#It could be about being a rejected daughter

[starshipsofstarlord]

helpless | bucky barnes

summary. there were certain things that you had never done with your stepfather bucky despite already sleeping with him, however you are helpless when he springs something on you during sex (0.6k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, penetrative sex, unprotective sex, breeding kink, spanking, sexual petnames, cheating, brief mention of feelings, slight dubcon, stepdad!bucky (if you’re not comfortable reading this au, then please don’t for your own mental health ❤️), swearing

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

He was in over his head, but he couldn’t refrain from remaining within the household for the sake of being so close to you. It was wrong on multiple levels, Bucky knew that, however the touch of your skin was like a drug and he was addicted. You had obviously been there the day that he had married your mother, your face politely courting a placid smile to appease your role as the attending daughter. If he had met you first then perhaps he would have married you instead - he wished that he had. You pretended as though you hated him, and maybe you did just a little, though he knew deep down that it was all a part of the charade where you acted as though you were not sleeping with your stepfather.

“I hate you s-, fuck daddy.” His hand had collided with your ass, stopping the lies from spilling from your mouth. He had you exactly as he desired, your face leant down directing your vision onto the sheets beneath you, whilst your behind was raised before him as he fucked into you. Bucky had ruined your cunt for any other man, and god did he know it. You were so tight and unbelievably wet around him; it was heaven on earth, offered to him through your body. Just the sight of his cock stretching you had the possibility of turning him into a mad man, he was spoiled by not only the sight that he drank in but also how amazing you felt around him.

“Hate me all you want baby doll,” you could hear the smirk that he bore through his voice, and it was frustrating, “but you and I both know that you don’t hate my dick.” For emphasis he thrusted harder into you, his tip reaching your g-spot, causing whimpers to echo around the bedroom as your mind became thoughtlessly dumb. “Feel good, huh?” He was panting behind you, the sound repeating itself over and over again in your mind. “Feel even better when I cum in you. Fill you up all nice until you can’t hold it in.”

You froze but said nothing. The two of you had never done that before and his words, whether they had the intention of ringing true or not, had entirely shocked your system. It coiled fear within your stomach, and a meagre part of you had the sensible impulse to say something, to stop Bucky from cumming inside of you. But you couldn’t, your tongue was numbed by weakness, the idea of being made his turning you on like nothing had ever done before. It was an inward battle with yourself, one that you were losing as you felt no guilt, only pleasure.

His hips bucked aggressively into your own, and your eyes were tightly shut and your mouth agape as you succumbed to the orgasm that rattled your bones. Everything about this was wrong, seemingly forbidden in the realm of adultery, however your bodies craved one another as though it was right. “Fuck little girl.” His words alone told you that he was getting close - now would be the time to shove him away, rejecting the act of his seed stuffing your cunt. He had no intentions whatsoever in pulling out, and it would be outright stupidity to allow him to finish himself within the tightness of your walls.

You were stupid, you realised at a moment too late, whilst you felt his warmth determine your futile fate. It felt like heaven and hell filling you, when in reality it was your own punishment for having such an intimate, inappropriate connection with the man that stifled your name out in a groan. The cool metal of his hand trailed down the length of your spine, calming and soothing your worry simultaneously. “That’s a good doll.” He uttered in your ear, emptiness pondering upon your mind when he finally pulled out, his hot sticky seed still inside.

[captain-huggy-bear]

This is a vent/therapy piece with Dad!Clay <3 1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

There were times growing up where your brother got everything you wanted, no matter what. Times where food he had previously not wanted was taken off your plate because he suddenly wanted that drumstick or that piece of cake. Times where you were forced to share toys before you were done playing with them, even when they were your toys in the first place. Things taken even after they were given to you because despite missing his opportunity to ask for it he changed his mind, because he was your big brother, because he was babied in a way that you weren't.

You loved your brother but there was a deep childhood wound in you there. One you could feel ready to reopen as you watched your own children.

Penelope had asked for an extra piece of corn at the family BBQ and Clayton had given it to her after asking Elliot if he wanted one as it was the last one left. At the time Elliot had expressed no interest, eating his food and practically ignoring Clay, so Clay had given the corn to Penny. It sat on her plate while she ate the rest of her meal, her waiting to eat it last because it was one of her favourite. It was fine until now.

Until Elliot decided he wanted it and asked for it from Clay, as if he was entitled to it because he hadn't had a piece yet...despite having rejected it earlier. It was clear Elliot expected it to just be given to him and you couldn't help but frown, arms wrapping around yourself as you watched Clay crouch to Elliot's level.

You're waiting...waiting for the other shoe to drop, the wound to reopen, for Clay to take that piece of corn off of Penny's plate and give it to Elliot because he asked for it...because that's what your parents would have done. But it never happens.

"Bud, you can't have it." Clay shakes his head at Elliot, voice stable, calm, reasonable.

"But I want it!" Elliot stomps his foot and clenches his fists in that way that only little kids do, being the younger of the pair he was still in a bit of a temper tantrum phase, cheeks going red as they puffed out. You expected Clay to give in then, maybe it would be easier to. But, he doesn't.

"I asked you if you wanted it earlier and you ignored me. It's on Penny's plate, so it's Penny's. We can't change our mind and take stuff from people, that's not fair."

"Bu-" Clay cuts him off, calm as ever, voice even.

"If I took that piece of chicken off your plate and gave it to Penny right now because she asked for it, how would you feel?" Clay raises one eyebrow as he points to the piece of grilled chicken, as he waits for Elliot to respond. Elliot who mumbles under his breath too quiet for either of you to hear.

"Speak up, Bud."

"I would be unhappy." He grumbles, but you can see it there, the understanding in his eyes, that was his little body changes from defiant to defeated. Like he understands, realises that he can't demand things even of his older sister.

"Okay, so next time, if you think you might want something you have to ask before it's given to someone else, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good boy, now finish your chicken." Elliot scuttles back up onto his chair, pulls his plate to himself and eats quietly, already forgetting about it. But you don't forget and neither does Penny.

You watch Penny; the way she smiles brightly at her dad, how her little shoulders drop in relief like she, too, was waiting for Clay to take her bit of corn away, to give it to Elliot because he was younger, because he asked...and maybe to someone else it might seem silly but something about it all just heals something inside you.

That little girl that had so many things taken away because her brother wanted them, rejoices at seeing your husband protect your daughter from that familiar disappointment, that familiar feeling of being less. Because really, that's the crux of it, right? That it felt like your brother was loved more because things were taken from you to give to him.

You can see in Penny's eyes that she knows she's loved, can tell that she feels it in that moment, even if it's just a bit of corn. Something so simple but that makes such a large statement.

You wrap your arm around Clay's waist, leaning into his side and peering up at him with the softest smile he's ever seen. Like he's done something heroic, amazing, and he's not sure what caused it but he revels in it, arms wrapping back around you and tugging you as close as possible.

"Thank you, baby."

""Mm, for what?"

"Not taking from Penny."

"Why would I ever do that?" And it's really that simple for Clay isn't it? That he'd never take from either of his children to give to the other, that they are treated equally, fairly, whether one is a boy or one is a girl, whether one is older or one is younger. You married the right man. You decided to have babies with the right man.

You just lean your head on his shoulder and let out a happy, content sigh because God, you made the best choice when you picked him.

[hearts-hunger]

this show is giving me a headache

pros:

future days, fucking FINALLY.

joel and tommy coparenting ellie we love to see it

the space capsule scene (and most of the museum flashback) was perfect. exactly like the game, and absolutely perfect. pedro and bella did a super job with that. 10/10 wouldn't change a thing.

joel celebrating her bithdays with her was nice to see, and i liked the father/daughter bonding time. it felt authentic and warm.

the joel and his dad flashback was interesting? i'm not 100% sold on it but it presents an intriguing character dynamic. i don't know. file that one under "ehh, okay, i don't hate it."

