#I love her little bow and the drawings on her wraps

[borisnightingale]

I made some finished pieces of the Dona AU by @imagionationstation check it out, it’s basically and AU where Donnie is a girl and it is really cool and freaking awesome and I. Love. It.

Here are some sketches I made that might be made into pieces

I love female Donnie so much you wouldn’t believe. She has invaded my brain and is providing much needed dopamine.

I gave her lashes because how could I not I mean, I think Donnie deserves lashes even if she can’t grow them . Most of these are redraws of screenshots from certain episodes, tho the last one is from a fan art I found on Pinterest and sadly I couldn’t find the artist. It was mostly a sketch to get to know Donnie as a character so yeah.

If I do make that sketch a drawing I would change some things about it but it was just a draft.

Please check out the creator of the AU they are so freaking cool.

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @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

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Under Her Command

dom!alpha!Agatha Harkness x omega!reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a/b/o, omegaverse, Agatha has a cock, power dynamics, pheromones, marking, breeding

Authors notes: I really love Alpha!Agatha. This is the second time I've written her and I feel like I get carried away when I'm writing for her.

The evening air blowing through Agatha Harkness’ house was thick with the scent of dominance and anticipation. You, with your naturally shy demeanor, were curled up on the plush couch, wearing one of Agatha’s silk robes that barely reached mid-thigh. The scent of her lingering pheromones in the fabric clung to your skin, reminding you of who you belonged to.

Agatha, the most powerful alpha you’d ever known, paced in front of the large window, her piercing eyes watching the city lights but her mind clearly focused on you. She had a quiet authority about her, her movements deliberate, her scent potent and commanding in the air. Even without her heightened alpha nature, she would have controlled any room she walked into.

“You’ve been so patient, mega,” she finally spoke, her voice like velvet, drawing your attention instantly. The deep timbre of her tone caused your breath to hitch.

She turned towards you, eyes dark with unspoken desire, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, sensing the way your heat was starting to stir beneath your skin. You tried to sit still, to be good, but every muscle in your body felt charged, yearning for her touch.

“Come here,” she commanded softly, and your legs moved before your mind even registered it. Your bare feet padded across the cool floor as you approached her, head slightly bowed as you fought the instinct to expose your neck.

When you stood before her, she cupped your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. Agatha’s thumb brushed over your lower lip, her eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your eyes again.

“Such a good little omega for me,” she murmured, her lips curling into a smirk. “You know I’ve been thinking about you all day, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as her scent of sandalwood surrounded you, more intense now, laced with the spice of her arousal. You could barely manage a nod, overwhelmed by the power she held over you.

“I can smell you,” Agatha continued, her voice a low growl as she leaned in close, lips grazing your ear. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you? You can’t hide it.”

A soft whimper escaped your throat, and she chuckled darkly, satisfied by your response. Agatha’s hands slid down your sides, tracing the curve of your hips before gripping your waist firmly.

“I’ve spoiled you for too long,” she mused, her fingers tightening their hold as she pulled you flush against her body. “But tonight… tonight you’ll learn how to beg properly, omega.”

Your breath caught as she leaned down, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, just above where her claiming mark had once been. The reminder of it sent a shiver of longing through you, your heat starting to build, aching for her.

“On your knees,” Agatha growled, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, looking up at your alpha with wide, pleading eyes.

Her smirk widened as she towered over you, completely in control. “Now, little one, let’s see how well you can behave.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you kneeled before Agatha, your body already responding to her commands, the omega inside you desperate to submit. Agatha's scent was intoxicating, filling the room with a potent mixture of her dominance and arousal. It wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making it harder to think clearly, as your only focus became pleasing your alpha.

Agatha tilted your chin up with two fingers, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. The way she looked at you made your skin tingle, the hunger in her eyes sending a shiver down your spine. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper that sent a surge of need straight to your core. “You’re so perfect like this, on your knees where you belong.”

You felt your body heat up under her praise, a quiet whimper escaping your lips as she traced her thumb over your bottom lip. The gesture was gentle, but the possessiveness in her touch made it clear—you were hers, utterly and completely.

“Open your mouth for me,” she commanded, her voice laced with authority. Instinctively, you obeyed, parting your lips as you stared up at her. She smirked, her thumb slipping past your lips, pressing down on your tongue. “That’s it. Such a pretty little thing.”

Your breath hitched as Agatha watched you, her dark eyes burning with desire. She was always so composed, always in control, but there was a dangerous edge to her tonight. You could feel it in the way she touched you, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the power she had over you.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Agatha asked, withdrawing her thumb, her fingers curling under your chin to lift your gaze back to hers.

“Yes, Alpha,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Her smirk widened, clearly pleased with your submission. “I want to hear you say it again.”

“I’m yours, Alpha,” you whispered, feeling the words vibrate in your chest. The truth of them resonated deep within you, an unbreakable bond that only strengthened your need for her.

Agatha’s grip on your chin tightened as she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear. “Good girl,” she purred, her voice sending a thrill through your entire body. “Now, show me how much you need me.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, your hands resting on her thighs as you pressed your cheek against her. Agatha’s scent was even stronger here, rich and musky, making your mouth water with need. You nuzzled her thigh, a soft whine escaping your throat as you craved her touch, her approval, anything to ease the growing ache inside you.

Agatha chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through her body. “So needy,” she murmured, her hand slipping into your hair, tugging it back gently to force you to look up at her again. “Look at you, already begging without even saying a word. Do you know how perfect you are for me?”

Your heart fluttered at her words, and the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. “Please, Alpha,” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath.

Agatha’s eyes darkened as her grip in your hair tightened. “Please what, little omega?” she teased, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

“Please… I need you,” you gasped, your body trembling with desire as you met her gaze. “I need you, Alpha. Please…”

The smug smile that spread across Agatha’s face made your pulse race. She loved seeing you like this, completely at her mercy, begging for her touch. “Good girl,” she praised, her thumb brushing your cheek affectionately before she released your hair. “You’re going to make me very proud tonight.”

Agatha stepped back, her presence still looming over you as she shed her jacket, revealing the crisp lines of her blouse beneath. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as she undid the first few buttons, exposing the pale skin of her collarbone.

“Do you want to please your alpha?” she asked, her voice low and commanding, drawing you back to the task at hand.

“Yes, Alpha,” you whispered, your voice full of reverence as you watched her. You wanted nothing more than to make her happy, to prove that you were a good omega for her.

Agatha’s smirk deepened as she took her seat in the nearby chair, legs crossed casually as she looked down at you. “Then come here, little one. Crawl to me.”

Your heart raced as you dropped to all fours, your body moving without thought as you crawled toward her, the plush carpet soft under your hands and knees. You could feel her eyes on you, watching your every movement with that predatory gleam that made your body tremble.

When you finally reached her, you rested your head against her knee, waiting for her next command, her scent overwhelming your senses.

Agatha’s hand came down to stroke your hair, her touch both possessive and tender. “That’s it, omega,” she cooed softly. “Now, let me take care of you.”

Agatha’s fingers slid gently through your hair, the touch soothing yet igniting something deeper within you. Your skin buzzed under the intensity of her gaze as she surveyed you kneeling before her, utterly obedient and submissive. Her control was absolute, her mere presence making every fiber of your being crave more.

She lifted your chin again, her thumb brushing across your lips, teasing them open. "You're so eager for me, aren’t you?" she whispered, voice dark and laced with promise.

“Yes, Alpha,” you breathed, the need to please her overwhelming any other thought in your mind.

Agatha hummed in approval, her hand caressing down your jaw, her fingertips tracing the pulse at your neck. She could feel how fast your heart was beating, the anticipation electrifying between you. Her touch became firmer as her hand traveled down your chest, fingers brushing the fabric of the robe you wore—her robe—before tugging it open with a deliberate slowness.

