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bunni-v1 · 5 months ago

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Pure Vanilla Sfw & Nsfw Headcanons

🍓These are shorter than SMC's, purely (hah) since there's less to say about nsfw headcanons. He's a really simple guy, alright? Anyway, I hope you enjoy these. I'll be working on the poly hc's soon and also some requests -- cookie run related and not. Love you all MWAH!

MDNI (Seriously I'll find you)

Tw: None?; Grammar errors

Info: Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader; Fluff; Angst (only a little); nsfw

-Pure Vanilla Cookie is a gentle soul. His hands are soft and kind to any and all he meets, and he does the most he can to keep the peace amongst those he holds dear. His calm demeanor makes him seem like the perfect candidate for a partner, but I’m gonna be 100% this guy has issues.

-He has very real trauma from the Dark Flower War that keeps him up at night, despite how much he tries to hide it. Betrayal from one of his dearest friends also haunts him, despite things being… different now… it sticks with him as it would any normal cookie. He’s insecure to a level that a god-king should not be capable of, but he certainly feels that insecurity deeply. Oh, and he never got over White Lily Cookie.

-It’s also very likely that he wouldn’t deem himself ‘worthy’ of being loved in such a manner, especially after the situation with White Lily. He can’t save his friends, he can’t save his subjects, what would he do if he couldn’t save a lover? It would be better not to have his heart broken like that.

-Not to mention his experience with relationships is… sparse. Other than White Lily Cookie, he hasn’t really had much romantic experience – nor did he want to. His focus is often set elsewhere, and his humility can frequently get in the way of forming genuine connections with others.

-He’s so incredibly old now, he feels like his time has passed. Besides, any cookie who might proposition him is far younger, and while he respects them he wouldn’t want to get in the way of their opportunity to connect with someone who could be a better match.

-Not to mention he gets propositioned a lot. Many cookies like the idea of him, but few can actually handle how patient and gentle he really is. It doesn’t upset him, nor does he hold it against them, it’s just how the world seems to work out.

-Excuses, excuses, excuses with him. They’re never-ending.

-Then, of course, there was you. The sweet cookie you were, you had the patience of a saint. Any excuse he came up with, you seemed to find a way to prove him wrong. (You make him second guess if he really is patient, with how much you wait on him and work to prove him wrong).

-He isn’t testing you by any means when he pushes you away. Pure Vanilla Cookie really does believe you could do better than him. (Him! How could you do better than him!?) He’s trying to save you from himself, but the more steadfast you are the more he starts to fold and bend to what you like.

-It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy having you around, he quite prefers it when you’re by his side. You’re also so very pretty, he gazes at you when you aren’t looking more than he’d like to admit (his staff gives him quite the stink eye for this one). Your patience with him is admirable, and you make such an effort to get close to him. You’ve more than proven that you are serious about your confessions to him.

-After (literally) a thousand years, he decides just to try again. Leading you on was cruel, especially when he reciprocated your feelings, so he makes the effort of a confession – and great cookies above it was sweet.

-He brings you to his pagoda, a place you frequently spend sitting quietly next to him. He knows you’re fond of it, especially of the white lilies that bloom around it. You sit next to him as usual, staring off into the distance in thought while he watches you through his lashes. Your beauty is something he loves to behold, and he wonders if the kingdom would be alright if he did so for the next thousand years. Just like this, quiet and alone in the place you’ve both made your own.

-You laugh when you catch him staring, and his dough burns hot – both from the melodious sound and from being caught so shameless. He doesn’t let it linger too long, taking your hand in his with care he hadn’t shown you much yet. It’s a bit odd for him to suddenly be physical with you, but when he looks at you, and I mean looks at you, you understand what's happening.

-He tells you how he’s grown into his fondness for you, that he appreciates your patience with him and giving him a chance to think things over in himself before pushing him into a choice. He expresses what he loves about being around you and how he feels like himself when he is near your side. How he aches when you aren’t around, and that he worries for you all the time even though you’re more than safe in the walls of the kingdom.

-He goes on for so long that you have to cut him off and tell him you get the point, which just makes him laugh because that is something he likes about you. You never let him get too far ahead of himself or too deep in his head before you pull him back up for air.

-And, while you might’ve fallen first for his gentleness and his kindness, he falls leagues harder than you ever could. After his confession, he goes out of his way to have you around, and it’s not until nearly all of your things are within his room that he realizes maybe he got a little too deep a little too fast.

-Then you smile that smile and all his thoughts are washed away in favor of following after you on whatever adventure you had planned in the kingdom for the day.

-As a partner, believe it or not, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not physically affectionate so much as he is verbally affectionate. He prefers showing his love through words and acts of service. He will run himself ragged to make sure you won’t worry about anything. You’ll have to step in and stop him at times because he will go to the ends of earthbread for you.

-He’s so giving, always thinking of things he can do for you or gifts to get that would make you smile so widely at him. It’s something the other Ancients tease him relentlessly for, especially Golden Cheese and Hollyberry.

-Though, they are all fond of you in their own way. It’s been a long time since Pure Vanilla has been so… contented with things. He finds pure joy in doting on you, and he feels secure having someone who loves him as he is. None of them can disapprove of you when you make him so happy.

-They tell you embarrassing stories of him when he was younger, not a hero or a god, but a regular cookie who tripped over his own two feet and made a fool of himself. They tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about him having earned his power too and believe that to be true, but the ones they seem most fond of are those before they rose to their current titles.

-Pure Vanilla always huffs and pouts, but doesn’t interject much more than that when he sees the wide grin on your face. Seeing you get along with his long-time friends is very important to him, so he’s glad they’ve taken a liking to you.

-Even Dark Cacao Cookie seems to like you, humoring your little jokes and jabs as you give them. He feels as though he’s chosen the right cookie to love – though, he supposes you chose him and he just followed your lead like he always does.

-There is one tiny dilemma, though… White Lily Cookie. See, it’s not as though she is a threat to your relationship at all. She would never and could never interfere, even if she still held feelings for Pure Vanilla (if she ever did in the first place). Pure Vanilla is just a trainwreck of grief and regret surrounding her, his dearest friend.

-His love for you has never wavered, not once since he fell for you, but for a moment when he sees her, he’s terrified that it might. All of those feelings hit him at once, and he is again that reckless young cookie at the academy following her around like a lost puppy. She looks at him and his heart races, then it sinks to the pits of his stomach.

-How could he be so selfish to consider hurting you in such a way, for even a moment? He and White Lily Cookie were no longer the same as they were before their falling out, he knew that, and yet his past crept up on him like a monster in the shadows. It makes his stomach churn.

-But you lay a hand on his arm, and you give him this look like you know exactly what’s going on, and suddenly it’s all alright. You’re right here, and you’re all he needs. He knows that more than anyone else.

-That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in your chest when you see the way he looks at her, but you know your Pure Vanilla. He would never do anything to hurt you, he was the kindest and most loving cookie you have ever had the privilege to share your life with.

-Now, with that established, we can divulge into him as your partner.

-As I mentioned he’s very giving, but he’s terrible and receiving gifts from you. He’s not used to it, and he may outright refuse to accept it, but if you push him he’ll give. He always loves what you give him anyway, even if it’s the smallest insignificant thing. It always gets displayed somewhere he can see it, or he makes a way to use it in his daily life.

-It takes him a while to be open with you. He feels his feelings and thoughts are a burden on you, so his worries usually go unspoken unless you notice them yourself.

-If you notice something and point it out, he’ll tell you what's wrong. He wouldn’t want to lie to you and make you more worried about things. He downplays it a lot, though. It takes a lot of stubbornness on your part to get him to open up and admit when he’s feeling really bad.

-He does let you in little by little, and you get to see more of Pure Vanilla as he is beneath all the smiles and passivity.

-I also mentioned that he’s verbally affectionate over physically. He gives you so much praise it makes your head spin in circles. Everything you do is worth praising in his eyes, even silly little things like finding your way through the castle or grabbing yourself something special to eat one day.

-Constantly mentions how lucky he is to have you, his admiration truly knows no end. Ah, and he speaks of you all around the kingdom. Other cookies think you’re a literal saint thanks to him, and you’re treated with so much respect by those in the cookie kingdom.

-Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookie all adore you, and get so very excited when you offer to go on an adventure with them. (Much to Pure Vanilla’s worry and dismay.) The way you interact with them makes Pure Vanilla’s chest ache at the sight. You’re so wonderful with children, he loves seeing the way you handle them with love and care. Makes him wonder what you might be like with children of your own… Ah, that’s not a trail of thought he should go down too far just yet. One day, though.

-As sweet and loving as he is, he’s fiercely protective of you. He’s lost quite a bit in his life, and he knows he will lose more, he’d like to prevent another loss if he can help it though. If you argue with him, it’s almost always about this.

-He doesn’t like you going to dangerous locations, he doesn’t like it when you leave his side for more than a day or so, and he certainly doesn’t approve of you putting yourself at risk for adventure. Usually, you settle this by just having him come with you, but sometimes even that isn’t enough for him.

-Regardless, the angriest you see him (other than the Shadow Milk incident lol), is when you are at risk. It’s easy to forget he’s very powerful, akin to a god, but he is. He is not afraid to use that power to protect you if he must. (It’s lowkey hot I’m ngl.)

-Now he’s not the type to go overboard with this kind of stuff, he’ll only do what he must to remove the threat if he has to. He is not afraid to be violent if he needs to be, though. Immediately after he will worry over you with such gentleness it will give you whiplash.

-He’s aware his outbursts of anger are uncommon and jarring from his usual demeanor, but he’s just a cookie after all. He loves you very much, and if he can keep you safe he will for as long as you live.

-Jealousy is rare from him, which is to be expected, but he does get jealous. Specifically when he sees you interacting with cookies in a way he can’t interact with you. Physical affection is usually what gets him upset.

-Not that he can’t be physically affectionate, but that he has a hard time being physical with anyone. It’s a difficult thing he struggles with, and while you’re understanding and loving, he can’t stop the rare annoyance bubbling up in his chest when he sees one of your friends touching you so casually.

-It’s the only time other cookies might get to see him frown around the kingdom, a displeased expression etched across his normally gentle features. It won’t fade until you return your attention to him and make him feel validated in his feelings.

-After these stints, it is common that he drags you (pulls you gently by your hand) back to his room and cuddles up to you in the quiet of his bedroom. He’ll whisper his worries at your insistence, and melt into your touch as you soothe him instead of scolding like most others would.

-Oh, and it’s very very bad when Shadow Milk Cookie is involved. Shadow Milk knows just how to get under his skin, and you are an easily accessible soft spot.

-Not only is Shadow Milk far more open in expressing himself than Pure Vanilla is, but he’s very physical with everything. While Shadow Milk may not see you as anything more than a doll to play with, it infuriates Pure Vanilla to see him touch you and flirt with you like you are his when you are Pure Vanilla’s.

-He brings out that possessive side of Pure Vanilla that he represses as hard as he can. He doesn’t want to share you, though. Not with anyone and especially not Shadow Milk Cookie. You are his life partner, the person he loves more than anything in the world, that’s not something he’s ever had before and he doesn’t want anyone else to be able to feel what your love feels like. Allow him to be selfish just this once.

-I also have a belief that ancients have something similar to a beast bite, though it’s less common that any of them “mark” a partner. Pure Vanilla is the least likely to leave such a mark on you unless you seem insistent upon learning about it.

-Functionally it’s similar to the beast bite, but there is no need for biting in their case – they can if they’d like to, though. Instead, it’s just a magical seal that can be placed upon your dough that resembles their souljam. It connects the two of you physically and emotionally.

-When Pure Vanilla misses you, it sends a wave of sadness through you. A longing that is not your own, but feels so familiar to your own that you could easily mistake it as such. His emotions always come in big waves that nearly drown you then quiet down again as soon as they come.

-Pure Vanilla, again, wouldn’t place one on you unless you really wanted it. If you did, though, he would place it right where your spine meets your neck. The little blue mark peeks over the tops of your shirts like a tease, reminding everyone who you are with.

-Just because he is kind doesn’t mean he can’t also be a little possessive of you. You’re wonderful, after all, he can’t risk any cookie thinking you’re available.

-Besides the blue looks stunning on your dough, if he says so himself. And he does.

-Now, onto the bedroom.

-To start I’ll say Pure Vanilla is deceptively innocent-looking. It’s easy to imagine he feels no urges or wants in a sexual sense, but that’s not true at all. He’s just good at repressing them. And he’s repressed them for years and years and years.

-His sexual experience is probably also low, but I can imagine he’s had sex previously with a cookie or two (maybe even White Lily, depending on the circumstances). The important thing is that he has experience, and he’s not as awkward about it as one might think.

-It’s very similar to how he falls in love with you, once he gets a taste he really can’t stop himself from falling further and further down.

-He’s very patient though, so he won’t initiate your first time together. He’d rather you decide that since he’s more than ready to do whatever you’d like. (He’d been thinking about it since three months in, but he didn’t want to move too fast so he just pretended nothing was wrong.)

-When you do decide you are ready, he is there waiting with open arms for you. He makes sure your first time together is all about what you want and focuses on making sure you feel good. He’s a people pleaser in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom.

-But, if he had to pick what he preferred, he’d probably admit to being a service top. He likes to make you feel good, and he wants to know everything that makes your body react to him. He treats it like a secret ancient knowledge that only he is privy to.

-He likes to know you in every aspect of your life, the bedroom is no different. He takes his time always, preferring to go slow and steady rather than fast and rough. He’s a quick learner too, picking up your likes and dislikes with an ease that would make any student jealous. Within two, maybe three sessions he’s got you read like a book. It’s infuriating how easily he manages to get you to melt under his touch.

-If you want to top, he’ll oblige you, though you can tell he really prefers taking care of you over being taken care of. There’s just something so special about being allowed to have you like this. So soft and pliant beneath him. All the trust in the world rests on his shoulders, and he holds it like it is the most important thing in the world.

-And he is so, so giving during sex.

-He takes his time with you, starting with slow and deep kisses that trail down your neck. He worships you like a god, smothering your dough with his affections. Not an inch of you will be left untouched from his lips, burning your skin into his memories so he never forgets how it feels beneath his tongue.

-And he whispers such loving words of admiration, talking about how wonderful you are for him. Mumbling against you that you taste so sweet and that each noise you make sounds like a symphony to his ears. He encourages you to let go, allow him to love you as you are, and let him see all the most vulnerable sides of you because that is all he wants.

-When he tastes your juices he sighs like he is in heaven. His pleasure is only found in you, after all. Your taste is something he could easily fall into addiction for, just like every other part of you.

-You can be rough with him while he goes down on you if you’d like, he doesn’t mind at all. Grab and pull at his hair, grind yourself into his face, and squeeze him between your legs with all your might. They’re just signs he’s doing his job right, after all.

