#as much as it is difficult to believe for some

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

This time of year SUCKS

Your body exists and deserves respect and kindness as it is. It's completely valid and I understand that body positivity is really difficult for a lot of people, but consider body neutrality.

I'm trying to maintain a workout routine and dietary shift myself, and for the first time I'm doing it in such a way that I'm taking care of myself and not punishing myself and it makes a huge difference. Like I've been sitting there thinking "that time I lost a bunch of weight in college.... Did I have an ED? Or was it just ARFID and depression cuz I was so deep in my work and bad relationship?"

Your body deserves care and respect. It is not something to be punished into a different form. Also, our bodies change throughout our lives because we are not static beings. Every time I hear someone saying they "want their high school weight" I just wanna scream, U WERE A CHII-ULD!

Again, I know it's not easy for a lot of people to be kind to your body. Some people want a punitive approach, okay whatever but I believe very sincerely that You cannot be healthy with a negative/punitive/harsh treatment of your body no matter what u look like or how much u weigh.

Your fat body is not a placeholder for a "better" you. It IS you. And you deserve love and respect NOW.

[gyaruhana]

can you write about like how thanos would react if the reader died

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong - Reader dies headcannons

Synopsis: Thanos's reaction to your death

A/N: short bc school started and ive been SO. BUSY.

Warnings: angst..

➠ Thanos doesn't really believe you died at first

➠ He's in total disbelief and will stare at your body for a solid minute

➠ even starts telling you to 'stop messing around' and 'get up'

➠ even as your body is placed into one of the boxes and you're taken away

➠ he will make up so many excuses and say that you faked your death

➠ deep down he knows your gone but he keeps taking a pill every time he thinks about reality

➠ the drugs never help though as much as he takes them

➠ it just makes him think about you more. like - all the time

➠ there will be times where he pretends to talk to you and acts like you're still there even if people look at him like he's crazy.

➠ doesn't listen to anybody who says you're dead and treats them like they're crazy

➠ cries during lights out especially when the drugs have worn off

➠ he just can't handle the fact you're truly gone. it all feels like one nightmare to him and he can't always keep up the confident act.

➠ he becomes very reckless after your death and his morals just take a turn for the worse

➠ You were like his anchor, the little voice in his head telling him what not to do or when to step back

➠ now, he doesn't have that, so he goes crazy

➠ If someone is responsible for your death, he makes their life incredibly difficult until they eventually die

➠ if nobody was responsible, he's just out to get everyone

➠ he needs an outlet to cope with the loss of you

➠ constant nightmares about you and he starts blaming himself eventually

➠ beats himself up about it constantly and will randomly mutter to himself like a crazy person

➠ (spoiler alert) when he dies, his last thoughts are you and how he regrets letting you die

➠ overall, can't handle your death and denies it for a long time

"..Who are you talking to?" Nam-gyu questions as he looks in the same direction as Thanos to try see if there's something he's not seeing. Thanos glances over at Nam-gyu and looks at him like he's a fucking idiot. He's obviously talking to you, was Nam-gyu blind? Thanos was annoyed at his question and let out a scoff before looking away and toward the wall again, pretending like you were very much sitting there with him. "I'm talking to her, obviously. Are you stupid?" Thanos spoke and Nam-gyu clicked his tongue in annoyance at Thanos's tone. He had half a mind to tell Thanos that you were dead but he knew it was pointless, This was just some shitty coping mechanism that would pass. He just stared at Thanos causing Thanos to look back again as he popped yet another pill into his mouth. "What? Do you need something right now or can you leave me and my girl alone?"

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Hey there!

This month felt endless, am I right? Can’t believe it’s finally over.

This is a list of all the fics I read in January, I started writing it at the beginning of the month so they are in chronological order based on when I read them.

There’s a lot of stories but I still feel like I haven’t read enough lol

I loved every single work on this list so I highly recommend for you to read them and give some love to authors! They’re unbelievably talented and bring so much joy to this fandom, someone even in my life but this is another story.

I put the link to the Masterlist for series, so you can see all the chapters, some of them are ongoing and some are finished.

Please mind the tags and warnings to make sure a story doesn’t trigger you and makes you uncomfortable, I’m not responsible for what you choose to read, only you are.

Happy reading!

❋ Consume - @sunshineispunk

Stepdad!Joel x reader , DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

❋ Liquid Gold - @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Joel Miller x f pregnant!reader x Tommy Miller

You are super pregnant and currently miserable after a third trimester issue crops up. You don’t know how to fix it, and Joel is determined to make you comfortable again. Will he come up with the right solution or are you going to spend the last few weeks of your pregnancy in awful pain? (Lactat!on kink)

❋ The First Time - @fettuccin-e

Frankie Morales x afab!reader

Size kink

❋ Mouthful - @pedgito

Joel miller x reader

Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

❋ Holiday Heat - @baronessvonglitter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Only one bed trope, grumpy x sunshine, age gap, strangers to lovers

Sharing a hotel room with a grumpy (and handsome) stranger while a storm makes travel inaccessible. What could possibly go wrong?

❋ The Warden - @arcanefox207

Joel Miller x f!reader - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.

❋ Quicksand - @javier-pena

Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

You meet a stranger at a party

❋ Borrowed Time - @aurorawritestoescape

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

❋ After hours - @mssalo

Sub!Joel x Dom f!reader

❋ Wandering Hands - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

Javi can't keep his hands off you during a dinner with some friends.

❋ Strangers - @joelmillerisapunk

Stripper!Javier Peña x f!reader

you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

❋ Law of Attraction - @baronessvonglitter (Series Masterlist link)

Dave York x f!reader - Romcom AU

Dealing with emotions is difficult when you and Dave realize how you really feel about each other. When a night in turns sour, you seek help from an unexpected source.

❋ Easy - @slowdivinqs

Joel Miller x f!reader

waking Joel up in the best way possible.

❋ Bad blood - @aurorawritestoescape (Series Masterlist link)

you want your stepdad and your step uncle offers to help

step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

❋ Never have I ever - @wannab-urs

Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy.

❋ My paramour, my evermore - A Joel Miller Story - @schnarfer (Knights and Kings AU)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

❋ Let's Go - @thundermartini DBF!Joel x f!reader

you decide to channel your inner party girl on this Friday night. But things won’t go as planned. You’ll get even more from this night than a dance in a club and free drinks from strangers. (Or, I just wanted a pretext to imagine bouncer!joel railing me in the back room of a club.

❋ Yes ma’am - @sizzlingcloudmentality

Dave York x dominatrix!reader

life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

❋ Untitled - @aurorawritestoescape

Joel’s twin x f!reader || 500 words

❋ Girl Dinner - @slimybeth69 Dead dove do not eat (Series Masterlist link)

Joel Miller x f!reader

After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

❋ Foxglove Downs - @whocaresstillthelouvre (Series Masterlist link)

Marcus Acacius x f!reader x Lucius Verus

In the exclusive realm of elite show jumping, where wealth stretches as far as the polished estates, Marcus Acacius and Lucius Verus are locked in a fierce competition that reaches far beyond the arena.

❋ No strings to hold me down - @baronessvonglitter

fwb!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Enjoying the freedom of being friends with benefits with Joel Miller, a new emotion flares when you see him out with someone much younger.

❋ What’s a Tomdaya? - @604to647

Modern!Pero Tovar x fem!reader

Pero regrets getting into a group chat with your friends

❋ Prisoner - @almostempty

f!reader x Din Djarin

this time our fav bounty hunter is the bounty and you're on a mission to capture him and claim your reward

❋ Final part of the neighbor series - Masterlist - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

❋ All the good girls go to hell - Masterlist - @aurorawritestoescape

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader

you can't stop thinking about your stepdad so you do something risky to have a little more of him. But Joel is not the "little more" kind of guy.

❋ Close-up - @milla-frenchy

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you

❋ El cumpleañero - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

❋ Reincarnated - @joelmillerisapunk

Joel Miller x f!reader

A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

❋ Leather and Lace - @probablyreadinsmut

Javier Peña x f!reader

Javier Peña is back in Loredo after retiring from the DEA. He's horny and looking for something new. That's when he finds you.

❋(Un)faithful - @probablyreadinsmut

Rbf!Javier x Married!Reader

Your marriage is lackluster, your sex life even more so. When your best friend Javier finds out, lines are crossed and lives are changed forever.

❋ some thoughts on hbf (husband's best friend) joel @baronessvonglitter / Drabble

❋ BDSMaid - @mountainsandmayhem (Series Masterlist link)

After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

[puck-luck]

patchwork hearts | nico hischier

warnings: unprotected p in v, chatgpt-level swiss german (since google translate doesn’t have swiss german. only regular german. f u google translate), angst i guess (argument), make-up sex, pretty vanilla all in all, oral f!receiving, fingering.

pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader

request: Reader and Nico get into a fight before we leaves for away from away games in the west coast and they make up when he comes back (or while he is away). Request by @hockeygirl1328. thanks queen! sorry it took so long!!

wc: 3,345

The memory of the argument flashes through your mind when Nico’s face appears on your screen. It’s the cuddliest photo you’ve ever taken of him, scruff in full form and hair messy, but that still doesn’t improve your mood. Just before he left for this road trip, you’d gotten into a massive fight about his constant travel. You love Nico, so much, but he’s always gone. It’s your first season together and the adjustment from Summer Nico to Season Nico has been really difficult.

Maybe you were being selfish, but you didn’t want to miss Nico for another week. He comes home for a few days, then leaves for a few more. The cycle repeats over and over again and there’s not enough time for you and Nico to establish a routine. There’s not enough time for you to even see Nico some days, which is just disheartening. Your boyfriend is basically a half-version of himself and, most of the time, it feels like his only priority in life is hockey. You don’t even rank.

Nico’s words had hurt, even though you know in your heart that he was right. It was just excessive, the way he’d dug his claws into you with only a few words. 

As the phone rings out, you hear the echo of what he said. “You knew what this life was when we got together. I don’t have time for a constant guilt trip every time I leave!”

“I didn’t sign up to be an afterthought,” you’d fought back.

“Not everything is about you, you know,” Nico snapped. “The world doesn’t revolve around you– my world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His eyes had grown immediately wide and his jaw had dropped, like he couldn’t believe he just said that. You couldn’t believe he’d said that. The argument ended immediately– only because there was nothing you could muster up in reply. 

You hadn’t broken up with Nico for the mere statement, although you’ll admit that it crossed your mind. Instead, you’d sat in place as Nico’s many apologies fell on deaf ears. You felt almost catatonic as he’d kenlt down in front of you and tried to gauge your reaction, touching your knee with a gentle nudge. He’d wiped away the tears that leaked from your eyes, even though you’d tried to turn away from his touch. 

You’d slept over that night because you hadn’t felt you were able to move. The shock kept you in place. Nico had tucked you into his bed and relegated himself to the couch. When you woke up and you’d finally felt able to move, ready to face the boy, he was gone. There was a note on the door and a message left on your phone, both of which said roughly the same thing: that Nico was sorry he had to go, but he couldn’t stay. You knew why, of course. It was time for his California roadie. As much as you felt like an afterthought at times, you aren’t unreasonable. You know that he has to travel for his job. 

