife!You.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Pete Brenner. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Soft-dark!Pete Brenner, non-con/dub-con elements, boob play, humping, stockholm syndrome, age-gap, m!dom, f!sub, power imbalance, housewife kink, misogyny, bondage/chaining, brainwashing, choking, teeny bit of overstimulation. 

Note: I contemplated whether to make this dark or not but then said what the hell?! Shorter than usual (I think) because it's been a hot minute.

MASTERLIST

"Aw, thank you, baby." Pete flashed you the million dollar smile that had charmed you so much the first time you saw it that it had directly led to this very moment. 

"Honey~" you sweetly called out to your loving husband in that one tone he adored so much that he preferred you spoke to him in it all the time. "Here~" you held out the mini tray containing a chilled beer and loaded sandwich for him to snack on while he watched some old movie that you were frankly too young to know anything about.

You smiled and turned on your heels to place yourself next to him on the couch that faced the tv, feeling a tiny butterfly flutter in the base of your tummy due to how he patted the spot beside him for you to sit in that dominant way of his. The man could literally so much as breathe and have your whole stomach flip. He had you whipped. 

Not much interested in the rather vintage movie, you turned to your book that you had bookmarked before leaving to make your husband a sandwich because he liked a snack or two with his movies. Your fingers hurriedly turned the pages as you found your chapter, bottom lip moving itself between your teeth in excitement. You had been perfectly engrossed in a particularly thrilling part where a plot twist was unfolding when your husband had ordered- no, requested his craving. 

Why would Pete ever order you outside the bedroom? Pfft, no way. He was a very giving and kind husband who would never disrespect you!

Yes, maybe sometimes he was just a little mean during punishments but it was never not duly deserved. 

It wasn't unfair. Not by a long shot. Pete worked hard for the both of you and your future family throughout the week so you could stay at home in pretty dresses and do whatever you pleased. Your only jobs were to cook, clean and take care of his husbandly needs. 

And that was all!

You weren't the one who had to go out into the scary outside world and deal with all those dangerous people that lurked past the protective doors of your house! Honestly, if it weren't for Pete being such a supportive and devoted husband, you didn't know where you would be right now.  

You would be cold, alone and miserable with no one to protect you. His words from training time faintly rang in your ears.

Pete was right. 

He always was. 

Your love was the only one who meant you no harm and could keep you safe. 

Everyone else had already failed you or eventually would. Even your parents. Because seriously, what guardian is so careless as to take their child to baseball games where the ball could crack your skull open anytime! Honestly, how careless could your father be! Your mother was no different because, what kind of a woman encourages her daughter to have a career instead of teaching her the much needed and important domestic skills so she could keep her future family happy and healthy! Making you risk your precious life by letting you persue a career in law out of all! 

If this wasn't the prime example of the fact that no one except for Pete truly cared about your comfort and safety, you didn't know what was. 

Yes, so what if he had roofied your drink in the bar before taking you to your real home with him? He had only meant well! You had been far too headstrong and stupid a girl back then to know proper manners for someone your gender. But Pete had been very kind. Though you had fought relentlessly in the beginning and attempted to escape the premises of this house that was nothing but love and care, he forgave you for everything! 

How much more wonderful could this man get?! 

Your husband had smiled at every insult, laughed at every injury you had inflicted on his skin and heart, kissed away every tear you had so foolishly shed. 

And then he had taught you proper wife etiquette. 

Honestly, no one had ever bothered to put up with you that much. 

"Honey?" Pete called out to you in a semi-distracted tone, blue eyes still trained on the tv as you stared at the pages in front of you with wide eyes as a realization washed over you. But before you could communicate your thoughts like you had been taught to do so, your husband continued. You hummed for him to go on, mind still stuck on the page. "Want to know something real funny?" 

Obedience had been woven into every fiber of your existence. So you turned your head to look at him with curious eyes after making a mental note to tell him what you had realized just now later. Because Pete always came first. So you had to await your turn.

"Funny?" You tilted your head to the side, one arm looping around his arm as you perched your chin on his shoulder. "Sure, dear! I like funny…" Your nose crinkled a little as you smiled in the way he had taught you. 

A devious smile spread over your husband's lips. "I read the epilogue while you were in the kitchen" it took you a few moments to realize what he was hinting at. He had done it before and the way he finally turned his head to look at you with mischief dancing in his ocean blue eyes, placing the now empty tray on the table in front of the couch, you knew he was about to do it again. 

"No! You didn't!" You squealed as he laughed in the comic typical evil way, tackling you until your back was flat against the couch. "No! Please, honey! No!" You helplessly whined as you shook your head violently, tossing the book open and hurrying through the words. "I am almost at the epilogue! You cannot do this to me!" 

"That's just a shame, isn't it?" The protestant kicking of your feet that rested on his back now caused a clinking sound in the air due to the thick iron cuff enclasped around one of your ankles.

