AHHH THIS NEEDS MORE LOVE AND ATTENTION AHH IM TWEAKING OUT THIS MADE ME FEEL SO MUCH ALL AT ONCE I LOVEE

AHHH THIS NEEDS MORE LOVE AND ATTENTION AHH IM TWEAKING OUT THIS MADE ME FEEL SO MUCH ALL AT ONCE I LOVEE THIS SO FCKING MUCH

LADYBUG

pairing: dad's friend!hwang inho x fem!reader

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. AGE GAP (reader is 20, inho is 48) hurt comfort, daddy issues, domestic violence (reader has an abusive father) psychological issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, taboo kinks, fauxcest kink, DDLG themes, sub!reader, soft!dom inho, freudian slip except it's on purpose, reader literally calls him dad and appa and every variation of that title, badly written smut, pet names, infantilization, subspace, oral fixation, obsession, plot with porn.

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. DON'T COMPLAIN.

summary: your father's friend has been your only saving grace through your abusive childhood. it's only natural that you fall in love with him.

word count: around 9.5k

A/N: consider this a love letter to the lee byung hun girlies with daddy issues. writing this was very self indulgent. i hope you guys like it. if you don't, consider moving on. no hate comments will be tolerated! there are bigger problems to worry about. we do not kink shame around here!

please ignore any mistakes.

p.s. feedback is a writer's biggest motivation!

MASTERLIST

the gravel digs painfully into the skin of your bare feet as you wait. you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself, teeth clattering against each other as you bounce your weight on your feet, breathing sharp. the door opens a few minutes after your incessant knocking, and mr. inho stands at the entrance, frowning. you were sure he was surprised to see you like this— it had been 2 years since you last met.

his soft hair looks messy and he's wearing a comfortable shirt with joggers. he looks so gentle, and his droopy, confused eyes snap wide open when his gaze lands upon your black eye. as if suddenly awake, he gasps your name and immediately grabs you.

"that bastard." he guides you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you. it makes you jump. "i'm going to—"

"don't." you whisper, looking up at him pleadingly. you grab his arm and your lips wobble as he glares down at you. "i don't have anywhere else to go. don't do anything rash. it really was my fault this time."

"nothing you do will justify him beating you." he snaps, settling you on the couch. he mumbles incoherent curses at his friend as he gets the first aid kid, and you fiddle with your fingers, flinching slightly as your tongue catches onto the bleeding split of your lip.

you'd sneaked out despite your father warning you not to. it was your friend's birthday, and you really wanted to be the first to wish her and give her a gift for once. she got you to stay at least till you had some cake, and unfortunately for you, on that same moment your father had decided to come home and immediately seek you out. he'd called your friend in a fit of rage, and as soon as you sneaked back inside, it was too late. to compensate, he'd knocked you into the wall and given you a black eye on top of that.

"i should put handcuffs on that bastard," inho snaps you out of your thoughts, kneeling before you. you wince as he gently applies antiseptic on your lip. "i don't understand why you won't let me. why do you let him do this to you?"

you had your reasons. the more rational ones were that your father was a sick, twisted piece of shit. a waste of space. but you had no one else. no source of income, no other place to stay. you wanted to study enough to be financially independent, and for that you needed him. you don't know any other way to live— he's isolated you from most experiences someone your age should have. you're not sure if you'll be able to get by without his roof over your head.

like always, you switch the subject.

"why are you still friends with him, then?"

mr. inho looks at you then and clenches his jaw. he simply glares for a moment. you're sure you see his eye twitch. he looks offended, and you understand why. you almost regret asking him this question— of course you knew why. you were lucky he was still friends with him. it's one of the reasons you're still alive and kicking.

"i'm not his friend. we just worked together," he grumbles lowly, "and even then i'm still around because of you. is that what you wanted to hear?"

you chuckle slightly, masking your flustered haze with a smirk.

"old man." you whisper with an endearing edge to your voice. he isn't amused. he stands up and gives you an ice pack for your eye. you slump into his couch and groan.

"when did you return from college?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"last week," you sigh, throwing your head back. the cold ice feels comforting against your heated skin. he frowns slightly and opens his mouth to speak— but you beat him to it.

"i was avoiding you." you answer his question. inho had been to your place a few times since you came, but you made no move to approach him. out of embarrassment and well, because you were scared to see him. it's normal with people you have crushes on.

he seems to understand because he doesn't mention it further.

"are you planning to stay?" he asks gently, putting his hands in his pockets. "i can get the guest room ready. it's been a while since you had a sleepover."

your heart flutters. mr. inho is... you don't have a proper way to describe it.

he's a lot of your firsts. he's everything.

mr. inho was there when you were 9 years old and struggling with math homework. mr. inho was there when your father would get too frustrated to teach you, and he'd put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a break. and then he'd place you on his lap, wipe your tears and help you with the gentleness you wish your father possessed.

mr. inho was there when you turned 12 and got your period for the first time. mom had passed away when you could barely walk, so you had no womanly guidance in your stages of growing up. shameful and scared and suffering from heavy fever, you had told your father about it, and instead of comforting you, he'd simply freaked and called you a slut and made all sorts of implications. not knowing any better, you'd locked yourself in the bathroom and immediately called mr. inho's number with shaky hands. and when the door opened and mr. inho walked in with warm towels and a bag full of necessities, you had broken down in his arms and told him everything.