You’re still hurt, to be fair. No matter how many times Nico apologized after dropping that bomb, it continues to cut at you and pop up in your mind whenever he calls. You’ve answered twice over the duration of the roadie, but the conversations had felt stilted and forced. After the last call, just over a day ago, Nico had asked if he could come over to your apartment and see you when he got back. 

You think that he was calling a moment ago because he made it back to the Prudential Center and would be driving to your place soon. Your palms are a bit sweaty knowing that Nico is on the way. You don’t want to fight with him again and you have a feeling that he doesn’t want to fight either, but you know it’s not resolved.

You take the time before Nico arrives to calm yourself. You get a glass of water, you grab a handful of your favorite snack, and you sit on the couch to watch a bit of TV.

He calls again a few minutes later. This time, you answer.

“Hi, Nico,” you greet, voice quiet.

“Hi, I’m downstairs,” Nico says. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here before I come up.”

“Okay, Nee. I’ll see you soon.” You pull the phone away fom your ear and end the call, standing up to unlock your front door. You return to the couch and when he knocks, you call out to tell him that it’s open.

Nico comes through the door and toes off his shoes. “How was your day?” Nico asks, coming over to the couch to join you. 

“Not bad. I went to work and the gym and then I came home,” you reply. You attempt a smile at Nico when he sits on the couch and circles his fingers around your ankle, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “How was California?”

“I missed you,” Nico says. “It was hard to focus on the games when I was thinking about you. I’m sorry I left after the fight. I wish I hadn’t needed to go. I wanted to stay and make things better.”

The breath leaves your chest in a deep sigh. “It was unfortunate timing.”

“I know,” Nico agrees, nodding. “It gave me a little time to think about what to say to you, which is nice. I know I can’t really make up for what happened last week, but–” Nico takes your hand and grasps it. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t a priority for me. You are. You’re a huge part of my life and I wouldn’t be anywhere without you, supporting me and cheering me on and being there for me every day. I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate of your feelings.”

You almost want to cry again after hearing him spout this heartfelt apology. Nico sits in front of you and waits, blinking patiently and chewing on his lower lip while you take in his words. The lines under his eyes are deep and you can tell that he lost sleep over something this past week, likely this incident if his words have any truth to them. You nod and reach forward, cradling Nico’s face in your hands. “I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you tell Nico. “I know you can’t help that hockey is such a big part of your life. I know you don’t mean to put me on the backburner. I just felt a little neglected and I’m sorry that I accused you of making me an afterthought.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize because of how you feel,” Nico says. He slides his arm down to your waist. “I was caught up in everything else in my life and didn’t give you the attention you deserve. I never want to make you feel that way again.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I know you won’t.” You lean in and press a chaste kiss to Nico’s lips. After kissing him, you shuffle forward and tuck yourself against his chest. 

Nico pulls you onto his lap and cradles you there, kissing the top and side of your head. He touches as much of your body as he can, rubbing your back and your arms, your waist and your thighs. You breathe together, leaning against each other, and taking in the presence of the other person.

“Please let me show you how much I love you,” Nico requests after a few minutes, caressing your sides and looking at you with his big, brown eyes. “And how sorry I am for acting like I don’t care. I care, babe, I care so much.” He drops a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek. “Please.”

You don’t reply, but you turn your head and find his lips. You touch the scuff on Nico’s face, which he seems to have shaved over his roadie, but it’s starting to grow back. His hair is at risk of being deemed “too long” in his own opinion, so you touch the strands reverently, knowing that they’ll be gone sooner than later. 

“Let me take care of you,” Nico murmurs, dipping down to brush a kiss over your jawline. 

“Okay,” you whisper back, touching the side of Nico’s neck and the curve of his bicep. 

He fits his strong palms under your thighs, lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to distract Nico on his walk to the bedroom. You might still be a little sad about what Nico said a week ago, but the apology worked well enough that you’re trying to let it go. 

Nico lays you on the bed, kissing down your body and undressing you as he goes. His touch is loving, almost overwhelmingly so. He removes his shirt and settles between your legs, kissing from your calf to the inside of your knee, up your thigh and all the way to your hip bone. 

The only sound that fills the room is the shared sigh of relief when Nico connects with your core. As his tongue flattens and licks a stripe up your slit, Nico’s eyes flutter shut and his hands fix on your hips to pull you closer. 

Ninety percent of the time, Nico gets ravenous when he’s eating you out. Today is different. 

His tongue trails through your folds. The tip of the muscle traces every inch of your cunt before he even considers pressing closer. Nico takes his time– he savors the taste of your slick. “Mm, liebste,” Nico groans. “You taste so good.” 

He works his tongue against your cunt, licking around the rim of your entrance before flicking further inside. One of his hands comes to your front, thumb contacting your clit and rubbing soothing circles over it. His other hand travels underneath your body and you let out a startled gasp when his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, dragging you even closer.

He’s systematic and precise, kitten licking at your insides. He focuses on one part of your body, then another– in this case, he goes from your hole to wrapping his all-consuming lips around your clit and suckling. 

His index finger finds your entrance and soothes the smooth ring, drawing circles over the outline of your most intimate area before you lift your hips into his touch. You’re silently asking for more and Nico understands that, gently pushing his finger inside. Just like with his mouthwork, he’s slow and attentive. 

The pad of Nico’s fingertip feels out your inner walls, welcoming the hug of your cunt around his digit eagerly and repaying you by trying to find that spot inside of you, the one that always makes you see stars. 

His hair has started to fall messily over his forehead, brushing his eyebrows. You find the strands with your hands, clutching at them and moving his head where you need it to be– for all intents and purposes, you keep him mostly aligned with your clit, but the movement of his head provides a friction that pure suction could not offer.

As you do this, his middle finger pokes at your entrance. The first knuckle disappears inside you with little resistance, then Nico starts to work on opening you up. His fingers scissor inside of you, spearing against the gummy ridges of your muscle, preparing you for his cock. 

You clench down a bit at the thought of his member, pleas for the length on the tip of your tongue. You know Nico is thinking about fucking you too, just based on the way he rolls his hips against the mattress and hums. 

He releases your clit from between his lips, which draws a whine of protest from you. Nico chuckles quietly and turns his head, planting a kiss on your inner thigh. Then, he dips his head and twists his wrist so that his palm faces upward. Nico licks between his two fingers, his eyelids open just enough that you can see how he looks up at you and takes you in. 

Nico draws away from your pussy only to ask, “Chunsch du, schatz?” 

He’s teasing you, plucking at an inside joke from when you felt you were brave enough to try to learn Swiss German. Thinking it would be sweet, you’d tried your hand at talking Nico’s native tongue in bed, but your words had just seemed too formal. Still, it’s something you can laugh over. Nico loves to parrot your effort at “Are you coming?” back at you, always smiling fondly when he does.

He’s worked his tongue back between his fingers, looking up at you with raised eyebrows. He waits for you to answer his question, sure to bump his nose against your clit when you open your mouth, so that you produce a moan instead of a sentence. Nico giggles at his little joke, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling. He brings his mouth to your clit and kisses over the bud, steadily pumping his fingers to really bring you to orgasm.

You whimper when he works a third thick finger into your entrance, stuffing you full. You know it’s necessary since his cock is also thick, but there’s a dull ache at the first stretch that has you writhing on the bed. 

“I know, I know,” Nico soothes, lathing kiss after kiss to your sensitive center. “But I have to get you all open for me, baby. So you feel good later, hm?” He bends his knuckles and comes into contact with your sweet spot, the rush of pleasure making your back arch involuntarily. Nico notices this and grins, eyes determined and set on continuing this feeling for you.

Your noises grow more slurred with each touch of his fingertips to your walls, especially when he flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit. He’s still teasing you, dangling the climax just out of reach with the way he’ll overwhelm your clit with his tongue and then slow down, licking flat stripes along the parts of your slit that he can reach. 

“Nico,” you lament with a frown when he pulls away again, just as you were about to come.

“Sorry,” Nico apologizes with a crinkle-eyed smile. He captures your clit and keeps his mouth there, beckoning his fingers and creating a vacuum around the bundle of nerves at the apex of your vagina. This time, he doesn’t let up– he goes and goes and goes until your hands have found their way back to his hair and pull so hard that there’s a stinging sensation along Nico’s scalp.

He allows his eyes to drift shut again, free hand dancing up your body until he finds your tits, finally giving them the attention that he feels they deserve. With a few harsh gropes, a pinch or two to your nipple, and even a tug at your chest, you’re unraveling over Nico’s digits and making your situation very well known to your neighbors.

“Bravo, süsse,” Nico praises over the heaving of your chest. He stays in contact with your center, but slows his movements to something that keeps you teetering on the precipice of pleasure rather than in the throws of it. “Do you think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you rasp out, reaching for Nico and catching him by his biceps. You coax him forward, palms sliding up to his jawline. You lick over the seam of Nico’s lips and taste yourself already, the flavor of your cum only growing stronger when Nico parts his lips and slides his tongue against yours. “Fuck me, Nico.”

“Mm, hase, I’m not going to fuck you,” Nico corrects. “I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to take care of me.”

While you were ready to protest the first part of his statement, your mouth quickly snaps shut when he finishes speaking. You lay back against the pillows, propping your head up, and you bring Nico with you. His body blankets yours, shifting atop you as he tries to remove his bottoms with one hand. His other roams on your torso, stroking the curves of your sides and stomach.

“So schön,” Nico murmurs.

“So beautiful,” you repeat, thumbing over his cheekbone. 

Nico reaches between your bodies and lines himself up with your entrance. Just like before, he moves slowly. He moves with purpose. You can feel every inch of Nico’s length as it sinks into you. 

When you roll your head back to let out a soft moan, Nico seizes the opportunity to paint a series of open-mouthed kisses on your neck. “I love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. He rolls his hips, filling you further. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, hands scrambling for purchase on the expanse of his back when Nico’s tip brushes against the cartilaginous wall of your cervix. He knocks against that wall again on his next thrust forward, only drawing out about halfway before snapping forward suddenly. 

Regardless of how he fills you, his movements are still tinged with reverence and tenderness. Nico holds you like something that will break under the pressure of his fingertips, but he’s still desperate to keep you close. He’ll let his hips fall flush with yours and remain there sometimes, then other times he’ll roll and snap his hips like your lives depend on it. 

You know that there was once an argument between you, but all that matters is the fact that Nico is here and he’s doing exactly what he promised he’d do: take care of you.

His hand finds your arm, then trails up to your wrist. He presses your wrist into the cushion above your head, but doesn’t stop there. He brings his fingers up to your palm, tracing over the lines that represent your love and your life. He slots his fingers between yours and intertwines your fingers, holding your hand tight as he continues to thrust into you. He repeats the same process on the other side, until both of your hands are wrapped in his. He pins you to the bed, but you feel only safe and secure, not trapped in the slightest. 