"Noooo! Pleeeeease!" You pouted as his goatee gently pricked your fingertips that were pressing against his mouth in a desperate attempt to quieten him. "Honey, please! I've been a good girl!" That was the reason why you had maintained your reading privileges for three straight weeks at this point. "You're being cruel for no reason!" 

"Aw. Don't you remember?" Prying your fingers off his mouth was no challenge to the older man. "Husbands can do whatever they want whenever they want…" You whined loudly as you ignored the tingle in your nether regions that his dark tone had caused, flipping the page and hurrying through the words, holding the book between your faces. "Okay, soooo… what happens is–"

"Ohmygosh you're so meeeean!" Now your free hand desperately darted to your own body before you fished out one of your boobs from the neckline of your dress. A whimper escaped from your lips when you reached for Pete's nape next before arching your back to further close the gap between your bodies. The action clasped the space of your husband's mouth shut as he hummed against your tender flesh now. 

Pete had this rather mean way (that you didn't actually mind) of torturing you when you were reading sometimes. He would sneakily read from a section way ahead of where you were and then tease you with spoilers until you shoved his mouth with one of your private parts. 

You faintly recalled being heavily opposed to it at one point.

But there was no other way to stop him when he was at this. 

And that was alright because he was your husband who loved you and loved him.

… Right?

"Hmmm~" you softly moaned in the way he liked. His clothed dick instantly stiffened under your pussy like it always did; a confirmation that you had done the right thing. Your hips that were not as securely clad as your husband's began to slowly piston against his crotch, the dress being the only cover for your bottom since you weren't allowed underwear inside the house. Pete liked you accessible 24/7. So he could bend you whenever he pleased over any surface with no hassle. 

It was the least you could do after all that he did for you. 

Your legs tightened around Pete's waist as did his arms around yours. It was crazy to you how easy it was for him to handle your body however he desired since he physically looked more on the lean side. But his strength was no joke, you were nothing but a doll between his fingers.

And the reminder always made your wifey parts quiver. 

"Hmmm… my perfect wife~" Pete's husky grunt caused your holes to clench around empty air as he latched onto your other boob that you had pushed out next. "Such a good slut… knows exactly what I like…" Your brows were furrowed and hands shaky, breaths hitting the paper that you struggled to both hold and read without dropping it on your face. "It's almost as if-" a loud sucking noise erupted in the air when he forcefully pulled his mouth away from your hardened nub, the feeling causing your back to arch as your hips increased their pace. "-As if you were only born so you could be my good little wife, huh baby?" His slightly rough hands were manly and strong against the soft skin of your chest, lips and teeth grazing against your sensitive skin while the goatee caused the tickles that never failed to tip you over the edge. 

"B- Because I was, hubby!" You whimpered submissively as you failed all your attempts to make sense of the words in front of you. Pete had already told you why this was and he was right. 

You were far too simple minded to multitask. 

"What was that?" As his hips started to work against yours, the soft burn of the expensive fabric of your dress rubbing against your throbbing and leaking pussy caused tiny droplets of sweat to form on your temples. The book fell from your hands and on the ground besides the couch at last. 

"I- I was only born s- so I could be your good little wife, hubby!" You cried out as you attempted to sink your nails in his shoulders but your husband beat you to it. 

"That's fuckin' right…" Pete's breaths were heavy as he reached for the chain that connected to your ankle cuff and pulled it upwards. It was locked around a sturdy hook hidden under the living room couch on the other end. Long enough to allow you to move around the house to perform your wifely tasks but not an inch longer to entertain any funny or rebellious– dangerous attempts that could be made while he was out earning your bread and butter. Only Pete had the key that could unlock it. 

You whined loudly when he deprived you from touching him while exposing your aching core in an even more intimate position at the same time by snaking the chain around your wrists and holding both your hands as well as your shackled ankle above your head. 

The new position further distanced your pussy lips as you rubbed your swollen flesh against the soft material of his trousers now, your dress a wrinkled mess in the middle of your body. 

"Mmm… I need you so bad, hubby…" You whispered out, throat dry and face twisted in need and want. "Please…" 

"Do you deserve it, huh baby?" Now he laid out some of the cold chain against your throat with his free hand, lips parted and eyes dark. "Have you been a good wife for me?" 

You vigorously nodded, clenching around air once more as your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he applied pressure to the makeshift leash against your windpipe, the loss of air and realization of the imbalance of power causing you to pant and hump the man harder. 

Pete could do to you literally anything that he desired and you would happily let him just to please him. 

That was your only priority after all; your real duty.

"You're gonna have to use your words, honey…" Your husband released your windpipe as he spoke, causing your back to arch once more to try and breathe better. 

"I… I…. deserve it, hubby. I really do… I've been s- so good… I promise…" Your chest rose and fell as it glistened under the lights due to the tiny beads of sweat coating it along with Pete's saliva. "I- I deserve you~" your last word was a gasp against his lips that he finally smashed against yours, chaining down your windpipe again as he helped stimulate your worked up pussy by moving his own hips in sync to yours. 