"say goodnight to uncle grumpy" shut uppppp it's too cute

now the cons. where to begin. and let me say i don't even vehemently hate these things, because i'm simply too bored and annoyed with the show to really care anymore. but, let's see if i can organize my thoughts somewhat.

this is the tamest one, and the most confusing, but was i smoking crack or did the part at the museum where it was supposed to be the "liars" spray paint just end up being a stump in the middle of the forest? genuinely paused it and couldn't see anything of significance there. am i crazy?

also, homophobe joel? am i tripping? weird choice there. and apparently the reason ellie moved out is because she wanted to be having sex and smoking weed and be a rebellious teen, not because she felt this growing rift of ontological mistrust between her and joel.

that's actually my problem with the whole episode (and the show i guess), that it reframes ellie's anger with joel about her purpose in life and how he robbed her of that. instead, we get this cheaper version where she's just angsting too hard.

cutting out the hospital scene was a HUGE mistake. ellie's anger and grief, joel's regret now that the lie is out but also his steadfastness in knowing it was the right thing to do? no. instead it got shoehorned into the porch scene and cheapened.

speaking of, the porch scene was such a mess i don't even know what to say about it. i guess it's not going to be the stab-in-the-heart finale to ellie's revenge journey? it's also not about the fireflies, really, it's about joel lying and how that manifested in the gail thing.

oh, side note on gail, you're telling me we lost the hotel bloater for that shit? for ellie to be a selfish little bastard freak who inflicted suffering on gail for no reason other than to get back at joel? great. that's just what i wanted, more ellie mischaracterization.

anyway, back to the porch scene. in the game, ellie is not so much angry about joel lying as she is angry that he took away her purpose, made her immunity into nothing. show ellie is only mad about the lying, as evidenced by the eugene/gail thing. if they had said even one line about "maybe if the fireflies had made a cure we could have saved eugene" that would have tied it back narratively to joel's betrayal with regard to the fireflies. but no, it's just lying in general she's not enthusiastic about. it has nothing to do with her deep-seated vaguely suicidal failed martyr's complex she has going on, and that's such a crucial part of ellie that to get rid of it makes her a petulant little baby.

they've drawn everything else out timeline wise for no reason, but they make joel and ellie's estrangement last for a few months. that combined with it being slap in the middle of the "gameplay" takes away its emotional punch. it's also very heavy handed with the crying and the passing down the mantle of fatherhood and "because you're selfish" "because i love you" blah blah blah. stop fucking spoon-feeding your audience like i am BEGGING at this point.

same thing with the moths. you don't have to spell everything out, you subtlety-phobic bottom of the barrel writers guild rejects!! trust your audience and let them figure something out for once! let them speculate! let them work through it!!

whatever joel said - that "and i'm gonna live with it every day because you're gonna reject me" or whatever the fuck was SO STUPID. i can't explain how disgusting and pathetic self pity looks on joel. not to mention the fact that his fears of that are totally unfounded because ellie forgives him immediately after. emotional tension absolutely wasted, if indeed you had any to begin with.

the fact is, it's just clunky and poorly done compared to the game. the writing is poor. it's rushed in some places and drawn out for no reason in others. it misunderstands the characters. it just fumbles basically everything, things that are fucking gift-wrapped for them in the game just begging to be put on the screen. the show is just flat out worse than the game, and i'm really kinda over it.

as always come yell at me on @ellies-miller if u dare

[ladystoneboobs]

this is a few arcs ago now, and a lot of stuff happened since, but i feel the need to clarify a misunderstanding here bc it seems too many people stopped listening after mon said nothing outside that room mattered and missed every word after which belied that statement. as seen in the dialogue capped above, mon mothma was not really offering to call off this arranged marriage to a stranger in a crime family, only suggesting putting off the wedding and making the betrothal last a lit bit longer. this is not her proving herself a Good Parent after all by putting her daughter first so much as an attempted stalling tactic to soothe her own conscience when it came to the brink. the 14yo child bride may have been indoctrinated as a tradwife but she was not actually choosing this wedding bc it was not a true offer of freedom being rejected by her here and the whole marriage was arranged for reasons she could never be told about. mon says only "we can put it off" not "let's call the whole thing off", bc she knows damn well she couldn't afford to piss off davo sculdun, that she was already in debt to this man, and that if even if she stopped her rebellion-funding the tax evasion cover story she'd given him could still get her in trouble with the empire if sculdun turned on her.

just like she knew damn well what luthen meant to do to "protect" her wrt her old friend even as she pretended otherwise. and speaking of tay kolma, while mon was emotional about sacrificing her only child in a tradition she disapproved of, wiping away that single tear and squeezing vel's hand as the newlyweds made their first entrance at the reception, she only started pounding back the shots and dancing like shiv roy after that convo with luthen where she realized her childhood friend was about to be killed in her name. so even though the idea of a mom being drunk at her daughter's wedding was introduced in the scene above, this suggests she could have kept herself firmly in control and sober if leida were the only person she were giving up that day, as had been expected. the drunken dancing was def never about the naive 14yo child bride forcing her hand for the wedding (the wedding mon had planned and agreed to for the sake of The Cause she was committed to) to take place that day by denying a vague offer of delay.

#LetFictionalWomenBeSuckyMoms #YesEvenHeroicCharacters

[mightydyke]

The thing I want most in the whole world is for Carol Ann Duffy to write a poem about Frankenstein. If she wrote a Frankenstein poem in the style of her "The World's Wife" poems, I think I would die. From the point of view of Elizabeth, or the female Creature if she was created, or a female version of Victor... I think a poem like that would be too perfect. If it existed I would know for certain that some force out there is looking out for me specifically

[inu-sunset]

inuyasha is like that knuckles comic where when kagome clocks his faggergie egg aura and asks him what his pronouns are he’s like stop cursing at me

[musashi]

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[deusfoundry]

part 2 here!

girl dad!zayne who simply smiles when his daughter knocks on the door of his office one night. she lets herself in, a deep crease present on her forehead, fingers wrung together. he can tell the moment she entered that something's bothering her, so he shuts his laptop off in favor of giving his daughter his undivided attention.

"what's wrong?" he asks with an encouraging smile on his lips.

girl dad!zayne who puts on a nice front when she tells him that a boy is coming over tomorrow night for dinner. he almost says "no.", mouth opening to reject the very prospect of boys. "you're too young to be dating." he very nearly says, if not for the quiet "please." that stops him in his tracks.

suddenly, he's taken back to a whole decade ago.

suddenly, his little girl has just turned seven years old.

suddenly, she's pleading with the widest doe eyes he's ever seen for him to get her the slice of carrot cake displayed on the counter of a bakery.

damn it, he thinks. those eyes are the bane of his existence. not once has he been able to resist them. curse you and your genes for passing those godforsaken eyes to your little girl.

so he smiles. he pulls his daughter into a warm, comforting hug.

"of course." he says, trying not to sound like he's forcing the words through gritted teeth. "i'm not mad at all, sweetheart."

"really?"

zayne merely hums, and when she squeals in delight, jumping up to plant a small kiss to his cheek between an onslaught of thank you's and i love you's, he almost forgets that he just agreed to having some boy over in his house.

girl dad!zayne who huffs when you press a kiss against his lips to stop him in the middle of his rant. he's spent the last half hour citing complaints about his daughter. how boys her age are stupid and none of them could even dream of treating her the way she deserves to be treated.

"when did she even get old enough to start talking to boys?" he manages to insert between exasperated claims every five minutes.

"it's part of being a teenage girl, love." you pull yourself away from his lips, lazily moving around to straddle his thighs. "let her be."

"and you're not the least bit concerned?" his breath hitches against his throat when you start to slowly trail kisses around his neck. he doesn't hear your response to his question, mind clouded with the feeling of your lips drawing stars on his skin.

his girls are truly going to be the death of him.

girl dad!zayne who purposely lingers near the front door so he can beat his daughter to opening it. he hears the doorbell ring and the subsequent thundering of her footsteps from upstairs, but he's already opened the door before she can even rush down the stairs.

girl dad!zayne who relishes in watching the way this boy's face falls. he's secretly glad that his career is as remarkable as it has been at this very moment, because he sees exactly when it dawns on the boy who exactly is standing before him.

the father of the girl he likes is the doctor zayne. world-renowned cardiac surgeon doctor zayne.

the boy splutters. he unfolds into a stuttering mess right in front of zayne and he has to resist the urge to slam the door on his face.

if doing so didn't end in him being in the receiving end of your sermons, he never would've opened the door in the first place.

girl dad!zayne who’s overtaken by surprise for a quick second when the boy finally collects himself.