“You’re so tight around me, baby,” Nico says, ending his statement with a kiss. His voice is low and rough, breathless and nearly spent due to the tango you’re performing now. “Gonna fill you up, fill you ‘til all of my love is dripping out of you.”

You were already overwhelmed, but when he said that– and then nibbled your bottom lip after– you feel a dam break inside of you. You come suddenly and without warning, jaw dropping. A high keen falls from your mouth, only to be met with a coo from Nico and a deep grunt as he continues to fuck into your even tighter entrance. 

The squeeze of your cunt around Nico’s cock is enough to make him come too, the white spurts of cum filling your hole just like he’d promised. You can feel Nico trembling a bit from the aftershocks, your chest meeting his as you arch up into his touch and he deflates from exhaustion. He covers you just like a warm comforter and kisses you lazily, both of you wanting to stay connected after such an intense reunion.

You feel satiated, calm and happy that Nico came to you when he returned instead of going home and basking in the misery of the argument from a week prior. You certainly feel better now, after having gone through the throes of that low point in your relationship.

“Mm,” Nico hums, like he remembered something suddenly. His head tilts and he kisses along the crook of your neck. “During the break in February, I thought you’d like to come home with me. We can have a little couples vacation at home, just you and me. How does that sound?”

“Amazing, Nico,” you tell him, smoothing his hair beneath your fingertips. “That sounds amazing.”

note: read a stoner!nico fic recently that Cece reblogged and I tweaked. thinking of y'all! i think you'll see nico a lot sooner on this blog than you expect... perhaps a little "nico x ____ x reader".....

[crushmeeren]

༝ ᭝ ༝ ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU — PART TWO ༝ ᭝ ༝

⤷ ⋆ ft. itachi uchiha ⋆

⋆ note ; here is part two! this part is centered around the first time reader has sex with itachi (it’s mediocre, but 100% consensual) — which you can totally skip, a fluffy moment or two between pregnant reader and itachi, some reader and sasuke friendship, plus itachi’s perspective and an important convo with shisui!

⋆ note x 2 ; as always, credit for this idea goes to @majesticflyingwalrus !

‣ ‣ ‣ master list ‣ ‣ ‣ PART ONE

Is sex supposed to be this dull?

Surely not.

Within your clan’s compound you recall sex often being spoken highly of. Giggles and hushed whispers surrounding a forbidden pleasure chased after by so many of the young men and woman living there. Even the ones you’d considered close friends.

It seems your hopes had been aimed too high. Or perhaps that’s too pessimistic. Maybe sex will improve, this is, after all, only the first time you’ve given yourself to Itachi.

Little foreplay was involved as you stripped bare and laid down on the bed. A few brief kisses in the beginning, Itachi’s mouth tasting of the matcha tea he’d drank before. Lips pressed along the line of your throat once or twice, coaxing your lower belly to burn, but it hadn’t progressed much past that. Itachi stroked himself to full hardness before you could get your hand on his cock, assuring you he preferred to do it.

That stung.

In the present, cool cotton sheets bunch up in your curled fingers, thighs spread open wide by Itachi’s palms. The push and pull of his cock stretches your pussy better than your fingers ever could, prickles of pleasure gathering in your pelvis, tickling the base of your spine.

But the atmosphere holds an awkward edge to it. Besides the occasional flickers of heat, the tension is all consuming.

Itachi downright refuses to look you in the eyes. Each time you lift your chin to peak at his face his gaze darts to the side, biting the tip of his tongue in what appears to be concentration. Or discomfort.

It’s hard to read your husband.

There’s no sweet words directed your way. No real passion in the way Itachi moves, thrusts remaining at a steady pace the entire time, somewhat robotic.

You give up trying to catch his eye, redirecting your attention to his stomach. The lean muscles flex and roll under the strain of his hips. It’s surprising how erotic the view is, catching you off guard, and hot desire forces your pussy to clench tight around Itachi. His breath hitches and a low moan spills out. You look up in time to watch his mouth part and a pink tongue dart out to lick across his upper lip.

“Itachi,” you breathe, his pleasure spurring on your own. You lock eyes and his lids are halfway shut, brows pinching together.

His pace slows. “Is everything alright? Have I hurt you?” His voice is rougher than usual.

“No.” You shake your head. “I just..” you trail off, unsure whether to spill your guts about how hot he sounded a moment ago. You opt to keep silent, refusing to make him uncomfortable with your desire. With the tension he’s been carrying since the start, it’s obvious he wants this to be over with as quick as possible. “It’s nothing, keep going.”

He doesn’t thrust any faster, considering your words. “Are you being honest with me?”

The question surprises you. “I’m being honest. Please Itachi, I don’t want you to stop.”

Itachi continues to see straight through you, like you’re made of glass.

“Okay,” he relents, tone conveying how little he believes you. “I’ll be swift, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable any longer.” It feels like an apology as one of his hands comes up to cradle the side of your face. You push into the touch, eager for a shred of his affection.

His palm is warm, and the lump in your throat is difficult to swallow, eyes squeezed shut in the face of his words. You’re the furthest thing from uncomfortable. You’re happy to get the chance to connect with him so intimately. His dick is incredible, and you wish he’d explore more with you to find what made you both dizzy with lust.

But he doesn’t want that.

Itachi is a gentleman through and through. After it’s over, he stays behind to help you relax. He brings back a warm wash cloth and draws you a bath, aware that you’d be sore after having sex for the first time. He guides you by the hand, allowing you to use him as leverage to step into the bath and sink into the water.

“I put some of my salts in the bath. It helps with soreness,” he explains, fingers untangling from yours as you find a comfortable position and sigh in relief.

You stare up at him, a grateful smile on your face. “Thank you, Itachi.” You chew on your bottom lip, heart skipping a beat as you consider your next question. “Would you care to join me?”

Itachi’s answering smile is so sweet it’s unfair, eyes soft and longing. “Perhaps another time, I’ve got some business to attend to.”

You choose to focus on the water, fingertips breaking the surface and diving below. You don’t want him to see your disappointment. “I understand. Another time, then.”

Itachi lingers but you refuse to look at him. His apologetic demeanor will just make it worse. He leaves things unsaid between you, and the pit in your stomach threatens to weigh you down until you’re dragged below the surface.

Things…change after you find out you’re pregnant. Not for worse, for the better, and it surprises the hell out of you. Itachi, who you assumed would keep his lukewarm attitude, becomes more intertwined in your life. Carrying out small gestures to show he cares and pays attention to your needs.

During the second trimester is when the worst of your cravings hit.

The little Uchiha baby in your belly is now the size of an avocado, the obvious bump making it known you’re carrying Itachi’s heir. She’s growing bigger by the day and you’re sure it’s her fault your sweet tooth is aching, begging for sugary treats.

Well, to be fair, you’re unable to prove she’s a she at this point, as Itachi has pointed out several times, but intuition promises otherwise.

Either way, full fledged dreams of warm, chewy chocolate chip cookies have plagued you all week. It’s driving you up the wall, and today not a single thing will get in the way of baking the perfect batch.

You’d ruined them the previous couple times, flour scattered all over the counters as if a tornado swept through. First, it was the wrong type of butter, then you set the timer wrong and they were a bit overbaked. Simple mistakes, but they change the entire outcome of the cookie. Itachi found you after the second time standing at the island, tears falling all over the ruined sweets.

Third times the charm, though.

The sound of soft slippers meeting hard wood fills the otherwise empty hallway, your palm lifting to rest at the top of your belly. Your hand follows the curve of it, ending at the underside as you journey slowly towards the kitchen.

Rounding the last corner, stepping into the kitchen with intention, you halt mid step when you notice you’re not alone. The outline of Itachi’s back greets you, long hair tied into a braid, flowing like a waterfall down to his waist. He’s standing at the counter fiddling with something you’re unable to see.

“So, you’ve escaped clan business for the afternoon?”

“Oh!” Itachi startles, jumping about a foot in the air. He whips around to face you, a mixing bowl cradled tight to his chest with one arm. “Goodness, you scared me!” Itachi places his free hand over his chest, settling his racing heart. “Yes, I’ve managed to excuse myself for the rest of the day,” he answers, glaring half heartedly.

You take a few steps closer, lips lifting in amusement. “That’s great, but what brings you to the kitchen?” You nod towards the mixing bowl in question. “It’s not often I find you here.”

His eyes flicker between you and the bowl. “I thought I’d attempt to bake cookies,” he explains, somewhat sheepish. “For you.”

Your eyebrows raise, cheeks heating up. “For me?”

Itachi nods, shifting to set the mixing bowl on the counter. “For you. For our baby,” he confirms. His expression is warm and words stick to the inside of your throat. “After the last time I’m convinced you’re in desperate need of my help.”

You ignore the insult to your baking skills, becoming a whirlwind of emotions as your eyes sting with oncoming tears. “Itachi!” You cry, surging forward to wind your arms around his waist, baby bump keeping you from fully connecting. “That’s so sweet!”

Your husband chuckles and hugs you in return, rubbing your upper back as he does. “I’m happy to do this for you. You’re growing our baby, you deserve to be waited on hand and foot.”

Itachi’s words continue to be confusing. They’re so sincere, so meaningful, and sometimes you convince yourself they’re could be more than friendship in your marriage. The threat of rejection, however, of crumbling your new life, squeezes your heart, and you stay silent instead of asking for more.

A moment passes before Itachi unravels from the hug, holding your shoulders and pushing you backwards, promising this time the cookies will be perfect.

And they are.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Fall has arrived in full force. With it comes gloomy skies, shorter days, and a sharp chill that bites at your cheeks and fingertips. Your hesitation to go on daily walks grows more powerful by the hour. Being six months pregnant takes it’s toll on your lower back and feet. The cold makes it a hundred times worse.

Sasuke’s been too busy to join you as of late. Itachi may be head of the clan but Sasuke is still saddled with his fair share of duties. So you’ve been going alone. The scenery is still beautiful, leaves coloring to burnt oranges and rustic reds — it’s just much more boring without your friend’s occasional commentary and snide remarks. Or the gossip he fills you in on.

Dusk is approaching within the next hour or so, and you’ve resigned yourself to the fact it’s better overall for your health and the baby’s if you don’t skip out on walking.

One more layer should suffice to fight off the chill, so you slip on an extra long sleeve underneath, finishing the outfit by zipping up a thick fluffy coat and adjusting a scarf around your neck.

The door slides shut behind you, feet guiding you in the direction of the well worn path you wander each day. Shivering, you stuff your hands in your pockets, taking only a handful of steps before a familiar voice calls out your name. Your head perks up, twisting left to see Itachi striding your way. His hair is windswept, a few strands whipping in front of his face, cheeks rosy from the cold.

He looks oh so handsome.

“Where are you off to?” Itachi asks when he gets close. The sweet smile he wears gives you the sensation that the clouds have parted and warm sun now shines on your face.

“I was just about to go for my walk.”

He hums, unable to hide the slight bitterness to his tone when he asks, “Without Sasuke?”

You laugh, amused, and nod. “Yes, he’s quite busy today.”

