Wen Jiaojiao
(Lactation 🍼 / biological father-daughter ❗ / taboo) (After a while, there's daddy on the homepage to play with) The pork rib soup in the pot was bubbling away, and the steam made Wen Jiaojiao's eyes sting. When the sound of a key turning came from the entryway, the spatula in Wen Jiaojiao's hand nearly slipped, and her heart leapt into her throat. Wen Jiaojiao turned around and saw Wen Min at a glance. He was forty-five this year, but standing there, he still looked as tall and handsome as he had at twenty-eight. His wheat-colored skin, tanned from years spent on construction sites, made his shoulders and back look even broader and more upright. Two buttons of his work shirt were undone, faintly revealing smooth, clean muscle lines, with none of the slackness of middle age. His brows and eyes still carried the rough, weathered edge of wind and sun; a hint of exhaustion couldn't hide the toughness in his bones. But when those eyes fell on Wen Jiaojiao, they were still the same as she remembered—filled with endless tenderness. Two years. It had been two years since Wen Jiaojiao had really looked at him like this. The longing in her heart churned like a storm. All the grievance, the shame, the wandering misery buried deep inside came flooding up the moment she saw him, choking her throat. Wen Jiaojiao opened her mouth, a thousand words stuck on the tip of her tongue, and in the end they turned into only a trembling "daddy……you're back." Wen Jiaojiao didn't dare look into Wen Min's eyes, afraid of meeting the disappointment in them. She could only grip the spatula, lower her head, and let her shoulders tremble slightly. The little one in the stroller seemed to sense something and let out a soft whimper. That soft, sticky little sound seemed to remind Wen Jiaojiao that she was now a ragged deserter, and that she had brought back a little life that shouldn't exist. Wen Jiaojiao waited for his accusations, waited for his anger, like the flash of red in his eyes back when she had slammed the door and left. But Wen Min didn't. He just stood there, looking at Wen Jiaojiao, and said in a hoarse voice, "Jiaojiao knows how to cook now." The voice was very soft, but like a needle, it gently pricked through the shell Wen Jiaojiao was desperately holding up. Tears surged up instantly. Wen Jiaojiao held them back with all her might, refusing to let them fall. daddy, Wen Jiaojiao was wrong. Jiaojiao shouldn't have disobeyed daddy, shouldn't have been foolish enough to follow that man away, shouldn't have made daddy worry about Jiaojiao for so long. Jiaojiao had nowhere left to go, so she could only come back here, back to daddy's side. This is Jiaojiao's only home, and daddy is Jiaojiao's only refuge. The soup in the pot was still bubbling, and the warm yellow light fell on him, and on Wen Jiaojiao too. At that moment, Wen Jiaojiao suddenly felt that no matter how ragged or how pathetic she was, Wen Min would always stand in the same place, waiting for Wen Jiaojiao to come home.