“thank you for letting me join you tonight, sir. it's really an honor.” he says his name. zayne's impassive expression doesn't deter the boy as he holds his hand out.

zayne reluctantly takes it. he's about to settle on just giving him a subtle shake when the boy himself takes initiative, shaking zayne's hand with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

"this is for you and your wife." he hands over the basket that's been sitting beside his feet. zayne eyes it with his arms crossed over chest.

the basket is decorated with a ribbon tied into a neat bow. it comes in his daughter's favorite color, an oddly specific shade of pastel blue that she's been obsessed with since she was five. the inside is parted down the middle, one side filled with fruits and food that you like. the other half is, very obviously, for him.

it's packed to the brim with a whole assortment of sweets. a variety of cake slices from a bakery at the other side of the town he's been meaning to visit. packs of candies he likes. his favorite pastries from the bakery near the hospital.

zayne is ... delighted. but he refuses to let the boy know he's slowly winning him over so he quietly takes the basket in his hands and lets him in.

"dinner will be ready shortly." he says before disappearing into the kitchen.

zayne catches his daughter with a small bouquet of her favorite flowers in her hand.

girl dad!zayne who intends to stay quiet over dinner, but is forced to make small talk when you kick him under the table.

"be nice." you remain silent as you smile at the young boy sitting beside your daughter, but he knows that's what you mean with the threatening glare you send him.

"so," zayne purposely says his name wrong as he clears his throat. "what do you do for fun?"

he sees you shake your head from the corner of his eye.

girl dad!zayne who still isn't entirely convinced that this boy deserves to be with his daughter, the literal light of his life, his little girl, but relents a little as the hours go by.

zayne remembers telling his daughter time and time again to never settle. that he himself would pluck the night skies free of stars if you so much as imply that it's what you want. that she should look for the love you share with him, unconditional and boundless.

and as zayne watches with a keen eye how he treats her, he thinks he's done a good job at instilling those beliefs.

he's attentive to her needs, handing the bowls of food that's way out of her reach. he places a small portion of vegetables on her plate and successfully coaxes her into eating them, something even zayne struggles with. he's quick to cover the edge of the table with his hand when she leans down to pick up the fallen spoon from beneath the table.

girl dad!zayne who ends the night standing behind his daughter on their porch as she waves him goodbye.

"drive home safely." zayne says, uttering his name correctly as a sign of respect.

he doesn't miss the way his daughter's face lights up. and if accepting someone new in their small family lets him see that smile more, zayne thinks it's all worth it.

this has been in my drafts since the i made that girl dad!zayne post a few weeks backdhejhd

divider from @cafekitsune

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Heyy! Could you maybe write for Oscar, his 2 year old babygirl being very cuddly and clingy? She doesn’t want to be separated from him or her mom. Just very fluffy and sweet

Little Miss Clingy

The moment Oscar and Lily laid eyes on their baby girl two years ago, their world shifted. They had thought they understood love before, but seeing their daughter for the first time, tiny and perfect, was something else entirely. They adored every part of her—the way her little fingers curled around theirs, the sleepy sighs she made when she rested on their chests, and now, at two years old, the way she toddled around their home, her chubby arms always reaching for them.

Yn was the center of their universe, and she knew it.

So, when Oscar suggested bringing her to a race for the first time, Lily had been hesitant. "She’s never been around so many people before, Osc," she had said, running her fingers through Yn’s soft curls as the little girl played with her stuffed rabbit. "She might get overwhelmed."

Oscar, ever the optimist, had grinned. "She’ll be fine, love. She’s got us."

And now, standing in the middle of the paddock with Yn perched on Oscar’s hip, her little fists gripping his shirt tightly, Lily wasn’t so sure about that.

Yn’s big eyes darted around, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. People were everywhere—talking, laughing, pointing cameras in their direction. Some even called out to her daddy, waving excitedly.

Yn didn’t like it.

She turned her head, burying her face into Oscar’s shoulder. He let out a small chuckle, rubbing her back. "Not a fan of the crowd, huh, sweetheart?"

Yn only gripped him tighter.

"She’s definitely overwhelmed," Lily murmured, adjusting the pink bucket hat on Yn’s head. She had fought hard for that hat. Everyone in the team had wanted to dress their daughter in orange, but Yn had refused. The second Lily showed her the pink one, she had clapped her hands and declared, "Pinky!"

So pink it was.

Oscar pressed a kiss to Yn’s hair. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, bub?"

Yn peeked up at him with wide eyes, then at Lily, before reaching for her. "Mama," she mumbled, her little voice barely audible over the noise of the paddock.

Lily took her immediately, smoothing a hand over her curls. "I’ve got you, baby."

They made their way toward the hospitality area, where a few drivers were gathered, chatting casually. When they spotted Oscar, their faces lit up.

"Ah, so this is the famous Yn!" Lando was the first to approach, grinning wide. "Hey there, little one."

Yn stared at him for a long moment, then turned her face into Lily’s neck.

Lando gasped dramatically. "Rejected. That one stings, not gonna lie."

Alex snorted, leaning over to get a peek at Yn. "She’s shy, mate. Give her a second."

Oscar reached out, stroking Yn’s back. "You okay, bub? These are my friends."

Yn peeked up, glancing at the group again before curling back into her mom’s arms.

Lily chuckled. "She’s in a clingy mood today."

Carlos, standing nearby, tilted his head. "She doesn’t like crowds?"

"She’s just confused," Oscar explained. "This is her first race, and she has no idea what’s going on."

Max, who had been quiet, suddenly crouched down to Yn’s eye level. "Do you like racing, little one?"

Yn blinked at him, then shook her head. "No."

A beat of silence. Then, Lando burst into laughter. "Oh, Oscar, you’re in trouble."

Oscar let out a dramatic sigh. "Come on, bub, you’re breaking my heart here."

Yn just nestled deeper into Lily’s arms.

"You’re not into racing?" Lando tried again. "But your dad is really good at it!"

Yn furrowed her brows. "Where Daddy go?"

Oscar chuckled. "I’m right here, bub."

She shook her head, patting his chest. "No. Later."

It took them a moment to understand what she meant.

"She’s asking where you go during the race," Lily realized, rubbing Yn’s back.

"Ohhh," Oscar grinned. "Daddy goes in the car, sweetheart."

Yn looked unimpressed.

"To drive really fast," Oscar added.

Still unimpressed.

"You don’t think that’s cool?"

Yn shook her head.

Alex doubled over laughing. "She’s killing me!"

Oscar pouted dramatically. "Alright, bub, what do you think is cool?"

Yn thought for a moment, then lifted her hat. "Pinky."

Lily smirked. "Pink is her favorite color. She wasn’t having any of the orange merch."

Carlos hummed. "You have taste, pequeña. Pink is a great color."

Yn finally pulled her face away from Lily’s neck, her big eyes looking at Carlos. "Pink good."

"See?" Carlos beamed. "Smart girl."

Just as she was starting to relax, a crew member approached, handing Oscar his helmet.

"It’s time?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, you’re needed in the garage."

Oscar turned back to his wife and daughter, taking Yn into his arms and running a soothing hand down Yn’s back. "Alright, bub, Daddy has to go drive now, okay?"

Yn’s little brows furrowed.

"Daddy will be back soon," he promised. "You stay with Mama."

Then, before she could protest, he gently transferred her into Lily’s arms.

Yn made a confused noise, blinking as if trying to process what just happened. Then—

"Daddy!"

Oscar turned just in time to see his little girl reaching for him, her lower lip wobbling.

"Oh, sweetheart," Lily cooed, bouncing her slightly. "It’s okay, baby. Daddy will be back."

But Yn wasn’t having it.

She let out a frustrated whine, her small hands grasping at the air in Oscar’s direction. "Daddy!"

Oscar winced. "Oh man, this is gonna hurt."

"You need to go," Lily said, though she was clearly struggling not to cave at the sight of their daughter’s distress.

"Yeah, but—"

"Daddy!"

It took everything in Oscar not to take her back. But he knew if he did, he’d never leave.

"I love you, bub," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be back before you know it."

Yn whined again, but this time, she slumped against Lily’s shoulder, defeated.

Oscar gave her one last look, blowing her a kiss, before heading off, feeling a pang in his chest at the sound of her little sniffles.

Lily sighed, adjusting Yn in her arms. "It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you."

Still, Yn was clearly not happy.

And when Lily started talking to a man called Zak Brown, the two-year-old had had enough.

She curled into her mother, pressing her face into Lily’s neck.

Zak chuckled. "She’s not much of a people person, huh?"

Lily smiled, rubbing small circles on Yn’s back. "She’s usually very social. But today is a lot for her."

Zak nodded understandingly. "First race?"

"Yeah. She doesn’t get why people keep wanting Oscar’s attention or where he goes. She just wants her parents."

Yn clung tighter.