“I see.” He pauses. “Well, would you be opposed if I accompanied you and our baby girl instead? I am not fond of the idea of you two going alone,” he says, serious and steady.

“We’d love for you to join us.” It’s a conscious effort to speak through the butterflies in your belly. You turn and begin walking once more, Itachi falling in step beside you. “Besides, I believe Mio has missed you today, she settled down as soon as she heard your voice.”

“Just Mio? Nobody else?” Itachi teases, arm swaying with his footsteps, hand bumping against yours. Your heart thumps in your throat.

Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, you will your cheeks not to flush. “Maybe I have too,” you say softly, the koi pond you and Sasuke visit often coming into view.

“I’ve missed you both,” he admits. Itachi’s hand keeps touching yours, and the urge to lace your fingers together is so strong it aches.

So you change the subject. “Do you mind if we sit for a moment? My back is starting to hurt.” You gesture towards the bench near the pond, altering your pathway.

“Of course. Do we need to return home? Are you able to continue walking?” Itachi arrives at the bench first, rounding it and waiting to offer you an arm to sit you down with ease.

“No, no I’m alright, Itachi,” you reassure, leaning back with a sigh. “I appreciate your concern. She just seems to grow bigger by the day and continuously play kickball against my ribs.”

Itachi laughs, sitting down beside you. He leaves enough space between you to be courteous. You wish he’d get closer, help you fight off the chilly wind.

There’s idle chatter detailing your days, Itachi asking what he needs to do next to help get Mio’s room ready. You get caught up on boring clan business. Spending any sort of quality time with Itachi, listening to the smooth, low cadence of his voice, drains the tension from your shoulders and fills you with light.

Too soon you rise from the bench to finish your walk, the sunset bleeding into the sky.

The silence on the way home is comforting. You’re able to enjoy Itachi’s presence next to you with no interruptions. His hand, as if it never ceased, continues its pattern of knocking into yours. As you’re about to shove your hand in your pocket to stop the torture he breaks the quiet.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I cannot stop myself from wanting to hold your hand. Is that alright?”

When you look at him he’s already staring, undivided attention settled entirely on you, and it sends a shock down your spine. “I — yes. You don’t have to ask, I’d never be uncomfortable with that.”

Itachi hits you with another warm grin and your insides melt under the pressure. Slender fingers lace through yours, gently squeezing, and you wonder if Itachi notices the heavy beat of your heart through your fingers.

Conversation flows between you once more on the way home, and it’s not until later that evening you realize holding Itachi’s hand had chased off the bitter chill of the wind. You hadn’t felt cold at all.

“Your brother drives me crazy.”

You sit down next to Sasuke with a huff, couch creaking as Mio squirms in your arms. She reaches her tiny, chubby arms out for her uncle the moment she sees him, cooing in delight.

Sasuke snorts, sparing you a glance as he accepts the seven month old baby with ease. “My brother drives me crazy.” The smile on his face is genuine, eyes soft and happy as he says something unintelligible to his niece. “What did the princess do this time?” He doesn’t look at you while he speaks, distracted by Mio smacking his cheek.

For a moment all you can do is rub your eyes with the heels of your palms and sigh. You lower them to your lap, scanning the living room and all the baby toys scattered about, just begging to be tripped on.

You shift your gaze back to the adorable sight of your daughter and Sasuke. “Does Itachi love me?”

“Yes,” Sauske answers, tone suggesting you’re an idiot for thinking otherwise.

You frown and shove his shoulder. “Don’t say it like I’m stupid. I know Itachi loves me, but I’m asking if he’s in love with me.”

Sasuke’s shoulders tense up, eyeing you from his peripheral. “Are you in love with him?” He fires back. Mio leans forward and rests her face in the crook of his neck, chunky little fingers fisting his shirt as her eyes start to slip shut. She missed her afternoon nap.

“Sasuke!” You throw your hands up in the air. “You already know I am! Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

“How should I know? I’m not Itachi’s keeper.”

“You’re his little brother.”

“Way to point out the fuckin’ obvious.”

You let out a frustrated noise and relent trying to squeeze the answer from him. He does this every time. Instead, you rest your temple on his shoulder, head heavy with sudden fatigue. Mio sleeps soundly on Sasuke’s chest.

“Whatever, don’t tell me.”

Sasuke sighs as if this the most irritating conversation he’s ever had the misfortune of being apart of. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I can’t just ask him,” you whine. “It’s so difficult to read him. His actions confuse me. Sometimes I swear he feels the same. Other times it’s as if we’ll never go further than friends, cursed to live as roommates.”

“Wow, you can’t read the queen of neutrality’s thoughts? I’m shocked. Truly.” Sasuke’s rolling his eyes, you’re sure of it.

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

A soft knock on the frame of the living room draws your attention, cutting off any snarky answer Sasuke could have replied with.

“Am I interrupting something?” Itachi asks, raising an eyebrow when you meet his sour gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest.

You lift your head off Sasuke’s shoulder with a yawn, shaking your head. “No,” you answer, pulling a leg up underneath you. “Sasuke’s being a dick, and Mio’s napping on said jerk’s chest because she missed her’s earlier.”

Itachi’s features smooth out, a hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “So everything is as usual then?”

“Hey!” Sasuke protests, loudly, and Mio stirs in his arms.

“Sasuke,” Itachi scolds, shooting him a stern look that he’s only putting on to get a rise out of his little brother. “Don’t wake my daughter, please.”

You join Itachi in picking on Sasuke. “Yeah Sasuke, quit being so loud. Haven’t you ever heard of an inside voice? You may be Mio’s favorite uncle now but you won’t be if you wake her up from her nap.”

Sasuke grinds his teeth together. He supports Mio’s bottom with one arm, hugs her tight to his chest with the other, and stands up. “Fuck off, I’m her only uncle. I’m taking your daughter and never coming back,” he threatens, striding forward and glaring at his brother as he passes him by.

You and Itachi share a grin. “Bring her back before her bedtime please!” Itachi calls out over his shoulder, the front door slamming shut after Sasuke. His pathetic threat is just an excuse to take Mio on a walk and show her the flowers once she wakes up, visit his Mother, and then return her before bedtime. It’s become a pattern.

Itachi steps closer and offers you a hand. You accept, letting him pull you to your feet. “Now that the little demon is occupied, interested in making dinner with me?” You start heading to the kitchen.

Itachi trails behind you. “Sasuke or Mio? They both share a demonic energy.”

You laugh, smiling at him over your shoulder. “I can’t argue with that. Although, I think Mio gets it from him.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

Itachi ends up cooking something while you watch. He told you he had a new recipe he wanted to try out and he looked so excited you couldn’t refuse.

Sasuke returns Mio, a little bundle of energy, back to you about an hour later.

Your husband joins you in giving her a bath and reading to her until she’s down for the night. Then the two of you linger in her doorway, your least favorite part of the evening upon you. The part that’s just past awkward as you trade goodnight’s with Itachi and retreat to separate bedrooms.

One day, you hope, Itachi will join you in your bed instead of leaving you to sleep alone.

It’s late in the afternoon on Mio’s first birthday when Shisui finds Itachi sulking.

The party is long over, sun shining bright in a blue, cloudless sky, and Itachi sits on the edge of his porch, feet tucked underneath himself. He watches his baby girl play with you and his little brother in the yard, careless and free. Mio squeals with laughter when a butterfly touches her hand, filling Itachi’s chest with affection.

Itachi notices Sasuke say something to you, making your head tilt back with a laugh. He’s out of earshot, unaware of what’s been said, but it brings a well known jealousy to the forefront. It’s become an old friend at this point.

Someone sits down beside Itachi with enough force that the wooden porch protests under them, a hand landing on his shoulder. Itachi holds in an exasperated sigh. He knows it’s Shisui without even looking.

“What’s with the kicked puppy expression? It’s unlike you to pout,” Shisui says, kicking his feet where they hang over the edge.

Itachi frowns and shakes Shisui’s hand from his shoulder. “That is not what I’m doing.”

“Okaayy,” he drags out the word. “So you’re jealous then, gotcha.” Shisui nods to himself.

Itachi’s eyebrow twitches. “Jealous of Sasuke? Why would I be jealous of my own little brother?”

Shisui snickers. “I didn’t even say his name, Itachi! And if you’re not, why are you staring at him with enough force to burn a hole into the side of his head?”

Itachi has no leg to stand on, caught red handed. “That’s, I’m not — I am not jealous of Sasuke, Shisui.”

“You’re lying Itachi. I know you too well, cousin,” Shisui teases, leaning in close to poke him in the cheek.

Itachi ignores the other man, staring without blinking as you stand up straight, Mio supported on your hip. You smile sweetly at him once he catches your gaze and his belly does flips. You whisper in your daughter’s ear and point at him. Mio grins, face lighting up, and reaches out for her daddy, oblivious to how far away he’s actually sitting.

Itachi’s breath catches, seeing the sun surround you with a warm glow, and he feels as though he’s never seen colors so vibrant and vivid before in his life. You hold the beauty of an Angel, and he’s so so lucky you’re his wife. The Mother of his child.

It doesn’t hit Itachi all at once. No, falling in love with you has crept up on Itachi over the past few years. Burrowing deep in his heart and growing like a well watered plant.

“Shisui,” he says softly, waiting for the other man to reply with a hum. “I’m in love with her.”

Shisui almost falls off the porch in shock. He knew Itachi was in love, he just never believed he’d confess to it out loud. “You haven’t been hiding that secret very well, cousin.” He bumps his shoulder playfully against Itachi’s. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What if it’s not reciprocated?”

Shisui’s laughter bursts from him. He holds his stomach and curls in half, creating such a spectacle that you and Sasuke look to them with concern. Itachi’s cheeks are surely flushed from embarrassment. He lifts one hand in a lame attempt to wave as Shisui sobers up.

You wave back, setting Mio in the ground. Sasuke holds one of her hands and you take the other, helping her walk across the grass to the porch. Itachi’s heart rate picks up, praying that Shisui doesn’t slip up and give him away.

As soon as you’re within reach Itachi slides off the porch and crouches down, arms open wide to accept Mio. She wiggles her hands free and reaches forward, closing the last tiny bit of distance with wobbly steps before falling into his chest. Itachi scoops her up with ease, rising to his full height.

“Hello my little cherry blossom,” he coos, resting his forehead on hers. She giggles and places her hands on his cheeks, squishy them together before she presses a kiss to his chin. Then Mio wraps her arms around his neck and pillows her cheek on his shoulder.

He loves her so much he could cry.

“She’s tired,” you comment, sending him warm smile. You place a hand on Itachi’s bicep and squeeze. “It’s been a long afternoon, I’m sure she’d benefit from a nap.”

“I could use a nap, I ate way too many sweets!” Shisui says, joining the small circle the four of you have formed.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Sasuke mumbles.

Shisui pouts. “Rude! Sasuke, you’re the one —,”

“Before this escalates further, I’m going to put Mio down for a nap,” Itachi cuts him off.