The cool air met your heated skin, but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was Agatha’s smirk, the possessive glint in her eyes as she took in the sight of you, completely exposed and vulnerable before her.

“Such a pretty little omega,” she purred, her hand trailing lower, her nails grazing your stomach. “So perfect for me.” The praise sent warmth flooding through you, your body instinctively arching into her touch, desperate for more.

You whimpered softly, the sound drawing a low chuckle from Agatha. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "Do you know how lucky you are to have an alpha like me? One who knows exactly what you need, even before you ask?"

You nodded, though your thoughts were scattered, your focus consumed entirely by her.

“Good girl.” Her voice was like velvet, dark and thick, wrapping around you like a spell. Agatha sat back, her fingers skimming the edge of your panties before hooking into the waistband and tugging them down. “But I want to hear you beg properly this time.”

A rush of heat pooled between your legs as the cool air kissed your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parting as you inhaled sharply, trying to steady your breath. “Please, Alpha… I need you so much,” you whimpered, your voice shaking with desperation. “Please touch me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned back in the chair, casually crossing her legs. Her dominance was effortless, her posture relaxed, though you could feel the raw power radiating from her. She was toying with you, savoring the control she had over you.

“I’ll touch you when I’m ready, little omega,” she replied, her voice dripping with amusement. “I want to see just how far you’ll go to get what you want.”

Your pulse quickened, the need almost unbearable as you squirmed under her gaze. She wasn’t going to make this easy for you; she never did. Agatha loved to push you, to see how much you could handle before you broke and gave in completely.

You leaned forward, your forehead pressing against her thigh as your hands gripped the edge of her chair. “Please, Alpha,” you pleaded, your voice thick with need. “I’ll be so good for you. I promise. Just… please…”

Agatha’s fingers wove back into your hair, tugging it lightly as she forced you to look up at her. Her eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” she murmured, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “You always are. That’s why I love watching you fall apart.”

Without warning, Agatha pulled you closer, her knee slipping between your thighs, pressing lightly against your aching core. The sudden pressure made you gasp, your hips instinctively grinding down as you sought more of her touch.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Agatha teased, gripping your hair tightly to keep you still. “You don’t get to move unless I tell you to.”

You whimpered, the frustration and desire building to a fever pitch as you tried to hold yourself back. Every inch of you ached for her, for her to take you and claim you completely. But Agatha was in control. She always was.

“Good girl,” she praised softly, loosening her grip in your hair as she leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, heated kiss. The taste of her consumed you, her tongue teasing yours as her hand slid between your thighs, finally giving you the touch you so desperately craved.

You moaned into the kiss, your body trembling as her fingers brushed lightly against your slick folds, teasing but not yet giving you the release you needed. “Please, Alpha…” you begged again, your voice muffled against her lips.

Agatha pulled back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched you squirm beneath her touch. “That’s it, little omega,” she whispered, her fingers pressing deeper, making your body arch in response. “Let me hear you beg for me.”

“Please… more, Alpha, please…” you gasped, your body shaking with need as you felt yourself falling deeper into the overwhelming heat of your submission. You were completely at her mercy, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Agatha’s smirk grew darker as she finally gave in, her fingers sliding inside you, her other hand holding you firmly in place. “You’re mine,” she growled softly, her voice sending shivers down your spine as you moaned her name. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

“Yes Alpha! All yours!” Agatha’s hands finally moved back only to be replaced with her cock, pushing inside you with ease as you both moaned at the feeling. With that, she claimed you fully, pushing you over the edge with her cock, your body trembling as you surrendered completely to your alpha.

Pumping in and out in a fluid motion as you clawed at her back, leaving marks until given permission by her own biting of your neck that you could in fact do the same back as she knotted and came inside of you, painting your walls white with her seed.

“Fuck...you’re going to look so good carrying my pups.”

[esouliie]

… you should stay in my good graces⋆𐙚₊

(actress!wanda x fem!reader)

tags | romantic asf, a little hurt/comfort, wanda maximoff needs a hug, reader is a reassuring simp, together? they’re both gross horny freaks :3 (18+)

It’s late, around 9 PM, and the room is dimly lit, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. You’re lounging on the couch of the hotel suite, feeling the gentle buzz of the wine you’ve been sipping. She’s there with you, still dressed in her suit for her upcoming movie’s press junket. Her hair, now a shade of molten chocolate, falls loosely around her face, with random pieces tucked behind her ears. She’s wearing minimal makeup, despite her lips being coated in a subtle reddish oil, and her eyes shimmer gold with every bat of her lashes.

The evening has been easygoing since arriving back, a perfect blend of quiet conversation and shared silences as your girlfriend winds down from being social. You watch her as she took another sip of her wine, her eyes glinting in the soft light. Suddenly, she sets her glass down and rises from the couch with a playful glint in her eye. "I want to play a song for you," she announces with a smile.

You watch as she heads for the old record player tucked in the corner, a vintage piece that had caught her eye the moment you checked in last night. The suite modern charm was evident in every detail, from the heated floors to the spacious kitchen, but the record player, with its polished wood and brass accents, seemed to be the centerpiece of the room. Wanda had been drawn to it immediately, her fingers tracing the smooth surface, a look of nostalgia softening her features.

She flips through the small collection of vinyl records stacked beside it, her brow furrowing in concentration as she searches for the perfect track. After a moment, she lets out a triumphant little sound, pulling out a record with an old, faded cover. The worn label reveals the artist: Sam Cooke. She handles it with reverence, lowering it onto the turntable with a practiced hand. There's a small, satisfied hum as she brings the needle down, and the soft crackle that follows fills the room like the first breath of life. For a moment, everything is still, suspended in the quiet, until the first sweet, soulful notes of "Cupid" drift into the air.

The melody is timeless, a rich cascade of sound that wraps around you like an old, familiar blanket. You recognise the tune, though it's been years since you last heard it. The notes are tender and full of emotion, evoking memories of a time long past yet strangely present in this moment. The room, bathed in the warm glow of the lamps adorned around the space, seems to swell with the sound, the music curling around the furniture, the walls, and finally, the two of you, as if drawing you closer together.

Wanda turns back to you, her eyes bright with anticipation, waiting for your reaction. She knows you love this song, and she loves it too, perhaps even more.

“I love this song.” She reaches out a hand, gesturing for you to join her. You stand, taking it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of her fingers intertwining with yours. The music flows between you like a current, and Wanda begins to sway, drawing you into the rhythm. Her voice, soft and unguarded, rises to meet the melody as she sings along with Cooke:

“Cupid, draw back your bow...”

With her eyes locked on yours, the world around you fades into the background. The record spins, the music lilting through the room as you both begin to dance, a slow, easy movement that feels as natural as breathing.

You follow her lead, letting the song guide your steps. Wanda’s voice, sweet and slightly off-key, weaves through the music, adding her own touch to the tune. There's something so intimate, so pure in the way she sings to you, for you, her voice a quiet confession wrapped in melody.

“You know," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper against the instruments, "I've never felt like this with anyone before."

"I feel the same, Wands. Every time I'm with you, it's like the world finally makes sense."

She tilts her head down slightly, her eyes searching yours. "Do you ever wonder if this is too good to be true? Like, maybe we're dreaming, and one day we'll wake up, and it’ll all be gone?"

You stop swaying for a moment, cupping her face gently in your hands. "No, Wanda. This is real. We’re real." You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, feeling her relax into your touch, “You’re never getting rid of me, baby.”

Her hands move to your back, pulling you closer, as if she needs to feel you, to confirm that you’re really here. "Promise me," she whispers, her voice trembling just slightly.