-Oh, he’s a huge proponent of eye contact. While he can’t quite see well all the time, he always has his eyes open and on you when he can help it. This is especially prevalent when he is inside you (or when you are inside him).

-He presses his forehead to yours and watches your face contort in pleasure, allowing you to do the same. It makes the act more intimate, and he feels so much more connected to you like this. Like he can really see you for who you are in these moments, and feel that love that burns for him in your gaze.

-Alongside this, he always holds your hand. Regardless of if he’s going down on you or if you’re riding him or anything he is adamant your hands remain interlocked. It’s another layer of connection that he uses as a means of expressing his love for you.

-If you can’t tell, he’s seriously into body worship. He loves every inch of you, and sex is the easiest way that he can express this to you.

-He uses sex as an extension of his affection for you, rather than something for fun or to stake claim. It’s another form of love to him, and you can feel this through the way he treats you with such gentleness during the whole act.

-I don’t believe he’s into much other than what I’ve listed above. He’s very vanilla (lol) and traditional about sex, preferring things to be simple, sweet, and loving.

-He prefers to keep things in the bedroom, the idea of being caught makes him run hot, but you can convince him to try a few riskier places. Like the pagoda or in quiet rooms near other cookies, so long as the doors are locked and there’s no risk of interruption.

-He does not like being cared for during the deed, it makes him feel guilty that you’re caring for him when he would rather care for you. If you are insistent he’ll give in, but he makes it known he would prefer to be providing than being provided for.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #crk x you #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla x you #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie x you

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 7 months ago

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Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

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

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

#fic: neighborly #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost

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neonbonded · 2 months ago

Note

MC is an independent, strong woman—we love her for that—but what if… what if she told the LIs she wanted to quit her job and go full-on wife, kids, stay-at-home life? I feel like it’d be fluffy and hilarious like Sylus and Caleb would be over the moon spoiling her into the richest most pampered wife in the country, and Xavier would immediately start making babies lol

Stay-At-Home Sweetheart

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: fluff, future talk, domestic life, possessiveness, soft power fantasies, rich boyfriend behavior ♡ a/n: thank you for the suggestion—this was such a fun little fluffy write! I hope you enjoy your taste of spoiled wife life

CALEB — “So you’re telling me… I get to spoil you forever?”

You say it offhandedly.

You’re sitting in his lap, one leg draped lazily over his thigh, sipping tea in your sleep shirt while he’s scrolling through post-mission reports.

You don’t even think he’s really listening when you mumble,

“What if I just quit and stayed home full time? Cooked, cleaned, wore pretty dresses. Full wife mode.”

But Caleb freezes.

Like you slapped him with an engagement ring.

His hands drop to your hips. His head tilts. He stares at you like you just offered him divinity.

“Wait. Say that again.”

You blink. “I said maybe I want to be a stay-at-home—”

“Wife.” “You said wife. Don’t skip the good part.”

You try to laugh it off. “I mean, it’s a dumb idea—”

“No, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And he’s already spiraling.

Out loud.

“You’d look so good barefoot in the kitchen. No. Wait. In my t-shirt. Holding a toddler and a spatula. Crying over a baking fail while I kiss it better—Jesus Christ.”

You: “You okay?”

“Absolutely not.”

Five minutes later, he’s dragging out a notepad and scribbling:

“Baby name list, but chaotic: Nova, Toast, Jellybean???”

“Do we buy a second house or just knock out the wall next door?”

“I need to up my life insurance because you’re not lifting anything heavier than a glass of wine ever again.”

You tease him—ask if he’s going to make you do laundry, too.

His response?

“You? Laundry? No. You’ll be too busy getting railed over the dryer while I fold towels with one hand.”

You: “CALEB.”

He grabs your face in both hands, deadly serious.

“I love your independence. Your brilliance. Your strength.”

A pause.

“But if you ever, ever, give me permission to spoil you full-time, to keep you warm and soft and loved and mine all day long?”

“I will become the most insufferable, overprotective, apron-wearing husband in recorded history.”

And the worst part?

He’s dead serious.

There’s already a Pinterest board. And a credit card. And probably a draft resignation email saved to your tablet—you didn’t write it.

But Caleb?

He’s just… ready.

Because to him, you are home. And if you want to stay there forever?

He’ll make it a kingdom.

XAVIER —“If that’s what you want… I’ll take care of the rest.”

It’s quiet.

Late evening, somewhere between mission fatigue and domestic stillness. You’re both curled up on the couch—your legs stretched across his lap, his hand absently resting on your shin.

He’s reading through intel logs. You’re chewing on the corner of a cookie. The room smells like his tea and your lotion and something safe.

And then you say it. Casual. Sleepy. Barely even meaning to.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting fieldwork. Just staying home. Full wife era. Maybe some kids. You’d visit on lunch breaks, and I’d make bad pancakes in your hoodie.”

You don’t even look at him right away. You expect a raised brow. A quiet “You’d get bored in a week.”

But instead?

Silence.

Followed by the soft slide of a datapad being set down.

Then his hand curls around your ankle. Just slightly. Anchoring.

“You’d really want that?”

You glance over.

His face is still neutral—stoic, quiet, unreadable—but his eyes?

Locked on you. Sharp. Focused. Lit with something that looks too much like longing to be casual.

You nod, shy. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just sounds… nice.”

He’s quiet for a second longer.

Then?

“Then we should start planning.”

You blink. “Planning what?”

“Everything.”

And then—without a hint of irony:

“I’ll map out when I can reduce field time. We’ll need a safer neighborhood. Somewhere with open sky. Room for a crib.”

You stare.

“Wait, are you being serious—?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says simply. “You said kids. You want to stay home. That’s not something I’d let you do alone.”

His fingers trace a line down your calf.

Soft. Possessive.

“You want a family with me.”

You flush. “I said maybe—”

“Maybe is enough.”

He leans in. Presses a kiss to your knee.

“We’d be good at it. You’d be good at it.”

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he usually lets himself sound:

“I think I’ve wanted that longer than I realized.”

You��re too stunned to reply.

So he does what he always does: fills the silence with something that sounds like logic but bleeds affection around the edges.

“We’ll need to track your cycle,” he murmurs. “If we’re going to do this properly.”

You: “XAVIER—”

He shrugs. Calm. Unfazed.

“I’ve already marked probable dates.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or climb into his lap and tell him to start now.

(You do both.)

RAFAYEL — “My muse… in an apron? I need to sit down.”

He’s painting.

Or pretending to.

Really, he’s mostly shirtless, barefoot, standing in the center of his studio surrounded by chaotic swatches of violet and gold while a brush dangles lazily between two fingers.

And you?

You’re curled up on the floor near the open window, sipping tea, flipping through a magazine when you say:

“I kind of want to quit working. Just stay home. Full-time wife. Cook, nap, look hot, raise tiny artistic children who only wear linen and answer to names like Moth and Cypress.”

You mean it jokingly.

Casually.

But the sound of a paintbrush hitting the floor makes your head snap up.

Rafayel’s just staring at you.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes blown wide.

“You…” he breathes. “You want to be mine?”

You blink. “I— I am yours?”

“No, no. I mean domestically. Biblically. Artistically. Legally.”

And then?

He drops to one knee in the most chaotic half-prayer, half-shock position you’ve ever seen.

“I always knew you were divinely unhinged, but this—this is the final painting. My muse. My wife. My aproned disaster angel. I need a moment.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He lunges for you.

Pulls you into his lap on the floor, paint still wet on his hands, smearing across your shirt like it’s a signature.

“Say it again.”

You: “What?”

“That you want to stay home. That you want to make soup and babies and let me buy you pastel oven mitts.”

You laugh. “I mean, I do like pastel.”

“We’ll get matching ones. For the baby.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

“Rafayel—”

“I want them to have your mouth and my hair. Or your hair and my mouth. Either way, they’ll be dramatic and ruinous.”

He starts sketching. On your thigh. With paint-stained fingers.

“Tiny limbs. Stubborn expression. Covered in jam. Perfect.”

You can’t stop laughing now, your face buried in his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be more excited about this than me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hums, kissing your collarbone. “I’ve been ready to ruin you with love since the moment you snuck into my studio and insulted my color palette.”

You whisper, “So you’d really want that?”

And for once, he goes still.

Serious.

His fingers curl at your waist.

“I’d worship you every day for it.”

“I’d paint your swollen belly and your tired eyes and your messy hair like it’s the only truth I’ve ever known.”

A beat.

“You don’t have to be anything for me. But if you want to just… be loved? Be kept?”

His voice drops.

“I was made for that.”

ZAYNE — “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

You say it on a Tuesday.

The apartment smells like coffee and something citrusy—probably the linen spray you used on the couch that made him sneeze earlier.

You’re curled into the corner of the sectional, legs tucked under you, still in one of his oversized shirts from last night. Your hair’s a mess. Your heart? Still not at full strength after last month’s mission.

Zayne’s at the kitchen island, scrolling through research on his tablet.

And that’s when you say it:

“I’m thinking of quitting.”

His eyes don’t move at first.

Just a slow blink. Still calm.

“Quitting…?”

You shrug, voice light. “Hunting. The whole thing. Maybe it’s time. I could stay home. Rest. Get spoiled. Be your sexy little housewife or whatever.”

You expect a scoff.

Some half-snide retort.

Instead?

He sets the tablet down.

Quietly.

Then walks over.

You blink up at him. “What?”

He crouches in front of you.

Not joking. Not teasing.

Just… looking.

“Say it again.”

You falter. “That I want to quit?”

He nods once. Slow. Like he’s memorizing every word.

And then?

He exhales. Deep. Controlled.

“Good.”

“Zayne?”

His hand comes up to your chest—right over your heart. Like he’s checking it. Like he always does. Thumb brushing that familiar spot beneath your collarbone.

“Do you know what it’s been like watching you come home hurt?” he says softly. “Waiting to see if you’ll faint halfway through a sentence because your pulse is erratic again?”

You go quiet.

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.

“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking after that last field run? Or how long you spent in the medbay?”

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“I do worry.”

A pause.

Then—

“But if you’re really done… if I can finally stop wondering whether your heart will give out before mine ever gets the chance to break…”

He trails off.

Then rests his forehead against your knees.

Breath shaky. But steadying.

“Then I’ll build you the quietest life imaginable.”

“You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Not if I can help it.”

You lean down, fingers threading through his hair.

He presses a kiss to your thigh.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers.

And for the first time in months?

He doesn’t check your pulse again.

Because for once, he can feel it—steady. Safe. Home.

SYLUS — “You want to be mine? Fully? Then say it again.”

It starts as a joke.

Just a passing comment while you’re still half-asleep in his bed, buried in his obscenely expensive sheets.

“I think I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

You say it with a yawn. Barely conscious.

But Sylus?

He stills.

Lays back on the pillow and turns his head toward you.

His eyes narrow just slightly. That unreadable look—the one that means he’s calculating something dangerous in the background.

“Say that again.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What?”

“What you just said.”

You hesitate. Then mumble, “I said I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

His smirk curves slow and sharp.

He sits up. Drapes one arm across the headboard. The sheets slide down his chest, revealing the fine lines of muscle.

“Finally,” he murmurs.

“Finally what?”

He leans in.

“Finally you’re giving me an excuse to spoil the hell out of you without pretending to feel guilty about it.”

You blink. “Wait, I was joking—”

“No, you weren’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve seen the way you melt when I buy you things. The way you light up when I feed you. The way you pout when I’m gone too long.”

He grabs his phone from the nightstand.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

“Canceling every mission you had this week.”

Tap. Tap.

“Calling my architect to add another garden wing to the house.”

Tap.

“And messaging my tailor to start designing custom loungewear.”

“…Sylus.”

“You’ll need something to wear while you parade around this apartment doing absolutely nothing except looking pretty.”

You try to sit up, but he throws an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap instead.

“No more early meetings. No more danger. No more stress.”

His fingers trail down your spine.

“Just this. Me. Spoiling you.”

You blink up at him. “What if I get bored?”

He smiles slowly. Dangerous and amused.

“Then I’ll give you something to do.”

“Like what?”

His voice drops.

“Like carrying my last name.”

“Like letting me put a baby in you.”

You go silent.

Your face heats.

And Sylus?

He just hums against your neck.

“Thought so.”

“Now shut up and let me shop for your new walk-in closet.”

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clockwayswrites · 2 months ago

Text

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 3, Part 2

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, my words have been a mess but I'm trying!)

Dick took the corners of the halls at reckless speeds, careening around the corners in a way that only his Robin training saved him from smashing into walls. Speed was more important than safety.

Wally might be here.

“Verdict?” Dick heard Gar ask.

“Your vegan macaroons get a ten from me, could eat way too many,” a voice that Dick didn’t know said. “Though I still don’t get why you’re feeding me.”

“Dude, your heart stopped a few days ago. Cookies are in order after something like that!”

Who’s heart stopped?

Why?

Dick made himself to slow down a little from his panicked sprint as he entered the room. He scanned the space instantly: Victor, Raven, Gar, and the mystery person all settled on the couch. The news played silently on the TV.

“N.” Cyborg set the device he had been fiddling with down and stood. “This is Danny.”

Danny stood and spun around. He almost looked like he could have been an early Wayne with the black hair and blue eyes and weight he carried on his shoulders. “Flash sent me here. He said to tell you that you’re a ‘real dick’, but he said it fondly or like it was a joke!”

“Yeah,” Dick choked out. Even though Victor had told Dick the message, it still took him out at the knees to hear it from this stranger. “He would have.”

“I don’t know why that phrase works on all of you, but, I, um,” Danny grabbed a spiral bound book off the coffee table. “I also have a drawing I did of him after the first time that I got to see him clearly, if that also adds to what I’m saying. It’s him without his mask.”

Dick was torn between rushing over or going slowly in case that the image shattered their hope. He was there before he had decided how to proceed, taking the sketchbook.

Wally stared back at him from the page.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Danny asked, voice almost impossibly gentle. “He says he’s trapped in something called the Speed Force.”

“It’s him,” Dick said after clearing his throat. It didn’t help the mixed feeling of tears and relief clogged there. He brushed his fingers over the dotted freckles of the drawing. “And he would get trapped by his own powers. Idiot.”

“Why don’t all sit down!” Gar said with forced cheer and a clap of his hands. “Danny can explain things now that you’re here and then we can figure out how to rescue W—Flash!”

“I even have drinks, since someone abandoned me as soon as he had cookies,” Donna said with a pointed look towards Gar as she entered from the direction of the kitchen. She passed out the armful of sodas to everyone as they sat back down. When she got to Dick, she took the drawing from his hands (he resisted the urge to grab it back) and replaced it with a ginger ale.

It was the same drink Danny had gotten.

“Explain from the start. From before Flash,” Raven instructed, which sounded foreboding.