You were too close. It was dangerous. You had to break away and ask his permission if you didn't want to get punished. Cumming without Pete's permission was always followed by cruel edging that stretched on for weeks. Your husband was a master at taking you high to the point of utter dumbness only to leave you deprived and trembling at the last moment.

But you liked to kiss him so much…

That and you didn't want him to feel like you were prioritizing your pleasure over kissing him.

That would be such a selfish thing to do!

And good wives were supposed to be giving, understanding, patient and supportive.

It was a dilemma.

But as always, your knight came to your rescue and you knew you could never love him more than you did in this moment. "Cum for me and I'll consider…" It was like he could read your body and boy did you adore him for it.

Your air came back -or rather, was allowed to do so- just as fast as your vision went out when your tense insides finally bloomed open and went crashing over you the barrage of pleasure that had been building up inside of you. You moaned Pete's name along with heartfelt praises as you trembled, hips slowing down to avoid overstimulation as you blinked away the stars in your vision.

Rubbing and humping definitely had their own kinds of orgasms. 

"Atta girl… That's it… Just like that…" Your husband whispered in your ear, his still clothed cock now rock hard against your worked up pussy. "Good girl…" Though he still kept a firm hold on your ankle and wrists, Pete let go of the makeshift leash to reach for your marked boobs that he began to caress. "You feel that, baby?" A soft whine pushed past the pout that formed on your lips. "This is what you do to me…" His voice was strained as he held back a moan, his stiff crotch teasing you now as he let go of your breasts to open his fly.

It was then that it suddenly occurred to you. 

And though you knew from ample experience that it was never pleasant… you had to do the right thing. 

You owed it to your perfect husband. 

"U- Uh, honey…" You hissed out softly, trying to move your hips away from the torturous humping he was still subjecting you to. When Pete didn't respond, you tried again, only this time more timid because you knew too well how he responded to denial and rejection. "D- Darling…"

His nostrils flared as he exhaled loudly in annoyance. "What?" Your bottom lip wobbled at his snappish tone. 

The man of the house did not like to be delayed when he wished to wreck his lady apart. 

"I- I need to tell you s- something…" Pete gave up fiddling with the fly, looking up at you now. 

"And it can't wait?" Your eyes stung when he refused to mend his tone but you told yourself it was because he wanted you so bad that he didn't want anything to come between you two. 

Yes, that was it.

The truth. 

Pete had told you this many times. 

"I- I don't think you would like it…" Averting your gaze from his heated one and training it on his neck, you whimpered out your next words because of how his body had suddenly stiffened against yours. "I- I…" You bit your lip, already heightened heart rate refusing to slow down. Pete appreciated it when you were honest about this, you didn't understand why it was making you feel so panicked and sad.

Hopeless. 

"D- Dangerous memories have been r- resurfacing again…" His tone and expression instantly changed after hearing this. They were darker but less rude now. 

"Oh…" Pete stopped for a few moments to recollect himself. "F- For how long, baby?" 

"D- Dunno… didn't really notice it until I remembered a whole episode from my time in court in the m- morning…" You couldn't help but whimper when you looked back up at him. 

He seemed almost dumbfounded for a second before he spoke. "I see, honey…" Stopping for a few moments, Pete let go of your chains to caress your hair lovingly. "... And… What do we do when that happens, baby?" Your husband's voice was barely above a whisper as he peeked up at you with skeptical eyes. 

"W- We have to go downstairs to fix it so the dangerous memories cannot form any silly ideas in my simple baby mind, hubby…" The man's worried expression changed to one of surprise.  

And then the biggest smile made its way on his handsome face. 

"Aren't the most perfect little girl, huh?" You couldn't help but blush and relax when he went back to being nice.

Disappointed and angry Pete was one you preferred to avoid at all costs. 

"I just love you, hubby…" It came out the way the man had programmed you to say it before you gently pressed your mouth to his. "Wanna please you and make you happy…" Your husband pulled at one of your cheeks lovingly before he peppered soft kisses around your nose, making you giggle from how his goatee tickled your skin. 

"So, then… shall we?" The older looked almost proud and smug as he crawled off of you and undid your ankle cuff, softly caressing the slightly red skin before he offered you a hand to sit up. 

You smiled as you pushed away a rather unfamiliar stinging in your chest, focusing on the man in front of you instead as you took his hand and stood up, naively following him out of the living room and into the basement, hand in hand with your fingers intertwined.

Pete smirked to himself darkly as he turned the dial of the combination lock on the door of the basement cell before opening it for you to step in. He could still remember the time when you used to push all of your faculties to try and override the lock system somehow. 

All that fight to get out only to voluntarily step in with a smile now. 

You were definitely Pete's Magnum opus.