You crowd in close and kiss Mio on the forehead. “That’s a good idea, thank you. Sasuke is going to help me put away leftover food.” You grin at Itachi with mischief in your eye, grabbing Sasuke’s arm to tug him towards the sliding door, ignoring his complaints. Itachi laughs and watches with fondness as the two of you disappear inside.

“Don’t be so ignorant, Itachi.”

Itachi whips his head towards Shisui, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Pardon me?”

Shisui rolls his eyes, tries to hold back a smile, but fails, and pats Itachi on the back. “I said, don’t be so ignorant. She loves you too, you’d be blind not to see it. You’ve been waiting all this time, struggling to come to terms with your feelings. Don’t you realize she’s been waiting just as long? Suffering just as long while you get your shit together?”

“I suppose the thought didn’t occur to me,” he answers lamely, shifting his weight and readjusting his grip on a sleeping one year old.

“Itachi I love you, but you’re so dense sometimes. Tell her the truth. You can spend the rest of your life making up for it.”

Itachi is unsure of what to say after that, leaving Shisui in the yard to retreat inside and put Mio down for her nap. Shisui’s right, and Itachi is overwhelmed with the urge to….to do something.

You‘ll be sharing a bed soon enough, he promises himself that.

what do we think?? part three will be the conclusion, so hope you all are excited as i am!

little taglist for all my peeps who commented on part one! if i did not tag you it’s because i could not verify that you were over 18 and this part has some 18+ stuff in it.

regardless, i want to thank everyone so much for your love and comments! (ˆ ̳ , ̫ , ̳ˆ)

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

| @biashellandflyashell | @misslovingpearl | @kurokawaia | @notgoodforlife | @lamplitesatnight | @mutsu422 | @melancholyshadow |

[yojeongin]

playing dangerous | k.dy

→bff’s stepdad!doyoung x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend turned 25 in February too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why haven't you eaten?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The latter makes him smile fondly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meghan wants puppets, not family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She would like you, he believes so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tina.

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

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

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

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

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

You simply hum, she giggles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mom?"

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

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

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

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

Meghan has gotten her confirmation for the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he was only a man and men are weak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will affect him…

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

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

Her mother or her best friend… her sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mourn.

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

It should be him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I bet." 

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[sillyuin]

Have you seen my cat?

Genre: fluff, meet cute.

Pairing: Minghao x reader.

Yuin's note: I would love to write and develop this idea further but idk, let me know what you think.

It had already been more than three days since the last time you knew anything about him. The apartment felt strange even though all your things were in the same place, but he wasn’t there, and you were already starting to notice the difference.

You sighed deeply, sinking into the living room couch and staring at the horizon through the window in front of you. The tall buildings partially blocked the sunset, while you, in the same way, felt like you were fading away. That gloomy feeling stayed with you until you went to sleep.

The next morning, you got up with new strength and decided to look after him, it didn't even matter that you didn't know where to start your searching. After a routine workday at the office, you returned with the search for his whereabouts. However, just like the previous days, there were no results.

Head down, you took a seat in the outside garden of some house, and as you watched the sunset of the fourth day without him, thick tears filled your eyes and you didn't bother holding them back. But then, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

That person cleared their throat. “Good afternoon, do you need anything?”

You jumped in your seat and tried to dry your tears. “I’m sorry, I just… I was tired.”

You looked up with a certain fear, thinking you’d meet the angry face of some man annoyed that a stranger was sitting in his property. However, you found a young man standing next to you, his face glowing with curiosity and innocence. For a moment, he reminded you of him…

 “I don’t want to bother you, but…” his voice was calm and gentle, “if you need help, you can tell me, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

He extended his hand toward you and offered a friendly smile before introducing himself. “My name is Xu Minghao, and I’m the owner of this nursery.”

You shook his hand and after saying your name in a whisper, you glanced toward the house behind you and your eyes couldn’t believe how such a beautiful garden had gone unnoticed by you.

Despite being your first time appreciating that magical place, you’d already heard his name (apparently quite popular in the small town) mentioned by your coworkers, as the couldn’t stop talking about the handsome young man who ran the old nursery a few blocks away, caring for the plants as if they were his own family.

But it wasn’t just his elegant demeanor or the way he smiled—there was something else that left you speechless and for a moment, he made you forget your intrusive thoughts. But it was only for a very brief moment…

You stood up and took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Excuse me… You…”

His gaze and his full attention were on you, and it made you a little anxious.

“It’s okay, I’m listening.”

“Have you seen my cat?”

Minghao tilted his head slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle. “Your cat?”

You rummaged through your bag, looking for your phone, and showed him your wallpaper. “This is my cat. He’s been missing for more than three days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be terrible for you.”

You didn’t respond, just lowered your gaze and nodded slowly. It was very difficult to put into words how much you missed his presence, coming home and being greeted by his purring, or the way he curls up with you for bedtime.

Small tears started to fill the corner of your eyes, and the last thing you wanted to do was to make that kind man feel uncomfortable with your presence, and before you could just run away, he spoke.

“Let me do something for you.”

“Something… for me?”

“Yes, let me help you,” he said, stepping back slightly and extending his hand as an invitation. “Come in.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m in a hurry, and…”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

You swallowed hard, thinking about how much you simply wanted to turn around and leave, but you nodded, and with some hesitation, stepped into the garden.

“I’ll give you a gift,” he explained, walking ahead of you, “to keep you company in these difficult times.”

You shrugged and made a slight grimace. “Thanks, but I’m not good at taking care of plants.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he turned to give you a smile, “I have a friend that I’m sure you can take care of.”

You gave a faint smile. “A… friend?”

Minghao said nothing, just gestured for you to come closer. When you took a few steps toward him, you heard a very familiar sound coming from nearby. Behind a flowerpot, a white, fluffy tail stretched out, and when you called his name, it revealed itself as a white cat that happily ran toward you.

“I was starting to worry about his owner,” Hao said to himself.

You were so happy to see him again—the only friend you had in that city—that you forgot about Minghao for a moment. “Don’t run off like that again, please,” you murmured, cuddling the cat in your arms. “I missed you so much, Vanilla.”

“I found him three days ago, sleeping on a sack of seeds” Hao explained. “And I guess he liked my food, because he didn't leave”.

“Thank you for taking care of Vanilla” you said with a bright smile, “He’s such a docile cat and I was afraid someone might have hurt him.”

“It was my pleasure to have his company. Actually, it made me think that I should adopt a cat for me.”

“Oh, can I go with you?” you blurted out, just to end up shrugging in shyness. “You know, I have one, and… I know a thing or two.”

Hao smiled and tilted his head slightly, his deep gaze resting on you with curiosity and perhaps, just perhaps, something a little further. “How about this weekend? At two in the afternoon”

You nodded slowly, unable to articulate a word. The silence lingered for a few seconds, during which the two of you simply held each other’s gaze, until you felt a soft warmth on your cheeks, trying your best not to smile.

“Saturday, at two!” you stammered as you walked towards the exit of the garden. “I’ll come pick you up!”

And as you turned to leave he called out your name, making you slowly turn on your heels.

“Remember to put an address on Vanilla’s collar,” Hao hesitated a little, “you know… If he comes by again… I know where to go.”

[corviiids]

hello! how do you find consistent friends in fandom? as in, how do you find people who stick with you through different fandoms and listen and read your work. also, how long have you been writing for and how long did it take you to get so good at writing and character analysis.... your work is such an inspiration to me, genuinely one of my top 3 authors across ao3. i hope the writing goes well!

hey! this is really sweet, thank you very much for your lovely kind words. 💖

re: friendship: i don't mean to be a downer about this so i hope it doesn't come across this way, but i do think the concept of friends where you follow each other through all your fandoms and continue to read each other's work etc kind of... either doesn't exist or is just a rare phenomenon and not a 'type' of friend per se more than it is something that just happens out of luck. i am lucky enough to have friendships which have persisted through all of us changing fandoms, but the reason those friendships last is actually because we found connections that went beyond common interests. i think sharing a fandom/interest is great as an initial point of connection and a way to meet, but for a relationship to last, you need to have a deeper bond than both being into the same thing--so contrary to what you've asked about (oops sorry) those friendships im speaking of only last because we didn't follow each other into different fandoms, really. we didn't have to. along the same vein, i'd respectfully argue that it wouldn't be productive or fair of me to group 'reading my work' in as an element of friendship, so to speak--i definitely don't expect my friends to read my fic and vice versa, we all understand that we can support each other in our creative pursuits and lives in general / in the abstract without needing to be a fan of the same things or even necessarily being fans of each other's work (although of course it's always nice). i know this doesn't really answer your specific question but i hope it doesn't come across as pessimistic as it might sound. i truly and genuinely believe it's a positive thing that the idealised friendgroup traipsing through fandoms together doesn't really exist (or if it does exist, it's luck and not something to shoot for in itself), because this just tells me to look out for these great opportunities to form bonds that last beyond superficial interests.

in terms of how to make those friendships to begin with, im honestly even less help. my friendships kind of just happened to me. im actually quite terrible at reaching out to people and i am notoriously difficult to reach myself hahaha so honestly all the credit for my friendships goes to my friends for being patient and sticking with me despite that. i am honestly just very lucky in that i've been able to talk out loud into the void and have had wonderful people reach out to me because of it, but that's hardly a reliable strategy... i guess i'd encourage you to be more like my friends, who are the anime protagonists wielding the power of friendship to my prickly antagonist, or whatever. oh another thing to remember i guess is that some friendships just don't last this way and will stay within fandoms and may peter out, and that's ok. i don't consider those relationships less real or valuable for being less lasting.

re: writing: i want to caveat that i don't think i'm fairly able to say (or comfortable saying) that i'm particularly good at writing or character analysis, certainly not to an extent that i'd be willing to hold myself up as an example of it, but i really appreciate that you feel that way about my work and am incredibly honoured to be considered an inspiration in any capacity!!

with that disclaimer made, i'll do my best to answer for whatever it's worth. i've liked writing ever since i was a very little kid, but i will credit any actual progress i've made in developing the skill to writing fanfic because i think that being able to focus on building character and logical flow in plot progression over other things like creating characters, worldbuilding, inventing plots wholesale, etc--which has allowed me to sort of expedite those skills in particular and which i think are helpful in writing more broadly. (this also answers the 'character analysis' part specifically--when you don't have to/get to invent a character, you have to spend more time taking them apart.) anyway, i started writing fic about twelve or thirteen years ago, and there have been periods within that where i've progressed faster or slower depending what's going on in my life haha. i do think time played a massive role in any skill developments i've made, but i also know people take less time or more time to make similar progress (caveat again: progression is subjective, this is very approximate), so i think the other key ingredient besides time is engagement. if it's helpful, i went into that a little bit more here, but as stated i have a lot more to learn and would never present myself as an expert lol

[betweenthescarletmoon]

hello fellow mutual from tiktok!!! I am so happy to see you put your thoughts here, i feel it was much harder for us to discuss jayce over there!