You press your lips to hers again, a gentle, lingering kiss that holds all the promises you can’t yet put into words. “I promise,” you whisper against her, “let me show you.”

Her worries melt away, replaced by a deepening trust as your hands run through her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. The pressure of your lips increases, growing bolder as you feel her responding to you, her own lips parting slightly, inviting you to explore further. A soft sigh escapes her, and it echoes in the stillness around you, a sound that sends a shiver of warmth through your entire body.

The kiss grows, building from that initial, tender connection into something more passionate, more urgent. You can feel the tension in your chest, a yearning that rises and swells with every heartbeat, driving you to close any remaining distance between you. Your other hand slides to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Unable to feel the heat of her body through the thick suit jacket, your hands trail inside the material, mapping the thin waist of the taller woman.

She’s wearing nothing underneath.

You deepen the kiss further, your tongue brushing against her lower lip, seeking entrance, a silent request that she grants as her lips part further, allowing you in. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, gripping lightly as she leans in. The kiss is no longer just gentle; it’s filled with a fervent need, an unspoken desire that’s been building between you since the beginning of the night. Since you first saw her in this outfit. She’s kissing you back with equal intensity, every movements matching yours, the both of you lost in this moment, hands groping all and everything you can.

“I want these off,” Wanda husks, pupils blown entirely, as she hurriedly pulls at the zip of your jeans, “… now.”

You don’t bother helping the older woman, as you fling your arms around her to pull the jacket off her toned shoulders, a swift competition to see who can undress who first. You managed to discard the jacket before she can shove her hand down your pants, your fingers already groping at her chest. Your lips making their way down from her neck down to her breasts, lapping at the pebbled nipples before you.

With her hand finally between your legs, stroking ever so languidly, she guides you back towards the couch. You’re too distracted to notice the change until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth before you could protest, hips doing most of the work appeasing you, as she thrusts ever so slowly. Giving up, your legs fall open, calves wrapping around the brunette as if to keep her flush against you.

The kiss comes to an end, much to your dismay, with a singular strand of saliva hanging between you both.

“You’re such a brat. You joke, hands smoothing over her ass, pulling forward.

“Says the one who was racing to undress me first.” She immediately retorts, and you push your luck, retaliating by smacking her ass. She gasps before cutting you a sharp look. Grinding harder against you, her head bends to kiss along your pulse. Her canines sink into the soft skin, a sharp sting following closely before her warm tongue laps along the bruised skin.

“Do that again and I won’t fuck you.”

Your mouth opens a few times, but you weren't sure what to say. You only managed a please, which felt pathetic even to your own ears. The laughing quirk of her lips revealed how little Wanda takes you seriously, and why would she? You were already trembling, unable to form a single thought.

So easy.

Turning your head so she could press her lips against yours, she was licking into your mouth, just separating enough so you didn't suffocate, and even then, it did nothing to help the threads of spit remaining between you both.

But it didn't appear that she was going to stop anytime soon, as her fingers trail up your thigh until she reaches your underwear. Her lips twist into a smile at the feeling of the damp fabric, molding to you. Lithe digits sneak inside, spreading your lips, grazing just under your clit and then down low. “This all for me, baby?”

The feeling so overwhelming, you’re unable to reply. Wanda merely laughs before pressing into you, revelling in how easily you swallowed her fingers, hips moving in time with her. The rooms fills with sounds of breathless moans and her fingers fucking you, her other hand snaked under your top to pinch at your nipples.

“Feels so good.” You manage to stutter out, and bring her down to your lips. Once again, locked in another fervent kiss, moans spilling into her mouth.

A knock on the door jolts you out of your reverie, lips smacking as you pull away, eyes drawn towards the source. Panic surges in your chest as you remember earlier Wanda had invited some of her cast mates to your suite for a games night. Helplessly, you attempt to get your girlfriend to stop, your hand curling around her wrist pumping into you, but she didn’t. Instead, she speeds up, fingers now sliding in at a bruising pace in comparison to her earlier slower one. Your knees were trembling, cunt pulsing around her rigid knuckles, as her thumb circles your clit desperately.

“Gotta be quick, baby,” She huffs, energy depleting with each thrust, whispering terms of endearment as you convulsed, muffling your sounds of pleasure into her neck. Her chest heaves, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her skin as she hovers over you.

You couldn't help the way your body shudders, so sensitive, every nerve ending screaming for her to stop and yet for her to continue. Trembling a little less now, her fingers slip out of you cautiously, soothing along your flushed skin despite being coated in you. She studies the room accessing the damage before turning back towards you, noticing you’re already looking up at her, the buzz of your orgasm fading away slightly.

To be honest, you didn’t want games night to happen.

You wanted to spend the rest of your night wrapped up in your girlfriend’s arms, listening to her steady heartbeat as she held you close. But you knew Wanda was shy, and in this industry, she struggled to make friends. It was a hard world to navigate, full of people who wanted something from her or who couldn’t look past her fame to see the wonderful person she was beneath it all. You didn’t want to get in the way of that, all because you were feeling needy and wanting her sole attention. It was her night. Wanda deserved to have friends, people she could laugh with, people who would remind her that not everyone wanted something from her. So, despite the ache in your chest, you pushed your feelings aside, biting down on your lip, trying to suppress the soft whimper that threatens to escape, but she notices.

She always notices.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, and then your cheek, and then your nose. Her lips were warm, comforting, grounding you back to the present. “You did so well, sweetheart.” She leans down placing one last kiss – this time upon your lips, “You know I love you, right?”

You nod, a shy smile curling at the corner of your mouth. “I love you too.”

“Good,” she hums softly, her voice carrying a note of finality. “Now, come on,” her hand behind your back guiding you to your feet, “help me tidy up?”

You groan playfully, your muscles protesting as you try to follow her lead. You wobble when you stand, a reminder of just how thoroughly she’d loved you, and she chuckles, steadying you with a hand on your waist

“Easy there.” She teases, holding tight to your waist. You feel her breath tickle the top of your head, and then, with a gentleness that contrasts the intensity of earlier, she places a chaste kiss upon your tousled hair, before collecting her jacket and buttoning it up around herself like before.

"Oh, Tony’s gonna have a field day when he sees you," she murmurs, the amusement in her voice impossible to miss. You can almost picture it now—Tony’s raised eyebrows, the sly grin that would stretch across his face when he spots the two of you looking disheveled as ever, and the sex joke already bursting free from his smart ass mouth.

“Whatever, Maximoff.” You push her away and in the direction of the door, “go let them in.”

[allfearstofallto]

PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

[littl3sp4rkly4ngel]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ ── 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭… 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

summary ; abby, her pretty arms and you…

content warning ; fem!reader x abby anderson, SFW part: lots of fluff, petnames, established relationship. NSFW part, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: strap usage (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), pet names, kinda choking, kinda size kink (reader’s size not specified!), strenght kink (?,

author’s note ; totally got inspired by this post from @cssiel, go show some love!! <3

palestine & tlou click to support palestine

𝐒𝐅𝐖

★ we can all agree abby has the juiciest arms… i mean, just look at those pics!!

★ so i really picture her feeling so so confident when your eyes stay fixed on those bulky veiny sexy arms for just a little too long…….

★ she absolutely loves it when you kiss her, but when you kiss her arms??? she feels like she’s about to melt.

★ when the two of you go out, she always makes sure you’re by her side. she either has her arm around your shoulders or your arms are intertwined.

★ whenever your arms are hooked with hers you feel like she’s about to crush your hand if she clenches her bycep… and you both love it!!!

★ your favourite activities with her arms include tying bows, doodling on them or trying to kiss all her freckles!!