Danny turned the drink between his palms. “Like I said, I’m a psychopomp. Ghosts and I—death and I have a pretty close relationship with each other. Have since I was fourteen and I sorta died in an accident in my parent’s lab, which I really don’t want to get into. But they’re ectobiologists, they study ghosts.”

“And one lab accident later you can talk to them?” Victor said. “Sure you’re not a superhero?”

“You joke, but I was, at least as far as my home town is concerned. Seems to come with having a fucked up lab accident, you know?” Danny asked, his smile crooked.

“Yeah,” Victor rumbled. “I know.”

“Anyways, I was never anything big, and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t really matter now anyways, dying comes with a pretty limited lifespan for a superhero sort of body,” Danny said with a wave, as if that would be the end of that conversation. “But the talking to ghosts stuck around.

“Outside of my home town, most haunted place in America, they’re pretty quiet and pretty incorporeal. They don’t bother me often, but sometimes there’s one strong enough that needs help moving on—willing or not. It’s usually not a problem to do it around my work and college, but then your Flash shows up and he’s not like the other ghosts.”

“How quickly could you tell that?” Donna asked.

“Pretty much instantly. He feels like… you know when you’d put a hand up against an old TV or CRT monitor? And you could feel that static hum? He feels like that,” Danny explained. “I couldn’t see him or communicate with him either. There was no sort of… Ancients this is hard to explain. There was no resonating vibe with him. It didn’t—doesn’t mean that he’s not dead, though he’s sure he’s not, but I knew he wasn’t a normal ghost right away. And that was before the seizures.”

Nightwing rested his head against the cold can of ginger ale. “…the seizures?”

Danny hummed. “Whenever Flash gets too close—touches me, I think—I have a seizure.”

“Dude! And that doesn’t concern you?” Gar shouted, bits of macaroons flying.

And Danny just shrugged, like it didn’t! “Well, I mean, I’ve already died? Twice. Well, three times now if my heart stopping counts.”

“Yeah,”Dick mumbled, “I think that counts.”

“Anyways,” Danny continued guilelessly, “the seizures basically put me in a state where I could have contact with Flash. I could see him, at least. There were only a few anyway before I tried the tea. The tea worked enough for me to talk to him. He gave me the messages, and now I’m here.”

Victor leaned forward. “I want you to take us through what Flash told you as best as you can remember.”

“And I want to know what was in that tea,” Raven said.

“And I want to know if you have your medication!” Gar chirped. Everyone turned to him and he deflated a little. But he continued gamely on as he always did, “Dude still has a hospital bracelet on! He might have come right here. See! Look at that face! He came right here.”

Danny did look pretty guilty with how he was rubbing at the back of his neck and pointedly wasn’t looking at any of them.

Dick sighed. He might not have Wally right then, but it did seem like he had another overly thoughtful idiot to look after in the mean time. “Did you come right here?”

“I had to let you know about Flash!” Danny said. “I know how long he’s been hanging around me and who knows how long it took him to find me. You all have to be worried.”

“Your medication?” Dick asked.

“It’s being filled?”

“Right. We can have Kori grab it on her way. She was finishing a thing up with the Outlaws,” Victor said. “We’ll just need your full name, birthday, and pharmacy where it’s being filled.”

Danny took a long breath and then took a decisive nod. “Right. I can do that. And then I’ll call Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire, so brace yourself for that.”

#dp x dc #thodf #danny/dick/wally

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halfway-happyyy · 2 months ago

Text

home to you {jack abbot}

synopsis: it takes a traumatic event for doctor jack abbot to realize he's through being casual about his next-door neighbour.

no warnings, straight fluff, scattered use of the nickname kid. this is the direct result of thirsting over this HOT old man for the past month.

“I’m not looking for anything serious at the moment.”

Jack Abbot had breathed life into those words with his lips pressed against your neck, their vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure up the length of your spine, and to what felt like every nerve ending in your body. His hands, and the extraordinarily skilled fingers that belonged to them, roamed every inch of skin you could spare, and the neural pathways that sent signals to your brain to speak were absolutely not firing on all cylinders, because it took you a ridiculous amount of time to murmur, “well that makes two of us then, because neither am I.”

And yet, while neither of you were actively looking for anything serious, the right side of your bed remained occupied by the weight of his body most mornings.

He held his cards incredibly close to his chest, and most of what you knew about him (which still wasn’t much) was information he had dropped for you like breadcrumbs. He’d been married; and though his wife had fought bravely, she succumbed to the disease which had ravaged her in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. He had done two tours with the military, which had done nothing for him, except to permanently part him from his right leg and to leave him with an intense desire to work in emergency medicine. He was a creature of the night in every sense of the word and had jumped at the chance to take a position as the night shift attending physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. This meant that at seven in the morning, when you were debating about getting up and ready for work, he would just be coming off of the night shift.

When you considered the way in which you first crossed paths with him, you still cringed. Over a year ago, you’d been battling a persistent craving for oatmeal raisin cookies. You had everything set out to make them minus the cup and a half of white sugar needed, and was at a loss for what to do considering the early morning hour. Enter your mysterious, hardly-ever-seen next-door neighbour. You had heard the sound of his key turning in the lock and waited a couple of minutes before plucking up the courage to go over and knock on his door. You doubted you’d ever forget the first time you really got a good look at him. He, in his navy, blood-spattered scrubs, and the black stethoscope still around his neck. His salt and pepper hair which still held traces of its original copper, and the five o’clock shadow that stubbled his devastatingly handsome face.

“I’m so sorry to bother - I would have asked 708 but she’s on holiday at the moment and I really just need a cup of sugar if you can spare it.”

He’d cocked his head to the side, mild confusion giving way to mild amusement.

“Sugar?” He’d rasped.

You nodded. “I’m making cookies and I just ran out. The store doesn’t open for another hour and a half.”

“What kind of cookies?”

You’d felt the blush seep into your cheeks before you murmured oatmeal raisin.

He nodded approvingly. “I can spot you the sugar, if you promise to save me a couple of cookies.”

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.” You’d grinned.

“We’ve got ourselves a deal then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

And, the rest was history.

Jack had exited the elevator just as you were locking up. He propped himself against his door for support and offered you a small, tired smile.

“Rough night?” you asked, despite the fact that you could tell just by looking at him that his shift had been a brutal one.

He nodded. “Lost a vet last night.”

Oh.

He rid the emotion from his throat with a short cough. “Not a single scratch the entire time he'd been over there, and a drunk driver nails him.”

Your heart sank.

“I'm so sorry, Jack.”

He offered you another sad, fleeting smile and shrugged a shoulder. “That's the job, right?”

“What are you going to do now?” You asked.

He released a breath of warm, pent-up air and shook his head. “Try and sleep. I've got an appointment with Carson in a couple of hours, which I'm looking forward to.”

The silence lingered on a little while longer before he asked you what your plans for the day were.

“I’m waiting to hear back from a friend if she needs me to go to Pittfest with her or not.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Fun.”

“Maybe,” you laughed. “But being surrounded by a bunch of drunk, loud, barely legal people isn't exactly my idea of a great time.”

“That’s fair,” he breathed. “But take care of yourself if you do end up going, yeah? You’d be amazed at how fast dehydration can set in.”

“Alright, Doc. I'll watch out.”

He fished his keys from his pocket and turned back to you. Whatever he wanted to stay was still lodged in his throat, as if he were mulling over whether he should say it or not.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Before my shift starts? That is - if you're not slummin’ it with the barely legals all day?”

You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your face.

“Yeah, Jack. I'd like that.”

He grinned down at the ground before turning back to you and nodding his head. “Alright. I’ll see ya then, kid. Take care.”

“Yeah, you too, Jack.”

You woke with a start to the incessant sound of your phone ringing and a slick sheen of perspiration covering every square inch of your body. You glanced at the clock beside your bed and cursed the glowing red digits. 4:15 pm. Not much time to get ready before you had to meet up with Jack. You reached for your phone and gasped when you saw the number of missed calls you’d had from him. Taking a deep breath, you pressed his name and leaned back against your headboard for support.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Jesus kid, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last half an hour. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

His tone was thick with worry and entirely foreign to you, and it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“I’m fine, Jack. I’m fine. I’m at home, I just woke up from a nap.”

He hesitated a beat before rasping, “you didn’t end up going to Pittfest?”

You shook your head. “No, Maggie found a more enthusiastic partner to go with her.”

You heard his audible sigh of relief even over the crackling static.

“Oh, thank god.”

Swallowing hard, you finally managed to ask him what on earth was going on.

“There’s an active shooter at the festival. I’m headed back to the hospital to help. Please, please stay home. Don’t leave for anything,” You were too stunned to speak. “I gotta go, kid. Promise me you’ll stay where you are.”

“Of course, Jack. I promise.”

You’d given up on watching any news about the festival an hour in, the anxiety too much to bear. Maggie had contacted you around six to let you know that she and the person she’d gone with were both safe and back at her house, which was an immediate weight off of your shoulders. To keep your thoughts from turning to Jack, and how his colleagues were faring, you hunkered down in bed with a book you’d been in the middle of for ages. It did not help. Nothing seemed to scratch the surface of your mounting dread, and so for the second time that day, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep.

When you woke a while later, the sunshine that had been so prevalent before you’d drifted off had vanished entirely, giving way to an inky darkness. It was nine-fifteen PM, and you’d received a single text message from Jack from half an hour before that simply read - on my way home. Your shoulders dropped and you released a breath of air that felt like you’d been holding since the moment you spoke to him on the phone. It didn’t matter if you were up for the rest of the night now, all that mattered was that Jack was alright, and that he was coming home.

You wandered out into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and as you stood at the stove and waited for your kettle to boil, a knock at your door shook you from your reverie.

You weren't entirely surprised to find Jack on the other side, and you let him in wordlessly.

Once inside your front hallway, he dropped back against the wall for support and took a long, tight breath.

“You scared the shit out of me today, kid.”

In the low, warm light provided by the lamp in your hallway, you could see the blood that spattered his scrubs. The crimson drops that had landed on his shoes, and God only knew where else.

“I know,” you breathed. “I'm sorry.”

He hoisted the cammo backpack from his shoulders, cleared his throat, and asked if he could get cleaned up here. There were layers to the question that remained unspoken - can I get cleaned up here because my apartment is so quiet, and so lonely that I can barely stand it. That I've been surrounded by calamity all day and all I need is just a few quiet hours with you.

“‘Course you can, Jack. There are fresh towels in the cabinet beside the washroom.”

He emerged a little while later, naked entirely except for a pair of black boxer-briefs. As he stood in the doorway of your bedroom, you watched in unconcealed awe as the water droplets he hadn't managed to towel off raced each other down the smooth planes of his freckled chest.

“Do you require a formal invitation?” you quipped.

Jack shook his head wordlessly, and pushed himself from the doorframe to join you. He sat perched on the edge of the bed, removed his prosthetic, and swung himself in beside you.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, once the dust had settled.

You turned to face him then, and in the sliver of pale orange light from the crack of the door, you could make out every freckle on his face. Every smile line (there were so many), and every miniscule scar was on spectacular display for you; a frontrow seat to the worlds most wondrous man. In the year that you two had spent dancing around your feelings for one another, you had grown so fond of his face, and of the strong, sure hands that spent so much time repairing, and helping people.

“Yeah, Jack. This is okay.”

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Today made me realize that I have absolutely no interest in being casual about you anymore.”

Oh, shit.

“There was a period of about five seconds today where I let my thoughts travel to the absolute worst scenario where you were concerned, and to put it plainly- I couldn’t bear it.” He cleared his throat. “And if I’ve learned anything in the past eight years, it’s that I have to be transparent with the people I care about because life is so fucking short.”

It occured to you that this might all be coming from a place of adrenaline and fear. And while you wanted nothing more than to be with him, you dreaded the possibility of him making a mistake or rushing into anything because of that.

“Jack, I need you to know that this is all okay - that if this is all only ever what it’s going to be between us, I can handle it.” You reached toward him to trace a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “I know how I feel about you, and if this is all that you’re capable of sparing right now, I'll still happily take it.”

He shook his head.

“In the year that you and I have known each other, you’ve never asked for more. You’ve never waivered under the insane hours, or the emotional baggage a guy like me tends to accumulate, and you deserve more.” He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, deliberately brushing each knuckle. “I want to give you more.”

“Okay, Jack.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay?”

You nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“You’ve laid it all out on the line for me, and I want it, I want you.”

And as you watched a slow, sleepy smile tug the edges of lips skyward, happiness warmed inside of you like sunshine through a stained glass window.

#im a simp for him what can i say #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #the pitt #shawn hatosy #writing #fluff

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beastyeastfreak · 1 month ago

Note

Please Write Beast Headcanons about there reaction to reader getting hit on/flirted with by another cookie!!!! I will pay your child support to the anon you had a kid with!!!

THATS NOT MY KID IM NOT THE FATHER/MOTHER

Cw and tags: possessiveness, implied murder, romantic, GN! Reader, reader is referred to as pretty/beautiful/etc i use these words in a gender neutral way or am trying to, the beasts love to spoil you, mention of cheating, reader does not gaf about the beasts behaviour/encourages it

Written pre silent salt update

Mystic flour

🌾 - You dont leave the ivory pagoda much, if you do she does not linger far. You’re given a reputation pretty quick, your title will proceed you soon. “Her second set of ears” or “one who cannot be spoken too”. You lose a few friends, you get the memo likely before anything romantic happens she doesn’t want anything happening to you or anyone speaking to you. You were her wish, her one desire, her exception. She would be apathetic but not for you, you were her blessing. Someone she had unknowingly yearned for for thousands of years. You were someone she wouldn’t tolerate leaving, witches know what would happen if someone took you from her.

🌾 - Some cookies don’t think very well, Mystic flour know that well, one day the two of you head to a kingdom together to pick some items up. It got boring in the pagoda with little to do, she understood that and often brought you out to find things that would interest you and keep you with her, not that you needed material possession to spend time with her. It was a quiet day there which was the only reason she would let you go, she hated crowds. Your attention had diverted to a different stand, the stand owner watched you as you looked at their wares.

🌾 - “Whats a pretty cookie like you doing in this part of town?” You tense up, not at the flirt but because you knew what she’d do if she heard. “Um.. you really shouldn’t be talking to me like that,” you warned, your stance stiffened and you leaned away from the items. But they persisted in spite of the warning, “what? Scared of me? I don’t bite, unless you..” they’re cut off as the beast joins you. As she enters, all the perishable items on the desk seem to wilt and die. Her presence is strong, it shifts the air. You fluster as she enters the conversation. Making who you belong to crystal clear with her hand placement. One hand on your hip the other on your shoulder, also showing off her sharp nails unintentionally, as she speaks in an almost eerie way.