I agree with everything you said. A fourth act would've worked wonders for Every Character, not just him. And it does anger me so much that Jayce wasn't seen nor Written as a profound character because of s1. I wish i could have a talk with Christopher Linke about this

The idea that people can only like characters because they're attractive to lessen the load of digesting media is imo most likely the Editing Effect of inatagram and tiktok. It pains me to say but i do wonder if arcane came out by the time we as a generation watched AMVs and 7min edits on youtube instead (or at least i did). Maybe then people would have more profound thoughts on all the characters, including Vi, Jinx, Silco, Mel. And i am glad we can discuss things more over here, but it's still not as common to discuss and analyze as it used to be either.

You've mentioned one of my biggest gripes with fandom interpretation in the cave, WHO would debate bisexuality when they have nothing left but the crumbling inner workings of their mind, building the last comfort it can?? Thank you, i really like the idea that he also found himself resenting them, that is actually a much closer observation to how he Looks at them. I truly like that transition from his tears (which represent his old, vulnerable, sweet self) to that colder bitterness that guides him for the rest of the season (until we get the ending, which from a character narrative standpoint, doesn't make sense to me tbh).

Here's the thing, I've also placed myself in the difficult position of liking those thirst edits, saving them in a folder called "thirst traps" to keep them apart from my Real Jayce Folder, laughing at some of the "why trauma jayce kinda" and the like...while also deep down just feeling so empty and sad about it but feeling like there was nothing i could do about it? I don't wanna be dramatic but it Felt isolating. And maybe it does make me a hypocrite! Conformity and yadda yadda, but i cannot imagine that Jayce was designed to not be hot. I believe that was fully intentional, but i also thought that they were prioritizing his character. When i first saw act 2, i didn't know his agency would be obliterated and his arc ripped from his hands to place it solely on Viktor's. So now it feels even worse, that That is what the writers used him for too. And people are completely fine with it! They're so happy about the soulmates.

Your observations about him not stopping and being stuck in survival mode bring me clarity fr. He's never truly been a man about rest, was he? Perhaps that was his main trauma response all along, sacrificing sleep and Academy grades to get Hextech running, almost killing himself the moment he felt he lost it. Of course he'd do that at a more extreme level, but because act 3 doesn't rest or let the story breathe, i frankly didn't interpret it as that, it just felt like he conveniently stopped being mentally ill to give a speech and fight the war 😂 if he survived, he probably wouldn't have stopped, because stopping meant that PTSD would rear its ugly head. But the tragedy of it all Was that he died. Saving the world yes, but it feels so empty and cruel that he suffered so much just to die. No real accomplishment or meaning, just him serving the narrative and saving Viktor.

PS : i adore viktor i really do but it's getting hard not to resent him bc of what the writers did to butcher him, and how they stripped jayce of everything he was outside of him. I still love him! I promise!

And mutual! If you wanna keep talking in DMs you are welcome to!!

Random Thoughts on the Arcane Fandom about Jayce

this is gonna be a mess but I have nowhere else to talk about this.

I've recently noticed how Jayce Talis has been subjected to all kinds of sexualization since the drop of Act 2 of the second season. People have mentioned many times how trauma has made him "hot". A good and well-known example of this is Danny Motta's reaction to episode 5, where he said, "Holy shit, they made Jayce hot! [...] My dude went from looking like a Muppet to the king of Rohan, and all it took was a little bit of trauma."

This isn't entirely new for him? If people didn't hate Jayce back in S1, they ogled him in the scene where he works on the Forge shirtless, which IS kinda the point because the animators are making him very obviously attractive. But most importantly, he as a character has been reduced to his sexual or romantic relationships since the beginning of time.

It seems that S2 is a response to this in a way. His arc from the ending of S1, where he took responsibility of his actions out of guilt for the child he killed, was slightly set aside for Viktor. Well, ALL of his life, dreams, decisions, everything about him was eclipsed by Viktor's shadow because of the whole "all times, all possibilities" twist. He wasn't expected to show up as a Councilor in any of the meetings, and we must assume he quits at some point, but he surely hasn't resigned from his position by the time Viktor wakes up. Apart from that much needed scene between him and Cait, and the one where he attends the memorial (and is attacked by a vengeful mother), we don't see many of his decisions or what leads him to make them, other than Viktor. This is beautiful in a way because we can SEE how it is a trauma response to losing him. He is obsessive by nature, and he clings to what keeps him and his loved ones safe excessively, but I still had to do a bit of mental gymnastics as to why he went back on the second promise: to not build Hextech weapons again. (Hint: it has to do with the fact that VI saved him with HIS weapon, but it went so fast it's hard to process in the first watch.)

Now back to the sexualization problem. Every time I look up his name and trauma, or PTSD, 95% of the results are thirst edits on Tiktok about how hot he is. No joke. One of the more serious results is my own edit. Of course, a lot of people connect with his suffering without naming it as trauma, and that is great. My concern is that there has been so much focus on Jinx's trauma, Viktor's trauma, even Silco's trauma (which are all valid and fascinating to explore), but there's less attention for other characters who clearly show how their own traumatic experiences has shaped them. Vi, Caitlyn, and Jayce are some of the clearest examples of this, and they've experienced some truly heinous things in the show. Trauma cannot be compared, ever. But why is it that Jayce, who lived through an apocalypse that HE knows HE caused, and lives in complete isolation except the "company" of metal watchers, to the point that he loses touch with reality, and is changed so irrevocably that he loses the naivety and starry-eyed optimism that has always defined him...is seen as hot? And more importantly, why is it that there is very little attention to his experiences on that cave? Every scene between him and Viktor is uploaded in 1080 HD quality, but the scenes of him alone? Fighting to survive? Showing remarkable resilience in the face of his suffering? No, that's not as fun. Not a single one of those scenes is uploaded fully, and I have checked many times. (Some people have actually skipped those scenes to focus on Timebomb. I'm...)

I went online and looked up "why do people sexualize traumatized characters" because let's face it, it's real, it's interesting, and I cannot judge or else I am a hypocrite. Bucky Barnes, Loki, Ellie Williams, Dean Winchester, Vi herself, the list goes on much longer but I can't think of others off the top of my head. We connect with their suffering, and we are pulled by their experiences.

However, Jayce is such a complicated case because he is usually thought of as the greedy himbo that fumbled two baddies, or the confused bisexual, or the guy who lost it because of a situationship (much like Vi, who DID NOT lose it because of a failed romantic endeavor bfr). And then the plot goes and tells us, "Actually, yeah, his life outside of Viktor doesn't matter, he's not even supposed to be alive, because Viktor saved him. All of time is completely inextricable from Viktor." People hate meljay because she manipulated him and "trapped" him in a relationship or something, only to celebrate it when something suspiciously similar happens with the male romantic interest? I initially thought it was beautiful too, bc Soulmates, but man. Mage!Viktor really left the man he loved to rot in complete isolation, eating raw reptiles until throwing up, losing his mind. Say what you want about the allegory for Viktor's life, at least Viktor's isolation was metaphorical up until the Glorious Evolution.

Despite us being shown this, people make thirst edits of him in his black fit, and fighting with sexual tension with Viktor. I fear...that I am the only one who finds this tragic. The man forced to create a larger than life persona to sell his work and be seen as an attractive pawn of the system, has become the attractive pawn of the narrative. Viktor's narrative.

Perhaps Viktor was forgotten by the world. But Jayce's kind heart, and brave soul, were forgotten by us.

Just some thoughts to chew about my favorite character and my wish that more people focused on his arc with me

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Hi, here is an idea for a plot : marcus is send to kidnap a women because Greta has heard that she is the most beautiful women on earth. He does it but during the travel back they both fall for esch other. Thank you I love your work

Note: Thank you very much for the request, sweet anon. I don't know if I fulfilled it completely, but I hope that I could give you at least a little pleasure with this scribble. I managed to find a moment of time and I wanted to do it. thank you!

Warnings : some violence but not literally, some weird stuff, some romance, some kissing

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

General Marcus Acacius [masterlist]

witch. l General Marcus Acacius

"General!" the young man rushed into his tent and quickly bowed his head. "Forgive me, sir, but we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" he muttered without even looking up from the map he had spread out on the plain table.

Marcus, out of the corner of his eye, noticed that the man shifted restlessly, until words finally flowed from his lips that forced General Acacius to look at him.

"I think we have some kind of witch in the camp."

His head had been hurting unbearably for several hours. This journey had been completely pointless. Emperor Geta had heard rumors, whispered among other men, that somewhere on the territory of his country was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Greed and lust made him want to possess her, enslave her. After all, only the Emperor should be able to possess someone like that. He deserved it. She was his due.

General Acacius, on the other hand, believed that these rumors were nonsense. A well-concocted tale to mock the Emperor and his stupid greed. He also didn't believe that any woman would consciously and willingly want to enter a cage and be locked up with such a man. 

But Marcus had no other choice, because when Geta invited him to his chambers and assigned him this mission, his views no longer counted.

Just as he had done during the war, so now, he found the woman, captured her and was on his way to Rome. However, it was a hard road. And you made sure that each of the soldiers who enslaved you would remember you for a long time.

So you were locked in a carriage, part of the walls of which were bars so that you could at least enjoy a little fresh air or sun. You used it as much as you could.

Marcus stopped in front of the carriage and looked sternly at several men, one of whom threw a bucket of icy water straight at the post standing inside.

"By the gods! What's going on here?!" he roared.

"General!" the men bowed quickly. "This... This is a witch! Ever since we stopped, she's been deceiving our heads and senses, telling such things..."

"I'm telling the truth!" the woman's voice was strong and stubborn. It clearly reached Marcus despite the dull pain in her temples. "And the gods will punish you all! You will grovel under their feet like worthless, filthy vermin!"

Someone splashed water again and they heard a distinct snort. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The soldiers looked at their commander. A mixture of fear and uncertainty was written on their faces, but Marcus knew perfectly well that in such a state, further travel would be an even more difficult task. Finally, he nodded to the man who had brought him here.

"Release her and bring her to my tent." he ordered.

"But, sir!"

"That's an order. She is to appear there as soon as possible." he added and then went back to his place.

You appeared after a few minutes. The clothes you were wearing were completely soaked, and strands of hair stuck to your face. And although you were shaking like leaves in the wind, rebellion and stubbornness did not disappear from your face. You twitched nervously when he tried to put a rough blanket on your shoulders.

"Calm down, I won't do anything to you." he said quietly. "Sit down, have a drink of wine."

Slender fingers tightened on the material, but finally, with quite a confident step, you moved to the place he indicated. Sweet wine and a few bites of bread occupied you enough that Marcus could calmly look at you. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do so before.

When he took you from your home, chaos reigned. The appearance of a detachment of Romans worried the inhabitants of a nearby village, and you... 

Acacius couldn't remember if he had ever seen a woman defend herself so well. One of the soldiers lost a tooth when you hit him in the face with a saucepan you had at hand, and more than one of them had marks from your nails on them. It was only when someone dared to put a cloth bag over your head that your curses and swearing stopped. 

Only now could Marcus look at you. Indeed, you were beautiful. However, he didn’t think that your beauty was only in your face or body, you had something in you that he hadn’t seen before. 

