#im never going to be good enough for anyone
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ghostykapi · 3 days ago
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twice and the ways to say i miss you when they are touring
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im nayeon
i’m sorry but you must endure the one thousand kisses once she gets back or she will cry
demands with pouts and that cute voice that makes you cave in
what? the tour is amazing but after being weeks apart from her lover can make her do weird things (ask jeong or jihyo, they can confirm)
she’s got a whole bottle of your perfume/fragrance to cope with a your jacket so it feels like you’re always there giving her a hug
but now that she’s back >:)))
will 100%, with no miss at all, pin you down every morning to snuggle and kiss you despite your whines of you trying to be a bit early to work
oh you work from home? better make sure you work fast or she will distract you with those hands 😋 no escape for you
yoo jeongyeon
constant video calls to keep her grounded but it’s never enough to make her feel that 100% energy boost
lowkey losing it but to her members they can see how miserable she can get when you aren’t there
sorry she’s like this but she just really really needs your cuddles right now and the fact that you’re so far away makes it so so so mean :((
she manages with the polaroids of both of you that she brings everywhere
of course she won’t pressure you but good lord you also don’t know what to do without her close to you at most nights
and that’s why you’re always with her on tour once you can start working remotely, always either disguised as the “manager/staff” or straight up out to the world that you’re her lover
hirai momo
misses you and her children (read: her dogs) that when she fatetimes you she’s abt to sob
“my babies!” she says everytime you go on call and boo and dobby are with you
clings unto sana to cope (both of them are coping together through the power of friendship!!!)
one time she managed to convince all of twice to get food at 4 am to cope??? anyway yeah so there they were at 4 am at a taco cart munching away with like two other managers
everytime she comes home she brings you snacks and treats and spends most of her time with you and her dogs
minatozaki sana
on the outside she’s calm cool collected a lil flirty
in the inside she’s screaming fighting for her LIFE because wdym you aren’t a phone call away from her to cling unto you huh
clings unto her members for moral support and they always send pictures of her clinging to you (THROUGH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP)
buys you jewelry that she thinks looks good on you and copes with that information until she lands back home
pouncing on you the moment you see her come down from the van in front of your apartment/home
“baby!!!” she screams as she clings unto you like a koala and she’s abt to make you both fall over
sorry she’s never letting you go
you are now the latest personal bodyguard of sana for the next couple of days btw (she likes them a lil possessive)
park jihyo
she can fairly cope well for the first few days but she can feel bits of her cracking when she doesn’t get your dose of cuddles
copes by also stealing your jacket but she actually steals two so she can have two styles ready that has a piece of you with her
always playing with the necklace you got for her on your 9th date with her or with the keychain on her bag that you got on a random day proclaiming that yes that sleeping bear keychain reminded you of jihyo because both her and the keychain look cute
she’s always so busy even when she gets home so she never really gets to release that want to just be alone with you
but holds you so close and so tight when both of you are sleeping to feel calm and to convey the feelings she always has for you
myoui mina
doesn’t show it to anyone, even you, that she’s abt to break bc she misses you so much
copes with buying trinkets that remind her of you so she ends up coming home from tour
half of her big suitcase is trinkets, someone stop her
you always end up sorting the trinkets and like dedicating a space in your home for it. when she comes back you both take the time to add it to the collection together
you know those apps for u to use to signal you miss your lover yeah well mina didn't take long to convince you to download it
is that another damn trinket
kim dahyun
the most sane one in twice
she always takes you out on dates back before the tour starts so she uses those memories to cope + regular calls with you despite time differences always helps
writes yearning songs all the damn time
YEARNING IN SONG WRITING!! THAT DAMN NOTEBOOK IS ALMOST FULL SHE'S ABOUT TO BUY ANOTHER
when she returns from tour, she cherishes the most domestic things with you
case and point she fell so much harder for you when you were both just doing chores, humming the songs blasting from your speakers
son chaeyoung
shut up wdym nonchalant?? no. clingy gf realness
she is OBSESSED WITH YOU there is no way this woman won't lose it when you are not with here in tour
but your work is important so she won't pull you away
though i bet you half of her wardrobe is your clothes with your perfume smothered on them
twice members complain at how much she's always missing u, yearning for u, talking about u, yapping abt u
it's the rest of twice that begs for you to come with them the next tour to shut her up
she does not shut up but you get to distract her by kissing and it always works
chou tzuyu
her? missing you? why should she miss you when she can just bring you along??????????
only member to actually think about it and put it to action the moment you both started to become official
it took so much convincing, and like you had to also be a part of staff lowk
like who is holding the cam for her vlogs?? you babes it's you
sometimes the other members also ask for your help but honestly you don't mind and tzuyu gets to film you too sometimes so like yay bonding activities
kisses backstage!!! KISSES BACKSTAGE TZUYU CHEERED
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yojeongin · 1 day ago
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playing dangerous | k.dy
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→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).
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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yuriandyaoi · 2 days ago
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Ykw ykw im just gonna post a rant I made on Discord, Ahem:
Akechi is kind of the embodiment of parts of the thieves that make them, well.. Shitty thieves. Parts of themselves that inconvenience other people, or make them difficult, or otherwise present a reason that they might not be worthy of their power. The version of the thieves who got caught up in their own justice and fame.