"Well," Zak said, giving the little girl a warm smile, "I think she’s got a great support system."

Lily pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. "That she does."

Yn didn’t understand racing, or why people were so interested in her dad, or why they kept trying to put her in orange when pink was clearly superior.

But she knew one thing for sure.

As long as she was with her mommy and daddy, everything would be okay.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[brawberryz]

Goodbye World

BatFam Yan! × neglected Magic Girl! Reader

《Platonic!》

Note:English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / M.list

Pt: 1 2

You were going to die

You were going to die this way, alone and without anyone ever knowing of your existence, what a pathetic way to die

The magic had ended, it was only a matter of minutes before you became a witch you knew that the transformation was going to be painful and in a way you believed that you deserved this fate

You were the one who agreed to become a magical girl it is your fault, if your 14 year old self had known that this was the end maybe she would have rejected you

Now you were here, about to die, with no friends or family who cared about you

Family

You didn't know if you could call them that, they never cared about you they always left you aside and acted as if you didn't exist maybe they only did it unconsciously and they really cared about you, you knew that deep down for all of them you were just a burden and useless, they didn't tell you directly but they made you feel it and you believed that they were right to feel that way

Your mother never He was someone important, a prostitute who was lucky enough to sleep with Bruce Wayne himself, you knew he didn't even consider you a daughter, just a mistake, one of his many mistakes

Your siblings weren't that different from your father either, each one hurt and wounded you in different ways

Richard, the oldest considered himself the best, the oldest brother, he always bragged that he cared so much about his siblings that he would do anything for them

He was good to everyone except you, you wanted to believe that he cared about you but you knew it was a lie, he lies, he always lies and you knew it very well, maybe at that time you were too young to understand some things, but you knew that none of them considered you family

You still remember when he promised to go with you to the zoo, it was 5 years ago when you first arrived at the mansion, but he never kept the promise he was only good to you for the first few weeks then it seemed like he didn't care, he was just being good to you out of courtesy

Jason, you didn't have much to say about him, almost You didn't interact and if you did, he would just insult you and tell you to get out of his way while pushing you. You had heard that he had been revived and that thanks to that he now has that personality. You never got to meet him in person since when you arrived at the mansion he had already died.

You tried to get along with him, but it never worked. You always got an insult or a bad look from him. You never understood why he didn't like you. You never said anything to him. You were always good to him and what you received in return were insults. It wasn't fair.

Although, to be honest, nothing in your miserable life was fair.

Tim, you met him when Bruce brought him to the mansion, he was a year older than you but for the first time you thought you could have a friend your age, how wrong you were

At first he was distant, you thought it was because of his parents' death that he behaved that way, you gave him his space and tried not to be too annoying

But time passed and he simply spent his time ignoring your presence, you didn't understand what you had done to make him ignore you, you were good to him and treated him like a brother, why was everyone so mean to you?

When you tried to talk to him he would just tell you that he was busy or that you were being annoying, you knew that he had a lot of activities for being Red Robin, but deep down in your soul, you longed for him to look at you just for 1 second, to realize that he exists and that you are not just the shadow of the family

Damian, you welcomed him with open arms and gave him your support, you thought that since you were blood brothers you would get along better

But the only thing you received was that his katana almost pierced your head, his arrogant attitude and his enormous ego was something remarkable

He never missed an opportunity to tell you how pathetic you were and that you would never be worthy of being his family, that you were a shame, a disgrace that hammered the Wayne name

In a way he was right, you were never anyone just the bastard daughter of Bruce Wayne

With Barbara, Steph and Cass you couldn't say much, Barbara was too busy with her affairs that she didn't even pay attention to you even though Sometimes she asked you how you were, but it was too weird

Stehp was neither good nor bad, she never treated you badly but she ignored you in some way, you never managed to talk to her directly, the only interactions you had with her were sidelong glances but nothing more

Cass, you hardly talk to her, but she was one of the few people who knew you existed, she was a person of few words although she seemed a little interested in you, but they never got to have a long conversation, just a few words like greetings or goodbyes

Your thoughts were cut off after hearing a voice, that damn voice...

"Do you have any last wishes, (name)?"

The cat spoke slowly approaching you, he was the one who had proposed you become a magical girl and you foolishly accepted, you thought that you finally had a true purpose that you could protect another like your family did, but you were too immature and stupid to realize the truth

"Yes...yes, I have one last wish."

You could barely speak, you felt like your body was heavy, it was like you had been stabbed in the back by more than 10 knives

"I hear you."

Kyubey looked too calm, and it was normal, they had already seen millions of magical girls die the same way

"I wish...I wish I could say goodbye to my father, please..."

That sounded more like a plea than a wish, in the back of your mind the only thing you wanted was for your dad to hug you, that this was all just a bad dream and tell you that everything was okay, but you knew it wasn't true

In a few seconds your vision went white and you were back in the halls of the mansion, in front of you was Bruce, walking backwards through the halls

You ran as fast as your legs could and when you reached him you gave him a big hug

Bruce He staggered at the sudden hug, he hadn't even noticed your presence or your steps

He turned his gaze and there you were, his daughter, hugging him tightly, as if you were afraid he would disappear

"(Name), is something wrong? I'm too busy to-"

Before he could speak again you quickly separated from him, you moved away a little before giving him a small smile

"I just wanted to hug a little, but anyway it's time to go"

You said as you stepped back a little

Leave? That word repeated itself in Bruce's head, what did you mean by leave? Before he could process everything you said something

"Oh, I almost forgot, take care of yourself okay? I don't like seeing you hurt"

You turned on your heels and then walked in the opposite direction and as you walked away and left a confused Bruce you shouted

"Hey dad! I love you..."

You said as you turned your head and gave him a sincere smile, you felt like tears were about to fall from your eyes

When you finished speaking you walked again and your presence disappeared the further you went down the halls of the mansion

_

That last interaction with you left him thinking, did you mean when you said "leave"? Even if he tried to concentrate on the cases in the Batcave, it was impossible, he needed answers and he knew where he could get them.

He walked through the halls of the mansion again while looking for your room, but he didn't remember it, how could he forget something so important? He's supposed to be your father but he doesn't even remember your age, the last time he saw you you were so little, a scared little girl who clung to his legs

How much had he missed? But this time it was going to be different

There would be room after room but they all looked the same, until he found one in particular, it was small and it was far from all the other main rooms

It was decorated in pink and lots of fluffy stuffed animals, but something was wrong

You weren't there, you were supposed to always spend your time in your room since you preferred to study from home, or that's what Alfred told him, but there was nothing it's like you had disappeared

He quickly went down the stairs, maybe you were in the kitchen

But to his surprise all the family members were there, except you...

"Has anyone seen (name)?"

Bruce said trying to stay calm, he had searched the entire mansion but there was no trace of you

"Why do you ask?"

Richard seemed indifferent to the question, he didn't understand why Bruce was so nervous

"I've been looking for her but she's nowhere to be found"

Bruce held on to the door, for some reason he felt too nervous, the thought that you might have left or that something might have happened to you made his stomach turn in a bad way

"You worry too much, Bruce, she's probably gone"

Jason spoke while leaning back in his chair, if he was honest he never paid much attention to you, he wondered what had happened to make Bruce so hysterical

"You don't understand, she never leaves the mansion"

Bruce decided to raise his voice, he didn't understand why out of nowhere everyone was so indifferent to you, something too hypocritical seeing from him since he was the one who ignored you first

"You worry too much B, I put a GPS on her a while ago, wherever she is I'll find her"

Tim spoke while writing on his phone computer, his confident tone disappeared as soon as he saw something on his laptop

"What's wrong, it seems like you've seen a ghost"

Jason joked looking at Tim

"I...I can't find her"

Tim didn't understand what was happening, it's like you've disappeared from the face of the earth as if nothing

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

Richard spoke now worried looking at Tim, how was it possible that you disappeared the GPS was too well hidden for you to take it out, something was happening and he didn't like it

"I can't find her I'm serious! It's like... like her existence had completely disappeared"

Tim tried to look for some sign of you but there was nothing, it's like you'd never existed

Everyone turned to look, missing? How was that possible, you never left the mansion and now as if nothing happened you disappeared

"Missing?"

Damian repeated angrily but at the same time, how dare you disappear like this? You are supposed to be his older sister, you should stay in the mansion with him, by his side, but you decided to leave like an idiot.

Somewhat hypocritical on his part since most of the time he spent his time saying that you would never be his sister, ironies of life, right?