Incredible stubbornness, pride, but also recklessness since you were not afraid to challenge a group of men on whom your life depended.

"You're staring, soldier." You mumbled, washing down a bite of bread with wine.

Marcus came closer and sat down on a chair close to you. "I'm a general." He said.

You shrugged, though. "You're a soldier. A puppet in the hands of a man who thinks he's a god."

"That man sent me for you." He noticed that you looked at him nervously, like a scared animal. "He's heard rumors about you."

"Rumors." You repeated, dusting off your hands and wrapping the blanket around yourself tighter, because the wet clothes were sticking to your body. "I've seen many more beautiful ones."

"I don't..."

You shook your head, biting your lip. "Don't say that."

You noticed how the general tilted his head, looking at you closely. His dark eyes didn't tear themselves away from you and you didn't like what you were feeling. From the beginning, you felt that something was wrong with this man. He was different. Different from those you knew.

"You expected us to come." The general's voice was low and melodic, a warm shiver ran through your body. "How is that possible? Who warned you?"

"Nobody. Soldier."

You wanted to insult him. You wanted to draw a line and show that you weren't afraid of him, that you despised him. But he just smiled. He stretched his long legs in front of him and folded his arms across his chest.

"My name is Marcus." he said and ignored your snort. "And yours? Or should I call you a witch?"

He noticed how your eyebrows drew together. "I have a name." you replied and gave it to him.

The general played with it for a few moments, rolling it on his tongue, and you hated how good it sounded in his mouth. Finally, he sat up and held out his hand to you. You flinched.

"I won't do anything to you." Marcus smiled gently.

"I'm not afraid of you." you replied. "Neither of you nor any of your soldiers."

When your hand clenched in his, he felt something strange in an instant. A strange warmth flowed through his skin and veins, it hit him straight to his heart. He wanted to relax his fingers and withdraw his hand, but he couldn't. A hot feeling filled him, clearing his mind and thoughts, and the headache... He realized then that he hadn't felt it for a few moments.

You must have felt the same, because your lips parted and your face brightened as if you had suddenly understood a huge secret.

"It’s you..."

"Me?"

You slid off the chair and knelt down in front of him, your eyes fixed on him as if he were the greatest treasure. "I've seen you before. In my dreams. I didn't understand it until the seeress in the temple told me..."

Marcus wanted to touch your face. Colossal fingers clumsily brushed the skin of your cheek, but you didn't seem to feel it, because you were so focused on him.

"She said a man would come and take me away by force. I thought it was a curse..."

"And it isn't? I took you by force, you fought like a lioness."

"But I didn't fight you, I fought your men. And every other man who tried to. That's where the rumors started, which were just nonsense. The gods made fun of us..."

The tip of his finger moved across your lips. They were soft and warm. The thought of tasting them was born in Marcus' head, but he fought it.

"Emperor Geta... That's where I'm taking you."

"Are you sure?"

He wasn't. Geta wouldn't be happy if he met your resistance and Marcus knew that this would quickly turn into a terrible tragedy. He just didn't know who would lose their life first because of this. Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, but behind his eyelids he could still see your face and your eyes fixed on him.

"You know perfectly well that I'm not for him... The gods didn't destined me for him. However, they used him to make our paths cross."

You let go of his hand and stood up. A gentle touch on his cheek, your breath on his lips. You were so close that the air around him burned.

"I had a dream." he whispered quietly. "I felt you in it, but I didn't see you. You were like a wild animal, but when you looked at me we both knew that we were no threat to each other. That we were looking for each other."

"That's how it was..."

He felt your lips on his. The gentle and tender touch of lips that tasted of sweet wine. Each kiss was a promise of eternity, endless love and sensations that only souls truly dedicated to each other could experience. 

Strong arms pulled you to his broad chest, and his lips became more violent, more greedy. But you weren't afraid, not of him. You already knew that Marcus would do everything so that you wouldn't appear before the Emperor. 

You were his, by the will of the gods.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[scoobydoodean]

Okay real talk. Do you think Dean fears femininity or fears being exploited* and used for things associated with femininity: caretaking, softness, nurturing, etc. Again, it seems there is a subset of fandom that is very literal when seeing posturing and taking the least charitable, kink-shaming position imaginable.

No I do not think Dean fears being associated with these things. As someone who more or less identifies as a genderless blob (except when I don't) and has spent their entire life being deeply confused by "traditional gender roles" and what the actual fuck people mean when they refer to the "maculine" vs "feminine" along some kind of spectrum, I have a lot of trouble articulating my thoughts around this subject. That's also why I don't usually engage with it. But I think it's clear that a lot of people throughout Dean's life try to minimize his feelings and experiences by questioning (through the "traditional" lens of these things) his masculinity and/or associating him with the feminine. Dean has been on the receiving end of challenges to his masculinity and association with the feminine intended to criticize him far more times than he's pushed those narratives on others, though we know he isn't a stranger to the handle side of the knife. I think people sometimes look at the way Dean is mocked and assume that they're supposed to believe Dean feels humiliated by being associated with softness, nurturing, caretaking, etc. But I think it's difficult to argue that he is humiliated as much as he's frustrated, because he doesn't stop nurturing and caretaking and being soft despite it all.

What these moments do serve to illustrate is Dean being expected to play the role of an eternal happy-go-lucky playboy who can't be tied down in one breath then a nurturer who never thinks a horrible thought and always has energy to care for others the next. He's ridiculed for being rough edged then he's ridiculed for being too soft. These chameleon-esque expectations are designed in such a way that it is impossible for him to please anyone. When he is one thing, he is not the other, therefore he fails. When he is a brother, he isn't being a parent. When he's being a father, he isn't being a mother (again in the "traditional" lens) and vice versa. When he's angry, he isn't being loving and forgiving enough. When he's sad or depressed or lost, he's being a nancy. I think the impossible expectation—to be both "feminine" and "masculine" simultaneously in the traditional sense—is something a lot of people will find relatable. Especially if you grew up with one or both parents imposing traditional gender roles on you, then criticizing you for your nonconformity AND your conformity to those roles in turns.

The thing is that tender IS Dean's default, and I don't think he's ashamed of that as much as people sometimes try to make him ashamed, or he withdraws because he realizes he is being harmed through that tenderness and then he is ridiculed for not being tender enough (often by the very person whose actions caused him to withdraw). Dean is a killer with blood under his nails but also that's not who he is. He's a nurturer who helps children deal with their bullies and tends to cuts on his brother's hand and wants a home. He's a weapon but he loves hugs and tells his mother it's okay and he'll never leave her and tells his dad it's okay when he comes home a wreck (2.01, 5.16). He's the sword of heaven, but he also cooks for his family and wraps blankets around their shoulders when they're sick. I literally have a whole tag dedicated to how incredibly tender Dean can be, and I think it's a huge stretch to suggest that he's embarrassed in every one of the hundreds of scenes where that tenderness shines, or that he in some way rejects that tenderness. Angels have fallen from heaven in response to his capacity to Care. Kings of Hell have softened their cruelty. Gods have turned from the path of destruction. Countless people have been driven from possession by his voice reaching out to them calling them home to him (tag). Dean is the narrative heart of the story and the hearth of the house. Tender is his default, and he contains multitudes.

[frostfloweragainlol-alias-juno]

Some lil headcanon stuff for Torque lmao (ft team prime)

↳ Optimus and Ratchet are conjunxs, tho initially just Bumblebee and Torque knew as they are really private about it. They are really private about Bumblebee and Torque being their sparklings too (a bit more difficult with Torque since she really looks like Ratchet but they played it off as a coincidence. Somehow it worked for a while) The main reason for their secrecy is because they fear the decepticons will take advantage of both these informations. Team Prime eventually figured it out tho.

(how sparklings work in my au [completely Sfw and asexual])

↳ Her Alt mode is an ambulance. Sometimes she uses her holoform as well

(This is Torque’s holoform + Ratchet’s)

↳ Torque really likes human music, any kind. Her first introduction to it happened when she got stranded alone for years before she got reunited with the team. The only signal she could pick up was a radio station’s one and to help take her mind off everything and combat the solitude she started listening to it while she scavanged for supplies or tried to find a way to contact other autobots. She picked up the habit of quietly humming along to whatever song there was, and it continued even when she arrived at the base.

She sometimes hums along when Miko happens to play her guitar at base too.

↳ Torque and Bumblebee sometimes switch places with Ratchet when they have patrol with Optimus so him and Ratchet can spend a bit of time together without interruptions. They are aware their creators are busy and often don’t have the time to do much of anything together so thats their way to help them get a bit of that time off and they offer to take on a few task to convince them to take the day off (for example Torque offers to take on Ratchet’s tasks and Bumblebee to take on an extra patrols)

↳ Most of she’s pretty friendly and cheerful but she can be very blunt at times and takes after Ratchet in some aspects.

↳ She goes along well with the team, tho she didn’t at first with Smokescreen. Being a medic like Ratchet (even tho in training she still goes to help fix and weld together injuries of the team as she is literally one of the two medics left) she saw her fair share of horrors in the battlefield and she genuinely got annoyed every time he talked about how cool it was fighting and stuff because she saw it from a medic standpoint: just a senseless spilling of energon. She eventually warmed up to him however and they became friends

She didn’t go super along with Ultra Magnus at first either

Referring to at the beginning of ep 9 season 3, the tone in which he spoke to the team kinda pissed her off, that’s when she threw a quick “you did not just use that tone” glare at him. She knows he meant well but she really didn’t like how he said all that. It felt low-key disrespectful to her

↳ Torque doesn’t fully believe decepticons can change but she doesn’t discard the possibility. Except for Megatron. She despises the guy for what he did to her brother and if she could punch him in his faceplate she would.

↳ She rarely argues with her creators, even less so with her brother

The only time she argued with Optimus it was when he decided to stay behind when the base was blown up and she argued with Ratchet when he tested the Synth-En on himself

She argued with Bumblebee when he went on patrol when he didn’t have his t-cog and put himself in danger

In all 3 occasions, she was more worried than mad

↳ Torque goes along pretty alright with Jack and Miko tho she does find Miko’s tendency to jump into the groundbridge worrying.

She goes along really well with Raf and she’s happy to answer any questions he has about Cybertron when Ratchet is too busy and Bumblebee is on patrols

She goes along enough with Fowler and June, sometimes she asks June how human medicine works

↳ Her mask and visor originally had a medical function, they were to deal with contagious viruses (such as cybonic plague), but she uses them more when fighting.

(Tw, light mentions of tortur€)

↳ Torque can’t feel pain. When she was taken by decepticons back on Cybertron, before she managed to escape with the escape pod she was tortured for information so badly that her pain sensors got damaged severely. Because of that she can’t feel if she is critically injured in a fight and continues on until she just drops and doesn’t feel the discomfort of needing to refuel so she most of the times forgets and often runs low on energon. Optimus is very careful in sending her in missions because of these reasons and Ratchet is trying to fix the damage but so far was unable too.