And weirdly enough, I feel like Sumire kind of has a similar thing going on, but with parts of themselves they find pitiable. The version of the thieves who seem helpless without Joker to motivate them, children crying out for help.
Longer rant under cut
Akechi is the Ryuji who views everyone with inherent mistrust and hostility, because people who should’ve been good to him have hurt him before. Sumire is the Ryuji who lost a feeling of fulfillment from his sporty hobby after a traumatic event and wants that back more than anything.
Akechi is the Ann with a childish streak, for whom the only reason they didn’t murder their least favorite person in the entire world was out of a desire for him to just suffer far worse than that, who has grand dreams of fame. Sumire is the Ann who is socially awkward and blames herself for every tragic happenstance and who wants to prove herself to everyone.
Akechi is the Yusuke who was used as a pawn by his abusive father and settled into that life because it was just comfortable. Sumire is the Yusuke who wanted that life back more than anything, because things were normal back then.
Akechi is the Makoto who was willing to insinuate Ann was responsible for Shiho’s attempt just to hurt her, who played into a system she knew was cruel because as long as she swam with the current she wouldn’t get hurt. Sumire is the Makoto who so so desperately wishes she was her older sister, who feels she’ll never escape from her shadow.
Akechi is the Futaba who believed her life ended after her mother died, that she’ll never recover from that, she was too far-gone. And Sumire is a Futaba who was told she was right. And her only way out is for Joker to fix her. If not him she’ll take anyone really.
Akechi is the Haru with a sadistic side festering beneath her smiley, soft exterior, thoughts of vengeance brewing against the man who ruined her life. And she just has to keep it down, be a good girl, be polite. Sumire is the Haru who’s learned to stop fighting, because the person she is, is not and will never be good enough. She just falls into the same routine she’s always been in, because what’s the point in trying if she’ll always fail, or if no one will listen.
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bellamoooon · 1 day ago
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Riff never really thought he would last this long with you, but here you were, he had been with you since the year before Tony had gone upstate, which summed up to two years— which for riff was a lifetime considering his “relationships” never lasted more than a day.
“Come on girly girl, I promise they’ll behave this time…” there he was, puppy eyes and a pout standing in the door of your apartment, trying to convince you to let the jets have dinner at your place.
“Riff, you said that the last time, diesel threw a plate at action—“ you spoke reminding him about the catastrophic dinner that had happened weeks ago.
Because yes, you loved riff, and the rest of the boys, to be fair you had been like a mother to most of them, which was comic, seeing as they were all of your age, or a year younger, but despite that, the care you had given to your boys— as you call them — was more nurturing and motherly than what their actual mother ever provided.
But— often when you made dinner for all of them, it turned into a goddamn mess.
Chewing with open mouths, spilling juice, broken plates, sauce accidentally spilled on your pretty pink table cloth, and stolen spoons— don’t ask, you do not know what they take your spoons for.
“I just don’t want to have to clean up after, you boys are like a stampede of elephants, you tear my apartment to shreds in minutes” riff laughed, of course he did, he pulled you closer wrapping his arms around your waist.
“Come on angel, I’ll make the boys clean up, you just cook up one of those delicious warm meals of yours and we do the rest.”
It was tempting, getting to see the boys— and them endlessly complementing your food, and you weren’t an egomaniac, but man it was nice to hear— and spending time with riff, which was often a complicated task with all the trouble they find themselves in.
“Fine, but this apartment better shine after” he hummed as he left a kiss on your head, good thing he had convinced you, the jets were all getting set up for the dinner riff had promised them, he knew you’d give in eventually.
***
As you turn the stove off, right on cue there’s a knock at the door, you sigh, it’s just dinner, they’ll help clean up, no one’s gonna kill anyone, you try telling yourself, but who were you kidding, whenever more than three jets were in a small space— or big to be fair— an earthquake was bound to happen.
“Heya doll, got the boys, need any help setting up?” Riff said with his usual charming smirk as you opened the door, you made way as him and maybe five or six jets walked in behind all freshened up and smiling as they greeted you.
“Yeah, could ya set the plates and silverware, I’ll be there to serve in a sec” he nodded as he started to hand out plates to the boys as the placed them carefully on the table.
As you close the door a foot is shoved in the way letting out a yelp of pain, “ow!”
immediately you swing the door open to find baby John with his brows knit together in pain.
“Jesus, baby John! Why the hell would you do that?” He shakes his head as you place a hand on his back as you both walk in.
“The guys started to run— and…and I kinda lost ‘em so im just slightly late, sorry ma” you giggled as he spoke, always so well spoken and polite. He was a good kid from a broken home, and you were the kind of mother he always wanted his to be, so to say the least, you were fond of him.
“Alright, go sit down, I bet the boys already set the table for dinner” and they had done that exactly, and were even seated already, looking all pretty and innocent as if they weren’t in fights everyday.
As you had predicted, they all gushed over the food and how “no five star could do it like you did”— says riff, it’s just a simple meal, but he was used to eating whatever he could find cheap enough for himself, or starve, which was almost never, since you’d always have a little something for him.
“Okay, now clean up, I want no complaining or whining, Diesel— you’re on dishes tonight” obviously, he let out a soft “aw man” as he started picking the plates and taking them to the sink, “and the rest of you wiping up the table and the kitchen counter” they all groaned, but complied.
Riff found it incredibly amusing and mesmerizing how, ever since you two were together, they all obeyed to most of your orders and looked after you whenever you were out late.