★ “what are you doing, pretty girl?” abby laughed when she saw you cutting a piece of pink ribbon. “i want to try something, pleeease…” you beg clasping your hands together.

★ when you finished tying the bow she just giggled and patted your head, “you’re adorable.” she muttered, playing it cool (she was internally screaming how much she loved you).

★ the doodling became a thing when you two were hanging out in your room, abby was reading a book and you were sketching some stuff. your girlfriend started missing your touch (even tho you were lying by her side), so she threw her arm over your shoulders and kissed the side of your head.

★ that’s when you looked down at her arm and an amazing idea came to you, “stay still, abs!” you grinned as you grabbed your pen and started drawing little hearts and starts on her forearm.

★ since that day, whenever you’re bored you draw some doodles on abby’s arms and she ADORES IT.

★ and well, another thing abby loves is when you bite her arm… she thinks it’s so cute and reminds her of an animal marking their territory!!

★ so yeah…. abby’s arms !!!! ♡

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 (+𝟏𝟖)

★ she loves wrapping her arm around your neck as she hits it from the back with her strap. had to say it.

★ tbh, we all know she’s a big teddy bear, but i truly believe that changes when she remembers that she could easily crush you…. her pussy gets so wet thinking about it…

★ when you guys need to be quiet, she tells you to bite her arms so you can keep your noises down and she lives for it. “you need to keep your voice down, baby…” she starts, “open your mouth, pretty girl, and bite down.” as she puts her forearm in front of your mouth.

★ let’s not forget about the way she separates your legs with her big hands and how she holds them still with her arms when she eats you out like a starved woman…

★ “stop trying to close your legs, baby, you already know it’s not happening.” she mutters while kissing your thighs.

★ abby loves to finger you while she spoons you and wraps her arms around your waist, she feels so good being so close to you, the intimacy makes her heart beat faster and her fingers go deeper…

★ ugh… i need her so bad…

[writingoddess1125]

Morticia and Gomez Effect

Mihawk X FemReader

Since Mihawk is based off of Dracula (Duh) and his whole goth dilf attitude it would make sense he's Romanian 🇷🇴

Also I drank some wine 🍷 before this so enjoy!!

>>> Part 2

• Giving Mihawk's personality I don't think he is the type that finds his opposite attractive. No this man likes those dark mysterious women-

• Def has a More Gothic wife.

• Mihawk is not one to openly talk about his fine but doesn't hide it either. If someone points out the gold ring hanging by his cross he will say it's his wedding band-

• However when his wife is around, he is quite flirty. A smirk on his lips as he will wrap his hand around your waist, lay kisses on your hand or pepper a kiss to the side of your neck. Uncaring if the world sees

• You also can defend yourself perfectly fine so he doesn't have to worry too much about you getting attacked- Truthfully he would pity someone so foolish to do so. Cause if you didn't kill them he would.

• But what was most known was- Mihawk was so whipped for you. Figuratively and Literally-

• The way you were formally introduced to the whole entirety of the Strawhat pirates was a necessary evil.

• "Zoro we need this- It says a red ruby is needed in order for this and we have non thays big enough!" Nami yelled pointing to the treasure map, Zoro sighed. He had accidently admitted he knew someone with a ruby big enough-

• After enough pestering he agreed and they set sail to Kuraigana Island

• It didn't take long to arrive at the gloomy island, A quick journey to the large castle and the spare key hidden under the mat lead the group inside.

• It looked like a cleaned haunted house- Which frightened the group more till the sound of your voice shook them from their thoughts

• "Is someone here?" You call from the large lounging area. Drawing them all in to the well lit room with a crackling fireplace.

• Sanji covered his nose quickly to stop a nosebleed as he stared at you, So elegantly seated with a cup of tea and a amused look on your face at seeing such a young group or pirates breaking into your home.

• Before Sanji could say a word Zoro slammed his hand over the blondes mouth quickly.

• "Madam Dracule" He said formally and bowed respectfully

• His whole crew stiffening at hearing the formal use of your name.

• DRACULE MIHAWKS WIFE!?

• Sipping your tea you raised a brow at Zoro as he bowed deeply to you. You knew he respected you just as much as Mihawk- the wife of his teacher as well as one of his teachers as well since you did assist in training.

• "Zoro, My dear child what brings you and your friends here?" You ask calmly, setting your tea aside as you felt the shift of the room.. they were nervous.

• "We came here to ask you-" The sound of the door slamming open shook them as they heard heavy footsteps walk to them. Revealing the man of the home, Mihawk. Wet from rain and pulling his hat from his head with a stoic frown

• "Dragă (Darling), What is this?" Mihawk questioned as he returned to his island home to see a familiar pirate ship docked and his Pupil on their knees before his wife. Paired with the group of familiar pirated standing in his livingroom.

• "I am not sure yet love, We were just about to discuss it" You say softly, standing up to gelp him take off his sword and coat. Already feeling his eyes following you as you did this-

• Both of you knowing it was an excuse to touch him.

• "We wished to temporarily barrow your ruby necklace Madame." Zoro said still bowing formally

• Mihawk's eyebrow twitching at hearing this-

• "You wish for my wife to give you her necklace?" He said as his eyes narrowed down at them.

• "J-Just for a little bit Sir!" Nami said, feeling anxiety wash through her system.

• "My Love" You cooed, reaching a hand over and touching the side of his face. Immediately it was like dealing with a feline, Leaning into your touch as he gave you a warning glare.

• "Barrowing a necklace is so minor compared to us at that age. Remember Cohi Island?" You purred, Mihawk giving a subtle growl in the back of his throat. "Ah Cohi Island, How can I forget?" He all but purred out.

• The two of you reminiscing as Mihawk began to place kisses up your arms as you pulled him close and whispered sweet sensual words and memories to him.

• "A little necklace won't be much trouble, Especially since it will be returned~" You whispered in his ear

• The poor strawhats subjected to the very outward affection of the Warlord. It was quite a unpleasant experience for them all-

• Mihawk unclasping the necklace with his teeth before tossing it at Zoro who quickly caught it. The Warlord glaring at his Pupil lazily

• "It will be returned' He said stoically, before returning to his task at hand.

• You wave them off, Smiling softly as Mihawk leaned into your neck to lay kisses and love bites.

• Zoro bowing again quickly as he held the necklace and the youthful pirates quickly filed out of the castle as fast as possible. Zoro still clutching the gemstone

• "Holy fuck! She literally got Hawkeye of all people to give you the necklace!" Usopp said in shock as Zoro nodded. Nami's eyeing that diamond necklace

• "Yes but it must be returned-" He stressed. Not being stupid enough to let anyone steal from his mentor or his wife-

• The group nodded and looked out at the raging storm that beat against them.

• "Well it's raining maybe we can ask for a room-" Usopp started but Zoro quickly shook his head, His face pale and eyes like he was living through War Flashbacks.

• "No- The unholy noises that are about to invade that castle no one will sleep" He said in a deadpan voice- and from the look in his eyes everyone believed him.

• That was a couple too in love

[cameronspecial]

My Particular Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N needs things to be done a certain way and Rafe understands that.

Masterlist

Y/N likes things done in a particular. It’s the way her brain works. People often look at her and call her childish for the things she does to cater to these needs. Because of those people, she started to believe that she had no chance of finding love. Who would want to date someone who was so picky with the things are? Then Rafe came along to show her she doesn’t need to change; instead, it is the partner who should try to be open-minded and help her out. And Rafe really does try to do everything he can to help Y/N out. 