that was the first time you saw mr. inho punch your father. it was also the first time you had seen someone be angry over you, not at you.

to protect you.

that's when you had your first sleepover at mr. inho's place, if you can call it that. your father had shamefully rushed off to the pub after getting an earful from the older man, and you were left alone in the house. mr. inho had brought you to his place, readied the guest room and stayed by your side till you fell asleep. the next day, he'd made you breakfast, and your father had apologized, in his own way.

when you went back home, a bunny plushie was waiting for you in bed. your father said he got it for you, but you could tell it actually came from mr. inho. your father never got you gifts. never. he didn't even know you liked power rangers, or max and ruby, or that dory was your favourite fish from finding nemo.

mr. inho had gotten you power rangers trump cards for your birthday. a malibu barbie doll the next. when you grew into your boyband phase, he got you a pencil box with your favourite idol too. most of the plushies in your rooms were gifts from him— mostly given in secret when mr. inho dropped your drunk father off at your place after a long day. you'd always stay up just for a glimpse of him— not willing to listen when he told you to just go to sleep. sometimes he'd hand you a package, give you a pat on the head and a wink. and then he'd leave, just like that.

you're not sure how mr. inho and your father became friends in the first place, if you can call it that. acquaintances is a better word, but they've known each other too long for that. they worked in the same police department and had partnered up multiple times until mr. inho retired.

most officers said they made a good duo in the professional sense— but their personalities seemed far from compatible.

your father was stubborn and temperamental. he was judgemental, toxic and a brute with a superiority complex. a true narcissist at heart. mr. inho was gentle and kind. he was compassionate and understanding. he was headstrong and stood for what he believed in. he was everything you wished your father was.

you will never understand how someone like him could befriend a man like mr. inho.

you were 13 when you gave mr. inho your first gift. you made him a fucking father's day card— you used to make those for your father when you were younger, and always saw them in the trash can the next day. it hurt you so much that you'd simply stopped.

the incident with your period was a major turning point in your relationship with mr. inho. it changed the way you saw him and in a way, reawakened your creativity. so you brought out your best colors, made him a stupid little card, and gave it to him in secret. hidden amidst the pages of a book your father had borrowed from him with no intention to actually read it. you were too scared and shy to gift it to him directly— you'd simply left the card in there and hoped for the best.

the next time your father dropped you at mr. inho's because he was working late again, you found the card pinned to the fridge. you don't remember being that happy in a long time.

that was the first time mr. inho had given you a forehead kiss. it was innocent and so... normal. like it was part of his routine. he didn't know that he had permanently solidified his place in your heart for years to come.

you were 14 when you first realized you had a crush on mr. inho. it was obvious enough, you just never thought there was actually a term for the butterflies you felt whenever he'd show up at your place to discuss work with your father. all you knew was you looked at him with the kind of admiration a girl could only carry for a loving father, except your feelings had grown a little more shameless over time, your thoughts sometimes vulgar. you'd get increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing him, to the point you saved up some money in secret and bought a lipgloss just so you'd put it on whenever he visited. you'd pout and lock yourself in your room when he wouldn't acknowledge it with anything but a smile and a pinch on the cheek. it's a little stupid to think of— a little girl with a crush trying so hard to impress a grown, married man.

you were 16 when you confessed, and he'd laughed— not mockingly. it was almost paternal. the universal reaction to moments where little girls with no social awareness say something silly like they want to marry their dad when they grow up. he made you feel that small again— he'd patted you on the head and told you that you're too young for him, and made a stupid joke about not planning to go to jail anytime soon. he told you that he loved you, but that this was wrong because he's a married man, and that you should be with someone your age. that this is a stupid crush that would fade with time. that you simply feel this way because you haven't met enough boys.

that had stung, but you forced yourself to get over it.

time passed but the crush did not fade by a single percent.

you tried to get yourself a boyfriend— and ended up comparing any potential date to mr. inho. none of them could match the intensity he carried, the way he cared for you like a father. the strength and authority he possessed. you remember one time when your father was out on a case and mr. inho had decided to babysit you— he'd taken you out for ice cream. a group of rowdy boys were littering the place and laughing among themselves. one of them tripped and crashed into you and you dropped your ice cream. you were too scared to ask for another. mr. inho had paused and shot them a deadpan glare— and the boys stared back before slowly advancing, picking up their litter and throwing it in the bin. they'd bowed in respect, apologized to you and rushed away before he could say anything further. that moment had stuck with you for years— how he could communicate with just his eyes, and people listened.

mr. inho bought you another ice cream with a smile after— with two scoops this time. strawberry and chocolate.

you looked for emotional maturity and a sense of responsibility in high school boys. it was bound to be a failure.

you were 18 when you tried to kiss mr. inho for the first time. it was stupid— it was your last act of rebellion before you went to college. you felt daring because his wife had passed not too long ago. he'd disappeared for a while after that, and his absence only made your longing for him grow. the insults and violence your father aimed at you became background noise eventually, because your mind was set on the one man who meant something to you.

in that time, you missed him so dearly, you were ready to let go of your dignity for one chance with the only man who had ever tried to care for you. you hated yourself for it still— for trying to take advantage of his kindness. he had come back a changed man— visibly stressed with dark circles etched permanently under his eyes. like he'd just been to hell and back. he looked like someone who could use a little something to take his frustrations out on— and you would have let him use you as his punching bag if he wanted. if he wanted a shoulder to cry on, you'd be there. if he wanted a fleshlight, you'd be there then too. that's how much you desired him. you thought you could make him feel better this way.

it was insensitive and utterly insane of you to do something so foolish. you were ready to be with him in any way, even if it meant as a rebound. but he'd stopped your attempt with a firm hand on your shoulder, looked at you with utmost seriousness, and told you to pull yourself together.