“Y’know pretty, you’d make a great mom someday” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you smile as his warmth stuck onto you.
“Already am, dickwad, you made me responsible for all your jets, but I don’t see ya paying child support” you say as you turn your head to look up at him, lets out a loud chuckle as he presses a kiss on your shoulder.
“I’ll pay you once these monkeys are out here girly girl, they don’t need to know how good I fuck you” he whispered in your ear, your face lit up with a bright blush as you stuck your elbow in his ribs.
“Riff! You gotta stop doing that, I mean it.”
“Unless you’d want ‘em to hear your pathetic whining, pretty, remind ‘em you’re mine and no one else’s” he left a quick kiss on your cheek as he pulled away, going towards the boys to walk them out of the apartment, turning to wink at you.
You just know it’ll be best if you sleep in and not leave the house tomorrow.
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sweetiemiller · 12 hours ago
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MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT. kind of.
Joel Miller!AU x Reader.
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hi again! so im doing it! ive read over it a million times and if there’s any mistakes please do forgive me. but here’s the full chapter of the start of my spiteful fic lmao.
kidding. im actually really excited to try something different and being embraced by a lot of you has been so great. so thank you everyone who sent a nice word or even just liked the post!
this will probably NSFW at some point. im still deciding when and how it’ll happen in the story but it’s going to be a lot of fun. the POV’s will jump around from chapter to chapter.
thanks to @highinmiamiii sending me the fic i was looking for! thank you! like i said before this fic is heavily inspired by https://www.tumblr.com/tokkiwrites/771944052123959296/game-show-hostjoel-miller-x-contestant-f
and the enjoyment of au!writing. it’s so freeing and let’s us explore characters in different ways. everyone please go read this story, it’s so good and they deserve every single bit of support.
ill stop yappin now and just post it!!
warnings— swearing. referring to killing Tommy Miller (will happen a lot), little bit of fluff for now. future warnings to come!
enjoy—
Chapter 1.
Joel’s POV—
Tommy Miller is a dead man. Joel thinks as he promises to whoever and whatever is above and below that he will personally kill him with his bare hands.
Those same bare hands that are clasped together so tight behind his back as he stands at the top of the aisle. His eyes were boring into Tommy’s who is currently standing up from his seat in the front row with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Yeah. He’s going to kill him.
The lights and the cameras are starting to make the skin on his neck prickle. The people behind the camera’s making him feel tense as his eyes flicker around the room.
He can feel jaw ticking and clenching as his eyes keep looking around the room and catching a few of the eyes of seeing the unknown bride to be’s family are staring at him too. Looking… well, friendly enough. For now anyway.
He can see their eyes scanning him.
Up and down, up and down.
From his slightly greying hair that is just sprinkling through his thick coarse hair. Right down to the black patent dress shoes on his feet that a woman named Jane from production had brought him along with this black three piece suit.
He thinks he looks good. But—
He doesn’t really care and if he was asked to give an honest answer right at this second he’d say exactly that. However, for the first time in a long time he willing to admit that he doesn’t look that rough around the edges.
Which is good, because in about 30 seconds his new wife is about to walk down the aisle.
Not legally of course. But for the sake of the show, he’s contracted to act like it is.
26 seconds.
Why Tommy thought that signing him onto goddamn Married At First Sight he’ll never understand. But the promise of a new Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 and 60% of whatever income from the promotion the construction company will get from being on the show is more than enough to go along with it.
For now anyway.
14 seconds.
He just hopes whoever you are, you’re not one of those absolutely insane people who go on reality television just to cause drama. Because he will walk, cameras and contracts be damned.
He’ll buy his own Harley.
If he’s lucky he’ll get matched with someone who wants to promote their business as well and maybe they can come to some sort of agreement about this whole thing.
9 seconds.
Because who actually goes on a television show to look for love? Who genuinely believes that anyone could even fall in love under these conditions. Cameras. TV therapists. A group full of people who are desperate for their 10 minutes of fame.
It’s just not realistic.
5 seconds.
Joel snaps out his thoughts as he spots Tommy giving him a look. A look that Joel knows means, ‘Dude’, his eyes flicker back and forward before Joel realises what he’s saying. You’re coming down the aisle—
1 second.
Joel hears the doors cracking open and the music starting as soon as his eyes meet the huge white double doors at the end of the room. His hands clenching again as he keeps his focus on the door that’s opening and revealing who he is going to be stuck with for as long as he can handle in this absolutely ridiculous situation his brother has landed him in.
He see’s you walking through the doors. And he genuinely feels his breath get caught in his throat as he see’s your face for the first time.
Your eyes almost immediately meet his as you walk into the wedding hall with who he presumes is your mother. An older woman who’s eyes don’t even attempt to look at him, focused on you.
You look nervous. Terrified even.
Which, to his annoyance, makes him feel something in his chest as he watches you slowly making your way down to him.
He has to admit to himself. You’re genuinely beautiful.
And with that thought, all of a sudden he feels himself starting to panic. He realises wasn’t really expecting to find you attractive. He was fully preparing himself to be putting on his best face and foot forward during this process. His mind focused on that moment he has his first ride of his new Harley-Davidson the entire time.
But now, he’s going to have to focus on that damn bike to stop himself from doing anything goddamn stupid.