———

Y/N sits with her little cousins in the living room, listening to them recount the story behind the drawings they are currently working on. She doesn’t know where Rafe went off too, but if she knows anything about him, he is probably off trying to win brownie points with her relatives. “And this is going to be us when you and Rafe take us to the beach,” Sophie recounts, holding up the picture. Y/N’s mouth drops open, “Wow, that looks amazing.” “We look like we are having so much fun,” Rafe adds, kissing Y/N’s temple from behind the couch. She stretches her head back to see Rafe. He is holding two plates in his hands and he rounds the couch to sit beside his girlfriend. He holds out a plate for her. She notices that her plate is different from his. It is one of the special sectioned plates from their home. He catches her examining eyes and worries he got something wrong. “Did I do something wrong? Each component is in its place. I separated the mashed potatoes, the steak and the vegetables,” he starts to tangent. “Should I have separated the mixed veggies too? I knew I should’ve separated them. I know you like to be able to identify the different textures easily.” 

Her hands stop him from rising to fix what he thinks is a mistake. “No, it’s okay. You got everything right. I was just surprised you brought one of my plates. Thank you,” she reassures him, giving him a kiss. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts eating, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got it right.” 

———

They knock on the door but don’t wait for it to be opened by someone inside before entering the unlocked house. “Yo, Top. We’re here,” Rafe announces with a booming voice. It’s just a little get-together so the couple takes their shoes off. Right as they are about to step deeper into the house, Y/N sees the carpeted floor of the house. She can already feel the uncomfortableness of the rug tickling the bottom of her feet and she flinches at the thought. Rafe gently holds her back by her shoulder, “Wait here, I have to get something from the car.” She waits for him at the entrance, preparing herself to walk barefoot on the rug. He jogs back inside and places something on the ground. Her eyes dart down to see slippers. “Where did you get these?” she questions while putting them on. He kisses her on the cheek, “I bought new slippers to keep in the back of my trunk for this exact reason.” Warmth fills Y/N and she wraps her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

———

Y/N rests on the couch and watches as Rafe folds the laundry. Each article of clothing is folded exactly how she likes it with crisp edges. While she appreciates how attentive he is, worry starts to creep inside of her. What if he starts to realize that all the things he does to keep things to her taste are a waste of time? What if he starts to think she is too high-maintenance? He can see the gears turning in her head. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” he asks, leaning over to kiss her. She bows her head, “What if you break up with me because you get tired of having to do things a certain way for me like I am a child?” Rafe places what he is folding down and moves to the same couch as her. He brings her into a hug, attacking her face with kisses. “That would never happen because I love taking care of you. You are my particular girl and I would not trade you for anything in the world,” he promises. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @starkowswife @drewsmusee @maybankslover

[wandasslut3000]

Welcome home

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, fluff, mommy!kink, semi-clothed sex, pet names, sub!reader, praise, hair tugging, scissoring, cunnilingus, fingering, marking, teasing, choking, long distance relationship?

WC: 2.4k

                 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Lizzie was coming back home today. She'd been out of state for the past few weeks for her new movie, and although you couldn't be more proud of her, you’d missed your girlfriend painfully.

She'd FaceTime you every night before bed and wake you up with a good morning text.

Sometimes she'll call just to ask how you've been or if you'd eaten yet, always making you smile for how much she cares.

Lizzard🦎💚: Good morning princess, I'm boarding my plane. I can't wait to see you <3

Y/n: Yayy I'm so happy! Text me when you land baby, have a safe flight!

You bring your phone up to your chest, a wave of excitement flowing through you. You head into the kitchen and decide to make yourself breakfast, a simple eggs and toast.

Tapping your feet on the tile floor, you munch happily on your food, humming your own tune and thinking about all the things you'd do once you're back in Lizzie's arms.

Your mind starts to drift off into more explicit train of thought, imagining how her slender fingers would feel around your throat, how sweet she'd taste on your tongue, how fast she'd make you cum after so much time apart.

You blink rapidly, trying to ignore the growing wetness between your legs and regain your focus back to your eggs. You finish them in record speed, popping hints of toast into your mouth with each bite.

Once you finish, you wash your dishes. You then leave the kitchen and grab your keys, making your way outside and down the stairs of your complex. You get inside your car, start it and back out of the parking lot.

You drive yourself over to the nearest flower shop, parking your car in front of it and stepping out.

Heading inside the store, your nostrils are instantly flooded with the smell of all the surrounding plants.

You go straight for the roses, Lizzie's favorite, also making sure to grab some gardenias, mixing them in with the bouquet to help it pop.

You ask the florist to have a custom tag written on the side of the bouquet, a smile on your face as you wait patiently for him to make it and ring you up. 

Once you pay, you drive over to your local grocery store, grabbing a shopping cart and pushing it to the candy section. You grab a large chocolate bunny, and the cliche heart shaped box and put it inside.

You notice a wooden basket in the aisle across from you, grabbing it, you continue shopping till you're left with a stuffed teddy bear, a card, a fluffy blanket with little dogs on it and the chocolates from before.

You check out and drive back home, starting to set up your gift basket. You put the everything inside and start writing in the card you bought.

I'm so proud of you for being the big beautiful star I knew you'd always shine to be. I love you Lizzie.

You sign it, drawing a little heart next to your name, putting it in with everything else.

You grab your flowers, "Welcome home" written on the ribbon wrapping it, and place them next to basket on the table for the moment.

Your next task is getting yourself ready. You rush into your bathroom, stripping yourself of your clothes and going to take a shower.

As you make quick work to shave and keep yourself clean for her, the thoughts from earlier start coming back, a blush tainting your cheeks as you feel your core tingle.

Still, you regain your composure, finishing your shower and drying yourself off. You take a quick glance at your phone, knowing the flight from New York to L.A is only a few hours, and you'd already spent a good chunk of them shopping.

You find yourself a pair of white underwear with a tiny pink bow on it and decide to not to wear a bra, knowing that if anything were to happen, she wouldn't want to waste time on the pesky garment.

You throw on her burgundy NYU sweatshirt, and grey sweatpants, smiling when you realize her shirt still smells like her.

Sitting at your vanity you start to do your makeup, nothing too much, just a natural look.

You couldn't look a mess for the love of your life now could you?

Just as you finish up, you get a text from Lizzie telling you she'd landed and was in an Uber on the way home.

Your heart flutters, that rush of excitement returning to you as you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You sit on the couch, facing the door, the flowers in your hand as you wait for her like an obedient puppy, clutching your phone as you fight the urge to call her and ask how much longer she'd take.

As if right on cue, you hear the front door handle jiggle, Lizzie stepping inside with her luggage, your first instinct is to run up and practically pounce onto her.

"Baby!" You squeal.

She gasps, letting go of her bag and catching you as you wrap your arms around her, the flowers almost falling out of your grasp. She presses a kiss to your cheek, making you blush before you turn to kiss her.

"Well hello to you too." She grins, pecking your lips a few times, closing the door behind you two with her foot and setting you down, noticing the gifts you'd gotten her.

You hand her the bouquet and her smile widens. "Is this for me?" You nod, suddenly feeling shy as you notice the adoration in her eyes. "Got you presents."

Lizzie sniffs the flowers and her smile widens, she steps further inside your shared apartment, she makes her way up to the coffee table, her mouth opening slightly as she notices all the things you put together for her.

"You're so good to me." She turns to you, tears welling up in her eyes as she pulls you into a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

"You work so hard Liz, you deserve it." Gently, she backs away, turning to examine your gift basket.

The first thing she picks up is your card, opening it and a pout forming on her face. You look down at your feet bashfully, waiting for her to see the rest of her treats.

Slowly, she takes each out one by one, the chocolates, the bear and the blanket. She bites her lip in thought. You look up, "I would've gotten more but.. I didn't know if I had enough time."

She shakes her head, turning to you with her arms wide. She pulls you into her and picks you up again, your legs wrapping around your torso as your arms wrap around her neck, foreheads pressed against one another.