🌾 - “I found what we are looking for,” she opens her eyes and side glances at the stand owner now in shock. “It was not here,” she says quietly anf you swear you see her sharp fangs poking out. She then turns back, taking your arm and walking away. This is tame for her, this experience is the tamest of the others you endure beforehand. Many cookies have been turned to flour on a dime for speaking to you wrong, you were the one who convinced her to show mercy.

🌾 - When you return she will say nothing of the experience but if you praise her for ‘saving’ you she wont deny you. She’ll definitely keep you closer next time you both go out in public.

Burning Spice

🏜️ - Ive said this in previous headcannons, Burning spice sees any threat towards you as disrespectful towards him. You are apart of his temple, you were the gods lover, you were his. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong, doesn’t greet you with the same reverence as him is ensured they understand or crumbled. Hell, he’d probably fight another beast or powerful being for you. Feel honoured, try to ignore the potential jamshed, make yourself a walking warning if you’re concerned with someones life.

🏜️ - Burning Spice is confident in his abilities and your loyalty to him. He allows you to go pretty far on your own or accompanied by one of his trusted spice soldiers. If you ever run away, trust that you will be hunted down, thats the second reason he’s so lax with you.

🏜️ - Warnings are as easily regarded as they are taken, you experienced this first hand one time. He decides to spoil you, he takes you on some lavish trip in a far away land. Adorning you in smooth fabrics, eating the sweetest fruits and jellys, napping on the beach in the sun. You head back towards the nearby building with the food at some point while he sunbathes. He’s too sleepy to tell you to ask a servant to fetch it for you.

🏜️ - You head in, another guest seems to be ensnared by you, or rather all the expensive metals, jewels and robes you were bestowed with. You probably looked like royalty, or (ironically enough) someone fresh out of Golden Cheese’s vault. So while you were picking out what you wanted and what you think he’d like at a somewhat leisurely pace the stranger approached. “Ah, what amazing handiwork on your garments, befitting of a beauty such as yourself,” that stranger purrs. You squint then look away, “um, thanks.” You try to seem as extremely disinterested as you were, maybe try to make some part of your attire bearing his symbol more visible.

🏜️ - Your attempts were in vain, even saying “Im from the Spice Kingdom, i live in The Great Destroyers temple in fact,” did not make them go away. They just thought you more interesting, you even warned them. “My husband is with me, he wont like you acting like this.” You say on the way back, to your dismay they follow. “Oh please, dont we all need to have a little away time? Besides you don’t need him, i am the…” followed by a long list of stupid titles you doubted actually impressed anyone. You then get back, where Burning spice was stretching, he locks eyes with you from afar, then the cookie trying to woo you and his face contorts to anger. Then the cookie looks a little nervous.

🏜️ - “Who is that..?” The cookie murmurs, nearly stammering. “My husband, The Great Destroyer?” You roll your eyes, “well go on, you said you could take him so go fight for my love.“ You say, Burning Spice is already walking over, weaponless yet still menacing, you look back at the cookie and they’re running. You catch Burning Spice, stopping him. “Don’t get jam and crumbs on your nice clothes.” You say and let him loose. He comes back later, laughing and all washed off. Whatever happened after that is chalked up to “some cookies just cant keep their eyes off whats mine!” He’ll say while pulling you impossibly close chugging the umpteenth glass of juice.

Eternal Sugar

🌷 - She was your happiness and you were hers, never would you part with her and always would she be beside you… even if you didn’t realise it. You were made off limits the second her eyes had caught a glimpse of you. When you became hers, she flaunts you, spoils you, adores you and you do the same. Your time is no longer spent working or stressing, you’re mostly at her side or in her lap. You could say you haven’t left her side for weeks and that’d be an understatement. No one in the garden would ever question nor attempt to get in between you too, lest they face the possibility of being entrapped in a jar or a statue.

🌷 - The only catch is you’ll never leave, any time you ask to go with her somewhere or you hear about something interesting going on. She’ll gently guide you elsewhere, “oh, but sweetness, the population there is so unpredictable. You’re like a thin string of sugar floss~, how about we do this instead?” She’d say if you tried to go, she’s good at it too because how can you say no to those eyes?

🌷 - Well, one time you were adamant about leaving, except you wanted her to come with you. There was some festival and you had been raving about it all week. It made you happy, and you wanted her to be happy with you, so she silently left, both of you in disguise, but told no one. It was as great as what you were told and even better with her! Your excitement was infectious and distracted her from wanting to go back to the garden.

🌷 - You separate only for a moment and unfortunately it all goes off the rails. You’re standing waiting for Eternal Sugar to return with drinks listening to the nearby festivities when a cookie comes up to you. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” This cookie grins says referring to the small wings tucked against your back. Appalled, you cringe. “Um…” you barely speak before arms slither around your waist and you’re pulled close. “There you are, my beloved,” Eternal Sugar says. You doubt her eyes ever left you. She was keeping you close in a way you knew you wouldn’t be staying at the festival much longer.

🌷 - “I got our food and.. oh! Who’s your friend?” She says in a way that drips jealousy, leaning her head against yours. One of her massive wings coming behind you, the other cookie is now looking around, giving an excuse about their friends and leaving. She watches them go then kisses your cheek. “I told you this would happen, what if it was someone worse who wanted to take you?~” she’ll tilt your head towards her, “can we go back to the garden? I’m feeling tired..” she’ll lie.

🌷 - You’ll notice that she’ll somehow be more affectionate with you for the time afterwards, don’t expect to leave for a very long time after that encounter.

Shadow Milk

🃏 - You were many things thanks to Shadow Milk, above every title he’s given you and every role he’s put you in, you were his lover. His lover. Though he would never show it, he kept you more protected than you know. You don’t see it but at all times there are puppet strings wound around you, if you’re about to step in a place you shouldn’t be those strings tighten and you walk away, except it feels more like “oh i don’t want to do this actually” and not “why did i just do that?” You don’t question it too thoroughly, you just encounter less issues now and thank the witches.

🃏 - You think you spend a healthy of time away from him, you don’t. In actuality you actually spent most of your time with him indirectly. He gives you many gifts, each one extends his omnipresence, so when you’re wearing something from him he is absolutely listening most of the time. If you ask him he’d tell you “Knowledge is a curse, wouldn’t you rather enjoy a white lie?” A little intimidated, you agree.

🃏 - His eaves dropping came in handy one time. He’d be lounging around mid air reading a book (and rewriting it) while listening to you in the background, a mug floating beside him. You were doing your own thing somewhere in the kingdoms, going through your daily rituals. What really made his ears open was when he heard someone he hadn’t recognised begin to speak to you all friendly. His eyes didn’t avert from the paper but if his ears could prick thats exactly what they’d be doing. “So, you doing anything this weekend? You’re cute,” He spit out his coffee, who did this guy think he was talking to you like that!

🃏 - He perked up, snapped his fingers so he wasn’t wearing his comfortable bed clothes and now in his usual jester attire. He jumped through a portal wasting no time. He watched from afar for a moment, you were clearly disinterested. “Im actually waiting for my partner,” you said. It always made his heart beat when you lied, especially about him! He might as well help you out! (And scare off whoever this was)

🃏 - He floated in, “Oh, my star~!” He sung out coming from around the corner, you whip around clearly happy to see him. He practically throws himself on you, and smothers you in exaggerated kisses, arms wrapped around your neck and one leg up behind him in a cartoonish way before harshly placing his lips against yours in a way that screamed territorial. Your face heats up from embarrassment, he then turns to the other cookie who didn’t seem to believe you but now, unfortunately, did. “Oh sorry, do you mind? I need a minute with my dearest, loveliest most adored actor” he says while holding your chin feigning innocence in his voice. But while you were hiding your face his shifted, he loved dropping the mask, putting on a face as scary as he was. The other got the memo, nervously escaping his wrath.

🃏 - You wont ever determine why he was truly near you, he’ll say that he wanted to see you but you know its a lie. Surprisingly, that cookie lives but at the expense of their reputation. Black sapphire is allowed to go ham with rumours about them, they end up moving towns. You, of course, have to endure lots of teasing from him. “If i knew you were so attractive to other cookies, i would have made you the main character!” He says while poking you.

#guys i typed the word anycookie what the heck does anycookie mean #anypony #im such a dork #i used partner for smc because i hc him as gender fluid #crk #crk x reader #x reader #crk x you #shadow milk cookie x reader #cookie run kingdom x you #cookie run kingdom x reader #mystic flour cookie x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #beast cookies

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girly-girlk · 1 month ago

Text

his girls

blue collar!rafe cameron x reader

summary: rafe is known for being rough, but when he’s with his girls he’s a whole other person

rafe cameron was the kind of man people didn’t mess with.

he worked hard — long, gritty hours in steel-toed boots and sweat-stained shirts. calloused hands. sharp jaw, sharper glare. he was the guy people on job sites nodded at but didn’t bother too much. they’d seen the way he moved — all muscle and edge — and how he didn’t say more than he needed to.

but when he came home to you? that man softened like worn denim.

you heard the truck before you saw it — the familiar low rumble in the driveway. your daughter dropped her toy and scrambled for the door, shouting, “daddy’s home!” the same way she had every day since she could talk.

rafe barely had time to shut the door behind him before she launched into his arms, her tiny fingers smearing dirt on his already stained shirt. you stepped out from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel, just in time to see him crouch down and scoop her up like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

“there’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, grime and all. “you been good for your mama today?”

your daughter nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. “we made cookies!”

rafe glanced up at you then, eyes softening even more. “you made cookies without me?” he teased gently, walking toward you with her still in his arms.

you shrugged, smirking. “we saved you the burnt ones.”

“lucky me,” he chuckled, setting her down before reaching out to tug you in. his hands were rough, cracked from the day’s work, but the way they held your waist — so careful, so steady — made your chest ache in the best way.

“you okay?” you asked quietly, brushing sweat-slick hair off his forehead.

he nodded. “better now.”

no one on the job would believe this was the same man who barked orders and carried two-by-fours like they weighed nothing. but here, in the warmth of your kitchen, with his daughter tugging at his pant leg and your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, rafe cameron wasn’t hard. he wasn’t tough.

he was yours.

and he wouldn’t trade that softness for anything.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader

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jobean12-blog · 6 months ago

Text

The Best Worst Day Ever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

Author's Note: We love a soft and sweet Bucky and dogs and bookstores and cookies and kisses- so here we are! Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️The two bookstores I mention can be found here (Spoonbill and Sugartown) and here (Albertine Books). Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: a cute dog, Bucky saves the day (a few times), cookies, soft fluff, building tension, books

“You will not believe the day I had.”

You practically sigh the words into the phone, feeling at least slightly better at the sound of your best friends voice.

“Tell me everything,” she says.

You start to recap your shitty day but a large fluff of black fur across the street catches your eye.

“Oh my god…,” you start, completely derailing your previous thought. “There is this giant black dog across the street. I have to go pet it.”

Your best friend laughs, “of course you do,” and you can feel yourself start to form a real smile for the first time today.

“I’ll call you back,” you tell her.

“You got it,” she answers, not even questioning your behavior.

You start to cross the street, giving a quick glance in both directions before breaking into a jog. You’re just about to call out to the old man to ask if his dog is friendly, when you hear the screech of tires.

Your heart drops and your body instinctively reacts but all you feel is the whoosh of air that whips past you and a set of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

For a few long seconds you simply breathe, clinging to the solid warmth of whatever is holding you up.

“Are you ok doll?”

The voice is soft but deep and you look towards it, blinking against the bright sun, wondering for a moment if the car hit you and you’re dead and in fact, now in heaven.

Your fingers dig into soft leather as you stare at one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

“Am I dead?”

Bright blue eyes peer down at you, the corners lightly crinkling at your question. His gaze wanders over your face, his expression seeming to waver between awe and concern.

“No, I’ve got you. But are you ok?”

His words draw your attention to his mouth. Blinking again and trying to clear your head you finally manage to answer him.

“I…I don’t think so…I just wanted to pet the dog.”

His perfect lips curl up into a teasing smile and you have to drag your eyes away to focus on his blue ones. But the fact that you’re pressed against his solid chest and encased in the warmth of his arms does nothing to help your concentration.

With a slight tremble you start to sit up, but he doesn’t release you from his hold. He just moves with you and helps you to stand.

Once he feels you’re steady enough on your feet he removes his hands but stays close, clearly not convinced you’re fine.

You let out a shaky exhale and smooth your hands over yourself.

“That was so scary.”

You can feel the warmth of tears spring to your eyes and your vision starts to blur. He reaches out a gentle hand and places it on your arm.

“I’m sure it was. And while we could stay here I think it would be best to get out of the middle of the street. Why don’t we go sit?”

He points to the bench on the sidewalk where the old man with the dog stands and watches.

As you approach the old man asks, “it’s a good thing this young man was here to save you. I could never move that fast.”

You glance at the “young man,” and he extends the hand that doesn’t have a secure hold on your arm to greet you.

“Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

“Thank you Bucky,” you say and then give him your name.

“Is she ok?” the old man asks Bucky.

“I think she’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says with a reassuring smile.

Bucky helps you onto the bench and as the dog moves closer, tail wagging, you blurt out in a rush, “can I please pet your dog?”

“Sure,” the old man says. “She’s very friendly.”

“What’s her name?” Bucky asks, as he kneels down to put his hand out for the dog to smell.

“Luna,” the old man replies, sitting down next to you on the bench.

You reach for Luna, letting her smell you before scratching her ears and leaning down to press your face into her soft fur.

Your focus stays on the dog until your heartbeat returns to normal, the conversation between Bucky and the old man lingering quietly in the background.

After a few more steadying breaths you thank the old man and Bucky helps him to stand, watching as he takes slow and small steps away from you, Luna in tow but still looking back at you.

Bucky stands and offers you his hand; strong and slightly clammy, and sparks fly, a curious look flitting across his stunning face as you both react to the touch. You fix your gaze on him and finally give yourself a chance to look. Your heart starts to crash against your chest all over again. You just sit there, staring.

He’s tall and the soft henley he wears beneath his leather jacket is fitted so that you can see the outline of the muscles in his chest. His eyes are the most beautiful blue, and the stubble covering his strong jaw does nothing to conceal the handsome features beneath it.

He smiles softly and for a moment you think you see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your obvious examination. He’s still holding onto your hand, and suddenly, seeming to come to his senses, he releases it and smooths his palm over his hair and then the back of his neck.

You feel a flush of heat move through you.

“You’re sure you’re ok doll?”

You nod.

“She should probably eat something.”

At the old man’s gruff voice both you and Bucky startle and turn to see him standing just a few feet away, a knowing smile on his face. Obviously, he didn’t get very far.

“He deserves a date for savin’ your life there young lady.”

With a decisive nod he dismisses you and Bucky and calls to Luna to finally continue on his way.

You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you look back up at him from your seat.

“Food?” you ask quietly.