The closer you get to the bottom of the aisle, the harder he’s having to hold back a glare that is itching to aim straight for Tommy. But he doesn’t. Because he knows his pain in the ass little brother is going to have an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face now that he’s seen you.
It’s not until you’re kissing your assumed mother on the cheek and whispering something to her that he finally see’s you up close for the first time. His eyes feeling like they’re bouncing around his head as he takes you in.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph— he’s fucked.
The hair. The eyes. The nose. The goddamn lips. The white dress.
It’s not at all what he was picturing. He was fully imagining you and expecting you to go all out and look like princess cake topper. The show is paying for everything after all.
But no, you’re dressed in a long flowing silk dress. With little cap sleeves and the front of your dress making your tits look round and soft—
He has to stop.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But you’re already beating him to it with the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.
“I like your suit,” you say, the words falling from your lips like they were dragged out of you. Which admittedly— is very cute.
He lets a short puff of air escape his nose as he doesn’t quite laugh but, almost an amused look crosses his face as he looks down at you.
“I like your dress,” he says back, quietly but loud enough for you to hear. Or that least he hopes you do. Because he does like your dress, he likes it a lot actually, which surprises him.
He’s not a man to even care about dresses. Or anything stupid like that. A woman is a woman, he doesn’t care what they’re dressed in. But this dress on you? He’s struggling. Badly.
He watches you blush a little as you look down at your dress, running a hand over the front of it. The silk moving under your finger tips, almost hypnotising him for a moment before your soft laugh breaks him out his trance.
“Thanks. They gave my mom free reign in the dress shop,” you say with a soft, nearly genuine smile as you jut your thumb over your shoulder towards the woman who was walking you down the aisle now sitting in the front row behind you.
Ah, so he was right.
Joel smiles a little as he nods his head at your mom, being respectful for as long as he can handle this experiment.
Oh God he’s going to have to actually interact with your family.
He looks back at you, watching as your other hand is clutching your bouquet of sunflowers so tightly he’s actually a bit worried the stems might snap in half right here.
“She has good taste,” he says as his eyes travel back up to your face. He feels something twist in his chest again as he sees how nervous you look, and before he can open his mouth to give you just a little reassurance.
Knowing that the cameras and lights are probably making you just as nervous as him, someone clears their throat. Making you jump a little as his head turns almost too quickly to the sound tensing up a little until he see’s it’s just the very real officiant for this very real wedding.
God, what is he doing?
He hears her asking the both of you if you’re ready to begin and he just nods. He looks down at you and taking the chance to grab your free hand just right there. Temping him already.
He smiles a little bit as he sees the warmth spread on your cheeks and your almost wide-eyed facial expressions looking up at him.
Beautiful. He can’t help but let the thought sit at the front of his brain for a moment.
“You ready?,” he whispers to you, his own eyes going a little wide too from how fast his heart rate is going as he tightens his grip slightly as he watches you nod and breath out a soft, yeah.
He nods back as he turns back to the wedding officiant, taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on what the woman is starting to say, her very real speech.
Oh sweet Jesus, he needs to read the vows that Tommy wrote him.
This is going to be a nightmare.
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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 2 days ago
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Venomous cravings||Vampire Oscar x Human!lando
Summary— Lando develops an addiction to vampire venom and Oscar can’t have that so he gives Lando what he craves in a safe and controlled way what he didn’t mean to do was ruin Lando…or did he?
A/n this is just a one shot of the larger fic Im writing for @adventuringblind and it’s dark and smutty.
Lando didn’t mean for it to get this bad. It had started as one stupid, adrenaline-fueled night with his friends. They’d snuck into an underground club—dark, loud, and tingling with danger. It was the kind of place his mother warned him about, but Lando had never been good at listening.
He didn’t remember the vampire’s name. Just the cold press of their hand against his neck, the sharp sting of their bite, and the warmth that flooded him afterward. It was euphoric—electric, addictive in a way that scared him. He woke up the next day with a faint scar and an ache, but he also felt empty, like something vital was missing.
And then he wanted more. He started seeking it out, throwing himself into riskier situations, letting strangers sink their fangs into his skin. Each bite made him feel alive, buzzing with that venomous high. But it was never enough. The hunger grew sharper, the bites left him paler, weaker, until even his closest friends noticed.
That’s when Oscar stepped in. Oscar wasn’t supposed to care. Lando was reckless, a mess of bad decisions and worse ideas, but Oscar had a soft spot for him—a crush that bordered on pathetic, though he’d never admit it. When he caught Lando in the aftermath of yet another dangerous encounter, faint bite marks decorating his neck and arms, Oscar couldn’t keep quiet.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Oscar said flatly, arms crossed as he stared Lando down.
Lando just shrugged, his grin sharp and careless. “It’s fine. I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t,” Oscar snapped. “You look like death. What are you even chasing?”
Lando hesitated, his bravado faltering for a moment. “It’s… it feels good, okay? It’s not just the bite. It’s—something about it. The venom. You wouldn’t get it.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened. He did get it—better than Lando realized. He’d been a vampire for decades, careful and restrained, avoiding the chaotic mess humans like Lando brought with them. But hearing the desperation in Lando’s voice, seeing the way his hands trembled like an addict in withdrawal, something in Oscar snapped.
“I could help you,” Oscar said, quieter this time
Lando blinked. “Help me?”