[tedwardremus]

Peter Pettigrew Headcanons

He came from a working-class family. Raised by a single mum

He doesn’t know his father

While he did not grow up in a blood supremacist family he grew up with the same prejudices and assumptions that many wizarding families have about muggles. He finds them odd and different. 

Peter was one of those kids who lit ants on fire and threw rocks at people while standing on bridges. Being mean = power = being important

Definitely heard his mum or grandparents say muggle-borns have it easy or get extra benefits from the government (which isn’t true) and that’s why Peter’s mum has to work so hard.

Very excited to befriend Sirius and James because of their families' positions in wizarding society. He’ll be cool and popular by association

Yes, Sirius family are dicks to him but he doesn’t understand why he’d give up such a cush life and run away. Thinks Sirius doesn’t know how lucky he has it

Has always enjoyed playing mind games with his friends and other people to make himself have better favor in group dynamics

Was always the best at getting out of detention and coming up with lies on the spot

Made the rudest jokes out of the marauders 

He isn’t dumb. He just isn’t good at school. He became an animagus at 15. He is powerful, OK? Upset that no one sees it and he can’t really brag about being an illegal animagus.

Really likes that he’s the one that gets to push the knob on the whomping willow. Makes him feel indispensable.

James and Sirius mature in 6th and 7th year and their jokes aren’t so cruel anymore. Peter is caught off guard when they start (lightly) calling him out on some of his jokes. (I thought you’d find it funny? Why aren’t you laughing anymore? What, James you get a girlfriend and you can't be fun anymore?)

The slowdown in bullying is also combined with James, Remus, and Sirius's political awakening and further interest in fighting against Voldemort. Peter starts to feel alienated from their discussions. Peter is a-political at best

And like yes, James, dark magic is bad but isn’t it also cool? Like did you hear about the man who turned a bunch of dead bodies into snakes? Or did you hear about the spell that turns your guts inside out? Isn’t that impressive?? I bet you could learn that spell James, you’re powerful enough, right?

After Hogwarts Sirius and James live off their family money and devote themselves to the order full time. After Remus gets fired from a job James starts supporting him financially. Peter doesn’t have the luxury (looks like werewolves get benefits just like muggle-borns. Poor Pete is always left out)

Pete gets a job at the quidditch league offices which he thinks will be lots of fun and exciting, maybe he can swing tickets for him and his friends

But the job is really boring. He is tracking how much teams spend and data entry is the worst.

His order assignments are just as dull. He doesn’t go out on duels or covert operations. Dumbledore instructs him to get intell on Ministry offficals and Peter grows resentment, he wants to be more useful like his friends.

He gets further separate from his core group of friends as James marries Lily and eventually goes into hiding (peter thinks James is foolish for getting Lily pregant. way to mess up our fun, James!), Remus is doing super secret werewolf stuff, Sirius is off on his own order missions plus becoming increasingly protective of the potters. 

Peter starts meeting up with people at work, not death eaters but just a few people with storng ideas, and he’s like yeah, these guys are right muggle-borns and half-breeds are ruining our society

And he doesn’t hate Lily and Remus, no they are seperate from the developing idelogy. 

But then after a while his intell gathering and workmate meet-ups start to become his only social settings. And he is agreeing more and more with what they are saying

And he impresses the people he is gathering intell on with some of his knowledge on dark spells (not that he’s every performed them. He’s just interested in reading about them)

Its been a long time since Sirius and James found him impressive or amusing 

He goes to a couple of meet ups, and then a couple more

He enjoys these meetings more than order meetings. He doens’t feel underappreciated. 

He gets invited to a bigger meeting and oops its got full on known death eaters attending

James and Lily are fully in hiding. Voldemort is wining the war. 

Peter thinks he might as well just do what he needs to do to survive, everyone else is doing the same. But he's not going to be like James and hide like a coward.

And if he is going to survive he is going to be useful, important. In a better position than he was in the order. And then he’ll use that new position to help his friends when the war is over. He is so clever!

He willingly becomes a spy for Voldemort. He enjoys it. Its the best he ever felt about himself. He has secrets and information. He’s important.

He gets tested on his loyalty and is told to kill order members.

He actually enjoys murdering people (he is a serial murder in the books!) Reminds him of the same feeling he got when he threw rocks off of bridges but bigger.

He continues to climb up the Death Eater power structure. He enjoys watching the chaos unfold in The Order as they can’t figure out who the spy is

James asks him to be his secret keeper. He has a choice to make and he shows who he really is. He chooses power and manipulation over protecting people he used to (supposedly) love

And while this was all going on its important to remember that James, Remus, and Sirius all would have died for Peter. He was their friend. The betrayal is painful. The radicalization went unnoticed

[paganminiskirt]

I love how Raditz uses him and Goku’s familial relationship to trick him into letting go of his tail so he can start whaling on him again, all the while having Gohan hostage in his pod. And then later on, Vegeta’s transformation into a great ape causes Goku to realize that he killed his own Grandpa Gohan all those years ago, accidentally or otherwise. It’s like this one biological side effect of his Saiyan heritage both robbed him of a relationship and prevented him from properly mourning once he realized what had happened, with his empathy and willingness to forgive being leveraged against him by those same Saiyans to destroy other familial bonds. It’s such a brutal introduction to a previously unknown part of your identity.