Something inside them lit up, the thought of someone or something doing something to their sister made their blood boil

They were going to find you and they were going to make the person who took you away from them pay, you would never abandon them, right?

You always cared for them so much and loved them, you would never leave them alone like this, they are your family

It didn't matter if they had to get their hands dirty, they were going to bring you home no matter what, even if it meant having to put their morals aside

How stupid were they, they left you aside for so long and now they want you back?

What a shame that no one told them that they had lost you forever and that you were never coming back, never...

[midniqhtt]

mark grayson - invincible

masterlist • invincible • 05/12/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 they do it in porn I @sobbingscripter

𑣲 our turn pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 I @/sobbingscripter

𑣲 request I @sanguineterrain

𑣲 request I @thewritetofreespeech

𑣲 hello, you I @earlgreylatte

Of course he would come to see you. You’re the reason he’s here, after all.

𑣲 second chance at love pt2 pt3 pt4 I @tokoyamisstuff

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

𑣲 payback I @/tokoyamisstuff

In his timeline, Mohawk killed you for rejecting him - and now he seeks you out to do it again.

𑣲 variant!invincible I @slutoru1207

Multiple versions of Mark Grayson from different dimensions find the reader, each desperate to keep her because they lost their version of her. Now, they refuse to let her go.

𑣲 invincible!mark x reader x variants I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 mistaken devotion I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 i love you, but i need boundaries I @/slutoru1207

𑣲 i can feel it in my bones I @couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Being Invincible’s pet is cruel, but you manage to find comfort in it.

𑣲 fail safe I @invoncible

𑣲 bluff I @/invoncible

when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity?

𑣲 smut I @/invoncible

𑣲 running into invincible variants I @/invoncible

𑣲 keep away w/ invincible variants I @/invoncible

𑣲 mohawk!mark I @/invoncible

𑣲 viltrumite!mark I @/invoncible

𑣲 the only exception I @jks1uv

in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

𑣲 u love me and i love you I @controld3vil

Mark accomplished what his father couldn’t – he conquered Earth. Accepting that wasn’t the hardest part; living with it wears you down.

𑣲 drabble I @halcyon-writings

𑣲 scenarios / bestfriend!reader I @radlovesfics

𑣲 third wheel trouble I @cherryyluvs

𑣲 starfire!reader I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 streamer!reader pt2 I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 don’t wake up my parents I @/cherryyluvs

𑣲 you’re all i think about I @/cherryyluvs

Mark becomes obsessed with you, stalking your social media, learning your routines and slowly inserting himself in your life.

𑣲 mark loves his best friend pt2 I @starzyangel

𑣲 a different kind of star I @acenanxious

𑣲 right there pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 I @/acenanxious

neighbor!reader x invincible variants

𑣲 shattered affections I @wordsofwhimsy

All surviving Variants have been brought to the Main Universe as a means to help defend and protect Earth.

𑣲 cut deep, kiss hard I @/wordsofwhimsy

Your dangerously unhinged not-boyfriend threatens to “take care” of the friends of yours that keep trying to pull you away from him, and you are having none of it. literally a crazy stand-off

𑣲 if i was your girlfriend... I @/wordsofwhimsy

Mark just needs to be close to you dammit and he can’t stand that you’ll be that way with your girl friends but not him

𑣲 takeout mishap I @0bticeo

mark stumbles in, looking wrecked—bruised, bloody, barely holding himself up—but guess what? he still has a takeout bag. the paper’s stained red, but he just grins like an idiot and goes: "still hot." priorities.

𑣲 and they called it puppy love I @sqgeism

𑣲 a man’s greed I @/sqgeism

𑣲 snip it/sneak peak I @ay0nha

𑣲 one-shot I @swightops

"in every dimension, Mark Grayson falls for you, but not this one."

𑣲 superhero drabble I @rainydaygotham

𑣲 mark being down bad I @tiramissyoucake

𑣲 mohawk!mark I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 different roles!reader I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 reader!doesn’t know I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 omnimark I @/tiramissyoucake

𑣲 drabble I @gojoidyll

𑣲 a girls first love and heartbreak (sister/daughter!reader) I @tamayakii

𑣲 mark grayson dating hcs I @angelltheninth

𑣲 wonder boy I @serensho

au in which mark is hercules in ancient greece! and he saves a sassy damsel who changes everything.

𑣲 invincible variants pt2 I @mirai-lunar

𑣲 healer!reader I @thegr33nc0met

𑣲 touch I @grimmsbride

mark grayson doesn’t give a damn what you can do, or how fear hurting him; he would touch you again and again no matter the consequences.

𑣲 invincible variants x reader I @mocharyc

𑣲 cockwarming I @asaarii

𑣲 lucky! lucky! lucky! I @/asaarii

hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend

𑣲 doomsday arrives I @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

𑣲 retro invincible/ goggles invincible I @stareiiez

𑣲 you’re dead everywhere but here pt2 pt3 I @bonsubear

𑣲 “a” 4 effort I @slutla

mark, smart, awkward, and far too soft-hearted, made the mistake of doing one too many assignments for you. a bully in heels, unhinged and relentless, you’ve taken a liking to him in the worst way possible.

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[cruel-as-sin]

how long before you let me go? | logan howlett

↳ summary: riling up logan doesn't go quite how you planned...

word count: 1.3k

song: supermassive black hole | muse

pairings: bodyguard 70s!logan x rich kid fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn light plot, rough sex, overstimulation, mean!logan, hair pulling, mentions of bite marks and hickeys, spanking (so hard it leaves handprints), whiny!reader, unprotected p in v (practice safe sex everyone!), multiple orgasms, reader flirts with someone else to piss off logan (don't worry about me doing this again...), no use of y/n, pre-established safe word, doggy style, logan puts reader in a headlock, light choking accompanying said headlock, some degradation, pet names for reader (sweetheart, brat, slut), reader is a crying whiny mess and logan loves it, logan has insane stamina (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: cas finally posting something!!! (and everyone cheered!) this has been in my drafts for SOOO long and i'm so glad i finally finished it even if it’s shorter than i wanted it to be, logan is sooooooooo hot omfgggg... might turn this into a series bc i feel like this song fits them SO incredibly well

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The problem, if you could call it that, with having sex with Logan is that he Just. Keeps. Going.

Being a celebrities daughter has its perks. A rich lifestyle, for one. Lots of attention, and of course, a bodyguard with muscles that make you drool and a stern voice that leaves you dripping in… other areas.

You two have been having casual sex for about a month and a half now. He’s always been relentless, but usually takes pity on you enough to let up before he’s tired out. And, of course, you have a safeword if you ever need it. Just in case.

You knew he could keep going far longer than the average man, something about his biology letting him fill you up over and over. You didn’t question it- his business was his own, and you certainly weren’t complaining.

Now, though? You might start to complain.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

To back up a little: maybe this was your fault. Okay, it was definitely your fault, but really, could anyone blame you?

It had all started a few days ago, the last time you’d been having sex. His head was buried between your legs, his beard scratching your thighs as his tongue lapped at your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. You were whining his name, about to reach your peak, when suddenly he pulled away, shoving your bedsheets over you and kicking your clothes away as he took a step back.

You’re not sure how he knew- he must have super-hearing or something- but thank god for it, because if he’d noticed only a few seconds later, you two would’ve been interrupted by your father’s knock on the door.

It was a good thing, of course, that he stopped that night, his sharp senses and quick thinking meaning that you could just tell your father that you were changing and Logan was in the bathroom, and even if he had tried to come in, Logan had hidden the evidence well.

Even if it meant you’d spent the rest of that night pent up beyond relief, you were grateful.

Except for the fact that, and this is where the problem starts to come in, Logan had been very clear about one rule when you started sleeping with him: no touching yourself, not without his permission.

And not only does he reject your advances in the following days, claiming it’s too risky now that you almost got the two of you caught (so what if you’d insisted on sneaking away to your room with hardly any time to spare? It’s not like he didn’t agree to join you), he also tells you you’re not allowed to touch yourself, despite the way you beg and plead and give him those puppy dog eyes that you were formerly convinced worked like a magic trick every time.

So… you took matters into your own hands.

I mean, he said you couldn’t touch yourself, right? He never specified that you couldn’t have someone else do it for you.

The way you saw it, flirting with that politician’s son at a party was a win-win. Either you got some probably mediocre sex, but an orgasm was an orgasm (and the possibility of future blackmail was an added bonus), or you pissed Logan off enough that he’d come fuck you, or at least let you do it yourself.