“Just enough to stop you from doing… this,” Oscar gestured at Lando’s pale complexion and fading bruises. “If that’s what you need.”
It was supposed to be temporary. A bite to keep Lando from spiraling, to ease the craving and keep him safe. But Lando came back. Again. And again.
At first, Oscar indulged him carefully, with soft touches and gentle reassurances, tending to the marks he left behind. Lando melted under the care, the warmth of Oscar’s presence more addictive than the venom itself. But Oscar wasn’t blind. He saw how Lando clung to him, how he craved the way Oscar’s bites left him trembling, gasping, and undone.
Oscar thought he could handle it, but the more he gave, the more Lando needed. And as much as Oscar tried to stay in control, the dynamic between them began to shift.
“Don’t give me that look,” Oscar said one night, his voice low and sharp as Lando squirmed under his weight. “You’re the one who wanted this.”
Lando whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Oscar’s smirk was wicked, his hands firm as he pinned Lando in place. “But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To make sure you don’t ruin yourself completely.”
Lando couldn’t argue. Not when Oscar’s voice was dripping with control, his teeth grazing Lando’s neck in a way that sent shivers down his spine.
Oscar hadn’t meant for it to go this far. He’d started as the soft, careful one, but somewhere along the way, he realized Lando was ruined—for anyone else, for anything else. And Oscar liked it that way.
“You’re mine now,” Oscar murmured, sinking his teeth into Lando’s skin once more. Lando arched against him, lost in the bliss of it all, and Oscar couldn’t help but smile. Accident or not, he had Lando exactly where he wanted him.
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dukeofthomas · 7 months ago
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why does every reconciliation fic go like this
#my dc posting#jason todd#red hood#jason todd fanart#ugh i forgot to change tim n dick's skin colours aa i already put my drawing stuff away whatever#bruce wayne#dick grayson#tim drake#<- main offenders#no but. jason will be making some absolutely great points#ill be cheering him on like YEAH know ur fucking value good job call them the fuck out dont fall for their shit!!#then there will be one (1) event n suddenly the author pulls a complete 180#all of jason's valid issues n complaints r swept away without ever being solved#at most he's given a few flimsy excuses or justifications#n suddenly hes all happy n dandy w them#like 🤨🤨🤨 what!!!#like nothing changes nobody makes any effort but apparently one sentence going 'omg no it wasnt like that jason 😭' is enough to sweep#everything under the rug#like why have i never read a fic where anyone actually works to change. to right the wrongs theyve done. to apolgoize and do better.#aside form of course jason going 'i see now that murder is wrong i was stupid n angry for no good reason good thing the pit madness has bee#solved/managed better n i have apologized to Poor Little 10yo Baby Tim whom i hurt and traumatized So Badly how will he ever forgive me...'#'fuck my family wtf is wrong w these assholes' 'i killed the joker for like 3 minutes' 'i love you i have no further issues aside from#Teenage Angst which will be cured via being told my anger is disproportional and of course one (1) hug form my Dearest Father'#when will i read someone 'pullin the alfred card' and jason respondin w 'fuck alfred'. he deserves to be an asshole w the way hes treated..#ok ill stop now im just. very done w this stuff
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anemonet · 1 year ago
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Happy halloween!!! Aimed and fired mainly towards >> @choliosus for the @mcyt-halloween gift exchange, but happy to everyone else too :DD
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javierduffy · 2 months ago
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just a few javieran horse headcanons because i like them a normal amount
branwen
- tall AND fat. kieran makes sure he’s always fed (maybe even accidentally a teensy bit overfed. just because kieran can’t help but indulge him when he butts him with his head or nuzzles at his pockets when he knows there’s treats in there. but never too much because ‘obesity is a problem, even in animals !’). probably about 17hh, taller than average for a kentucky saddler but nothing too big. especially since kieran himself is quite tall
- VERY well-tempered, both naturally, as well as because kieran has literally made him bulletproof. bagged him, blanketed him, stood, jumped, backflipped onto and off of him. this kindly gentleman of a horse only spooks when he wants to be bratty specifically.
- i think he’s about 6 or so, came from the stables kieran worked at after being orphaned, he was just a colt when kieran was just a kid. kieran learned how to birth foals quickly, and branwen happened to be one of them. with the way that they fell in love with each other and the way that branwen whinnied and pranced up to the fence when kieran came back to buy him after the army didn’t work out, you’d think that horse was born just for him.
- his favourite treats, in order, are rutabaga (kieran’s secret for branwen’s glossy coat. also why he’s kinda fat.), boiled potatoes mixed into his oats, apples, and fresh greens. he’s simultaneously incredibly easy to please because of the simplicity of the latter parts of his favourites list and also very needy and complicated because kieran so loves to make his pony happy with his absolute favourite treats, so he tries his very best to get branwen’s eccentric tastes pleased once falling into the VDL’s.
- i always say “a horse’s favourite thing to do is hurt itself”, and i think this statement holds relatively true for branwen as well, though there’s a 25% chance that he’s actually hurt, a 50% chance that he’s only mildly injured or spooked and he’s playing it up to get kieran to dote on him, and a 25% chance that he will protect kieran with his life when they’re in a dire situation (see: snake on the ground or gunfire nearby. or even god forbid a spare tumbleweed find it’s way rolling nearby.) despite kieran’s last wish being his horse getting injured. branwen thinks that he’s gotta be The Man and protect his dad sometimes. it does not help in any situation ever whatsoever.