“Let’s go,” he answers, his easy smile returning. “I know just the place.”

The butterflies stay firmly planted in the pit of your empty stomach and you stand so abruptly that you teeter forward and into his arms again. He catches you with two hands splayed at your waist and the urge to bury your heated face against his chest is overwhelming.

“I’m really having a day,” you mutter. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just happy I’m here to help.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

He falls into an easy stride beside you and a huff of laughter falls from your lips before you say, “I can’t believe I almost died trying to pet a dog.”

“I get it,” Bucky says, throwing you a wink.

You’re careful with your footing, still somewhat shaky from the whole ordeal but when your attention turns back to Bucky, his eyes trailing across your face, seeming to linger on your mouth before lifting to your eyes, you stumble, your foot catching a crack in the sidewalk.

He grabs your bicep to steady you, and you groan. “Shit, you must think I’m hopeless.”

“That person’s driving skills having nothing to do with you,” he assures you as he gently leads you toward the restaurant. “And everyone likes to pet dogs…or at least they should.”

His voice is gentle, and you avoid his gaze, his hand still curled securely around your arm as you come to stop outside the restaurant.

He only let’s go to open the door and usher you in with a soft press of his hand to your lower back.

The flutter of butterflies that you keep trying to ignore are back in full force and when Bucky stops at a table and pulls out the chair for you the gesture has you feeling faint.

You must be starved.

With a monumental effort to relax you sit back in the chair and cross your legs. His gaze automatically flickers downward and be visibly swallows before quickly looking away.

There’s a definite blush on the tops of his cheeks now.

“The pizza here is really good.” His voice sounds extra rumbly, maybe even a little hoarse.

You pick up a menu and start to fan yourself without even thinking. “I’m sure it is.”

“Do you live close by?” you ask him.

“Just a few blocks away. I’m here all the time.”

Before you can ask any more questions, an older woman appears beside your table with a beaming smile.

“Barnes has finally showed up with a girl!” she sings. “And a beauty at that.”

You hide your giggle behind the menu and peer at Bucky.

“This is Millie,” he says, his smile wide. “She owns the place and loves to bust my chops.”

You introduce yourself, delighted and Millie’s warmth.

“Are you having the usual?” Millie asks Bucky.

He nods and looks to you.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you tell Millie.

“I like her already,” Millie says before rushing back off to the kitchen.

Bucky sits forward, his arms crossed in front of him and now that he’s taken off his leather jacket there is more of him to admire.

His blue eyes are focused entirely on you, and you try not to blurt out your thoughts about how nice his biceps looked in his shirt so instead you clamp your mouth shut and look around the cozy space.

You fall into easy conversation and when the food comes the silence is comfortable while you eagerly eat it, not realizing how hungry you really are.

After your stomach is full, Bucky pays the bill, even after you offered several times, pleading with him that you owed him at least that after saving your life.

He waves you off and hands Millie the cash then holds his hand out for yours.

At the feel of his skin tension immediately springs between you, and you scramble to think of something to say.

He beats you to it.

“What are your plans for the weekend?”

Grateful for the distraction, you reply, “well, I usually spend my Saturday afternoons at this little bookshop in my neighborhood.”

“Is it Spoonbill and Sugartown?”

Your eyes widen and light up.

“YES! You know it?”

“I do. I used to go all the time. Haven’t been in a while though. I love the smell of the old books.”

A rush of attraction sweeps over you like a wave and your hand squeezes his.

“You could meet me there tomorrow? If you’re not busy?”

“Yeah. I’d love that,” he says, grabbing the door and holding it open so you can exit the restaurant.

“Which way are you?” he asks, still holding your hand.

You point right toward Bedford Avenue.

“Come on, I’ll walk ya home doll.”

“Is it out of your way? I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

He chuckles before leaning down to press a quick, surprising kiss to your cheek.

“Nah, it’s not and I really don’t mind.”

You are in love.

Inside the old bookstore, with its vaulted ceilings and shafts of light pouring through the skylights, you stare at the rows and rows of bookshelves.

Through the aisles there is something to catch the eye at every turn. Not just books, but interesting and antique Tiffany lamps and various knick knacks that make you smile. Reading areas are set up in breaks between the shelves, tables with chairs so people can lounge, read, and drink their coffee and eat their desserts.

You let out a contented sigh. On purpose, you arrived a bit early, hoping the familiarity and comfort of the store would calm the persistent butterflies that have taken up a permanent residence in your stomach since your literal run in with Bucky.

As you’re falling deeper under the spell of the leather lined bindings and dusty-smelling pages a soft voice calls your name.

You look up and see Bucky standing at the end of the aisle. He’s dressed casually but different from yesterday, his dark jeans fitted to his muscular thighs and his black tee shirt showing off those perfect arms and chest.

He steps closer and greets you with another kiss to your cheek, this time, closer to the corner of your mouth.

You close your eyes briefly, inhaling his scent and steadying yourself on your feet. Before you can actually swoon to the floor you tell him about the expansion they recently built in the back with a rush of enthusiastic words.

Taking his hand, you lead him to the new section, practically running.

Laughing at your overexcitement, he squeezes your hand.

“You’re very cute.”

When you turn to look at him, something in his eyes makes your skin heat and you have to look away again, but not before you give him a thankful smile.

You expect him to let go of your hand once you reach the back, but he doesn’t.

“Have you ever been to Albertine Books?” he asks.

You stop and think.

“No, I don’t think I’ve even heard of it.”

“It’s easy to miss,” he explains. “It’s inside the French Embassy and has mostly French language books and translations from French into English, but it’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” you say with uninhibited joy. “Will you take me there sometime?”

You’re too busy deciding which part of the expanded bookstore you want to show him first to see his expression, but you hear the affection in his tone when he replies, “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, doll.”

Your heart flutters.

Your hand gets clammy, and you gently pull it away, trying to use the shelves and the books lining them to refocus yourself.

He stays with you, content to watch you peruse the bindings, moving from bookshelf to bookshelf.

The book titles quickly become a blur as your awareness zeroes in on one thing, one person.

Bucky.

You feel the warmth of his presence, hovering at your back, and feel the heat of his gaze on your face. The skin on your cheek tingles and you can still feel the press of his lips.

Your breathing grows shallower as his fingertips brush against the small of your back, a gentle touch, but searing through your clothes.

Busy frantically pondering how to navigate the chemistry you share; you don’t realize the book you halt in front of until it’s too late.

A romance novel with a couple in a sexy position on the cover.

Just perfect.

His fingertips press deeper against your lower back, and then you feel the whisper of his lips on your ear as he comments, “interesting choice.”

You make the mistake of turning your head toward his and find his nose just inches from yours.

Your eyes lock for a second before his gazes drops to your mouth. Your body sways slightly toward his, and he takes the movement as an invitation, his head dipping those last few inches.

“Excuse me.”

A voice, loud and close, jolts you away from Bucky, whose mouth had just been millimeters from touching yours.

“I just…want that book.” An arm reaches between you and Bucky, and dazed, you look over to see a woman. She seems unfazed by the fact that she clearly interrupted a moment, and you grab the book for her.

She gives you a thin lipped smiled and darts away.

After a second or two of staring after her, you finally draw up the courage to meet Bucky’s eyes.

His cheeks are pink again and he’s rubbing his palm on his jeans.

Looking over his shoulder you spot the coffee and dessert counter.

“Ooh!” you say, hurrying towards it. “Let’s get a cookie!”

Bucky follows and you turn to him, smiling through the awkwardness.

“You have to try the double chocolate chip.”

He bends down to peer into the display case. Your eyes meet, and just like that you’re too close for your body to handle. You swallow hard.

“It’s delicious. And the chunks of chocolate are gooey.”

His eyes are trained on your mouth as he murmurs, “maybe we should get two.”

“Good idea. I can eat a whole one easily on my own. We might even need three.”

You sound breathless.

“Hm.” He’s not even listening to your words at this point. His focus is on your lips, his eyes are hooded, and he is definitely going to attempt to kiss you again.

“What can I get for you?” the worker behind the counter asks, smiling brightly when the two of you jerk your heads up.

“Four double chocolate chip cookies,” Bucky blurts out, then follows with a soft, “please and thanks.”

Once you have your cookies in your hand you head to one of the back tables and sit, stuffing nearly the whole cookie in your mouth.

It’s so good that for a moment you forget yourself and moan around the bite.

Bucky clears his throat, and you lock eyes. His reaches across the table, his strong fingertips gripping your chin, and he bends his head toward yours. He halts when he’s close enough that you can see the patches of gray in his beard and feel his warm breath fan your cheek.

With the softest brush of his calloused thumb, he wipes away some chocolate from your bottom lip.

“Had a little chocolate smudge right there,” he whispers.

You slowly nod and your tongue darts out to lick your lips. His eyes track the movement, and he releases you, biting into half of his own cookie.

“These really are amazing,” he says around the mouthful.

You nod again, too flustered for words.

The two of you eat all four cookies and despite wanting to distract yourself with more you leave the bookstore and let him walk you home once again.

When you stop outside your building you fiddle with your hands and look anywhere but at him.

“I had the best time,” he says, drawing your attention.

“Me too,” you say quietly.

“When can I take you to Albertine Books?” he asks, as he takes a tentative step closer.

“Tomorrow?”

It’s a hopeful question. One you couldn’t stop yourself from asking even if you wanted to.

“I’d love that doll.”

A deep tug low in your belly makes you bite your lip. You love the use of that endearment and after spending most of the afternoon so close to him you’re nearly at your wits end.

His gaze fixes on yours and his jaw tightens at whatever he sees in your expression then he closes the distance and slides his arms around you, his hands coasting slowly up your back.

He lifts a hand to your cheek, sweeping his thumb across your soft skin and splaying his hand to draw you closer.

“If someone interrupts us this time…” he says, tone full of warning but still teasing.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even notice if there was a dog nearby for me to pet,” you say with a smile.

He laughs and bumps your nose with his.

“Not even a dog huh?”

You shake your head, and your eyes start to close as your hands grasp the front of his shirt. You feel the heat of his breath first, the warning before his lips touch yours. And when they do, it’s barely a brush, a hot, glancing touch.

Your fingers close more tightly around the fabric of his shirt, silently urging him to really kiss you. You’re desperate for it.

Another whisper of a of kiss, then a slightly deeper press, a nibble on your lower lip. A whimper escapes you.

It shatters whatever restraint he’s grounded himself with and his hand splayed at your back hauls you against his body as his mouth presses to yours.

You open your mouth to let him in, and his groan of satisfaction rumbles through you. The tickle of his scruffy jaw is rough in the just the way you’d hoped it would be and when you feel the slide of his hands down your back, the smooth strength of him under your touch, you completely melt into the kiss and the rest of the world fades away.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bookshop #dogs #cookies #bucky barns x reader

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bonsiii-art · 2 months ago

Note

Also, extra question because why not?

Remember in CR kingdom? Where MyCookie gets outfits close to beasts cookies?

What if it's the same but dragon version? Because am willing to bet if Longan dragon comes to kingdom they'll make outfits for them!!

How would Longan react to seeing children or at one child cookie cosplay as them because they're admiring Longan so much?

Bro, if they do make a mycookie set for Longan, I'm getting it, no matter the cost. (⊙ˍ⊙) Like that'll be the only time I let Devsis steal money from me on this game. As for Longan's reaction to said clothes:

I think, gut reaction, they would see it as an offense and turn them into stone (´。＿。｀) Reasoning being that they want to be feared and someone wearing their look like a costume would be like, to them, like they aren't taking them seriously. And a more subdued reaction would be more aloof like the second panel there. Admiring Longan won't save that cookie from when they wreck the world, but I don't think they would mind the idolization imo uwo.

#bonsi talks #longan dragon cookie #I was gonna get this drawn hours ago but yeah （；´д｀）ゞ

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innerchildabortionclinic · 2 months ago

Text

birthday reflections

on june 4th I turn 27. typically I don't celebrate my birthday due to events that occurred on it when I turned 18. however, I feel different this year. maybe i'm just looking for an excuse to acquire more sweets when I say I wouldn't mind celebrating on a minor scale, but certainly, things have improved. i've still had to lie to my mom a lot about my social life so she thinks i'm doing much better than I am. she looks at me with hopelessness and guilt whenever I confess to having any issue. so my mom thinks i'll be living it up over the next few days. hopefully she doesn't bump into me at work...that would be awkward. she is dropping by cookies at my apartment which I greatly appreciate. I get really excited for special treats like that because i'm not a kid anymore and I can't invest all my savings in candy.

i'm torn in how I view my mom. on one hand we are very close. there are just some things she says that will really set off my temper--for example, talking about how many "issues" I needed help with when I was young when those issues are tied to her ex husband. but every time I learn about her past, and see what she considers to be ideal, i'm sympathetic. she just wanted a normal family. she tried so hard to create the household she wanted as a child. she is overbearing because her parents paid so little attention to her they didn't even know she graduated college. I wonder if she, like me, ever daydreamed of a hypothetical perfect family--it makes me happy to imagine a child raised in a good environment.

anyway, i'm not sure what the future holds for me; I can't make any predictions because I never could've predicted i'd be able to do the things I can do now. all I know is, i'm full of equal amounts of frustration and joy. joy for new experiences, frustration because there is always a part of me desperately wanting to pull away, and finding every excuse to do so.

i'll end this post by saying it's worth stepping out of your comfort zone. no matter how the story of my life ends I will know that I chose not to be guided by fear forever and I will never regret it.

#k going to sleep now

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jjjjisun · 3 months ago

Text

Kitchen Accident

Wonyoung X Male OC | 9968 words

TW: Incest

—

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—

Jae was again awake in the middle of the night; it was becoming common. He would wake up and find it impossible to get back to sleep without at least getting himself a drink of water. The hard-on he awoke with also suggested he might need to relieve himself in their master bathroom before he rejoined his wife in bed.

He quietly rolled off the bed and threw on his robe. The forty-three year old didn't bother to close it because, frankly, nobody would be awake and it was his damn house - he could walk around naked if he pleased. It was a bit of a funny sight, Jae thought, looking down at his erection as it stood proudly between the flaps of the white robe. He knew he had little to worry about in the size department. His wife certainly didn't complain, not that she'd slept with him in over a month.

That was probably what had him waking up almost every night. His wife always seemed to find an excuse not to have sex, and Jae was tiring of being rejected. Until he figured out what was wrong, a quick jerk would have to do, and he'd be able to fall back asleep, somewhat satisfied. He tried not to allow the thought that someone in his wife's tennis club was taking his spot in bed, but it wouldn't have surprised him all that much.

Jae closed the door behind him silently and sidled out into the hall. Everybody else would be fast asleep. His daughter Da-ah was in her junior year of college; her door was closed and 300 miles away until the summer. Jinwoo, his twenty-three-year-old son, stayed home for a while as he saved money to move out on his own. The boy slept like a rock and could be heard snoring through his half-open door.