"This is more than enough babygirl, you make me feel so special. I only wish I'd gotten you something."

You shake your head, "You being here is a gift in itself, I'm so happy you're home." You kiss her again, leaving little pecks all over her face, making her giggle.

Lizzie walks the two of you over to your shared bedroom, laying down in bed together with your arms still securely around each other, you straddling her lap.

You start to press kisses onto her neck, sucking at the skin at the column of her throat, little marks forming in their wake.

Lizzie groans, pushing your head closer as she feels your hands slip under her shirt, your cold hands on her hot skin making her shiver.

"I missed you so much." You murmur against her, "Wanted to feel you everyday."

Lizzie backs away for a second to unbutton her blouse, revealing a gray laced bra. You moan at the sight, looking up at her for approval before you reached behind her to unclip it, discarding the fabrics.

You leave your marks on the tops of her breasts, moving downwards and circling your tongue around her areola, Lizzie throbbing at the feeling.

Just as you switch to the other breast, you're flipped onto your back, pinned underneath her as she kisses you, tongue swiping your lip, asking for entrance.

You grant it to her, whimpering into her mouth as she takes over. Your hands go to her hair, tugging the silky brown locks as you wrap your legs around her to keep her close.

She breaks the kiss, slipping off her pants and panties, leaving her bare in front of you. She shifts down between your legs, spreading them and rubbing up and down your thighs.

"So pretty like this, in my shirt all precious, my gorgeous girl." You blush at her praise.

"Lizzie please-"

"That's not my name is it now?" She mockingly pouts at you, tilting her head

"I'm sorry.. mommy."

"Much better." You're practically plead for her to give you anything, begging her and trying to reason that it's been too long without her, you'd missed her touch, her hands on you.

You needed her.

Lizzie finally gives in, bunching the sweater up and pushing it past your breasts, revealing them to her. You try to pull it off but she grabs your hand.

"Don't. Keep it on." You obey and lay back onto the pillows.

She takes a nipple into her mouth, the other getting twisted by her slim fingers. Your body quivers, little moans escaping you at the feeling of her toying with your chest.

Still, you craved more. "Mommy touch me... please I need it so bad."

She chuckles "Am I not touching you right now darling?" She pinches your nipple, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Yes.. j- just need you down there." You tilt your head downward trying to gesture what you wanted.

"Down where princess? C'mon you can tell mommy, use your words." Your face flushes red in embarrassment, taking her hand and bringing it between your legs.

"Need mommy to play with my.. my big girl parts." She lets out a faux gasp, almost taunting you, tugging at the hem of your sweatpants and pulling them down.

She notices your underwear and bites her lip, fiddling with the little bow. "Such a pretty princess." You whine, bucking your hips up towards her as your wetness made the fabric almost transparent.

Lizzie rubs your slit through your panties, teasing you with two fingers and watching as you writhe underneath her, a dark smile drawing itself onto her face at your whimpers.

"P-please don't tease, I need you."

She pushes your panties to the side admiring your glistening cunt. Finally she makes contact with you, making you throw your head back, moaning at the feeling of her fingers on you.

"F-fuck." You groan when she dips two fingers into your entrance, not even giving you a moment to adjust as she pumps them into you.

"God I love this tight little pussy, no matter how many times I fuck it, it still grips mommy so good." You whimper, your hand reaching down to grab onto her forearm as she keeps a steady pace.

"Unh- mommy.. please don't stop." She smirks before bringing her head down, taking your clit into her mouth. "Oh my god."

Her tongue swirls around your bundle of nerves, your hand moving to grip onto her hair as she takes you. Your hips grind against her tongue while your legs tremble, the feeling of your climax approaching quickly.

"Fuck m’gonna cum, gonna cum on mommy's pretty face." Lizzie takes this moment to nibble on your throbbing pearl, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as you let out a guttural moan.

You feel the waves of your orgasm rush through you, your walls clenching around Lizzie's fingers as you slowing come down from your high.

You feel her press her lips to your pussy before trailing back upwards. Leaving quick kisses up your stomach and chest.

She pulls her fingers out of you, bringing them to your lips and watching as you suck the digits clean. Moaning at the taste of yourself.

Her free hand reaches down to wrap itself around your throat, gently squeezing the sides of your neck. Her tongue melds with yours when she kisses you.

Lizzie positions her wet heat onto yours, grinding against yours, making your nails dig into her forearm as you convulse in pleasure.

"M-mommy.. s-still sensitive..." She shushes you, licking a stripe from the column of your neck to your earlobe before taking it into your teeth.

"Take what I give you princess, good girls let their mommies handle them as they please."

You whine, your folds fluttering as you feel yourself getting closer. Lizzie's sloppy wetness brushing against yours in the best way, making you see stars.

"Mmph- ah.. fuck mommy!" You cum, your body trembling. She follows soon after, both of your breathing heavy and ragged as you come back down to earth.

"I love watching you fall apart." She cups your cheek making your heart flutter at her endearment.

"Mommy?" She looks down at you adoringly, raising her brow. "What is it baby?"

"Can I.. Can I taste you?" Her smile returns, nodding her head. She positions herself above you, your mouth watering when you notice the build up of her arousal between her lower lips.

You grab onto her thighs, pulling her down as Lizzie grabs onto the headboard. You start to lap at her cunt, her eyes rolling into her head as she praises you.

One of her hands reaches down and tugs on your hair, pulling you closer to her as feel yourself get drunk off her juices.

"Oh there you go angel, so fucking good." That last bit comes off in a growl, her body rocking against your face as she feels her climax wash through her, a blissed out grin on her face.

Lizzie drops back into bed, kissing your puffy lips, the both of you moaning into eachother's mouths.

She finally takes this time to take off the sweater, pulling your now naked body into her arms and cuddling you.

She traces invisible lines onto your back and the two of you sigh happily at the skin to skin contact. She presses a kiss to your forehead as you slowly start to feel yourself drift off into sleep.

Your eyes start to shut as you lose yourself in the safety of her arms. "I love you." Is the last thing you hear her whisper before you fall in a deep sleep.

[millyh23]

Seams of Ambition

Word count: 11.7k

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

Katie McCabe’s birthday had arrived, and the Arsenal locker room was buzzing with excitement. The air was filled with the anticipation of celebrating the team’s most fiery and fun-loving player. Everyone had prepared thoughtful gifts—trinkets and items they knew Katie would appreciate. Y/N, the newest and youngest transfer, sat quietly in her corner, feeling a little out of place. She hadn’t been at the club long enough to know exactly what Katie liked outside of football, and she’d been struggling for days to figure out the perfect gift.

Being a naturally quiet and private person, Y/N hadn’t shared much about herself with the team. Sure, she was talented on the pitch and had impressed during training, but outside of football, she was a mystery. Little did they know, Y/N had a secret that no one at Arsenal had uncovered yet.

After practice, everyone gathered in the lounge area, where a small celebration was set up for Katie’s birthday. There was cake, drinks, and laughter echoing through the room. Katie sat in the middle, grinning from ear to ear as she opened gifts from her teammates, each one bringing more joy than the last.

When it was finally Y/N’s turn, she nervously handed Katie a sleek black gift box wrapped with a minimalist bow. She hadn’t overthought it, but the pressure of being new made her wonder if she should’ve gone with something more personal.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Katie said with her usual warm smile, clearly trying to make her feel welcome. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Y/N simply nodded, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than necessary.

Katie untied the ribbon and flipped open the box, her eyes widening as she pulled out an oversized black hoodie with striking white embroidery on the front. It was a design unlike anything she’d ever seen before—cool, edgy, and impeccably detailed.