- branwen is the PERFECT companion for a trail riding date. he’s settled, calm, has a great gait, and as a gelding, truly is not worried about other horses being “faster” than him, so he never gets rowdy nor has any problems when partner riders/horses crowd him. kieran is allowed to ask for as many kisses as he pleases because branwen will never jump when javier’s gold-tipped boots poke him in the side and boaz irritatedly flicks his flank with his tail. truly a goated wingman. also never complains about long rides, and enjoys being out of camp with his rider for as much as physically possible for both of them, so he’s never barnsour in either direction.
boaz
- as an american paint, he’s naturally short and stocky. saddle ends up being a bit loose, though, as javier isn’t as dedicated to keeping him perfectly fed or groomed. he loves him, sure, but horses are somewhat of tools to him, so he kinda does slightly more than bare minimum to keep him kempt and healthy. around 14.5hh, slightly shorter than average and quite dense with muscle
- temperamentally a bit volatile. this horse has just as much drama as his rider, if not a little more. doesn’t like something ? ridden too long ? that stick looks too much like a snake ? hasn’t spent enough time with kieran that day ? he will snort and grunt and bunny hop if javi isn’t on him, and shudder hard enough the saddle shakes underneath him if he is. boaz likes to please his rider, but he also demands pleasure himself, and has no issue with “accidentally” placing a hoof on his owners nice, intentionally clean boots, and subsequently slowly leaning more and more of his weight onto it when he doesn’t immediately get what he wants. bratty pony. generally, he keeps javier safe, though, when it comes down to it.
- around 5 years old. after dutch found javier trying to steal chickens the first time they met, he soon took him back to that ranch and their first take as gang leader and member was a 1 year old grey paint colt for javi to train and subsequently ride. until he was rideable, javier rode a morgan that was formerly hosea’s, named carolina, while he lead boaz everywhere behind him.
- favourite treats, in order, are corn cobs (especially dried), prickly pear fruit AND cactus, sugar cubes, and sliced apples. will force javier to share his maiz with him. javier has always sliced his apples up since he was a colt, not only because javi simply finds comfort in toying with his knife, but also because boaz will not eat them otherwise. javi will also cut all of the spines off of the cactus before letting boaz eat them.
- in terms of injury, boaz is the most dramatic tank on the planet. this horse could arthur morgan-style run face first into a tree and then fall off a cliff and walk it off. but not before he gimps and limps and whines and teeth grinds his way into javier leading him instead of riding him for the next mile or two. once kieran started taking care of him, there is also a 25% chance of boaz faking a terribly painful injury just to get kieran to dote on him.
- kinda the worst wingman ever LMFAO easily annoyed, easily aroused, easily offended, and as a stallion, HAS to walk in front of the “herd” (his rider’s boyfriend and his horse). pins his ears back, smashes into personal space, flicks branwen with his tail (and preferably kieran, if he can reach him) even sometimes will nip at branwen if the latter tries to calmly make this date a date and not a life or death race (whoever loses, their dad is gay) and walk side-by-side to aid their riders’ hand holdings. will make executive decisions via stopping or veering off for fresh green grass beside the trail, will at points actively attempt to shudder javier out of his saddle (has succeeded once when javi was distracted by a story being excitedly told by kieran), and will also spook and take off running so fast javier thinks it must have broken his neck from the velocity. generally makes trail rides a living hell, but kieran finds it charming, and it makes for some cute shoujo-style “omg … *reaches out to help you up after your horse bucks you off because he saw a log that looked nothing at all and everything like a cougar and pink and white soft bubbles surround me* are you okay ? here, let me help.” moments. maybe some day boaz will be allowed off of the national american terrorist list written by javier “rizzless rider” escuella
ok im tired and that’s all i can think of please enjoy and feel free to contribute 👍 i love them so bad im gona cry
#i’m at the gym for the first time since my od and ouugghh i’m so emotional#it’s 2am aslo. ouu they haunt me#i love thinking about them being silly little domestic cowboys#and just going on dates and riding their little horsies#my fav horse girls !1!!11!1!1!! even tho javi isn’t a horse girl really but in my heart he is cuz kieran loves trail rides#and so javieran go on trail rides a lot as well as “’riding into town’ as an excuse to get out of camp together#javier is so good at listening he truly learned the art of shutting up when he couldn’t speak english and also was learning in america that#he really should trust sparingly because the new world was so incredibly hostile to him from the start simply for being who he was and where#he came from#so he’s such a great active listener and while it’s kinda a trauma response it also works very well for javierans relationship because kiera#has never in his life ever felt important or safe or like anything he said mattered to anyone so perfect brilliant ‘i’m listening go on’ jab#vier makes kieran feel so loved and heard in ways he’s never ever in his life experienced and javi takes them fishing and riding and to the#stables constantly because he’s LISTENED to kieran and kieran never has to ask to do something he wants to do because javi’s already HEARD h#im (and he also knows kieran would never ask for anything first ever because he never feels like he deserves anything at all. nor even feels#safe enough to dare).#and javier gets his cake and eats it too when kieran asks and asks and asks because kieran cares about EVERYTHING right from the getgo beau#se unlike javier kieran has been entirely unable to turn his heart off at all in any capacity so he loves and loves ans loves against his wi#ll so javier has been so adored from the start because kieran can’t HELP it so he gets him gifts and learns things for him and javi just as#much never has to ask for much other than courage from kieran. ever. can anyone hear me is anyone lidtening ouuu#ok enough sorry they make me so emptipnal#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#javieran#kieran duffy#javier escuella#text#hero's talking to himself again#hero’s waxing poetry again#i think that was the tag ¿#im gonna throw up i miss them so bad they’re everything to me oouuggyuuuy