The room before the stairs was Wonyoung's, his youngest daughter, and the bright spot in his life. Jae's dark-haired teenager took after her mother, thankfully only in her looks. She also played tennis in high school and competed at a pretty high level. Jae loved Wonyoung with all his heart and spoiled her every chance. On her eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago, he'd bought her a costly tennis racket and made her swear not to tell her mother. Wonyoung readily agreed, holding the racquet against her chest and squeezing it tight as promised.

At an age when most of her friends complained about their fathers, how strict they were, or the intolerable grounding they had to endure, Wonyoung felt completely contrary. Every minute she could, she spent with her dad. She tried to take an interest in the things he liked: cars, electronics, and such. And he did such a fantastic job being a part of her interests that many of her friends were jealous that her dad spent so much time with her.

But Jae worried about Wonyoung sometimes. His daughter was getting prettier and prettier every day, and she didn't seem to understand how that changed how men and boys looked at her. Her older sister Da-ah certainly didn't set a great example, and now some of the outfits that Da-ah brought home from college were also starting to show up in Wonyoung's repertoire.

His teenage daughter was 5'8" with black hair and big brown eyes. Tennis had slimmed her body, and her affinity for lying out in the backyard had tanned her skin wonderfully, despite his protests for her to take it easy. From all the times he'd carried her to bed at night, he knew she weighed less than 100 lbs. When he started to worry about her was a few years ago when her breasts developed. Now she was sporting a C-cup, even larger than her mother's and impossible not to notice. Since she'd begun imitating her older sister, the tight cotton tank tops and V-necks constantly reminded him that he should keep his eye on her.

Not that he minded... as Jae reached the bottom of the stairs he realized all the thoughts of his baby had made his cock grow to its full length. He needed a glass of milk, a cookie or two, and then maybe a hot shower while he took care of his not-so-little problem. He'd try his hardest not to think of Wonyoung while he stroked, but knew from experience that it wasn't such an easy feat.

They were very close, Wonyoung and her father. Though he didn't like to admit it, Wonyoung had been a source of comfort while the intimacy with his wife had been dying down. Having his beautiful daughter snuggled up to him on the couch as they watched TV or shared a long conversation about nothing during a car ride made things far easier, and he loved her for it. If only Wonyoung shared his bed every night, he'd have a perfect relationship. The thought of Wonyoung in place of his wife, making love to her...Jae shivered.

From time to time, there was tension between Jae and his teenage daughter. He prayed that Wonyoung didn't see it as sexual, but he knew better. Just last week, she had been lying with him on the couch wearing very little. He'd tried to explain to her why she shouldn't wear clothing like that, but it was more difficult to say so without telling the innocent little brunette that it was he she had to be more decent around.

Her tube socks that day, a tiny pair of cotton shorts, and a shirt that, no matter how many times he tried to fix, kept slipping down over her shoulder and dominated his thoughts as they watched TV together. The exposed skin was already too much for him, but when Wonyoung had tried to move around on the couch, she had unknowingly brushed her hand right against his crotch. It was enough to make his cock jump to attention and, terrified that his daughter would discover it, he abruptly got up and walked out of the room. Even when he returned, he had to keep his daughter at a distance, though she quickly tried to cuddle up with him without the slightest concern for how she might be affecting him.

Sometimes his affection and the resulting thoughts he had about his teenager made him feel guilty. But Jae felt turned on when a pretty cashier touched his hand as they exchanged bills, or he heard a sexy voice on the phone; he resolved to stop beating himself up over it. Occasionally, his mind was going to places he hadn't asked it to, like right now when he remembered his daughter in her bathing suit as he passed it hanging on the railing to dry. God, did she have an unbelievable body, if only he could get his hands on her... all over her... He buried the thought and reminded himself that his cock was thinking for him at the moment. He reasoned that he'd probably hump a wall in his state right then.

To Wonyoung, her father was also the best part of her day. He just understood her better than everyone else. Despite what he said, everyone in the family knew she was his favorite. He never seemed to yell at her like he did with her other two siblings. Especially Jinwoo, they sometimes got in some screaming matches that scared her.

Her dad was a big and strong man, with hair that showed just a hint of gray with his age. All her friends swooned over him. Whenever they knew her dad would be around, her friends always seemed to put extra care into their appearance. Wonyoung frequently had to endure her friends flirting with her father or bending over at the car window when he came to pick her up so he could see down their shirts.

"Hi, Mr. Jang," they'd say in a sing-songy voice. Especially Yujin! Though she was Wonyoung's best friend, Yujin always turned gaga whenever Wonyoung's father was around.

"He's hot, Wonyoung. Any one of us would love to have him all over us like he is with you. Get over it!" Yujin would say whenever Wonyoung complained.

Wonyoung didn't ever agree out loud, but there was no denying some of the things they said. Of course, she knew he was a good-looking man; she was the one who spent so much time around him. He had a broad chest, and she could feel it when she laid her hand and head against him on the couch at night. He worked out often, and she knew that because he would chase her around the house when he came home, all gross and sweaty from the gym. His handsome face did little to reveal his age: forty-three with the spirit of a younger man.

He was the only boy, well... man, who gave her attention simply because he loved her. The boys at school only came near her when they were trying to touch her butt or put their hands on her boobs. Even her male teachers would leer at her when they thought she wasn't looking. Ugh... she often came home and ran to her daddy's arms to feel something real for once.

Wonyoung was a good girl and daughter, but her friends' words sometimes made her think... Every once in a while, she noticed her dad looking at her lovingly, making her feel tingly. She didn't mind having his eyes on her, though perhaps she should have, and occasionally she sought it out by wearing things that she thought made her look sexy or even a little slutty. She hoped her father didn't think less of her for it, but sometimes she just couldn't help around him.

That night, Wonyoung had stayed up late binge-watching a TV show on her computer. Hours after everyone had gone to sleep, she was still awake. A racy scene in the show made her fingers practically guide themselves under the covers to her panties. It wasn't very graphic, but as she heard the female character panting and watched the couple having 'sex' on screen, she knew she was getting turned on.

Wonyoung had never had sex before, and she didn't think she'd know how to properly. The pretty brunette had only ever kissed a boy, and she let one other touch her breasts over her shirt. But both boys had turned into super-jerks shortly afterward, telling everyone about their accomplishments with Wonyoung and making her the talk of the rumor mill at school for a few days each time. Of course, her father had been there to make her feel better when she got home, but she'd decided to keep boys her age at a distance since then.

So as Wonyoung's fingers found her panty-line and pried underneath, she did so without much knowledge of how to make herself feel good. A couple times, when she was turned on, Wonyoung had been able to rub the outside of her pussy until she had a short but rewarding orgasm. Last week, she had done so after a long night of cuddling with her dad, and had felt guilty afterwards knowing that he had played a part in her arousal. This time, after she had tried unsuccessfully for a few minutes, Wonyoung decided to try something new.

Yujin had told her that she should try using a vegetable. Wonyoung knew that was how sex worked, but for a long time she had felt guilty even touching herself, let alone sticking one of her mom's cucumbers up there! But now she was just too horny and very curious so she decided to take a look in the fridge.

The cute brunette walked on tiptoes to her door and opened it as quietly as possible. She wore a pair of cotton underwear when she'd gone to bed, but she had pushed them off in her heated frustration. Now all she had on was a white cotton tank-top, and though she considered going back to her bed to find her panties, Wonyoung felt sure she would be alone for as long as it took to get to the kitchen and back.

So she closed the bedroom door behind her and tiptoed down the stairs toward the kitchen. Wonyoung listened closely to the quiet of the house and, hearing nothing, went as quickly as possible to the fridge. It was dark in the house, with only the light from the clock on the microwave to illuminate the nearby space. Wonyoung almost knocked a vase to the ground, but steadied it before it fell.

'Phew,' she thought, shivering with a little chill as she felt the cool night air on her naked bottom. She had been so wet that her inner thighs were damp; had thinking about her daddy made her so horny like that? Wonyoung didn't always feel guilty when her father entered her thoughts inappropriately. Occasionally, she told herself that fantasizing about him wasn't wrong; she couldn't act out her thoughts. Plus, there was no way her father would ever reciprocate, even if she wanted him to.

Her little pussy felt even colder when she bent over to look in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. From behind the tiny brunette would have looked incredible, her legs held together and bending at the waist, naked bottom and her cute, bare pussy where anyone could see.

Still groggy as he walked down the stairs, Jae rubbed his eyes and yawned. But no matter how tired he felt, Jae knew he'd have trouble sleeping until he carried out this frustrating nighttime routine. He barely opened his eyes, knowing the house backwards and forwards as he did. When he finally came to the fridge, it didn't appear odd that it was already open. He was half awake and only had one thing on his mind: to take a big swig directly from the milk carton like his wife hated. Jae simply grabbed the handle of the open fridge and swung himself around it lazily, precisely the way he scolded his son for, to get a look inside.

Wonyoung was rummaging deep in the drawer when her fingers finally found what she was looking for, it was the perfectly sized... ughhhHHH

Bent at the waist the way Wonyoung was, her tiny young pussy couldn't have been in a more perfect spot.

As her father came around with one hand on the door and the other rubbing an eye, his erection couldn't have pointed any more directly.

He hadn't seen her there... he hadn't been looking for anyone there, but as soon as Jae's feet squared off toward the open fridge, he felt her. There was no mistaking that he had just come to a halt with his cockhead securely inside a wonderfully warm and tight pussy.

"Ouuuuuuwwwahhhh..." Wonyoung whined. She couldn't make sense of what had just happened and couldn't form words to protest. One second, she was searching in the fridge, and the next, she felt very intense pressure from the very spot she had been touching minutes ago. She could feel pain there, too, and it had happened all at once.

Jae's mind was still foggy, and the sudden change in sensation to his hard member made him throb, and his mind lost its place in time. The very intimate position in which he now found himself made him assume he simply hadn't checked to see if his wife was asleep when he got out of bed, and now he was finally getting the relief she'd deprived him of.

He hadn't been inside her in far too long, and seeing that she had yet to complain about the surprise sex, he made an impulsive decision to give in to his desires. Jae reached down and wrapped his hands around her bare hips; it wasn't like her to sleep bottomless, or with the sexy little tank top she now wore, but he wasn't going to complain. With a gentle push of his hips, Jae sank further into her.

"Nooooo...owwwfuuuuck!" Wonyoung cried.

"Bab,y please...it was an accident, I promise...but we haven't had sex in weeks." Jae pleaded

Wonyoung froze, her father could feel her go stiff through his palms, which were needily feeling her hips and tiny butt. Suddenly, she realized what had happened. Her father had accidentally put his penis inside her and now he thought Wonyoung was her mother. What's worse, Wonyoung could feel that her little pussy was so wet her father had slid into it easily.

She didn't know what to say. Her father had paused after pleading to continue, and Wonyoung was speechless. When she had been quiet for a few seconds, still bent over with her hair obscuring her face from his view, Jae took her silence as enough consent for him to finish his plunge into her.

"Noooo... stoppp," Wonyoung begged. Her father only did so when he'd sunk his entire cock into his daughter's young sheath. She felt so tight bent over like that; Jae made a mental note to fuck her in this position more often.

"But honey... You feel so good... I'll be quick, I promise." Jae continued. He was nearly buried in her. Hoping to convince her to submit, Jae pushed hard against her backside and forced his head to seek just a bit deeper.

Wonyoung felt him shove further and her untouched pussy throbbed with pain and unknown feelings as a result of being stuffed full of her daddy's cock.

"Nooo daddy... it's me... oooughhhh... It's Wonyoung."

Jae had only been half listening. The broken words coming out of her mouth hadn't registered, but the unfamiliar tightness of her pussy and the smaller, more toned nature of her backside was further confusing his addled brain. Jae withdrew his cock from his daughter's tight quim and was about to penetrate her for the second time when he heard:

"No daddy, pleaaassse!" Wonyoung muttered, her voice betrayed by the feelings her father's cock was causing her. "You can't, Daddy... It's me... your daughter."

Jae heard her this time, but he couldn't have heard right. Then again, something hadn't felt quite right when he first entered her, and her skin was smoother, her body more youthful. He reached down, palming the vicinity of Wonyoung's breast and lifting her upright so he could see her face. He didn't dare remove himself from inside of her; he couldn't bring himself to do so, regardless of the truth.

He hadn't misheard her. As he lifted his teenage daughter so that her hair fell around her shoulders, he recognized her face immediately. Suddenly the fact that her pussy had felt twenty years younger and her body more lean and seductive made sense. He had, only in unspoken fantasies, imagined what it would be like to make love to his beautiful daughter. Now, in the lone light of the open refrigerator, he was mistakenly penetrating her as he'd only dreamed.

Jae had stopped pulling out of her so that his tip now pulsed with excitement just beyond her pink lips. Wonyoung could feel her daddy there, a wider part of his manhood holding her quim open to him. She prayed he would remove himself and then explain to her, as he always did, that everything would be okay.

With his hand upon Wonyoung's pert breast and his other on her naked hip, it simply wasn't an option to stop. He was already committing incest. Jae had been buried inside his little eighteen-year-old once; what difference did it make in doing so again? Holding tight to his baby girl, he buried his waiting cock in one slow but steady thrust.

"MMmmmmphh... no Daddy, no!" Wonyoung pleaded as she felt her father fucking her again. "Daddy, I'm a virgin, you have to stop...ooouuuuw!"

"Oh Wonyoung, Daddy didn't mean to... ughhh," he sighed as his pelvis once again met his daughter's petite backside, "it was an accident baby... I didn't... ughhh... see you there."

Wonyoung felt her father pull out halfway and then shove back into her as he spoke. Jae knew what he was doing was wrong, but his morals were being battled by the warm entrenchment of his rod inside Wonyoung's teen pussy.

"It's okay, Daddy... I know you didn't mean to, but you have take your penis out of me... mmmhh... before you take my virginity."

Jae looked down between them at where his cock was halfway inside Wonyoung. He could see a small amount of blood from when he'd first encountered resistance at his daughter's hymen. Her years of tennis had probably made it so her cherry wasn't entirely obstructing her entrance, but there was no doubt that when he'd first entered her, he had taken his youngest daughter's virginity.

"Honey, you aren't a virgin anymore now," he told her definitively. He let the words sink in and couldn't help himself moving as slowly and imperceptibly as possible so he could feel the walls of Wonyoung's unclaimed pussy stimulating his cock.

Wonyoung cooed, she could feel her daddy's penis still moving inside her, "Oh no Daddy... did you take my virginity, are you sure?"

"Yes, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

The evidence of Wonyoung's virginity wasn't the only thing that Jae had noticed as he looked down at their incestuous connection. It was also hard to miss that his pretty teenager was soaking wet. Her juices had coated his rod thoroughly and were dripping down around his full balls. The realization surprised him and again he thrust upward into Wonyoung's quim in lust.