“Holy sh—this is incredible,” Katie gasped, holding the hoodie up to get a better look. “This is from Immortal!”

The entire room suddenly fell silent. Everyone stared at the piece of clothing in Katie’s hands, their jaws dropping. Immortal was one of the hottest streetwear brands in the world, known for its limited releases and jaw-dropping prices. A single hoodie from them could easily set someone back several thousand pounds.

“Wait, you got her Immortal?” Leah Williamson asked, blinking in disbelief. “How on earth did you manage that?”

Y/N shrugged casually, a small smirk playing on her lips. “I didn’t really know what to get, so I just gave her one of my pieces.”

“One of your pieces?” Vivianne Miedema echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Y/N glanced around at her teammates, realizing they still didn’t get it. “Yeah… It’s my brand.”

The silence that followed was almost comical. Everyone stared at her, eyes wide as they processed what she’d just said.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Beth Mead burst out laughing, unable to believe it. “You’re telling me you own Immortal? The brand that celebrities can’t even get their hands on?”

Y/N nodded, completely unfazed by their shock. “Yeah. I started it when I was 16. It just kinda blew up from there.”

The room erupted in disbelief, with everyone talking over each other in excitement. Leah and Viv looked at each other, trying to wrap their heads around the fact that their new teammate was not only a football prodigy but also the brains behind one of the most exclusive fashion labels in the world.

“No way,” Katie said, standing up to properly admire the hoodie. “This is insane, Y/N. How did you even manage to keep this a secret?”

Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “I don’t really talk about it much. It’s just something I do on the side.”

“On the side?!” Alessia Russo exclaimed. “This is huge! Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Y/N shrugged again. “Didn’t think it was important. We’re all here to play football, right?”

The team stared at her like she had two heads, but in true Arsenal fashion, the surprise quickly turned into admiration. They bombarded her with questions, demanding to know how she managed to juggle running a global brand while playing professional football.

“Wait, so when’s the next drop?” Katie asked, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve gotta get in on this before it sells out.”

Y/N grinned. “I’ll hook you up. Don’t worry.”

“Well, I feel like my gift’s completely outclassed now,” Leah joked, shaking her head. “Who knew we had a secret fashion mogul in our squad?”

As the laughter continued, Y/N couldn’t help but feel more at ease. It had been a risky move, revealing her secret, but seeing the team’s positive reaction made her feel like she’d finally found her place among them.

“Alright, alright, no more questions about my brand,” Y/N said, standing up. “This is Katie’s day. Let’s focus on celebrating her.”

Katie slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “Nah, this is your day too, mate. You just became the coolest person in this room.”

Y/N chuckled, her usual reserved nature melting away under the warmth of her new teammates’ acceptance. “Thanks, Katie. Happy birthday.”

And as the celebration continued, with everyone gushing over the hoodie and planning to beg Y/N for more gear, she couldn’t help but smile. Being at Arsenal was already feeling like home—and now, she wasn’t just the new transfer. She was Y/N, the player who had taken the football world and the fashion world by storm.

As the laughter and birthday festivities continued, Y/N found herself enjoying the team’s company more than ever. She hadn’t planned on revealing her secret, but now that it was out, the weight of keeping it hidden was lifted. Plus, seeing how excited the team was about her brand made her feel more connected with them.

As the chatter continued, a thought struck her, and she leaned back on the couch, watching the girls animatedly talk about Immortal.

“You know…” Y/N began, her voice casual but catching the attention of a few of her teammates. “I’ve been planning an ad campaign for the next drop.”

The room quieted down slightly as the girls turned to look at her with interest. Leah raised an eyebrow, catching on to where this was going. “Oh yeah?”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Yeah. I was thinking it could be cool to have a few footballers involved—people who actually know how to move in the clothes, not just stand around looking pretty.”

Katie perked up immediately, a grin spreading across her face. “You saying we’re not pretty, Y/N?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Nah, Katie, you’re gorgeous, don’t worry. But I mean—imagine some of you modeling the new collection, showing off how it looks in action. You know, like moving around, doing some tricks, making it feel real.”

Leah crossed her arms, already intrigued. “You want us to model for you?”

“Yeah, why not?” Y/N shrugged like it was no big deal, but her excitement was obvious. “You’re all familiar with the brand now. And I’ve seen how some of you dress outside of training. You’d fit right in with the vibe I’m going for.”

The room erupted again with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“You’re serious?” Katie asked, her eyes practically sparkling at the idea. “You want us to be in an ad for Immortal? That’s massive!”

Y/N nodded. “Dead serious. I’ve been looking for people who’d bring the energy I want, and who better than you lot?”

Leah, who always had an eye for fashion herself, looked intrigued. “What would it involve?”

“Just a photoshoot and a short video campaign,” Y/N explained. “Something to show how the clothes hold up under movement, some lifestyle shots too. We’d keep it casual, nothing over the top. You’d just be doing what you do best—being yourselves.”

Katie, still holding her new hoodie, grinned like a kid at Christmas. “Alright, I’m in. I want first dibs on the new gear, though.”

Beth laughed from the other side of the room. “You better give us all free clothes after this, Y/N!”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N replied, chuckling. “You’ll all get your pick.”

Leah leaned forward, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “Count me in too. This sounds epic.”

Beth, Viv, and Alessia quickly chimed in with their agreement, clearly excited at the prospect of modeling for Y/N’s brand. The idea of blending their love for football with street fashion was something none of them had expected but now couldn’t wait to be a part of.

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of pride and belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Alright, then. Let’s do it.”

Katie clapped her hands together, grinning widely. “I’m already thinking about my poses.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile. “Just make sure you look good in the clothes and don’t steal the spotlight.”

“Oh please, Y/N, you know I was born for the spotlight,” Katie teased, tossing the hoodie over her shoulder with dramatic flair.

The rest of the team laughed, and Y/N felt the warmth of camaraderie wash over her. It was no longer just about fitting in at Arsenal—she was building real friendships, and now, they were about to share another part of her life.

A few days later, Y/N arranged for the photoshoot at a sleek warehouse-style studio in London. The setting was perfect—industrial, modern, and in line with the edgy aesthetic of Immortal. The girls arrived excited, dressed in their fresh new pieces from Y/N’s upcoming collection. Oversized hoodies, cropped jackets, joggers, and bold accessories—they looked every bit the part of a streetwear campaign.

Y/N watched as her teammates took to the camera like pros. Leah was effortlessly cool, flashing her trademark smirk, while Katie went full energy mode, making the photographer laugh with her playful poses. Viv and Alessia leaned into the more laid-back vibe, while Beth threw in a few trick shots with a football to show off the functionality of the clothes.

“This is insane,” Leah said during a break, grinning at Y/N. “I feel like a proper model.”

“You look like one too,” Y/N teased, nudging her. “You lot are killing it.”

Katie swaggered over, spinning a football on her finger. “When this ad drops, we’re going to break the internet. Arsenal, fashion, and football—what more could people want?”

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling with pride. “You’re right. This is going to be huge.”

As the shoot wrapped up, and the girls exchanged jokes and compliments, Y/N realized how much things had changed since her arrival. She had come to Arsenal as just a new player, a young transfer, but now she was a part of something bigger. Her brand, her football career, and her friendships were all coming together in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

“Alright,” Y/N said as the girls gathered their things, still buzzing from the shoot. “Next time you see yourselves on a billboard wearing Immortal, just remember—it’s all because of me.”

Katie laughed, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “You might’ve started this, Y/N, but we’re definitely the ones who are going to sell it.”

Y/N grinned. “Fair enough. Just don’t forget where the free clothes come from.”

The team laughed, and as they headed out of the studio, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Arsenal wasn’t just her team anymore—it was her family. And now, they were part of her brand’s story too.