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ganondoodle · 1 year ago
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i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo
#ganondoodles talks#also probably sounds like self pity#but this feeling hits everytime i see a super popular artist be the popular cool artist#i am a little weird i know that and thats not somethign bad i think#but the internet never gets to see that much of me#i tend to write posts when i am at my worst bc it has to go somewhere#so the image it tells people is that im a weirdly strong opiniod freak that gets breakdowns over nothing#i also dont feel like im otherwise -cool tm- enough to balance that out#i dont think my art is as stylized or as inventive as others nor am i cool to interact with bc idk how to be cool to interact with#i feel double bad when i misstepped with someone i used to talk to bc of something stupid ... or just dont know what i did wrong#im guessing its especially when i am in that spiraling state of mind where i really am not myself tbh#it still feels very bad bc i feel like i can never make it up to anyone again#sorry i acted like a jerk my brain was exploding in emotions in a desperate attempt to deal with something idk how to deal with-#-and made me not act like myself but now i feel really dumb about it#doesnt sound like a good excuse#... i want to thank those that do stick with me#even if i acted strange sometimes- even if i disappointed sometimes- even when i couldnt keep a promise#there are little things that still make me angry at myself#like that one time i asked in the tags whod read as long as the end of them and if someone did shoudl send me an ask so id draw a lil thing#and i got two#and i kept trying to remeber oh shit i need to do that and forgetting again/not having energy for it in a loop#i still feel like a jerk about it but now its probably too late#i wish i could answer all asks i get but man my energy for that is always rock bottom#no matter how much i enjoy the ask#and i love getting asks!!!#im sorry :((
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pseudophan · 4 months ago
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gonna be so sad when tonight is the first preshow space with good audio and i'm asleep because i have a psych appointment tomorrow
#life update if anyone gaf we're now at the point where i know i'm getting the adhd diagnosis and yet i STILL HAVE TO WAIT#like she just isnt sure if it's adhd or add (its norway theyre not gonna update the terms any time soon just roll with it)#and im just like. girl i don't give a fuck#its been so many years i cant do this anymore#we've talked to my fucking kindergarten teachers like 😭 they've investigated my entire life atp#to make sure i did in fact have all these issues from birth#because my word and my mum's word just isn't good enough i guess#like lets rely on the selective memories of random ass people ive encountered growing up this is ASININE#anyway my godmother had a 4h consultation the other day and got diagnosed on the spot#so now my mum is mad at her LMFAO#cause my mum's like. that bitch doesn't even have adhd. shes fine.#which i feel like is probably wrong but i agree with the sentiment#where is the deep dive investigation into her wholeass existence 😭#its cause she got to go private but they refuse to refer me to a private specialist so i have to keep going publuc#public#and if i go private on my own its too expensive plus the waitlist is years long#so. whatever. i guess.#man im so tired.#i will never ever ever forgive my psychiatrist from when i was 15 who said i probably had adhd but because i did ok in school its fine#and they wouldnt set the diagnosis#because the fact that i have papers from when i was 15 saying i don't have it is what's making this all so difficult#even though if you read all the papers it says i hit on EVERY SINGLE POINT#which is why the One Psych who listened to me is absolutely fuming losing her mind cause she can't understand why any of this happened#man i hate my fucking life lol
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witchqueen · 7 months ago
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Does anyone have any tips to help stop yourself from comparing your artwork to others, or equating your value as an artist with likes and reblogs?
I've struggled with this for a while and it's getting old, I don't know how to just shrug it off. Any genuine advice would be nice
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irafuwas · 1 year ago
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i don't know why, but in the sparse five hours of sleep i got last night, my brain decided to plague me with dreams of lilia taking care of an elderly silver, up until the final moments of his life. i could hear silver's thoughts the whole time, and he was so absolutely inundated with shame and guilt it almost seemed like he was suffocating. he kept thinking over and over and over again that this all should've been the other way around. he should've been the one looking after his father in the twilight of his life. he should've been his aging father's rock, his safe place to land, his stalwart defender against a world so unbelievably cruel to its most vulnerable denizens. again and again his heart cried out in vain, it should've been the other way around.