"If you're sorry dad... oooouummph... why do you keep fucking me? You're cock is too big daddy...oooooo... it hurts me"

Her father was surprised to hear Wonyoung say those dirty words, but far from chastising her. Jae was getting less and less subtle about continuing to chase the pleasure his tiny daughter's quim was giving him.

"Wonyoung, your little pussy makes my cock feel very good... ohhh... it won't hurt as much if I just fuck you a little more honey" his hips slapped against her buttocks and Wonyoung could feel her father prodding her deep enough to encounter resistance inside her.

His hands started to wander around Wonyoung's chest. The friction his fingers were causing by rubbing his fingers over her nipple with the cotton tank top between made her shiver involuntarily.

"But you can put your thing in mommy's pussy... ohhh shiiiit... You can't put it in mine. You could get me pregnant, Daddy!"

Jae stood his daughter up straight and slid his hand from her hip to the hem of her shirt. He didn't want to ignore the pleading of his baby girl; he hadn't even dreamt of deflowering her. But now that he had, Jae couldn't help himself. He could still feel his daughter's opening leaking with desire, and it gave him hope that he might win her over.

"Your mom doesn't let me anymore honey, and you are so much more beautiful than she is..." he told her truthfully, "you can only get pregnant if I cum inside you honey... ouhhhh... I promise I won't!"

Wonyoung felt him shoving his big cock into her again. She'd lost count of how many times he'd plunged into her now, but she was tingling from the inside out between that and the sweet compliment he'd paid her.

She could feel her father's hands getting bolder. One of them had found its way under her shirt and was moving its way up her flat stomach to her boobies. When he reached there, he hesitated with his thumb and forefinger, making a half-circle under her breast. As Wonyoung held her breath she felt her father move his hand so he was cupping her tit fully and testing its weight. Finally, he took her nipple between his fingers and squeezed gently; Wonyoung mewwed in response.

"Oh God, Daddy..." Wonyoung moaned as she felt her father urging his cock in and out of her.

She felt bad for him that her mother had not allowed her wonderful father any relief for many weeks. He was desperate enough to seek it from his daughter, though he may have mistakenly done so initially.

As Wonyoung's father was fucking her as gently as he could stand from behind, she could feel the shock and pain of losing her virginity to her father begin to subside just as he had promised. It was being replaced by something she had never felt before: a building pressure each time her father sank into her.

"Mnnnhhh... what if someone sees... unnnhhh..." Wonyoung complained, "you should stop now, you shouldn't fuck me anymore daddy... oooumpph..." No matter what she said, Wonyoung's pussy was drenched and her moans indicated to her father that if he continued she was going to experience her first orgasm by penetration.

His hands were roaming around, one on her tit and the other massaging the soft flesh around her hip. Her daddy was manhandling her, much different from how he usually held her as they fell asleep watching TV.

Twenty minutes ago, her father had crossed her mind more than once as she touched herself in the quiet darkness of her room. She had been thinking of him when she reached into the vegetable drawer in the fridge. She'd wondered what vegetable would be most similar to her father. Now that he was fucking her, she was pretty sure that nothing in the fridge was large enough to match him.

Wonyoung knew it was wrong; she knew she should push her father off and stop the incest they were committing right away. Why did she stay? Wonyoung wondered what her friend Yujin would say. She was always talking about how hot her daddy was and how bad she wanted him. Did Wonyoung want him too? Is that why she was starting to excitedly anticipate each time his cock would again be snugly thrust inside of her after withdrawal?

"Fuck daddy! You're cock is huge..." he was increasing the vigor of his thrusts, grasping her hip tightly and making sure he was into her before pulling back out. "Be careful dad please... unnhhhh... it hurts more when you fuck me harder!"

"Is this okay, baby?" Jae asked his daughter. He slowed down the pace but still savored the feeling of filling the tiny brunette completely again and again.

"Yes daaaad... uhhhh uhhhh... that feels much better."

He was surprised to hear his little girl finally yielding, and her wet pink pussy was still easing his repeated entry. The sounds of the house were always soothing to Jae: the drone of the fridge compressor, the click of the air conditioner turning on, or the breathing of his sleeping family. But the sounds coming from his teenage daughter were more wonderful to him than anything he'd ever heard... her labored breaths... the swishing of her tight pussy as it accepted his pistoning cock and the quiet whimpering as she felt a man's cock inside her for the first time.

Jae had been there for all of Wonyoung's firsts: her first steps, her first words, her first day at school. He'd held her when she got hurt or when she got a bad grade or whenever he felt his wife was being too harsh with his little girl. He had been there for Wonyoung's first break-up, even when she bought her first bra. Now Jae was always going to be his daughter's first time with a man, and the knowledge that he was claiming her bare, untouched pussy by reaching places with each thrust into her that no man had ever been before... the truth of it was the amazing beyond words.

For years, he'd looked on as Wonyoung became the beautiful girl she was today. In the dressing room, she'd asked how multiple bras looked when he took her to the mall to try them on. He shouldn't have been looking at his young daughter, but with her perfect globes nestled inside the supportive cups, even then, her body was a sight to behold. The thought that she would become such a gorgeous young daughter scared him... He loved her completely, beyond compare, and only dreamed that a man would be deserving enough to have her someday.

Now as he looked down, the dimples in her back where he'd pushed up her shirt and curve of her hips... he gasped... he couldn't believe he was the man fucking his daughter.

"Ohhh fuck... Daddy keep fucking me... ohgod..." she was forgetting to resist now, "you feel so good in my pussy dad."

Jae had felt so guilty when he realized for sure that it was his daughter whom he'd buried his cock into. Even more so when he discovered that he'd taken her virginity as well. But now... now that she was asking him to continue.. she wanted him to keep fucking her...

Jae established a good rhythm and could feel his little girl leaning backward to help him. In short order, he could tell that his teenage daughter was going to have an orgasm. She was breathing more heavily, crying out more needily.

"Ohh fuck... I feel strange... ouuuhhh... wai,t Daddy... hold on..."

But Jae knew what to do, and soon his little girl would be cumming on his cock just the way he wanted her to. He continued to push into her folds and prod her deep within.

"Ohh fuckkk... oh Daaad... "

Wonyoung's knees went weak. Her father supported her while continuing his unrelenting thrusts into her pussy. Her mind was suddenly white, and she felt pins and needles in all of her extremities. She howled

"Ohhhhhh Daaaaaaaaddyyyy."

It was like nothing Wonyoung had ever felt before. Her father had shoved into her and stayed there as she rode out her newly discovered orgasm. She felt so incredibly full. Her body seemed to conduct electricity through thin wires stretching from her fingers to the tips of her toes and all leading back to the apex point of pleasure behind her eyes.

Jae's cock throbbed as his little girl curled her toes against the hardwood floor and reached back clumsily for some kind of hold on him. He loved watching his daughter climax and simply savored the sight of her quaking in front of him, not to mention the way her virgin walls were clenching him as she did. Though her father's cock fit perfectly inside Wonyoung, she was even wetter than before and her juices were dripping from within her.

For the first time, Jae decided to remove himself from his daughter's drenched tunnel. She stood, but only with the support her father gave her. He turned Wonyoung towards him, her head hung low. With a finger at her chin, Jae lifted his daughter's head to look into her eyes.

She looked so pretty, a light sheen of sweat on her brow and flushed cheeks. Wonyoung kept her eyes closed for a moment, but they weren't angry when she finally opened them. They weren't hurt or sad or anything he had expected. Wonyoung had pleaded with him to stop, but as she came back to the world from an earth-shaking orgasm, Wonyoung was glad her father had kept fucking her.

She only looked a little embarrassed, like she hadn't expected to see so much pleasure from having her virginity taken by her father.

"I love you, baby," he told her.

Wonyoung looked at him closely, her big brown eyes holding his gaze for long enough that he was desperate to know what she was thinking.

"I love you, too, Dad."

He kissed her on the cheek, right next to her lips, and lingered there. Wonyoung felt him hesitate and brought her lips close enough to kiss him. Simultaneously, they closed the gap between them and brought their mouths together. Wonyoung kissed her father hungrily, thanking him for the beautiful feelings he'd shown her.

Each peck, each explorative placement of his lips on hers, Wonyoung understood why she wasn't upset with her daddy for continuing to fuck her when he did. Wonyoung's friends seemed to love her father and didn't know him half as well as she did. He was the best father a girl could have, and he was handsome to boot. So many times she had thought of him, alone in her bed at night, but she didn't ever know how he could make her feel. The tingling surface of her skin and her sensitive pussy was more than she had ever dreamt of. Now that she had the chance, why shouldn't she willingly accept her father? Nobody had to know... Wonyoung shivered at the taboo thoughts.

Their tongues darted out to meet each other. Wonyoung didn't have much experience kissing boys, but she loved kissing and making out with her dad. Jae felt like a teenager again and found his hands moving of their own volition to feel the tiny frame of the teenager in his arms. He wanted to be inside her again, but only if she chose to this time.

When her father's hands once again found her perky breasts under the shirt, Wonyoung knew he wanted her to take it off. She readily lifted her arms above her head, surprising her father with her willingness. He quickly obliged her, pulling the shirt off and revealing her young tits to him.

God, she was so gorgeous and irresistible, and her breasts were more prominent and shapelier than her mother's. Jae put his hands on her, and Wonyoung watched closely as they roamed all over her.

"You're so beautiful, Wonyoung," he told her, "and you made me feel wonderful, honey."

As Wonyoung was looking down she caught a glimpse of her father's cock again. It WAS large, and it was silvery with all the wetness she must have covered him in. It was sticking straight upward, and she could feel it bobbing against her leg at a pace that must have been his heartbeat.

"Why is it still so big, Dad?"

"Because I am so turned on looking at you. I'm thinking about making love to you, sweetheart."

Wonyoung shrugged with embarrassment. In doing so, she looked adorable, and her teardrop breasts shook with the motion of her shoulders.

"You want to fuck me again don't you daddy?"

Jae felt guilty. Hearing the naughty words from his little girl's mouth made the deed very real. Still, he shook his head, 'Yes.'

Wonyoung may have been inexperienced, but she knew how dangerous it would be for them to have sex again. In class at her high school, the book showed her how to find out when her period would come and when she was most likely to become pregnant. If she was doing it right, she was right at the best time for her daddy's sperm to find her egg and make her pregnant. And the book had also said always to use protection, like a condom or birth control, and she wasn't using either one.

"What if I just put my mouth on it?" Wonyoung suggested. She felt his penis throb perceptively when she did.

"You like that idea, don't you, Daddy?"

Wonyoung proceeded to get down on her knees and gingerly take her father's erection in her hand. She could still feel her stickiness on him, and she knew more was coming from deep within her.

Wonyoung tested the head of his cock at her lips, looking up at him with her pretty eyes and hoping she did a good job. Slowly she opened her mouth and took in the head of her cock. She sucked on it gently, not minding at all that she could taste herself on him.

The little brunette tried to emulate what her father might have felt when he had his big penis inside of her; she encircled his shaft with both hands and moved them up and down while she lapped at his tip. Her father moaned.

"Oh, honey, you're doing wonderful," he said as he tossed his head back.

Wonyoung sucked on him and tried her best to take more into her mouth. She knew that some girls could take the whole thing, but hard as Wonyoung tried she could get less than half of her father's cock in her mouth. She wondered what it would taste like if he squirted his white stuff into her mouth.

Wonyoung sucked and stroked and like an angel she praised her father with her mouth. He did his best to watch her, though she made him feel so wonderful that he could barely stand at a few points. When he did look at her, the image of her perched in front of him with his cock in her mouth and looking up at her with her soulful, innocent brown eyes...it would be burned in his mind forever. He told her that his daughter was doing a wonderful job for her first time. But hard as she tried, and beautiful as she looked kneeling, Jae had one thing on his mind.

"Baby," he beckoned her, "stand up, let me see you again."

She obeyed him, arising so that her breasts brushed against his abdomen as she did. After admiring her for a few more seconds, Jae wasted no time lifting his daughter onto the island and she knew immediately by the proximity of his cockhead to her entrance what his intentions were.

"Daddy," she warned, "I don't think you should fuck me anymore, it's too risky."

"I promise, sweetie," her father sounded desperate again. I'll be very careful. If I'm very careful, you won't get pregnant. Cross my heart."

"I don't know, Daddy," she continued to protest, "I don't think we should, it's too dangerous right now for my fertility cycle. We'd be in so much trouble!"

"I know, honey, how about I just put the tip in you for a minute?" Jae negotiated. He was already prodding his daughter's mound with his large head, and Wonyoung was beginning to wish he would press harder and keep making her feel good. For a brief moment, the thought of her father's penis shooting his warm sperm into her pussy entered Wonyoung's conflicted brain. She knew it was even more wrong than having an orgasm or sucking her daddy's cock, but what would it feel like? Wonyoung loved her father more than anybody, even her mom; what if he did get her pregnant? She was so confused and wasn't supposed to want it, but this night was unlocking feelings she'd never conceived of before.

"Okay, but only for a minute, right?" Wonyoung relented. She didn't want to sound as eager as her body felt.

Jae didn't respond with words. The waiting had nearly driven him to madness. He pushed his tip against Wonyoung's still very wet lips. They parted and allowed his head to pop into her entry. Once again Jae had the thought that he'd never feel something so good as being inside his daughter's little pussy.

"Ouuwwh, Daddy!" she cried, feeling him inside her again. Her father's tip alone felt bigger in their new position. It hurt a little, but still she watched intently as he withdrew his tip and pushed it into her again. Both gasped as he did so, listening to each other and feeling everything from their incestuous connection between them.

Jae removed and replaced his tip in his teenager's pussy enough times that she lost count. He had gone on longer than promised but wasn't done yet.

"Ohhh fuck Dad," she whimpered, "it feels terrific now!"

Wonyoung's mouth had brought him close, but Jae needed to come more than he ever had before in his life. He dared push his cock a little further into his daughter. She noticed immediately, but assumed it was only an accident.

When he did it again, Wonyoung called him out.

"...Fuuckk," she blurted, "Daddy, you promised."

"I know baby, just a little more!"

Maybe Jae had intended to keep his word, but once he felt her tiny channel more deeply wrapped around his cock, his promises began to evaporate.

He pushed into his daughter again, and then deeper, and then withdrew, and then thrust back in. In a few moments he was fucking his youngest daughter along the full length of his cock. Wonyoung, for all her protest, could not hide how much pleasure it was giving her,

"Oooohhhh Dad... mnnnh fuck... It's so big..."