'don't do this,' he'd warned. and as if to stomp on your heart further, he reminded you that he loved his dead wife, and you were just a fucking kid.

you were a mess. you never tried initiating anything with him after that. you left off to college, and whenever you did come back, you made sure to avoid him at all costs, no matter how much it hurt you. you'd pretend you didn't see him text you about how college was going, or if you needed any help. you refused to answer his texts asking you to meet atleast once before you left. you were ashamed of your behaviour and too scared to face him. even when you could hear him ask your father about you whenever you visited. your father would make an offhanded remark about you doing god knows what and change the subject.

mr. inho had been more of a dad to you than your own father. he was there to tend to your wounds, to threaten to beat the shit out of your father and put him in jail— but you never allowed him to actually do it. your father was all you had for now, and you're scared to live in a world without a father. you know how harsh society can be to girls like that.

a truth you weren't ready to accept was that a big part of your refusal to let your father go was rooted in your desire to keep mr. inho. your father was your only link to him. if your father went away, so would your need to be protected by him. then mr. inho wouldn't come to your rescue. you wouldn't need safety or a shoulder to cry on. what if mr. inho decided he'd done his work, and moved on with his life? you can't have that. you're not ready.

you couldn't lose him too.

"i can't stay," you whispered finally, breaking eye contact. he nodded in understanding, walking up to you.

"is he asleep?"

you nodded, mindlessly biting your lower lip and flinching at the sting.

he tsked at your action and you stood up to leave. as you walked past him, he grabbed your hand. you looked at him then, and he shook his head.

"don't go to him," he whispered, pulling you closer. you wanted to run, to cower in on yourself. you were sure he didn't mean to appear so lovely. but he did. mr. inho was always lovely to you. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you looked at him. why does he keep doing this to you? the last memory of you two is painful. but you're still here.

"just say the word and i'll get rid of him." he adds quietly, his palm squeezing your arm comfortingly. you simply stare at him— gaze full of stars like always. like he was your hero. his eyes soften and he sighs, leaning forward to pinch your cheek. you look away out of shame. to prompt you to respond, he messily ruffles your hair. the action almost makes you sob— he used to do that a lot when you were younger. his hand still feels so big compared to you. you compose yourself soon enough, refusing to fall into your adolescent folly.

"don't be ridiculous." you chuckle dryly, snatching your wrist from his hold. you grab the part of your arm that he had held and squeeze— hoping it would magically capture the essence of his grip and lock it away in your senses forever. he sighs tiredly and straightens up, his face hardening.

"i'm sorry." you whisper softly, immediately melting under his disappointed gaze. you regret your harsh behaviour. you show up bleeding at his doorstep at 3 in the morning and he lets you in— and this is how you treat him?

"you know it's not that easy." you add, voice small.

he grunts, rubbing a tired hand down his face.

"i'm sorry i bothered you," you can't help yourself, shifting to look at him more clearly. "i didn't have—"

"—anywhere else to go?" he finishes your sentence flatly with a clench of his jaw. he sounds exhausted, and it makes you want to cry. he scoffs slightly, "stop saying that. my door is always open for you. it always has been. since you were a kid. you know that."

you feel smaller and smaller with every sentence, and you nod sheepishly in agreement. it's true— he has always been there for you in a way no other man ever has. but still you can't help but fear that one day he'll grow tired of this cycle, of you, and straight up leave. he'll get bored of this dynamic and of looking after you and abandon you. you don't want to lose him. the difference between him and your father is that the latter is connected to you by blood— you can use your legal rights if he decides to abandon you. whereas you can't even imagine a world where mr. inho doesn't want to be around you. you don't want to imagine it. it's locked away in the treasure chest of your worst fears. so you simply reject any possibility of that opportunity to arise. would mr. inho still be around if your father didn't hurt you? would he still be around if he didn't feel sorry for you, if you didn't need him to protect you?

you'd rather things stay this way than consider the other scenario.

you avoided any encounter with him for two years, ignored his texts and calls, and now you appear at his door unannounced with a black eye and he still took you in. would he do the same if you had come bearing gifts instead? the idea replays in your head like a broken record.

would he?

you're an insane fucking mess.

he insists on driving you home. you can see the emotions in his gaze— don't leave. make the right choice. but you ignore it like you have for the past few years. you leave despite his pleas, and go right to sleep once you get into bed.

you can hear yelling. the voices are rushed, panicked almost. the floor creaks with each step, and you clutch your plushie close as you press your ear against the door. there's arguing, clattering. the sound of something breaking. more panicked noises. you can hear a siren in the background. your heart rate begins to rise, and when you hear another scream, you snatch the door open.

mr. inho stands over your father's corpse, panting. his knuckles are split and bleeding— splatters of crimson splattered across his face and body. your father's face is quite literally unrecognisable. you look at the broken plates by mr. inho's feet, and the glass shard in his hand. another shard jammed right in your father's chest. and then you scream.

your own scream wakes you up. sweat breaks out across your body and you take heavy breaths— looking around your room. your head hurts. your heart squeezes painfully inside your chest, and it prompts you to get out of bed to grab a glass of water.

you check the time. it's almost noon. shit.

your father is at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when you walk in. he does a double take— mouth curling with distaste as he spots the sight of your face.

you did that, you asshole.

you two don't say a word to each other. he folds the newspaper and places it on the table before breaking the news.