as a child he had once wished - prayed, even, to the same force now threatening to reclaim his spirit back into its unconscious designs - for his father to live a long and prosperous life, and it was as though that very wish had backfired on him in a way he never could have possibly imagined
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jrueships · 6 months ago
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zesty lowkey just another way for str8 ppl to say faggot / faggy and get away with it
#and im sick of letting them#cus why my lil nephew not even ten yet saying that and 'acting 'zesty' ' with his friends#i hate sounding like a boomer like i value the upside of technology#but u give humans / ANYONE rlly a chance to relax and a lot will turn it into laziness / neglect just because they can#like it's good to spread awareness but it's maybe likeeee. Not a good thing to spread statements/stereotypes with no further explanation#and peddle it to CHILDREN#whose comprehensions skills are. surprise. that of a CHILD'S#i say this ironically. btw#'oh im so mature for my age' no bro ure an immature HUMAN whos being forced to immaturely consider urself mature#due to the nature of ur relationships and homelife (or more-so the lack/negatives of them)#like it's ok to be a little stupid#as long as u keep trying to improve instead of just sitting in fault#or acting like they dont exist#anyways this got off topic but ya. crazy#kids have been killing each other n crazy shit like that but lately the crazy murder stories have HEAVILY leaned into#a misunderstanding of materialism#instead of just 'i wonder what it feels like' it's 'she took my ipad & also i wonder what it feels like'#like the first was already scary enough & now we've got this shit???#empathy is going thru a downside and we need to adjust the scales back!!!#im not gonna act like this is some new never seen b4 onset of fear impacting a generation after mine#bcs it's not never seen before in LIFE.. it's just never been seen b4 in UR life. which can feel like LIFE LIFE bcs like. uve only got one#that u may be cognizant of or etc religion aspect insert here. the point is. history repeats itself. but the points of history#can vary in visibility. some events get more notice than others bcs history's voice is ppl & actions & sometimes that gets erased#this isnt some bastardization point of one generation. but it IS a flaw that can show up in any gen (usually the oncoming ones)#bcs changes can be comfort & discomfort & the one u'd usually consider negative isnt always#anyways what im trying to say is. we need empathy back up period. always. we need empathy#lack of it is concerning. end of argument
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skunkes · 8 months ago
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if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.
#i cant let go of it. i cant even enjoy good moments without thinking about how they'll just be memories one day#how they're already memories since moments pass so fast#everything is I'll Miss This and i already miss it and i cant believe once you're gone you're gone forever#and ill never ever see you again. and your shell is in the ground but where did the rest of you go?#should i look at your body one last time? on one hand itll be the last time i see you.#on the other hand it will be the last time i see you.#and the memory of you will die with me too. as if neither ever existed#it impacts me so much too bc i dont feel close to anybody really...and i dont make friends easily#so whats going to happen when the people who have always been there arent there anymore?#im going to be alone for so much of my life.#i will record your voice so im ready for when i cant hear it from the source while also knowing it wont be enough and one day#ill be wishing it lasted longer. it could be 12 hours long and ill want more.#how do you surpass this? it hasn't even happened. when it happens i don't know what ill do. considering my whole life has been#the timer. the countdown. hours and hours of anticipatory grief#and then ill be next. me. some of all thats left of you. it cant be true.#sorry. this gets worse every single year and its been going insane lately#id surprisingly been managing it well for months somehow ! it wouldnt cross my mind...and now its there again#like it accumulated and its all coming out right now. ive been crying for hrs tonight and last night#one day his things will just be things. things ive made and given him will be in my hands again.#talkys#i want to go hug my dad but then ill just cry over how one day i wont be able to....! how do i store it? how do i save it?#how do i preserve it forever....even as i take my own last breath....#i cant believe im the only one of me. and my dad is the only one of him.#i wouldnt want to be reborn as anyone else. i cant believe one day i wont get to draw or eat or be comfy in bed anymore.#i cant take it !! im so scared. ill be scared until the end. and you wont be there to hold my hand. im going to be alone.#and none of those years of grief and joy and memories will matter.#i wonder if it would help to tell him about this. i need something to hold onto for when it happens. anything. but i also know it'll make i#hurt more; obviously. just another piece of him that'll be gone one day
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moopbox · 14 days ago
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do u ever feel alive but not...
like ur body is alright n stuff but ur mind...isn't... I don't FEEL alive... its like I'm distant from me... I'm not here... I can feel my limbs I can feel the blood going through me I can feel everything that I've ever hurt.. I can breathe...I can see.. i can write these words down....but I'm just not. just not here my head is fuzzy,parts of me hurt..idk..
more in tags...
#moop talks#vent#Vent tw#I don't even know at this point#This isn't poetry or anything it's just what I feel rn.. I don't like that#I never really few alive anymore.. I keep going because death = bad and scary and my parents won't like me dead#It all boils down to being about surviving the day... nothing else... I feel good I feel bad.. but nothing changes#I don't want to live i don't want to die... I just sometimes wish I just wasn't there#Then nobody would love me and nobody would know me and nobody would need me and I wouldn't disappoint anyone#I'm just some meat puppet to a weird chemical reaction and I'm forced to know about that.. I'm forced to watch myself age and get sick..#I'll eventually rot and die.. not contributing anything in a way that matters... I'm repulsed by sex.. so likely no offspring#And IF I EVEN did have kids they'd inherent my families eyesight and diabetes risc and possibly anxiety and whatever my dad and grandma hav#Come to think of it.. I'm screwed when my parents eventually die and I'm forced to fend for myself... what do I even do other than“draw gud#AND I DONT EVEN DRAW GOOD ENOUGH TO GET ANYWHERE WORTHWHILE#I shouldn't even feel like this... I have parents.. I have a roof above my head.. I have the stuff needed to live ok.. Im not even 16 yet .#People out there are dieing and fuckin MOOPSIE over here is sulking about “feeling bad :( ”#I wish I could get therapy tbh... but I don’t think I'd be able to convince my parents without saying too much#I wish I could just be normal and feel ok and survive till adulthood than have sex and offspring than die feeling ok
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