You had been dead wrong.

Well, not entirely. Logan is fucking you. Just not quite the way you hoped.

You’re face down ass up on the bed, your face shoved into the pillows by a firm grip while his other hand digs into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your body aches, already littered with bite marks and handprints, and your cunt is sore. He’s given you nothing, the closest thing to foreplay you got being the hickeys claiming you and the spanking you’d been given before he’d all but thrown you onto the sheets and torn off his clothes.

Maybe that was the point when you should have caught on to what was about to happen, but you were a little too desperate to care. Now you suffer the consequences.

He pounds into you relentlessly, never giving you a break, never giving you a chance to breathe. You’ve lost count of how many orgasms he’s pulled from you with his dick alone- four, maybe? And while he’s already cum once, he seems nowhere near done.

You fight to get out his name through the broken moans leaving your lips, eventually managing a strained, “Logan.”

Instead of responding with some sort of mocking tone or insult, he ignores you. Jesus, he’s mad.

“Logan,” you try again, whining his name as he hits that sweet spot deep inside of you.

“What?” He snaps, the way he smushes your head further into the pillow indicating that he doesn’t really want the answer.

When he keeps hitting that spot, your attempts at getting him to stop turn to muffled sobs as you cum once again, clenching around him.

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He grumbles, groaning softly at the way your pussy tightens around his length. He grips you a little harder, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills into you for the second time. Within moments, he’s hard again- really, how does he do that?- and you’re back to being used like a stress toy.

It's mind-numbing, a mix of pleasure and pain that has you reeling from every thrust. He keeps angling himself to hit you in the spot he knows makes you cum every single time without fail, and you curse yourself for letting him get to know your body so well as he pulls another orgasm out of you, his name falling from your lips.

When he’s cum a third time and continues to ignore your pleas, you try to squirm away from him. But your body is exhausted, and even at your full strength you’d be no match for him.

"Uh-uh." He grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back, his other hand keeping a firm grip on your hips so he can keep plowing into you. "You wanted this, you fuckin' brat. You're not goin' anywhere."

"Logan." You plead, tears starting to stream down your face. It's too much, he's everywhere, and you feel like his cock might actually fucking kills you. What a way to die.

"Nah, don't give me that shit." He yanks on your hair, and you cry out in pain. "You started this, sweetheart. You're the one who couldn't go a few goddamn days without my fuckin' attention. Be grateful you got it."

"But-"

The hand that's gripping your hips comes down on your ass, hard, the already sensitive skin stinging even more from the blow. "No buts. You get what you get, you hear me?"

When you don't answer, he spanks you again. More tears well up in your eyes, your protests reduced to incoherent babbling as his cock continues to assault you mercilessly.

"I could've tied you down, made you watch me touch myself. Or edged you until you were beggin' me for forgiveness. Maybe made you hump my boot like the slut you are." He growls, delivering another harsh smack to your ass. "I gave you what you fuckin' wanted. Deal with it."

As shameful as it is to admit, the idea of what else he could have done to you and the angry tone he speaks in is the thing that sends you tumbling over the edge once again.

He barks out a laugh, smacking your ass a few more times just to hear the way you cry for him.

"Please- Logan, I'm sorry-"

He releases your hair, and for one stupid, fleeting second you think he might be finished with you.

Instead he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a headlock, holding you up effortlessly, his bicep flexing against your throat as he thrusts into you with a renewed vigor.

"Shut up." He snarls in your ear, letting the hand that was grabbing your hips snake down to your clit.

If you'd been overwhelmed with the pleasure before, you were fucking dying now. Drowning in it, suddenly thrown over the edge again by those perfect little circles. His grip is tight, the lack of oxygen making your head fuzzy, and you barely register the way you're drooling onto his muscles.

"That's better." He adjusts his grip to give you a little more room to breathe, letting your cries of pleasure ring throughout the room as they begin to turn to pleas for mercy once more.

"Lo-"

He doesn't let you get a word out, spanking you as he buries himself deep inside, his seed spilling into you, filling you up even more thoroughly. His bicep flexes against you, once again adjusting to choke you just a little less.

"Better get comfy, sweetheart." You can hear the sharp grin in his voice as he begins to move again, fingers returning to the sweet torture he's inflicting upon your clit. "We're gonna be here all night."

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge @lostinlovingrevery @rosenclaws @cenviswasteland @lubdubology @trr3rr @sacredsorceress @howlettsangel @dixie-isnt-cool @blythesarchives @loganismybodyguard

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, or would specifically prefer to only be tagged for f!, m!, or gn! reader, please let me know!)

[eraenaa]

Bittersweet

Inspired by the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier

Feyd- Rautha x Lady Reader Tag List

Summary: As the Na-Baron's proposed bride, you were simply too sweet for him and his bitter being. You were too innocent and pure to be tainted by the blood-stained hands of the Harkonnen heir.

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, Mature, 18+, P in V sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Overstimulation, ¿Slight Rejection?, ¿Softer Feyd-Rauth?, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,607

They say you were of great beauty and good breading, all things needed in a wife. Feyd-Rautha never sought out a love match; all he needed was a wife whose womb was suitable for taking his seed and producing his heirs. He saw meeting you as a dire chore, having to travel to your planet and seek out and court the girl whose task could be reduced to a simple broodmare. Feyd-Rautha grimaced at the bright sun on your home planet, a planet that resembled ancient Earth before it ultimately met its demise. Your father, the duke, stood with his duchess to greet and welcome him. He turned to your mother, a small fake smile on her lips as she was trying hard not to let her distaste show as she saw the man who they planned to marry her daughter too. Sickly pale and hairless, far from the standard of beauty your planet had. 

“Na-Baron, welcome; we hope your journey was well,” your father greeted. The Na-Baron let him continue on with pleasantries as his eyes searched for you, whom he was tasked to court and marry. He wished to know if you were truly as beautiful as all had praised you. He wanted to deduce if you were somewhat worthy of all of this trouble he must go through. “Come, let us escort you inside, my lord. My daughter waits for you there,” He heard the duke say, and the Na-Baron felt annoyance at your self-importance, not even bothering to greet him as he had landed, having him be the one to come to you. He somewhat made up his mind that you were a spoiled child of one of the great houses. Covered in frills and frivolity. That whatever beauty they talked about and praised you for was just a cover to hide the fact that you were a tempestuous, spoiled brat who would certainly be a difficult wife for any lord. 

Feyd-Rautha hid his confusion and annoyance as he was led to a place surrounded by greenery and colors that stung his eyes foe be was used to the bleakness and darkness of his home. “My sweet,” The Na-Baron heard your father call, and that is when he finally noticed you. Your back was turned from him, hair that he had none cascaded down your back and reached your waist that was cinched inside the bodice of your color-filled gown. Feed clenched his jaw and felt his breathing stutter as you finally turned your direction to him. Turning to the call of your father with your bright eyes searching for his frame and pink lips parted, you had a flower in your hand, your fingers rolling the delicate stem. 

“Na-Baron, may I present you, my daughter,” Your father said and urged you to step closer. You licked your lips and curtsied lowly before the heir of house Harkonnen and your possible husband. “Welcome, Na-Baron,” You said lowly. Feyd was never one to be phased, especially not stunned, but that was the precise state you had placed him in. He thought the praises they gave of your beauty and nature was an exaggeration— they talked about you as if you were a propaganda, a savior, a goddess of beauty. And now, the heir of House Harkonnen understood their words and saw they spoke truth in every syllable uttered. 

You grew more nervous with each moment the Na-Baron did not reply to your greeting. You felt rather unnerved with each passing moment he stared you down with his blue eyes, his plump yet pale lips parted as he assessed your frame. You swallowed thickly and turned to your father for some sort of comfort, but he, too, did not know how to take the Na-Baron’s silence. “My lady,” the Na-Baron finally rasped out, your skin glowing with gooseflesh at how his voice sounded— it was a sound you had not heard before, something different and interesting. All together, the Na-Baron was different and interesting. “I shall leave you two to talk and get to know each other better,” Your father said, and you willed your heart to calm as the intense stare of the Na-Baron was undoing your composure. 

“How… how are your travels, my lord?” You asked after a pause of silence, the Na-Baron wanted to roll his eyes as you had the same trite question as your father. However, he still replied. When there was silence after his answer, he watched you fiddle with your fingers and unconsciously bite your lip as you thought of another topic of conversation. “Would you like a tour of the castle, Na-Baron?” You asked, and though Feyd had little to no interest in architecture and was actually quite tired from his travels, he still felt himself nod and walked beside you as you guided him through your home. 