"i'm leaving the city for a case soon."

you pause, turning to look at him.

"i'll get someone to keep an eye on you so you don't whore yourself out to the whole neighborhood like you did last night," he adds casually, like he's talking about the weather. you want to lunge at him, grab the nearest object and toss it at his head. you want to scream 'im a virgin! im a virgin! the only thing that has ever fucked me over is the fact that i'm your daughter!' till the whole neighborhood hears.

"don't disappoint me when i come back."

you ignore his remarks, "when will you be back."

he laughs, "i'll drop in as a surprise." his sly eyes narrow at you playfully but you know better. "catch you in the act if you do something to embarrass me."

he sighs dreamily, tossing his head back, "this is gonna be a big one. i'll definitely get a promotion this time. finally something with real money."

you clench your jaw and focus on making breakfast, trying to erase the flashes of your dream from your brain. the doorbell rings and your father greets mr. inho— who doesn't return his enthusiasm. your father's head is too far up his own ass to think someone might not actually like him so much— he believes anyone who talks to him once becomes his fan. and so he does everything he can to maintain that relationship with them. you suppose it's how he's managed to keep mr. inho around despite it being clear that mr. inho doesn't like him that much anymore. maybe your father only keeps him around so he can flex his promotions as time passes. maybe he keeps him around so he has someone to babysit you. either way, you're just glad he's here.

your father doesn't know how close you and mr. inho are. he knows that the relationship between you is purely... platonic and familial, in a sense.

platonic. you almost chuckle. of course it's platonic. mr. inho rejected the idea of anything other than that.

you try not to be bitter about it.

your father believes you two only see each other during these meetings of theirs, which were more frequent when you were a kid. you're thankful because you're sure if he found out you and mr. inho got along, he would remove him from your life too like he did with all your friends.

mr. inho brought soju. you chop the veggies for your omelette and they chat in private for a while before your father finally leaves— and mr. inho locks the door and joins you in the kitchen. that's when the realization sets in. you almost laugh.

"did he pick you to keep an eye on me while he's gone?"

mr. inho smiles— a twinkle in his eyes as he sits at the table. it's not often that he smiles like that, but whenever he does, it punches the breath out of you.

"just like old times," he remarks with a pleased smirk. "better behave yourself while i'm here, kid."

his words are playful— clearly teasing. but they have your breath hitching. for some reason, you like it when he says them, you wouldn't mind him ordering you around like that. you swallow hard and the sudden shift in your brain chemistry has you fumbling— and you accidentally cut your hand with the sharp knife.

"fuck!" you yelp, dropping the knife. he is immediately at your side, grabbing your hand and guiding it under tap water.

"shit—" he hisses, frowning, "why do you keep hurting yourself? be careful."

you pout slightly, your heart pounding against your chest. he raises your hand to his mouth and mindlessly sucks the blood off. you freeze, eyes widening— breath catching in your throat.

"saliva prevents blood clotting," he explains gently. when he's done, he puts a hand on your waist and turns you to the table. "sit. let me make you breakfast."

"i can do it—" you protest, but he gives you another one of his warning glares and that shuts you up.

you hum and watch him in his element. he's folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, confidently grating some cheese on your omelette. you sigh dreamily to yourself, forcing your gaze to stay only at his concentrated face and not at the veins mapped across his strong arms.

when he's done, he places the plate on the table. expertly, he takes a knife and a fork and cuts a piece, and holds it up to you. when you go to grab the fork from him, he tsks and pulls it away.

"let me," he says softly, "i'm finally seeing your face after two years. why don't you let me take care of you, hm?"

you freeze, looking at him dumbly. he takes the opportunity to feed you, and you chew softly. he snorts, takes a bite himself.

why is he talking like this to you? does he not know you're insane about him?

"you can't just say things like that to me." you mumble between bites, voice low.

he ignores your comment, feeding you another piece.

"got yourself a boyfriend back in college?" he asks, his mouth curled into a smirk that he makes no effort to hide. "is that why you were ignoring your old man?"

your heart pangs and you swallow comically slow. you ignore his second remark too. he's talking so casually— you know it means nothing. you can't help but feel like it's cruel of him to act this way towards you, like he doesn't know how much you long for him.

"tried," you shrug, "they never stay. they can tell i have too many issues."

he laughs heartily and you smile. you like making him happy. it's a stark contrast against the last memory you have of him.

"you're not that hard to handle," he adds with a wink, patting your head. if he notices you leaning into his touch like a cat, he doesn't mention it. when he gets you a mug of juice, you drink it obediently, and he tends to the dishes.