But then on Namek, Vegeta applies him & his father’s own situation to Gohan and Goku when he’s explaining the danger that the Frieza Force represent, saying how “they don’t have to be stronger than you to beat you, they could take your son hostage.” Obviously he’s referencing his childhood removal from King Vegeta’s “care,” but a side effect of that arrangement is that the King himself isn’t a tangible presence in his son’s life, certainly not by the time he’s on Namek. Vegeta does have something vaguely resembling a father figure when he makes that comparison, but it’s not him, it’s Frieza.

Frieza & Vegeta’s relationship is certainly not parental on an emotional level, but the mechanisms of keeping people as indentured servants naturally tend towards paternalism, and it’s obvious that Frieza has a weird little fixation on him besides. The entire Namek saga lowkey constructs this wildly uncomfortable parallel between Goku’s care for & devotion to Gohan, (putting himself in harms way and crossing between entire worlds to keep him safe over and over again,) and Frieza’s similarly relentless but antithetically possessive & degrading relationship with Vegeta, (repeatedly demanding that he be brought back to him alive no matter how much of a nuisance he becomes, to the point of having him nursed back to health after Zarbon claps his ass just so he can torture him himself.)

It’s Gohan who first notices that Captain Ginyu stole his dad’s body, and Gohan who keeps fighting through exhaustion and extreme violence before Goku gets to Namek. Later on in the Buu Saga, Goku realizes the projection of Gohan inside Majin Buu isn’t really his son quicker than anyone else does - their emotional bond is sturdy enough to transcend the physical, even after it’s repeatedly acknowledged that a young child shouldn’t be involved in situations as gruesome as these.

Compare that to Vegeta, who’s only visible relationship with his father comes from sharing violence as a form of giddy self-aggrandizement, until he sells him to a more powerful stranger - which he can’t even say was especially wrong by their own standards, the transaction as much a moral injury as an emotional one. As Frieza pointed out during his fight with Goku, he literally just beat the Saiyans at their own game, picking up where King Vegeta left off by using his son for the benefit of himself & the empire instead of for the benefit of his father & homeworld.

The fact alone that his relationship with his biological dad can begin to amalgamate with his relationship to a person who calls him a pet speaks volumes about how emotionally warped Vegeta was from the beginning. It’s a small wonder he clings to the dynastic propaganda of the Saiyans so hard, using the title he gets from the King in spite of the fact that his reaction to the man himself’s demise is so muted & repressed that it’s depicted using the imagery of a child encased in a mountain of corpses. It's the only thing that can potentially delineate what happened to him as unjust & undeserved - if it’s the violence itself that’s wrong, then what does that make him, his values, his scattered family, their entire culture. What does that make everything he’s been told since the moment of his birth.

And even in that scene where Vegeta is shrugging off his dad’s death and the planet’s destruction, the messenger mentions how Frieza offers his sympathies: as if Frieza isn’t the same person who killed him, this sickly pretense of warmth intended only to cover it up. You might recall how Goku is always mussing Gohan’s hair, and everyone knows that infamous scene where Vegeta strokes his hair before knocking the wind out of him - which can be read as a precursor to that horribly intimate beatdown Frieza lays on Vegeta and the others later, the one he had been planning to give Vegeta this whole time which is only compounded in brutality since Vegeta thwarted him, the one where he licks blood from Vegeta’s mouth off his face as he holds him up by his neck like a dog with it’s pup. It re-contextualizes the head stroke/brutal attack combo Vegeta pulled on Gohan as him acting out the sadistic objectification Frieza raised him on using another Saiyan child.

And in the end it comes full circle, with Vegeta using his last moments to pass the vendetta of himself and his own father on to Goku and his line. And this happens willingly, as a productive challenge to the Saiyan’s culture of domination, unlike the grotesque re-appropriation of that same culture that we’re presented with when Frieza takes Vegeta from home: Goku assumes this mantle after Vegeta is dead and fully incapable of forcing him. He also contradicts the callous disregard Vegeta displayed during the aforementioned scene with the Saibamen by treating his corpse with so much care. He holds him, he buries him. And you could argue that it’s better than he deserves at that point, but like. I think the fact that the gesture is unwarranted is a part of the point.

[cod-dump]

HI HELLO UH

I've never really done asks before but this question is burning a hole through my skull

is there any way you could provide a list of the characters from COD that are present in your teen!au and their roles? I have many ideas and silly situations in my head that need context >:)

(love your stuff btw, very cute)

From my notes to you! Hopefully this satisfies!