Feed listened to your sweet voice that sounded of harmonious melodies. Telling him of the history of your house and the decor the castle keeps. Noticing how your voice would grow slightly higher when you spoke of something that was of much interest to you. He also noticed how all who passed the two of you would bow in respect and you would offer them your sweet smile with a wave of your hand or a greeting on your lips. It should annoy him that when stood next to you, his imposing and intimidating demeanor seemed to be outshined by your charming and pleasing self. 

You two paused by a mirror, a painting atop of it, which you explained the meaning of in great detail. Feyd-Rautha caught your reflection, the two of you of stark difference. There was quite literally an aura of lightness exuding from you, the sweetness in your voice, the innocence and naivety in your eyes so entirely different against the darkness he exudes, the black that stained and hardened him. Feyd-Rauth could not take his dark eyes from your lips, the way they moved as you spoke, how you would lick them when you paused from speaking, giving them an irresistible sheen and making them look more pink and evermore kissable. 

The Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha never had the urgent desire to kiss anyone before. Yes, he had his darlings and concubines, but ever since he acquired them, he had never once kissed them first. When they started to grow slightly comfortable around him, they would kiss his lips, eager to make him kiss them back, but he never did. He did not find any sort of pleasure in kissing them. But with you… just by the look of your lips, all he wanted to do was grab your flushed cheeks and feel your mouth against his. “My lord?” You called as you had noticed that the Na-Baron was staring far off into the mirror, unresponsive to your previous calls. “Na-Baron?” You asked and gently took hold of his arm to asses if he was truly well. 

Feud felt his whole body tingle as you placed your touch atop his armor-clad arm, a concerned look on your face that he had never been the receiver of. “Are you well, my lord?” You asked with a concerned tilt of your head. “Y-Yes,” He stuttered, what had you done to him? The ferocious and fearsome fighter that he was now far gone as you blessed him with your gentle touch. “I apologize; I may have droned on for too long… I shall escort you to your chambers so you may find rest,” You said with slight embarrassment. Lowering your gaze to the floor and removing your hand from his arm. Feyd did not know how to perceive you… you were demure yet somehow confident. You were genuine, yet not at all of you could be read and deciphered by him. 

The Na-Baron once again followed you as you led him to the guest wing of the keep. His eyes were steadily at your frame, the way your hair swayed and bounced at every step you took. How you left behind a trail of your scent in the corridors, the Na-Baron greedily inhaled it and felt himself turn warm with a further push to his desires. As you had led him to his chambers to let him rest, you curtsied before him once more, the Na-Baron catching the most tempting view of your bosom. His mind and body were screaming at him to pull you into the chambers and have his way with you. To show you new dimensions of pleasures and ruin that he was certain you had never had before. But the Na-Barom did the genteel thing to do and gave a bow before watching you walk away and finally retire to his own chambers to rest. 

When the next morning came, the Na-Baron found you in the gardens once more. You kneeling by a structure that houses water with a statue in the middle of it. He curiously leaned forward to inspect what you were doing. He watched as your fingers pushed floating flowers, and a small smile grazed your face. He stepped closer, announcing his presence in the reflection of the water. He expected you to grow startled; he was waiting for the fear to come to your eyes, but he was taken aback as you turned to him with a pretty smile upon your lips. The Na-Baron swallowed thickly as he felt his heart stutter at your smile. He never thought he had one— a heart, that is. But now it announced itself greatly as it throbbed loudly in his chest when you stood and stepped closer to him. 

“I hope you had a good night’s rest, Na-Baron,” you said in your genuine tone. “I—I did,” Feyd clenched his jaw; he was stuttering again. What had you done to him? How could you have dismantled and discombobulated him with just a smile and your honey voice? “Would you care to join us to break our fast?” You asked and glanced toward the direction of the laid-out feast for the morning. The Na-baron gave a curt nod, and you led him towards the table where your parents were approaching. 

Feyd gave them a nod as they greeted him whilst assisting you into your seat. He was truly doing the most here, being obliging to you and your kin just so the courtship would be a success and he’ll finally gain a wife and a womb. Feyd listened in to the chatter between you and your parents; you were truly quite talkative. If it were anyone else, he would have grown annoyed with the incessant blabbing that he would cut off their tongue. But somehow, with you, he did not mind it. He actually found it endearing, and he wouldn’t mind for his future days to be filled with your voice. Feyd watched as you filled his cup with a dark, steaming substance. “Would you like sugar and cream, Na-Baron?” You asked and Feyd eyed curiously the liquid in his cup. He did not even know what it was, and you were offering him other substances to put on it? He declined and raised the cup to his lips. Surprised at how he quickly grew fond of the bitter, dark liquid. He watched as you added three cubes of sugar and a dollop of cream to your own cup, altering the bitterness the Na-Baron relished in. 

When the meal ended, you half expected that the Na-Baron would disappear with your father and discuss business; you were surprised that he was once again by your side. “Shall we continue on with the tour?” He asked, watching as you slightly frown. “Are you certain, my lord? I… I was afraid I had bored you yesterday with me droning on about the histories,” You say and feel your stomach fill with butterflies as the lord offers his arm for you to take. “No, I found it quite… educational,” He said and oddly felt his cold blood run warm at the smile that bloomed on your lips. You were quick to oblige his request, and his ears were filled with the soothing melody that was your voice. 

Though your voice and presence were soothing, there was a pestering feeling inside the Na-Baron. With every moment you kept your arm on him, your smile pointed towards him, and your innocent eyes looking up at him, he felt entirely guilty—guilty and torn. Were you truly the one he was meant to marry? You? So pure and innocent, a pretty little flower that would wilt under the dark, harsh sun of Geidi Prime and its heir. He could not take it upon himself to be the one to ruin you— he could not be the bitterness that seeps into your sweetness. 

As he sat across from you during dinner, a glass of bitter liquor in his hands, he had made up his mind. He could not be so cruel to be with you— you had turned his stony being soft for you and you alone. He wanted you, yes. Greatly so. With every moment spent in your presence, all he wanted to do was to take you and make every single inch of you his, but he placed great restraint upon himself as he could not tarnish your innocence. Perhaps in a few years, when the naivety of youth is gone in your eyes, and the sweetness in you has finally been diluted. Just not now.  

Feyd knew he should keep his distance, but he humored himself and escorted you to your chambers. “Good night, my lord,” You said, peering up at him. As always, he was silent. In others, you would find their silence unsettling and off-putting but with the Na-Baron, you found peace in his silence. Serenity, no matter the warnings your mother repeated at how violent and harsh Harkonnens were. There was something about his difference that attracted you greatly, which horrified your mother when you admitted to her that you developed a liking towards the young lord and how you would not be opposed to that if a match was struck between the two of you. 

You watched as his lips parted, and his dark blue eyes would trail between your orbs and your lips. You were hesitant as to where the scene would lead; you did not know if you should disappear into your chambers or stay rooted in your spot and wait for what would transpire between you and the Na-Baron. A long stretch of silence came, and you finally decided to move, a tad embarrassed as you had hoped that he would lean in closer and possibly kiss you… you have had the thought countless of time today. You let out a breath and turned away but ultimately were pulled toward Feyd-Rautha’s direction and finally felt his plush lips against yours. You tasted the bitterness of the brandy he had during dinner along with the cool taste of him… you feel cold hands cradle your cheek and the back of your head to keep you and your lips steady against his.

Feyd was proven correct at just how sweet you were. You were tooth-achingly sweet, inside and out. He pulled you closer and licked your bottom lip, expecting resistance, that your sensibilities would return pulled away. But you only let out a quiet moan and let him snake his tongue in. Feyd Rautha felt himself strain harder against his trousers, his hand that cupped your cheek trailed lower to your neck then down to your bosom. You gasped and pulled away, surprised by the immediate action. Feyd was dismayed himself as he gambled too much. He should not have dared to be so bold and quick to show all of his desires. “My lord, I…” you say in surprise, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Eyes were flashing with a warning but deeper desire behind it. You breathed heavily as the Na-Baron backed away and stomped off, retiring to your room confused and filled with need. 