"the weather's good today," he remarks casually, "you wanna go out for a walk? i'll buy you some ice cream. just like old times."

that puts the brightest smile on your face. you nod enthusiastically and rush to your bedroom to get dressed— and you try to ignore the flutter of your heart when his laugh follows along with you.

hwang inho is an insane man.

you'd dressed up pretty— your father's absence allows you to indulge in your more... girly clothes. ever since you hit puberty, he never let you wear dresses— called you a slut whenever you tried. as if to protect yourself, you'd grown used to dressing in a more tomboy-ish manner around him.

for this occasion, you put on your cutest dress and your favourite lipgloss, only to be met with mr. inho dressed up in a fucking black shirt with a suede jacket thrown over his shoulder. he looked so chic, it almost pissed you off.

he should not be allowed near black shirts. you don't want anyone else to see him this way.

you don't notice him blinking in a daze when you step down the stairs, and you don't notice the bobbing of his adam's apple when you bend down to put on your shoes.

he doesn't let you. almost immediately, he's gently placing a large palm at your thigh and kneeling before you. your breath hitches again and he gives you a look that is hard to decipher before guiding your foot into your polished mary janes.

"you look different." he mentions quietly, lowering his gaze to your feet.

his thumb tenderly brushes across your ankle, as if examining the softness of your skin. you release a shaky breath as he secures the straps of your shoes.

"a good different?" you ask shyly. you don't want him to think of you as too childish, too immature. you don't want to look like a kid playing dress up. you want to look like a woman to him. a beautiful woman who knows how to dress and look pretty.

he stands up and settles you with an unreadable look. he blinks a few times before composing himself and nodding. if you didn't know better, you'd think he looked flustered.

"a good different."

the walk outside is silent. perhaps it's because things just suddenly felt so intimate between the two of you. or perhaps it's because he's looking for something to say. you aren't, atleast. you're happy walking alongside him in comfortable silence, your hands brushing against each other's but never really touching. you wish he'd grab it and never let it go.

"still prefer strawberry ice cream?" his teasing voice breaks you out of your stupor. you smile.

"of course i do," you huff, looking up at him. you decide to tease him back. "you're still lactose intolerant?"

"should i be honest?" he sighs, looking straight ahead. he's wearing sunglasses, so his eyes are hard to read. "i tried some strawberry ice cream sometime back. some expensive brand. tossed it away after a bite because it tasted like nothing, so i'll never understand why you like it."

his voice lowers— grows almost quiet. a confession.

"i was missing you."

your steps falter and you stare at him. he walks ahead, before turning to face you. you grit your teeth, hold back all the words that are threatening to spill from your tongue.

you missed me? you ate strawberry ice cream because you missed me? you thought of me? i missed you too. i'm sorry for how reckless i've been. i'm sorry for ignoring you. i love you, i love you. please make me yours.

i'm so pathetic.

he cocks his head to the side and holds out his hand. you look at it, then at him, then you reach forward and grab hold of his finger. he chuckles and you hold back a smile as you swing your hands together and walk over to the ice cream stand. he pays and lets you pick.

he receives a phone call, and to your dismay, your hands separate. he holds up a finger telling you to wait before walking a few steps away so he can have his privacy. you resist the urge to pout and go through the menu. the girl behind the counter looks at mr. inho like most girls do— with barely disguised lust.

"holy shit, your dad's hot." she remarks in awe, voice hushed as she holds out an ice cream cone. "is he single?"

your heart flutters at her assumption— you don't blame her. it wasn't the first time he was mistaken as your dad. you've heard a lot of those comments whenever you'd go on walks with him when you were younger. but now, it also fills you with an emotion akin to jealousy. you glance over your shoulder and watch him talk seriously on the phone. you look back at the girl and grab the cone, and give her a sugary sweet smile.

"no," you answer sweetly, "he's dating me."

you hold back the urge to laugh at her bewildered face as you happily skip to him. he looks at the two of you curiously and you grin at him as you grab his finger again.

"what was that about?" he asks, pocketing his phone and you shrug, cheekily licking the ice cream.

"nothing," you hum, walking with a skip in your step. "i missed you too."

he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close, and you resist the urge to moan when you inhale the smell of his cologne— he always smells otherworldly. ridiculously rich for some reason. rich and comforting and like home.

this time, you convince him to sleep over. even though he was strictly against staying in your room for too long out of respect, you managed to draw him up. he looks around and takes a seat at the bed. your room is still pink— girly in it's essence. you had the craziest pink phase when you were a kid and it bled into everything you owned, from bedsheets and clothes to your walls. mr. inho had also been a major enabler in this situation— he'd gotten you a lot of pink trinkets and toys. your father never allowed you to modify your room after the first time.

"it's like a unicorn threw up in here," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around. you roll your eyes fondly, adjusting the sheets. his eyes fall upon your bunny plushie— and you watch his face fall.

"i know it was you who got this." you decide to say, looking away. "you didn't have to do that for him."

"i did it for you," he corrects you, picking it up. it's still in good condition, although its ears have become more droopy, and you've drawn hearts on its plain button eyes. "it was a bad night for you. no kid should have to go through that."

your face softens, eyes getting glassy. cautiously, you take a seat beside him. you fidget with the hem of your dress, not really knowing how to continue conversation with him. you feel a little self conscious now that you're alone with him in your room— after years. the close proximity makes you want to touch him— to crawl into his lap and just stay there. with your saviour who always knows how to make you feel better. your sweet, considerate old man. you want to know what it feels like to be touched by him, to be held by him, to be—

"i like your dress."

the words almost give you a whilpash. your head snaps up and you hold back the enthusiasm in your voice. "really?"

"really," he smiles kindly. your dress rides up as you sit straighter and his eyes fall upon the silver of your skin, and naturally his hand reaches out and adjusts the fabric so it covers your knees. your breath hitches, and his voice lowers into a soft mumble.