The characters and their roles and backstories

———

Ghost:

Simon R. Price is the adopted son of Price and brother of Kyle. He is sixteen. Simon was taken away from his bio family at the age of eight after his bio father god into some shady business and those people came after his kids and wife. He was a flight risk for every caregiver he was given to, so Laswell had to step up her game and find someone more capable. Price turned out to be the perfect one for the job, the man ending up adopting Simon when he turned thirteen. Price helped Simon get in contact with his brother and mother and helps to make sure they stay in his life. He can’t go back with his mom, it’s too dangerous, and Tommy had found his own family. Simon is able to spend time with his mother and brother on some holidays and every other birthday.

—

Gaz:

Kyle G. Price is the adopted son of Price and brother of Simon. He is fifteen. Kyle was abandoned when he was nine. It was rough for him, leaving him abandonment and trust issues which ultimately made it hard for him to find a new family. Laswell sent him to stay with Price and Kyle ended up never leaving. He was adopted by Price when he was twelve. Though he butts heads with Simon a lot, it’s out of playfulness. Kyle loves his father and brother very much. He started dating Laswell’s son, Alex, and has been pretty secretive about it. He’s worried about how dating his dad’s boss’ son might affect him, so they keep quiet about their relationship.

—

Price:

John Price is the adoptive father of Simon and Kyle. He is thirty-seven. Price is ex-military and currently working for CIA’s own Kate Laswell as a ‘free agent’ as Laswell calls him. An issue arose involving an ongoing threat that required Price to care for Simon. he ended up loving him so much that he adopted him. It did complicate Laswell’s work but she didn’t try to stop him. Price had devoted his life to caring for and loving Simon, and when Laswell sent him Kyle to look after he did the same for him. He ended up getting in a strange romantic relationship with one of Laswell’s contacts. This is something both he and Nik keep from Laswell.

—

Nik:

Nik is the unofficial second father of Simon and Kyle. He is forty-seven. He was stationed to look after Simon while he was being cared for, chasing off anyone that would try to do him harm or take him. He was the one who took Simon to Price. Even after Simon was confirmed safe in Price’s care, Nik never left out of worry for the boy. He ended up getting romantically entangled with Price, both refusing to put a label on their relationship, once they did it becomes all too real and Laswell would not approve. Nik has helped raise Simon and Kyle. He loves them like they’re his own. He often leaves to do work for Laswell, being gone for days at a time. This does not bother him because everything he’s doing is making the world safer for those he loves.

—

Laswell:

Kate Laswell is the mother of Alex K. Laswell and the wife of Annie Laswell. She is forty-five. Laswell is the boss of Price and has been dealing with a growing threat to the UN. Big or small, she’s on the job. One of these jobs involved placing two at risk boys into a capable caregiver’s care. This ultimately lead to Price adopting his first child, Simon. While it made things more difficult for her by capacitating one of her best men, she did nothing to stop the adoption after seeing how happy they both were. Laswell has a rough history with Nik, seeing they’ve met each other’s guns to the face more than once. Nik has turned a new leaf, but Laswell has a hard time trusting him.

—

Alex:

Alex K. Laswell is the son of Kate and Annie Laswell. He is seventeen. Alex was first introduced to the Price family after Kyle was adopted. He and Kyle hit it off almost instantly and became inseparable, which lead to them dating. Alex is very nervous about how Kyle’s father would react to him dating his son while Kyle was worried about what his dad would think about him dating his boss’ son, so they both agreed to keep it a secret for now. Simon knows about their relationship and has agreed to keep it a secret, but this is anything but comforting considering how protective Simon is of his brother and how Alex is convinced the guy would kill him if given a reason.

—

Farah:

Farah Karim is the childhood friend of Simon when he was first taken in by Price. She is eighteen. Farah was close with Simon since he was first taken in by Price. Being neighbors, they often played together and hung out. Though after Kyle was brought into the Price household, Farah had to move away with her family. She kept contact with Simon but did not speak to him as much as she would’ve liked, having been dealing with a less than favorable home life. After Farah turned eighteen, she was kicked out of her parent’s home, sharing the Sam fate as her elder brother. With no where to go, she went to the Shadow Company Shelter, where she was stay until Price took her home to stay with him and his family. She’s determined to make up for lost time with Simon and has become an elder sister to him and Kyle.

—

Soap:

Johnny MacTavish is Kyle’s best friend and Simon’s crush and inevitably his boyfriend. He is fifteen. Johnny lives across the street from the Price family with his parents and three older sisters. He became friends with Kyle soon after Kyle was sent to school, taking him under his wing and helping him adjust to his new environment. Johnny would develop a crush on Kyle’s older brother, which would blossom into a romantic relationship. Johnny introduced Kyle to his friend Hong-Jin, which would lead to an inseparable trio of friends. Though there is no such evidence, Johnny is thoroughly convinced Simon’s dad’s friend would make him disappear if anything were to happen to Simon.