The team took first notice of this, or at least Optimus and Ratchet did, in the aftermath of the scraplet incident (she went with Arcee and Optimus in the artic but when she was back she didn’t appear to be suffering like Arcee or Optimus even being in the same condition)

+ bonus doodle of Torque being very pissed off

[brazenautomaton]

Oh! So unlike all those other people who are wrong, YOU say that the coded message is so obvious it barely even counts as coded. That clears everything up. They never said the coded message was so obvious it barely counts as coded. They never expressed disbelief that anyone could not have made all the inferential leaps they made due to their own obsession with the topic. He had his arm extended at a slight upward angle as part of a gesture he made, why, there's no other reason that a human being would have their arm extended at a slight upward angle at any intermediate stage of a bodily motion!

Why would someone who is not a nazi sympathizer do the nazi salute? Because they didn't do that and having your arm extended at a slight upward angle is not a difficult motion and is not a magic gesture that summons Jew-killing demons. You've seen plenty of pictures of Democratic politicians with their arms extended at a slight upward angle before. He had his arm extended at a slight upward angle as a part of a gesture of "throwing his heart to the crowd," you know, the thing he was literally saying as he was doing it. Hillary Clinton had her arm extended at a slight upward angle while motioning for a crowd to calm down, and you don't think she's a nazi. Anyone who sweeps an arm outward from their chest in a circular fashion, like they are miming or actually throwing an armful of something, will have their arm extended at a slight upward angle at some point of the gesture. Is fucking Mako Mankanshoku giving a nazi salute here? No, obviously not, she's throwing a handful of dosh, and yet at an intermediate stage of that gesture her arm is extended at an upward angle! Are you going to bust out a fucking protractor and say that normal people have to bust out a fucking protractor to determine if they're throwing a handful of something or they're unequivocally a nazi?

You do not believe "nazi" to be a neutral description of a belief system. Don't even fucking try with this. "Nazi" in American discourse is used exclusively as a label to apply to someone to utterly invalidate their existence. A nazi is someone that everyone should hate as much as they possibly can and feel self-righteous about hating.

what’s with you and the Elon thing?

if anyone did that gesture in basically any scenario it’d be seen as questionable at best. I don’t think he’s necessarily a crypto-nazi, but I do think it was an intentional statement of edgelord-ism to rile people up

Why are you going to bat for this guy? It can’t just be contrarianism, you seem genuinely passionate.

personally, I’m no friend of the SJ people, but I don’t think they’re crying wolf this time. Im not sure how to prove my truthfulness, but I was strongly against eg: 2020 BLM, defund the police, Daniel Penny arrest, and so on.

it is more important to believe things that are true than it is to believe things that are mean, even if they are mean about someone you don't like

any situation in which a large group of people are belligerently declaring "How dare you say we should believe things that are true instead of things that are mean! Anyone who cares about anything other than believing things that are mean is despicable and should be destroyed!" is a bad one

people are aggressively, openly, proudly throwing away all capacity for reason, and winning because they are inherently entitled to win for doing that. this makes me sad.

[chaamenos]

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑. disjointed caleb lads character study. i need to test how i’m gonna write this guy

warnings: uhhhh smth smth there’s a cannibalism metaphor in here somewhere. also there’s intentional lowercase . pseudocest (like one like mentioning that you two are siblings). this is written on mobile. anyways i really dont even know what to tag this with so go in here expecting some weird shit.

a/n: caleb is so. boy what strand of cocaine did they put it you. anyways, this is meant to be read within the context of the main story (homecoming voyage chapter 1), so not with any of the relationship establishment his cards and myth give

dividers by @/fairytopea

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘. caleb believed himself to be a good child. athletic , good grades, never late, easily made friends. but something always felt… off, when it came to you. a feeling that made his hands twitch, and his body grow cold. though constantly pushed it back as just stress. being an older sibling is difficult, especially with a family with such messed up backgrounds like yours. hormones will mess with a teenager, this is normal. . .

but no matter how often, or how hard he drowned out that part of his brain, it never went away. the part that had him wanting to put his hands on you. dig his nails in until the skin breaks, sink his teeth in and swallow you whole. to clip your wings and have you rely on him forever, to be a part of him until the world ceases to exist.

it was horrifying how the brain can twist things into explicit images. spooked him enough that he made it a point to always be extra nice to you. of course, he was always nice to you, but a little extra doting wouldn’t hurt. he didn’t mind letting you get away with anything, covering up for your misbehaviour, spoiling you rotten. perhaps if he was nice enough, he can fool you into ignoring the obvious issues and thoughts that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. farspace fleet duties were incredibly mundane in its rotation, and exact in its time slots. meetings never go above 3600 seconds, mission reports never longer than 1800.

expressions and responses also fell into his calculated routine. smile for no more than five seconds, crinkle your eyes to make it authentic, don’t hold eye contact for too long lest you put them off.

it was all tiring, and boring. not at all the life he envisioned for himself as a child.

he could feel his hands twitching, fleeting flashes of you dancing across his vision.

now that he’s an adult, he’s no stranger to this obsession that erodes people from the inside out. an indescribable hunger that drives one made. he’s no different from a wanderer, in that aspect. The only difference being he’s capable of controlling himself.

. . .

At least, to a degree.

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. when he sees you again, it’s like being pricked with billions of needles. he couldn’t tell if it was the year he spent away from you, supposedly dead— or if it was the toring chip rewiring his brain, amplifying every feeling tenfold. for the moment he saw you on that landing pad, it took every fibre of his being to not tear you to shreds, and make his home inside you.

it has been approximately 31,816,800 seconds since he’d last seen you, let alone be in your presence. getting both in the same moment was almost too much for him.

but he refrained. this was business, not pleasure. you both are strangers at this moment.

. . .

he was plagued by sleeplessness the moment he’d let you into his home. sweaty palms, a visceral emotion that had his fingernails digging into his now mechanical arm. the both of you were adults now, but that didn’t make his feelings any less potent. in fact, it made them worse.

you were just a room away, so easy for him to have his way with. to intertwine the two of you in ways he’d never even thought of. it was forbidden, and depraved.

hands covered his face, nearly tearing the hairs from his scalp

. . .

you were driving him insane in ways he didn’t know how to deal with

[drdemonprince]

hey,

im a trans woman. ive already gotten a name and gender change court order in my state. i never got my passport updated, though, and im feeling urgency to do that now

but between not-yet-passed state laws that will revert birth certificates, everything going on federally, and thoughts you've posted about giving information to the government

something I've been considering is legally (not socially) detransitioning my gender marker (not my name), so I can have a passport that's valid even if the TSA gets to the point where they see an altered marker and it means no travel

there's a voice that doesn't want to do this, but i think it's the voice that doesn't want me to believe that there's a real threat to my personal security, and it's making it hard to to do a genuinely analytical cost-benefit analysis

do you have any thoughts, please? i know you don't have enough information or the authority to tell me what I, in particular, should do, but any perspective at all you'd like to give?

thanks

We're talking about potentially having a livestream event sometime soon in which we & viewers chat about what decisions they are making to protect their safety and plan for eventualities, so I hope you'll be able to tune in for that, but my short answer would be that it all depends a lot on the particulars of your situation.

Can you get a birth certificate changed in your state? (Even in conservative states, it may be possible! For example, I'm working on getting my birth certificate corrected in Ohio.). If so, you can change that, get your social security card's gender marker changed (which is still really easy), and then potentially get a correct passport.

Do you have a passport already? Have you ever had a passport with your agab on it? These are also important factors. Currently, the trans people who are having the greatest success getting their documents on the federal level are those who have changed their birth certificates, AND who have never gotten a passport with their agab, because it's pretty difficult for the passport office to clock that you are trans if that's all squared away.

Technically you might still be at risk of outing yourself if you have to disclose a name change order, but again, it depends on if your birth certificate is accurate to your current name. If it is, you can probablyyy get away with not disclosing your old name.

Other questions to consider are the typical use cases for when you show your ID. If you travel internationally pretty frequently, you have a completely different set of concerns and risks than someone who mainly shows their ID when they're applying to jobs or going into a bar and don't need it that much in their day-to-day otherwise. You will know your own situation best, and there are no great answers or guarantees of safety in how we navigate this stuff, but some things to consider.

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Lessons for first-time Audiodrama creators I learned making Lavender Evening Fog

Today marks the four year anniversary of the first full episode of @lavender-evening-fog-podcast. If you want to make audiodrama, here are some lessons that I learned along the way, that will make it easier for you. We went into it loving the audiodrama artform but not knowing a lot about it, so please learn from the experience we gained making the show over four seasons.

Cut the volume you plan to put out in half. And then maybe cut that in half. There are a few ways you can do this-- for example if you are planning on every other week, put out monthly episodes instead. Or maybe rather than doing a 12-episode season, you do a 6-episode season. Or maybe rather than doing 12 half hour episodes, do 12 fifteen minute episodes. One of these ways of reducing may make more sense for your story than the others, but the takeaway is the same--producing an audio drama is a lot of work, and if you have never done it before, it is likely more work than you expect. You can still tell your story, it might just take more time. "But Victoria," you say, "I am already being very pragmatic about this!" I believe you dear reader. When we started LEF we intentionally made the episodes monthly because we knew more frequently would be difficult. Yet the plan was to have two 12-episode seasons that would involve dropping an episode every month for two years without break. About six episodes in we realized that we would burn out if we did it that way. Fortunately, because of how we mapped the story, it was very easy to convert that to four six-episode seasons. This allowed us to take breaks while still having consistency in our release cadence, because that consistency is incredibly important, and it is easiest to sustain over time if you have a handle on the work.

Have as much as possible done before you develop a release schedule. This may be the exception to #1--if you have everything done, by all means, go forward with whatever schedule you like. But it is easier to have a season done and drop episodes than to be working on it up to your release day.

If you can't have everything done before you start thinking about a release schedule, at least have the writing done and polished. Sometimes, you will need to revise pretty heavily. Especially at the beginning when you are getting the voice right. Because writing and getting feedback can take awhile, you want to give time to think about it, try to have your scripts done if nothing else.

If you find yourself relying on some part of your story too heavily, try writing a scenario without it. At the end of Season 1, we introduced the idea of Nick voicing Billy, and by the Season 2 premiere, we felt comfortable recording more interactions (remember, this project started during peak Covid). I was so excited to write for more than just myself, so I wrote a bunch of Billy scenes that didn't move anything forward. Once it was pointed out that this was a problem, I decided to send Billy to a conference. That gave me an opportunity to reframe rather than relying on a narrative crutch. This resulted in the Anna-Georgina is sick episode, which I still think is one of my favorites.

Create frameworks that make writing easier. For example, we wrote the show in little fragments of Anna-Georgina's audiodairies. That made it so much easier to plan (we know we need 8-12ish segments per ep), to write (again, if I wasn't feeling like tacking a particular big of the plot, I could work on another), and to record (The Lucy letters and the long pieces of exposition were always recorded last)

Figure out your tech before you record your first episode. We didn't fully and I'm still kind of embarrassed. Like I'm proud of what we produced starting out, but I wish we (mostly me, Nick always knew what he was doing) had figured it out earlier.