"you're such a pretty girl."

you swallow hard— it's like someone is holding your head underwater. you can't fathom how much you needed to hear this— and especially coming from him, you think you're going to die.

i would let you do anything to me.

"really?"

"really." he whispers. something in his gaze shifts, and he looks away. he clears his throat.

"i wanted to come see you in college," he admits, placing the plushie back on the bed. "but you kept ignoring my texts. i wasn't sure if you wanted to see me. you avoided me like the plague whenever you came back, even though i don't blame you."

you look away in shame, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, nervously biting your lower lip. it doesn't hurt anymore. "i felt ashamed after the way i acted when.. you know."

"i understand," he hums, blinking at you. you're glad he doesn't say it directly, you're not ready to confront him like that right now.

"thank you for everything you've ever done for me," you add, shifting on your feet. "and i'm sorry for avoiding you."

a small smile appears on his face.

"look at you," he quips with a chuckle, "you've gotten so mature."

you huff, grabbing the plushie and hitting him with it. he plays along, pretending to be dramatically hurt with every hit. it goes well until you're leaning forward for easier access, and his attempt to snatch the plushie from your hold makes you trip. you crash right into him and he falls backwards onto the mattress, taking you down with him. your face smushes against him, and the way your heartbeat skyrockets would've been comical if you didn't feel him stiffen under you.

you take this opportunity as a golden ticket— burying your head further into his chest. your arms clutch the fabric of his shirt, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as your body relaxes in his hold. he calls your name softly.

"what are you doing?" he asks, voice strained.

"sorry," you whisper, nuzzling your head further into him. you're willing to throw your dignity out the window for just a moment in his arms— you don't care anymore. you're not past begging.

"please— please, mr. inho, just— let me hug you for a minute, please."

you feel his breath hitch and you sniffle. you force yourself back to reality. you don't want to actually make him uncomfortable. already contemplating killing yourself, you begin to pull yourself away, when his arms suddenly wrap around you.

"mph!" you huff, feeling your body being pulled forward. a big hand comes up to cradle your head against his chest, and another curls around your waist.

"so dramatic," he whispers, his hold tightening. "ill hold you."

"oh my god." you whisper, melting in his arms like putty. you quite literally purr as your body goes limp, and you sigh contentedly, a small smile appearing on your face. like he's your lifeline, you hold onto him tightly.

"my little lady," he whispers. his voice makes your stomach feel warm— it's so velvety and soft. "what's up with you, hm?"

"nothing," you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. you breathe in the comforting smell of him, squeeze your eyes shut as you commit the feeling of being held by him to your memory. "feel so safe.."

he hums, his fingers gently running through your hair. mr. inho is not that tall a man but he still makes you feel so small— so small and so safe, just by his mere presence.

"nobody ever made me feel like this," you admit, your voice cracking. you can't help the emotion seeping into your voice— you're in his arms, and he's petting your hair like you're his child, how are you supposed to breathe? "ive always felt so scared with him but— but with you—"

your voice breaks off as you sniffle again, and you bite down on your tongue as you remember your father. you don't want to think of him right now— you don't want to ruin this moment by crying.

"that bastard doesn't know how lucky he is to have a daughter like you," inho grunts, pressing his cheek against your head. he pulls you impossibly close, cradles you like a fucking baby. "he doesn't deserve to be your father."

the words have you freezing— your body tenses and your breath hitches. nobody has ever said these words to you— you've felt worthless all your life. like a burden, a mistake. like a piece of shit on the shoe that is your father.

inho's hand stills in your hair, and his head tilts towards you so your eyes meet. your lips wobble as you stare at him, and his eyebrows furrow with focus. his thumb brushes against your cheekbone.

"sometimes, i wish i was your father instead," he admits, his voice hushed— like a secret. his gaze runs across your face; almost distant, full of an emotion you can't pinpoint. if you didn't know better, you'd think it was longing. it makes your heart race. "i would never let anything happen to you. you'd be my sweet little girl forever."

the moment those words leave his mouth, you feel like you've been electrocuted. it's like any semblance of rationality has left you— your breath punched out of your lungs and your heart feeling like it's being squeezed. you feel a sharp pain in your chest. the feeling is indescribable. your brain feels like it's shut down. there's nothing there— no thoughts. just pink goop and memories of mr. inho sliding through your head like a powerpoint presentation.

you're not thinking with your mind, that much is clear. he's said the words you've been feeling forever, but never truly had the guts to admit out loud to avoid making things weird. it's like you're being seen for the first time. and with that sentiment, you're leaning forward to press your lips onto his.

he grabs your hair and yanks your head back, separating your mouths with a wet smack. your eyes are dazed as you look at him, and he takes a sharp breath as he glares back at you— nostrils flared, gaze serious. you don't know he's holding onto his last ounce of self control.

"don't do something you can't take back." he warns, voice hoarse.

this is the third time he's rejecting you— it's making you want to kill yourself. your lips wobble pathetically, eyes immediately getting teary as you lean into him.

"please—" your voice cracks, lips parting as you chase his mouth. he restrains you with a firm hold on your hair, mouth twitching. it doesn't hurt, just stings a little. it only makes you long for him more. the visible distress, the conflict on his handsome face only makes you want to cry. you recall his words again, and like a baby, your brain turns into static. all you can think of is how badly you wish he was your father instead. you're not ashamed to beg. you'd do anything, absolutely anything to be his. no matter what way. you just want to be his. perhaps, that's why the words just slip out of your mouth.