The following morning came, and Feyd’s mind was made. He could not succumb to his desires and ruin you further. He was selfish, and his mind was muddled with want when he dared to kiss you and feel you against him. He knew if he spent another moment in your presence, his control would falter, and he would finally take what he had desired the moment he saw you in the gardens. “We respect your decision, my lord, however unfortunate it is,” Your father spoke as the Na-Baron stood in his study. The sun had barely risen, and the Na-Baron was quick to speak with his host and bid goodbye. “The treaties shall still take place, but a marriage is no longer required, my lord.” The Na-Baron stated, giving the agreement as a consolation for your planet. He watched as your father nodded his head. “I shall call on my daughter for the two of you to bid good bye,” Feyd wanted to protest, cowardly as he had hoped to leave your planet without another glance at you because it would make everything all the more harder. 

You frowned as your father broke the news to you and your mother. You turned to the woman who birthed you and saw the relief in her eyes, urging you to say your goodbyes so the Harkonnen heir could finally leave. You chewed on your lip as you could conclude by the abrupt departure and change of mind of the Na-Baron. You entered your father’s study, and he quickly left to give the two of you privacy. 

You stood by the wooden door, head hung low, and could not take it upon yourself to look at the man you had hoped to be your husband. “Goodbye, my lord, I… I hope you enjoyed your stay,” you said lowly, and Feyd clenched his jaw as he heard the hint of melancholy in your voice—melancholy that he was the reason for. “I have. Thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” He said and felt his body being pulled closer to you. A pull that he himself could not hinder. He stood before you and took your chin between his rough fingers, urging you to look up at him. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, guessing your startled state the other night is what had led him to the decision. If not that, it was because you were not as chaste as he may have wanted for a wife— that you were ever so enthusiastic to kiss him and let him hold you. Perhaps he thought you untamed or promiscuous which is the reason for his sudden departure. You licked your lips as he made no reply; you shielded your gaze and backed away, his hold on your chin gone. “My lord, if this is about last night, I—“ Feyd clenched his jaw as his mind made him remember the way your lips danced with each other, the way it felt to hold your soft frame against his. “It is not.” He gritted, and you immediately stopped speaking, sensing aggravation in his tone. 

“Then, may I ask what is the reason?” You asked, wanting closure for the disappointment. You listened in to his strained breathing, your eyes catching the way his fists clenched along with his jaw. “I cannot marry you… I cannot be the one to ruin you,” He whispered the last part, his rasping voice struggling to utter the words. You tilted your head in confusion, “What? I do not understand, my lord,” You said and Feyd took in a harsh breath. “You are too pure— too sweet for me. You are not suited to be in the harshness of Geidi Prime let alone be a leader to it.” He said harshly, guilt coming to him as you stared at him with slight fear and offense. “You are too innocent and… and good for someone like me; this is for the best, my lady.” 

You frowned at his words, “You cannot think me to be so delicate,” You defended yourself. The Na-Baron scoffed and shook his head, “You are delicate. You are like those flowers you are greatly fond of— just one wrong thing, and you’ll wilt. You will not wither away in my hands,” He stated, and you felt your lips twitch at how he compared you to flowers. “Is that it? You think I’m weak and too kind?” You asked and observed the way the Na-Baron nodded. “Then I am the perfect match for you, do you not think?” You said, stepping closer. 

Feyd-Rautha was at a loss for words. “If I am weak… I would need someone strong to protect me… someone who is known to be the most skillful warrior in the universe… someone like you,” You whispered and dared to take hold of his cold hand. The Na-Baron felt his heart announce its existence once more, loudly thrashing inside his chest. Your scent invades his senses and makes his knees weak. His gaze turned from looking into your enchanting eyes and then to your luscious lips. “If I am too kind, then I would need someone fearsome so people would not take advantage of me and my good nature… I would need someone ruthless as they say you are,” You whispered, pressing your bodies closer, making him see that you, too, desired him. You feel his length straining against his trousers and perfectly settle upon your stomach, your cheeks going flush at the look of great wanting in the dark eyes of the Na-Baron. 

“If I am too sweet… then I need someone bitter to balance me… I need someone like you, my lord. I want you.” You whispered, slowly going to the tip of your toes to indicate you wished for the kiss. The Na-Baron got the hint and smashed your lips. Your lips fervently danced against each other, the Na-Baron kissing you as if you were the air he needed in his lungs. “You want me?” He breathed as you both parted for air. “I do, Na-Baron.” You said. Truth in your tone. You feel wetness pool between your legs at the growl that left his throat, his lips meeting yours once more. You guided his hand to cup your bosom, just as he had wished to do so the night before. You moaned against his lips as he kneaded your chest through the soft bodice of your gown. 

You feel him guide you to your father’s desk. Perching you upon the stable wooden table and placing himself between your parted legs. Your breathing heaved as his lips were placed on your neck, the Na-Baron biting your flesh and soothing it with his tongue. You turned your head to the ceiling as you felt him hike up your gown, his cold hands leaving fiery heat with each touch. “Say it again,” Feyd demanded as his hands squeezed the plump flesh of your thighs, the heat from your core radiating and calling for him. “I want you, Feyd… I need you, please,” You pleaded and placed your lips to kiss his neck, soft lips kissing his pale flesh, teasing the ball on his throat. 

Your eyes widened as the Na-Baron pulled away, watching in shock as he went to his knees and placed his strong hold on both of your thighs, urging them to part further so his lips could be met with your cunt. You gasped as you felt him push aside your small clothes and lick your slit with his talented tongue. “So fucking sweet,” he groaned and buried his head in your needing cunt. You bit down hard at your lip as the moans you wanted to spew would surely be heard by those who stood and passed outside. “My lord,” You cried as you felt him sucking upon your pearl and his cold finger teasing your entrance. “Feyd… please!” You pleaded as you wanted to feel more. The Na-Baron hummed and obliged your request, placing a finger in your tight cunt. You hear him spew out fouled words and praises, amazed as he watches your wet cunt squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You take my fingers so well, my sweet… now let us see how you’ll manage when it is my cock.” You whimpered as he abruptly stole his pleasuring fingers away as you were on the verge of climax.  

Your eyes were hooded with lust as you watched the Na-Baron greedily suck your essence from his fingers. You felt the urge to close your parted legs to seek out friction at the way he undid his trousers and set his manhood free. Your lips parted as you saw the whole of him, throbbing and pink… the head of his length releasing sheer grayish beads that indicated how much he wanted you. Feyd growled at how shamelessly you looked upon his length, want, and lust, the only thing evident in your eyes. He smashed your lips once more and positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock gliding between your glistening folds. He pushed his way in, and he heard your sharp intake of breath, and whimpers of pain quickly followed. “This what you wanted…” Feyd gritted. A thin sheen of sweat all over his body at how you clenched tightly around him. “Yes, this is what I want.” You said, trying to prove to him that you were not as delicate as he had made you out to be. 

It took a moment before he was fully sheathed inside you. Both of you already panting. When Feyd slowly moved, he watched as your face contorted in pain, kissing away the tears that fell from your eyes as he took away your innocence. Feyd hissed as you clenched around him, finally feeling pleasure, your mouth spewing out sweet moans and calls of his name. “Look at you… my sweet, little wife, so pleasured by my cock,” The tears of pain turned to pleasure as you feel your peak quickly building up again. Feyd claimed your lips and bit down harshly to draw blood, curious to see if even your blood was as sweet as your being; it was. You moaned against his lips as your peak found you, your wetness doubling along with your sensitivity, but that didn't phase the Na-Baron.  He only continued to pound at you at a pace that would surely leave you unable to walk and sore for days to come. 

“Feyd, please…” You pleaded for something you did not know. All you knew was you were about to come once more, ready to cry out the name of the man who provided you with such blinding pleasure. The Na-Baron could usually last for hours, but with the way you clenched around him and how you sweetly moaned and called for his name, it was a miracle that Feyd had not spilled his seed the moment he pushed the head of his cock inside you. “Will you come again, my sweet? Will you come around my cock again?” Feyd hummed as his thumb circled the pearl in your cunt, making your eyes roll back in pleasure. 

“Yes…yes— oh yes!” You cried as you came, clamping around the Na-Baron’s length so tightly that he, too, joined you in your climax. His dark seed filling you and taking root. You two breathed heavily, Feyd hunching over you, who was perched upon your father’s desk. “Still too sweet and pure for you?” You asked in between breaths, watching as Feyd-Rautha wickedly smirked as his bitterness seeped into you and how his hands had tainted you. Perhaps he did need sweetness in his bitter life.

[narcjsistx]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of ​​a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of ​​just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of ​​having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

[jjjjisun]

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.