—

Horangi:

Hong-Jin Kim is Johnny’s long time best friend. He is fifteen. Being a immigrant, it took time for Hong-Jin to adjust to his new life, thankfully Johnny made things much easier faster they became friends. He was originally jealous and bitter when Johnny started hanging out with Kyle, feeling like he was losing his friend. Then the bitterness and jealousy turned into a crush that Hong-Jin is certain will kill him. He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with Kyle or Johnny, so he keeps his feelings quiet. He’s happy to be his friend.

—

Graves:

Phillip Graves is the caretaker of the local runaway shelter for teens and young children. He is forty-two. Phillip is an associate of Laswell, the two having a less than friendly work relationship. While his day job is running a shelter and caring for and protecting children and teens in unfortunate situations, Phillip also does work with Laswell when it’s called for. Many call him an asshole and selfish, but Phillip genuinely cares for the kids under his care. He’s been running the shelter for a goof several years, and quite a few kids who he cared for that had long since become adults now work with him as caretakers themselves. These caretakers, these Shadows, are what keep the kids safe. Phillip is very proud of them.

—

Alejandro:

Alejandro Vargas is the best friend of Simon and boyfriend of Rudy. He is seventeen. While almost al the kinds in the neighborhood avoided the violent new kid, Simon, Alejandro saw a challenge and ran to meet him. It didn’t take long for him to consider Simon his best friend and included him in everything he did. Simon was there for him when things didn’t end well with Valeria, the girl he was certain was his everything. Simon helped him put his head back on straight, which lead him to asking out Rudy. Now he is certain he’s on the right path, organizing a gang of kids that live on his street to be ‘heroes’. It’s more or less just a very large friend group, but he likes to pretend.

—

Rudy:

Rudy Parra is Alejandro’s boyfriend and friend of Simon. He is sixteen. Rudy grew up next door to Alejandro and Valeria and was Valeria’s friend before he was Alejandro’s, having gone to the same school as her before they both transferred. He developed a crush on Alejandro but said nothing due to not wanting to become between his friends’ relationship. The two eventually ended things and Rudy’s home life took a turn then after he came out to his parents. The outcome was brutal and Rudy ended up running away, ending up at Shadow Company shelter where he’ll remain until he can get a place of his own. Eventually a relationship sprouted between him and Alejandro, the two officially becoming a couple after Simon’s fifteenth birthday.

—

Valeria:

Valeria Garza is the ex-girlfriend of Alejandro and the local troublemaker. She is seventeen. Valeria has always been getting into trouble, getting kicked out of the all girl’s school she originally went to, getting into trouble with the law, stealing— She’s always been a bad influence. Yet somehow her best friend has never went down the same path as her. She’s not sure where she would’ve ended up if it wasn’t for Rudy. She started dating Alejandro after her and Rudy started going to his school. It didn’t feel right to her, which is what lead to her finally ending things. Alejandro was upset but it was for the best. Besides, now Rudy cold be with him. She knows Alejandro would never hurt him.

—

There are more characters in the au but these are the ones with the biggest roles in it. The au of course focuses around Ghost and his new family and friends. The au is wholesome but the world it’s set in is anything but.

Might add more characters later on

[aris-ink]

sub yn dry humps her step daddy joon while watching a movie trying to keep quiet

I have nothing to say except once again: I am sorry lmao

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!father au

warnings: cheating, manipulation, pseudo incest, corruption kink, dry humping, slight age gap, daddy kink, dirty talk

He always said angels like you didn't belong in heaven; they belonged in daddy's lap. His wedding ring was nothing but proof of his conquest, the sacrifices he had to make in order to get to you. It took more patience than he thought he was capable of devoting to a cause, but every single second was worth seeing you fall - straight into his open arms.

"Quiet, baby," he whispered, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. "You don't want your mother to wake up, do you?"

He could feel you quiver against him at the question, shame making your breath hitch. And yet there was not enough of it to stop the grinding of your hips, and Namjoon didn't think he's ever been harder. So many nights he dreamed of having you just like this, bouncing you up and down in his lap and making you call him daddy.

It turned out he didn't have to make you do anything.

"Yeah," he groaned quietly. "Just like that."

You rubbed up against his cock like a good girl, your cunt so deliciously wet his trousers were stained.

"Keep going for daddy."

You tightened your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear. The sound shot straight to his dick, precum already leaking from the swollen tip. He wanted nothing more than to put it inside you and fuck you stupid, destroying the rest of your inhibitions and halo in the process.

Angels like you didn't need halos; they needed fetters. And like any good man, Namjoon had his rosary blessed before luring you in and making it into a leash for you. He knew exactly what to do and what to say to tear down your morals. He had years of experience ahead of you, and he didnt care about the consequences as long as you kept rubbing up against his cock like that.