"please, dad—"

the moment he hears it, his expression falls. you don't give yourself the liberty to feel shame. all you feel is desperation, sadness. because it's over— you've embarrassed yourself and he's going to think you're fucking weird and you're going to lose him and—

your head is being pulled forward and he's crashing your mouths together. you gasp, eyes widening with surprise, and suddenly he's flipping the two of you over. your back crashes against the soft mattress and he climbs over you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan, your back arching under him. he groans, tilting his head for easier access. your tongues clash together and he kisses you like a man starved. it's utterly lewd and you're gone.

he pulls back with a wet smack, strings of saliva dropping down your chin.

"fuck—" he gasps, voice raspy, "say that again— call me that again."

your heart flutters. you're still out of it, unable to process what's happening.

"m-mr. inho—?"

"no!" he snaps- squeezing your cheeks together and making your lips pucker up. you mewl.

"call me the other thing—" he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, as if fighting a war within himself. he's conflicted. "fuck— the other one. call me that again."

you moan as his hand slides down to your neck, and you're immediately slipping. you can feel your brain get fuzzy, and everything feels like it's a blur. years of desire, yearning, and longing for him pours out of you like a dam, it seeps into the title you've subconsciously given him ever since you were a kid.

"dad." you whisper again, and he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. the way he's crumbling before you makes you feel more confident, and soon enough, the words blabber out of your mouth almost boldly. "dad— dad, dad, dad, papa, appa —"

the rushed string of words has him chuckling softly— his eyes crinkling with mirth. endeared, he's leaning down and immediately kissing you again. you moan unabashedly into his mouth, and his hands reach down to your dress and slide the fabric up, up, up. his hands splay across the soft skin of your thighs and he relishes in the way you fall apart under his touch. he breaks the kisses momentarily only to mumble sweet little words against your skin.

"my sweetheart—" he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you slip further into your little headspace. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you choke on a sob.

"my little baby." he presses another kiss to your cheek. you're further gone. you can't see anything but him anymore. his words drop you further into the safer side of your mind, where there's no one but him— him holding you, loving you. keeping you safe and sheltered. "my angel."

"dada—" you whimper, unable to hold back the desperation in your voice. you sound timid, soft. everything hurts— you love him, you love this man so unbelievably much that it's starting to make your heart ache. he grabs your legs, makes them wrap around his waist. settles his bulge upon your clothed crotch and gently grinds. it makes you moan. "o-oh my god—"

"my little girl," mr. inho coos, pressing soft kisses all over your face. you release a shaky breath, your hips recklessly chasing his own. the action makes him falter, his voice growing shaky. "i got you, i got you, my baby."

"appa," you sniffle, tears running down your face. this one visibly makes him nauseous in the best way possible— it scratches the itch in his brain. you can tell by the shift in his jaw, the slight gasp that leaves his lips. he didn't react this way to other other ones— he likes being called that the most, and it works as fuel for your desires. he licks your tears away, and you hiccup, unable to hold back the violent rush of emotions you feel. "i love you— i love you, why couldn't you have been my dad instead!?"

the last line comes out of you like a wail, and unbeknownst to you, it breaks his heart. he presses his forehead against yours, holding onto your face with utmost tenderness as you exchange breaths. his hips glide against yours tantalizingly slow, and you've never been this horny in your entire life.

"i wish it was you instead," you blabber on, voice cracking. "i wish it was just you, not him! i wish it was just you! i hate him, i need him gone! i love you! i wish it was just you—"

"shh—" he coos, silencing you with another kiss. his hips gain momentum, and he grunts shamelessly as he grinds against you. your eyes flutter as you look at him dazedly— face flushed, lips swollen. your eyes are bloodshot. he gives you a comforting smile.

"i got you," he whispers, pressing another peck upon your nose. you whimper, leaning into his touch. his voice is just as full of desperation. "appa's got you. you're my little girl. my daughter. not his. only mine. got that?"

that does it for you— it's like you just got the only validation you ever needed in life.

"yes- yes, yes, yes, yes, please, i need you—" you hiccup, and he pulls back, his thumb rubbing your clit through your panties. you grind up into his hand, your arms reaching up to pull him closer, "appa—"

"shh, be my good little girl and come like this," he whispers, pressing a hand down on your stomach. you squirm violently under him, the added pressure and his words making the band in your stomach want to snap in the most delicious way possible.

"oh my god—" you whine, throwing your head back, "please, appa, i need your cock—"

"no," he laughs, and his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip lewdly. "not now."

"appa, please!" you sob, your hips writhing. he slips his hand into your panties and furiously rubs your clit. as a way to silence you, he slips his thumb into your mouth and your lips wrap eagerly around it. you start sucking it in earnest and he falls forward onto you.

"fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead against yours again. his thumb presses down on your tongue, gently pushing in and out. his other hand teases your entrance, harshly slips one finger inside and it makes you jump. he tsks. "uh uh- stay still— that's it bubba, suck my thumb... juuust like that, fuck, that's my good fuckin' girl—"

the praise makes you heady in the best way possible, and the moment his thumb circles your clit again, you're coming almost violently. you almost bite down on his thumb and he grins— pulling his hand out and kissing you again as he thrusts his finger in and out of your cunt, overstimulating you.