She certainly didn't sound like she wanted him to stop, and Wonyoung's feet were wrapped around her father's tight core. His abs rippled as he fucked her deeply and ever so gently her heels were pulling him in. She watched in wonder as the tip of her father's penis would peek out from between her lips and then the whole thing disappear entirely into her. She couldn't believe it fit. She lost track of time, but when she looked back at Jae's face, she could see him cringing and focusing hard.

"Okay, Daddy, shouldn't you stop now?"

Instead, she felt him grab on tightly to her hips and squeeze. Wonyoung put her hands on his strong chest, not knowing whether she wanted to push him away or hold on tight. He was much too strong for her; she could do nothing but accept the deliberate thrusts of her father into her. Her hands felt his manly chest instead, the hair upon his pecs and the dampness of sweat from fucking her so well. Did he know how badly she wanted him to continue? Should she keep protesting?

As he held on tightly, Jae could feel his orgasm building. He watched the soft spot between her hips mounding as he buried his cock in her fully before removing it. Her melodic panting and moaning were beginning to be too much for him.

"I'm almost there, sweetheart."

"Alright, dad, please... ouuumphh... It's too risky!"

Wonyoung felt her father pick up speed for a few more thrusts until he squeezed her hips tight and began to tense.

Then she knew what was happening.

"Daddy, no!"

Jae went stiff as soon as he was buried in his young daughter's pussy. He gladly released a first, powerful jet of sperm into Wonyoung's womb. It immediately gave his daughter a jolt. Then another, and another; his tip painted the little girl's walls, her cervix and everywhere it could with his forbidden cum. Whether he had promised to or not, the intensity filling the beautiful teenager felt unquestionably right.

Wonyoung tried to be mad at him, but before she could scold him or yell or even try to push him off, the hot, forbidden sensation of what she knew was her father's semen made her quake from the inside out. Like before, Wonyoung's body trembled, her skin crawled and her insides squeezed more cum from her father's buried cock. It was the most wonderful feeling, and her second orgasm rocked her more powerfully than the first. It was so wrong that her daddy's cum squirting into her was making her quake with so much pleasure.

Jae shakily withdrew an inch of his embedded member from his daughter's insides and then roughly pushed it back in. His cock emitted another rope into her fertile and unprotected womb.

He had never felt so invigorated and so satisfied, and Jae was quite certain that he'd never cum so much in his life as he just had inside his daughter. Wonyoung wrapped her arms around his neck when her orgasm had struck her and was, willingly or not, still quivering as the last bit of her father's seed dribbled from his head and topped off her overfilled pussy.

His daughter held onto him, overwhelmed by the climax she hadn't expected and the incestuous load she now carried inside her. The sheer amount of it, and the feeling of her father's cum was unlike anything she'd ever felt and still his hard cock was filling her the rest of the way.

"Daddy...you promised," Wonyoung pouted as she met his eyes with hers.

"I know, baby, you were just too sexy... I had to!" Her father reasoned.

She was still mad, though his tactics to win her weren't completely lost.

"You lied to me! You said you wouldn't cum inside my pussy and then you came so much!"

Wonyoung was right; he could feel his semen all over his buried rod. He knew that if Wonyoung had been telling the truth, his little swimmers would soon make their way even deeper into his daughter, and she could conceive his child. He looked down to see it.

Jae pulled his cock, still hard, from within his daughter's sensitive hole, watching her tremble as he did so. As soon as his head was revealed, white, milky cum pushed its way around him. As he fully disengaged, his load cascaded from within her deflowered pussy.

Wonyoung's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God, Daaaad! There's sooo much!" She sounded more amazed than upset.

"Quick, daddy, get it out before I get pregnant!" Wonyoung cried, reaching down to where his cum was dripping from within her.

Jae took his daughter's hand tenderly instead, "It's too late for that, honey."

Wonyoung felt so conflicted. She was worried, but only because people like her mother and that awful teacher in her sex education class told her she should be. Yet her daddy didn't look worried at all. As he took her hand and pulled her up toward him, Wonyoung was already feeling much better. They kissed lovingly, neither fully believing the wonderful, forbidden, and life-changing thing they'd just shared.

"What should we do, Daddy?"

Jae looked down at his daughter's young and freshly-fucked opening. Seeing that his cum was about to flow onto the granite countertop, Jae made a quick decision. He'd only once accomplished it with his wife, but he thought his odds were better with a beautiful girl whom he loved far more. Could he fuck his daughter again while his defiant member bobbed, still rock hard, tantalizingly close to Wonyoung's cute little slit?

Jae dared to scoop up the stream of his cum that had leaked out with his cock head and push it back into his daughter's pussy. He was too turned on to stop fucking his beautiful little girl yet. She shrieked with sensitivity.

Usually, even the faintest touch would send a shiver up Jae's spine, and it did, but he kept fucking her. Feeling the lubrication of his fresh cum easing his path into his daughter he decided to press on.

"Ohhhhh Daddy... ohhh pleaaase... It's too sensitive... fuckkkkk!" his little girl cried.

Jae had been here before, and his desire to follow through prevailed. He cringed and he bucked, but he was determined to fuck his little Wonyoung until he was utterly spent. It was not long until he could feel his balls, unbelievably, building toward a second consecutive orgasm.

Wonyoung had been so overwhelmed by her father's actions that she hadn't the chance to look, but when she finally did she could tell that her daddy was going to cum inside her again, and so soon after he just had the first time!

"Ohhhh fuck daddy... twice?" Wonyoung was about ready to pass out. "You can't cum in my pussy again!"

He didn't answer, with a labored series of grunts and moans, Jae once more buried his cock as deep as it would go and unloaded another sizable amount of semen into his little girl. Jet after jet, he added his cum to her already charged insides. He held her tight and Wonyoung watched him intently as he came. Though he was doing exactly what he'd promised not to, seeing her father so wholly give himself into his desires, and knowing that she had been his lover through it all, warmed her more than the multiple loads of her father's seed she now held within her.

Before he allowed his whole body to go limp, Jae lifted his baby off the kitchen counter and lay down on the nearby area rug with her on top of him. He didn't pull out of her. He didn't want to ever again.

Wonyoung and her father lay in the dark for an untold time. As they drank each other in, the teen's soft breasts pressed against Jae, and he felt her breathing deeply. She seemed tinier when draped over him as she was. His baby girl... completely naked and still with his softening cock inside of her... the thought was incredible to behold.

The young brunette propped her head up on her hands, the hairs on her father's chest tickling her palms. She looked up at him. She could tell he was utterly drained, and she could feel his cum slowly making its way out of her sore pussy.

"You're bad, daddy!" Wonyoung said.

Jae opened his eyes and peered down at her. Expecting her to be upset, or sad, or something of the like, he was surprised to see a naughty grin on his pretty daughter's face. Confused, Jae furrowed his brow and replied:

"You're not mad at me?," hoping she wasn't.

"Wellllllllll..." she teased him, tilting her head and making him wait for her answer, "you did take my virginity, daddy..."

"I know, baby, I had no idea... I didn't even know it was you... I never would have..."

"Hmmmph!" Wonyoung interrupted, "You never would have? You seemed like you liked fucking me Dad..."

She was goading him now. That girl he knew was a little rambunctious, definitely with a naughty streak.

"I see the way you look at me sometimes. I'm not stupid, Daddy." He didn't know what to say to his little girl, but she was right. "I think about you sometimes, too, Dad..."

Jaee raised his eyebrows, "You do?"

"Every once in a while... when I'm in bed and can't fall asleep. My friends talk about you all the time, I can't help it!" she told him. Knowing that his daughter thought about him that way made the fact that he'd just fucked her seem a little better. "But I never thought you would put your big thing in me when I was just looking in the refrigerator, like totally out of the blue!" she exclaimed.

"I swear it was an accident, sweetheart, I didn't mean to startle you," Jae reiterated

"And what about all this cum daddy? It's dripping out 'cause you put so much in me! Was it an accident when you came in my pussy...? TWICE!?" He could tell now that she was just playing with him. She reached between them where it was seeping out of her. Jae watched, incredulous, as she took a finger and swept some of it from the stream that had made its way out from her tight little tunnel. Without hesitation, she brought it up, looked at it curiously, and then popped her finger in her mouth, tasting it and swallowing his excess semen like it was no big deal.

Jae looked at her sideways, "Okay, maybe that wasn't an accident..." he admitted, "but you don't look so upset, baby."

Wonyoung smiled, licking her lips. "...maybe because I'm not."

Her father smiled too. He slid her little body up so her lips could meet his, and they kissed. Firs,t Wonyoung just pecked at him, but shortly thereafter, they were making out again and playfully dancing their tongues about. When they broke apart, Wonyoung laid her head next to her father's.

"You know I'm not on birth control, right, Daddy?"

"Yes, I know." Jae said with an 'oops' look on his face.

Wonyoung giggled, "And you still squirted all that sperm in me, even when I told you how easily I could get pregnant?"

"Yeaaah... I did, didn't I?" Jae replied playfully.

"Hmmm..." his little girl sighed, "That would be so naughty, wouldn't it, Dad? You could have gotten me pregnant already!"

The possibility didn't scare him like he thought it would. An image of Wonyoung, his favorite daughter, with her beautiful black hair and brown eyes staring at him, the bulge of his child in her belly. She would look so lovely with that tiny body and his baby inside of her.

"We can go to the store tomorrow if you want, sweetie. We can get a pill that makes sure you don't get pregnant."

"Oh," Wonyoung said, sounding disappointed. Or...? " she asked nervously.

"Or what, honey?" Jae asked, totally confused.

"What if I don't take the pill?" Wonyoung said with an embarrassed shrug. She hoped her father wouldn't be mad at her suggestion.

Wonyoung thought he looked surprised, but then his eyes were full of love. "Well...I don't know... I mean I..." Jae stuttered, feeling smitten that his daughter would suggest something he'd only fantasized about.

Wonyoung thought it was cute that her dad was trying to pretend when she could so clearly tell that the thought appealed to him. "I guess we'd wait a little while. You'd miss your period, your belly would grow, and then we'd know you're carrying your daddy's baby."

Wonyoung's brown eyes were opened wide, waiting for him to say more. The corners of her mouth turned upward, and she looked adorably curious. Jae could hardly say no to his little girl, but this was entirely different. Thoughts were racing through his head, not least of which how wonderful it felt to have his naked little daughter draped over him as they spoke; that he'd never have another child with his wife; that he fully intended on fucking Wonyoung every chance she allowed him. If she was willing, she'd be perfectly fertile and healthy to make a baby with him.

"Do you think you might want that Wonyoung?" he paused, "I know you'd look so pretty with our baby growing in your belly."

Wonyoung giggled and bit the tip of her finger. "I think I might, Daddy, but I don't know for sure. It makes me so happy thinking about it that I'm tingling, but..." She was obviously working hard to wrap her head around it.

"You don't have to decide no,w honey, and nobody would know for a few months," Jae assured her.

Wonyoung knew that she loved her father more than life itself. For month,s she had been taking on her mother's role in his life, and she did so knowingly. He had confided in her, held her like a lover when she was down, even taken her out on dates. She was now awakened to the thought that she could truly be her daddy's forever. Her mom couldn't have her father's babies anymore, but she certainly could. Wonyoung was starting to allow the thought that she wanted to, badly.

"I graduate soon, daddy," she reasoned, "would anybody at school have to know?"

"No, sweetie. It could be our secret." He couldn't believe he was considering it.

"And then what?" Wonyoung continued.

"And then... well..." her father looked deep in thought. I don't have it all figured out yet, Wonyoung, but I'd do anything for you, no matter what."

Wonyoung felt so completely enveloped in his love that she ached for him. Her little pussy was much too sore to accept him again that night, but Wonyoung had never felt such desire for a man before then. It was as if their little accident had brought out a part of her she never knew existed, locked in tight by her virginity: the part that wanted her daddy to be her lover, to be his again and again, and to become pregnant with his child whether the world said she could or not.

"How about we talk about it more in the morning?" Jae suggested.

"Okay, daddy, but we'll have to be extra careful." Wonyoung was very surprised and felt lucky nobody had heard them making love. Most of her family were heavy sleepers, but she had certainly been making a lot of noise as her father impaled her in the kitchen. It was also funny to Wonyoung that she suggested being careful when so much good had come from her father not being careful, cumming in her vulnerable little pussy with no condom.

They kissed again. It was a long one, and different than before. They both intended to build upon an unspoken promise of more, a deeper love. Wonyoung knew she wasn't supposed to feel that way about her father, and Jae about his little girl, but neither cared. Taking their relationship to such heights had primarily been by accident. But the sexual tension between them had been broken by the forbidden seed Wonyoung carried inside her, and they kissed with an unhinged passion most could never know.

Jae picked up his daughter easily. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he slowly carried the cute brunette up the stairs toward her room. They could both feel his cum seeping from Wonyoung, telling definitively of their act. Their naked bodies holding each other tight and the looks they exchanged were evidence enough.

Jae gently sat his daughter on the bed, and she held on tight, not wanting him to leave her. She watched lovingly as her father pulled the covers back and slipped into bed with her.

"I love you so much, Daddy," she told him sincerely. I was nervous at first, but I don't regret anything that happened."

"I love you, too, baby, and I want you to know that I will be here to ensure everything turns out okay."

"I know you will," Wonyoung said adorably, holding her father tight as she drifted off to sleep.

Not long into her slumber, she felt her father leave quietly. Feeling hurt, she reasoned that he probably needed to return to her mother's bed so they wouldn't get found out. Still, she felt jealous, wanting him only for herself.

But the door to her room opened again, and back came her father.

He saw her eyes open and hurt. " You thought I was leaving you, didn't you, sweetie?"

"I know you need to, I just don't want to sleep without you tonight," she admitted.

"I had to clean up our little mess," he explained, holding up their discarded clothing. "...probably not a good thing for your mother to see our clothes all over the floor or how wet you made the kitchen table, right?"

Wonyoung smiled guiltily, "Definitely not! I suppose I shouldn't tell her that daddy came in my pussy without a condom on TWO times tomorrow at breakfast?"

"No, you probably shouldn't mention that," Jae laughed. He wrapped his arm around his naked daughter and pulled her tight to him. "Now get some sleep, honey."

Wonyoung cuddled up to him with the biggest smile on her face. A naughty little part of her hoped that he meant to get some sleep because she would need it. Her recently filled pussy was still recovering, but Wonyoung knew she'd want her daddy to fuck her again before too long.

Jae had fallen asleep deep in thought, planning what to do next. With his beautiful daughter nuzzled against him, he felt certain that everything would be different. They had a whole new life ahead of them.

As they drifted off, Wonyoung's young womb was also striving to make a new life. By morning, she could already have conceived her father's child. For now, it was enough that the beautiful teenager could fall asleep, cradled in the arms of her loving father. Tomorrow was another day; they could spend it and many more tomorrows falling more deeply in love. Wonyoung was so young that it could be many months before her belly showed evidence of the night they had shared... or those to come.

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