The movie you've been watching became nothing more than background noise, assissting you in hiding some of the depravity that was going on under the blanket. His wife was all the way upstairs, blissfully unaware of it all. Still, better safe than sorry; he had yet to feel all of you. He had yet to bury himself inside you. And this game could last so much longer with no interruptions in the way. He didn't think he could be responsible for his actions if you got caught and tried to cut him out of your life because of some semblance of guilt stirring in your soul.

Namjoon knew better than to celebrate catching an angel before clipping their wings. You still needed a little time.

He groaned into your neck, his hand gripping and kneading the soft flesh of your ass. It was not enough to feel like you this. All the fabric in the way was robbing him off too many sensations he craved, and he craved endlessly when it came to you.

He lifted his head and searched your eyes, placing both of his hands on your hips, calculating his next move.

His tongue parted your lips before he could really decide, his kiss deep and slow and nasty. These were the kind of kisses that daddy only saved for you, he said, for his good girl whom he loved with every inch of his being.

And every inch of his being throbbed with lust as you kissed him back.

He pulled away to peek in between your bodies, then back into your eyes again, shining and so beautifully hazy with the need that reflected his. If eyes were the windows to the soul, his image was forever imprinted on yours.

"Baby," he breathed quietly, his fingers already working on unzipping his pants. "Let me feel you."

Your thighs clenched around him, but your head snapped up to the dark corridor on the side in alarm.

"But what if-"

He pulled your head down to his and kissed you again, not interested in hearing the rest of the sentence. If anything, he was quite offended you could still think straight, but Namjoon was a lenient father, and a forgiving one at that.

With one hand he reached inside his briefs and took his cock out, aching and stiff all for you. A sigh fled his lips, relief mingling with greed.

"Up, baby," he mumbled. "Come on. Up."

With a little hesitation, you lifted your hips, your grip on his shoulders hard. His fingers reached for your panties, his cock twitching when he felt the soaked cotton. He carefully pulled them aside, resisting the urge to touch you, his stomach twisted too tightly to handle any teasing.

"Now be a good girl and take a seat, baby."

He held his cock down for you, hypnotized by the way you began to lower yourself onto it, every second stretching into eternity. His back arched when he felt the heat of your cunt finally slide along its length, coating it with your wetness.

That was all it took to get you back into your rhythm, grinding back and forth against him and moaning into his ear. It felt too good; you felt too good to be true.

"Mm, shit, isn't this much- ah- much fucking better, angel?"

You whined in response, and his eyes almost rolled back, the heat tingling on his skin becoming too much. He wanted to rip that damn blanket off you and throw it to the ground, watch your pussy grind against his dick and come. But if it gave you a sense of security and pushed you to hump him faster, who was he to take that away?

"F-fuck, you're dripping all over me," he groaned. His hand found its way to your chest, thumb rubbing your nipple through your shirt. "Who made you this wet, huh?"

You knew better than not to answer him by now, though your reply still came out in an adorable stutter.

"Y-you, d-daddy, oh-"

Namjoon groaned again, low and guttural. He was so close. The thought of his cum making your little cunt even messier and wetter than it already was made his jaw and his balls clench.

"That's right, angel," he nodded, getting more desperate, reaching to squeeze and touch whatever parts of you he could access. "So be a good girl and come all over daddy's cock, yeah?"

He pushed your ass into his lap harder, your moans growing too loud in the stillness of the house.

"Quiet, be fucking quiet," he gritted. "Oh, fuck-"

Instinctively, his hand shot up to your mouth, two fingers forcing their way inside. You accepted them eagerly, without much thought, sucking and twirling your tongue. It was enough to muffle the sound of you moaning; but the feeling of that tight, wet heat, and the sight of your pretty lips stuffed full had him coming on the spot. His cock twitched under your cunt, releasing hot ropes of cum, his back arching against the couch. He could feel a gush of your own release flood him as you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck," he cursed, voice breathy and strained. "Yeaaah. Fuck."

He didn't realize his eyes fell shut until he opened them, greeted by a sight that made his stomach jump. You looked so pretty and fucked out, drool leaking from your still stuffed mouth.

Gently, Namjoon slipped his fingers out of it, allowing you to collapse into his embrace. He wrapped an arm around you, his eyes stuck on the spit shining on his digits, sticking to his wedding ring.

You were fucking perfect. So worth this ridiculous show he had to put on every day of his life.

Although he would be lying if he said that he wasn't beginning to fucking resent having to go back to your mother's bed at the end of every goddamn day.

"Gimmie a goodnight kiss," he murmured.

He would have liked to reward you for what has undeniably been the best orgasm of his life, but he was so tired; and there was still so much time to try new things tomorrow. The very thought made his cock stir.

It looked like you were exhausted as well, barely lifting your head to give him a small peck on the cheek.

Namjoon chuckled.

You were fucking perfect. Just a little longer and he could spoil you with love and gifts and all the attention that he had to offer.

Until then, his wedding ring stayed on.