"t-too much—" you whimper into his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly, pecking your lips over and over again till they hurt.

"yeah?" he coos teasingly, though he slows down his movements, allowing you to come down from your high. "thought you could take it? little baby's not so tough anymore, huh?"

you whine again, face flushed. a dazed smile appears on your face as your chest heaves. your panties are a mess, and he brings his hand out, licks his fingers clean. you watch him with hooded eyes, blinking slowly. he smiles, spits on his fingers before bringing them to your face. eagerly, you grab his palm and slip them into your mouth, sucking obediently.

"you're so messy," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth and you roll your tongue around the digits, tasting the slight remnants of your slick on his salty skin. you've never felt more fulfilled in your life.

"appa," you mumble again, voice muffled through his fingers. he smiles fondly and pulls them out, making you whine. he shushes you and as your hand reaches his pants, he grabs it.

"that's enough for now," he whispers. "rest. i'll be fine. today's just about you."

you protest. "but—"

"won't you listen to your appa?" he adds playfully, and you blush— looking away. if you could function properly, you'd tell him to shut up.

you can barely think; you still feel like you're floating, and he can tell by the slight dreamy look in your eyes.

"let me bring you some water." he whispers, pulling away. you immediately grab his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes— begging him not to leave you. he chuckles, gently pries your hand away and presses a kiss to your knuckles. it makes you blush. he leans down, hands you your bunny plushie and you hold it to your chest.

"i'll be back in a minute, i promise."

reluctantly, you pull away, swaying a little as you watch him leave. as promised, he walks back in after a minute with a glass of water and his phone. he holds the glass to your lips and helps you drink, and it makes your cheeks heat up. you like him taking care of you. you like how happy he looks while doing it too. he urges you to finish the whole glass and settles it on the bedside table. you tug at his shirt and he snorts before redirecting his attention to you.

he lays down on the bed properly and pulls you towards him, cradling your head against his chest. you throw your leg around his hip and he holds you close, your plushie sandwiched between your bodies. it feels nice.

"you okay?" he whispers, and you nod, burying your head in his chest. you want to say a lot of things— you want to tell him how much you love him, how much you appreciate him. how he has quite literally changed your life. you want to tell him he is the best thing to ever happen to you, and that you might die if he ever leaves you. you want to tell him that he's a great kisser, that you want him to teach you everything. that he smells amazing and that you've never felt as safe as you do with his strong arms wrapped around you.

"thank you," you whisper, voice small. you feel shy again, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. you're exhausted, that much is obvious. this experience has clearly overwhelmed you, and he watches you for a bit, his thumb gently caressing your damp cheek, wiping the now drying tear tracks on your skin.

"thank you, what?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face. he's cruel. you blush, hide your face with a groan before answering him shyly.

"thank you, appa."

"that's my girl." he adds proudly and you beam, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"i love you too," he whispers finally, and your eyes snap open. you tilt your head up to look at him, your heartbeat rising. he smiles softly— an unreadable look in his eyes. you resist the urge to cry again.

"i love you," you tell him again, your emotions so evident on your face. you're an open book to him. he leans down, presses kisses against your neck, making you giggle. you've never been this happy in your life.

you bury your face in his chest again and hold onto him tightly. he rests his chin on your head, and you whisper a confession against him. now that mr. inho is yours, now that you feel reassured that he might not actually leave you, you can finally admit it out loud.

"i hope he doesn't come back."

he tenses slightly, before relaxing. you don't care about his opinion on your admission— you're just glad to let it out. his hand pats your back gently, urging you to sleep. eventually, you do.

you snore in your sleep. it makes inho smile. you're still the same as you were when you were a kid. when he's sure you're fully out, he checks his phone. he opens his encrypted mail, watches with amusement the attachment from this morning— a low quality video of your father being slapped as he loses in ddakji. the second attachment is of your father's details and his player number. he holds back a smirk.

your father is predictable. he knew the son of a bitch would take the opportunity to make money as soon as he's presented with it. he's not surprised. from what he knows of him in the past decade— he knows he wouldn't make it past the first game. if he does, he knows enough to design something that will make sure he doesn't make it past another.

after losing his wife and child, inho lost a part of himself. but he feels a little complete now. in a way, he has found both in you— and he does love you, adore you with everything he has. he doesn't intend to let anything happen to you ever again. now that you've subconsciously given him the permission, he can do whatever the hell he wants to the piece of trash that is your father. accidents and missing persons cases are easy to bury, and he doubts you'd be sad if you think your father went missing while 'working on a case.' it's nothing out of the ordinary. you have him now, afterall. what else do you need? he'll be your father and your lover. it's not that hard a task. anything you want.

he gently runs a hand through your hair, examines the fading bruise on your face. it makes his jaw clench.

you're the light of his life and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you. he'll give you the life you deserve, fulfill the childhood that was stolen from you.

as you shift in his arms and mumble something incoherently; inho smiles. he puts the phone down and turns it off. with a newfound motivation, he presses another kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer.

tags: @gojoswaterbottle @melusinetears @mizzysx @starry-eyedxlove @ferrarifinnick @dilfismz @skibidirizzzlerrrr @cowuies @frontwomann @caramelcandescence @gemini-serpentis @showmeyourkickflip @lizaliza @namelesslosers @nightcovrd @snapeslittlewhore @thedreamingreaper @fariesrreal @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @solsticeex