As the team left the studio, buzzing with excitement from the shoot, Y/N couldn't help but feel a rush of contentment. The photoshoot had gone better than she’d imagined, and seeing her teammates so effortlessly embody the essence of her brand filled her with pride. They had no idea how much their support meant to her, and now, she was even more excited for the future of Immortal.

A few days passed, and the buzz around the shoot continued to grow among the team. Katie, of course, couldn’t stop bragging about the fact that she was now not just a footballer but a “fashion icon” too, as she dramatically put it. She had practically worn the Immortal hoodie everywhere since the shoot.

During a team breakfast one morning, as the girls sat around the cafeteria table, Leah was scrolling through her phone and grinning at something.

“Oi, Y/N,” Leah called, catching Y/N’s attention as she bit into a piece of toast. “Did you see this yet?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

Leah held up her phone, revealing an early sneak peek of the campaign images that had been sent out to the Immortal email subscribers. Katie, Leah, Viv, Beth, and Alessia were all featured in different shots, looking effortlessly cool in Y/N’s designs.

“You look badass,” Leah said with a grin, pointing at her own image. “Look at me. I’m a model now.”

The girls leaned over to see the images, gathering around Leah’s phone with excited murmurs.

“Wait, is this live already?” Katie asked, her eyes wide. “I thought we’d have more time before this hit the internet!”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nah, those are just preview shots. The real launch is next week. But I had to give the subscribers something to hype them up.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” Alessia said, still staring at the photos. “We look incredible. You’re about to break the fashion world, Y/N.”

Beth chimed in, smirking. “And the football world too, when they realize we’re basically models now.”

The team erupted in laughter, and Katie playfully tossed her napkin at Beth. “As long as I’m the face of the brand, we’re good.”

“Oh, is that right?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’ve already taken over enough with that hoodie, Katie.”

Katie gave her a cheeky grin, tugging at the hoodie she still hadn’t taken off. “What can I say? It’s comfy.”

“Comfy and expensive,” Viv added with a smirk. “Y/N, you’re going to ruin us all with how much we’re going to want from your next collection.”

Y/N laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you all hooked up.”

The conversation flowed easily, with the girls still buzzing about the campaign and their newfound status as fashion models. It wasn’t long before Jonas Eidevall, Arsenal’s manager, strolled into the cafeteria. His usual no-nonsense expression softened when he saw the team gathered together, laughing and chatting.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, grabbing a cup of coffee.

“Morning, coach,” they all chorused, but Katie wasn’t about to miss her chance to share the news.

“Coach, you have to check this out,” she said, turning her phone screen toward Jonas, showing him the preview images from the shoot. “We’re officially fashion models now.”

Jonas gave them an amused look, sipping his coffee. “Fashion models, huh? Is this why I keep seeing those hoodies around? You’re all part of Y/N’s brand now?”

Y/N tried to downplay it, shrugging with a small smile. “It was just a fun campaign.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “I didn’t realize we had a fashion mogul in our ranks. Should I be worried that you’ll all switch careers?”

The team laughed, and Y/N shook her head. “Don’t worry, coach. Football comes first.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jonas said with a chuckle. “But I’ll say, it’s impressive what you’ve done with the brand, Y/N. It takes a lot of work to balance something like that with a professional football career.”

Y/N felt a wave of pride wash over her at the compliment. It wasn’t every day that she received recognition for her work outside of football, and hearing it from her manager made it all the more meaningful.

“Thanks, coach,” she replied, feeling her teammates' supportive gazes on her.

As Jonas walked away to take his coffee elsewhere, Katie turned to Y/N with a proud smile. “Look at you, getting compliments from the boss. You’re killing it, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, trying to brush off the attention. “It’s just a side thing.”

“Oh, please,” Leah teased, “stop being so humble. This is massive, and you know it.”

The girls continued their conversation, hyping up Y/N more than she could handle, when suddenly a notification buzzed on her phone. She glanced down and her eyes widened slightly.

“The preview just went live,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my god!” Beth practically squealed. “Everyone’s gonna see this now.”

Seconds later, a flood of comments and messages started coming in from her brand’s social media. Fans were going wild, especially since Immortal had teased the involvement of Arsenal players in the campaign. Photos of Katie, Leah, and the others were already making rounds online, and the excitement was palpable.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold as her teammates excitedly checked their phones, reacting to the flood of comments. She couldn’t help but smile at the whirlwind of excitement around her. This campaign was going to be bigger than she’d anticipated, and she was glad she had her teammates by her side for the ride.

Katie, of course, was the loudest, shouting to anyone who would listen. “I’m famous! Look at me, Arsenal’s number one model!”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, leaning over to Katie. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Katie slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into a side hug. “And you love it. Admit it, Y/N, this campaign wouldn’t be half as cool without me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late for that!” Katie shouted, making the whole team laugh again.

As the team celebrated their newfound fame in the fashion world, Y/N realized just how far she’d come in such a short time. Not only had she found her place at Arsenal, but she had also shared a part of herself with her new teammates—a part that she hadn’t even been sure they’d care about. And now, they were fully on board, embracing her passion with the same energy they brought to the pitch every day.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she wasn’t just the new girl anymore. She was truly part of the Arsenal family.

The next morning, Y/N walked into the Arsenal training center with her usual laid-back swagger. She was already feeling the weight of her phone vibrating in her pocket, notifications flooding in from her brand’s social media. It was a lot to take in, but she was buzzing with excitement. The campaign had taken off like wildfire, and she couldn’t have asked for a better response from fans or her teammates.

As she strolled into the cafeteria, she found most of the team gathered around the breakfast table, laughing and chatting. Katie was, as usual, at the center of it all, gesticulating wildly as she told some story Y/N didn’t catch the beginning of. Alessia and Leah were both giggling beside her, while Beth and Viv watched with amused smiles.

“Y/N! The star of the show!” Leah called out when she saw her, waving her over to their table.

“Oi, come sit,” Katie added, patting the empty chair beside her. “You missed the best part of my story.”

Y/N smirked and slid into the seat, playfully bumping her shoulder against Katie’s. “I’m sure it was riveting.”

Katie rolled her eyes but grinned. “You’re lucky you missed it; I’ll save the details for later.”

As Y/N grabbed some breakfast, she casually brought up something she had been mulling over all night. “So, I was thinking about the next step for Immortal.”

The table went quiet with interest, and everyone’s eyes were on her.

“I want to drop an exclusive line in collaboration with one of you,” Y/N said, nonchalantly sipping her coffee. “Something custom, something that really fits your vibe.”

Instantly, the table erupted into chaos.

Leah, Alessia, Beth, and Katie all started talking over each other, vying for Y/N’s attention.

“Obviously, it should be me,” Leah said, leaning forward, her tone teasing but with a competitive edge. “I’ve got the perfect aesthetic. Sporty and clean, you know? It’s what your brand needs.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Katie interrupted, her voice loud and confident as usual. “You’ve got to do it with me. Think about it—bold, unapologetic, fearless. I’m literally the face of this brand already.”

Beth chimed in, her smile mischievous. “I’d bring a bit of chill energy, you know? Something for the laid-back fans, the ones who want comfort without compromising style.”

“And I’m telling you,” Alessia cut in, pointing to herself, “a collaboration with me would be killer. I’ve got that girl-next-door thing going on. People would eat it up.”

Y/N watched the chaos unfold, trying to stifle her laughter as her teammates pitched themselves one after the other. They were all so animated, throwing out ideas and trying to convince her why they’d be the perfect collaborator.

Katie, of course, was the loudest, almost standing up in her seat as she went on about how much influence she’d bring to the brand. “Come on, Y/N, you know I’m the obvious choice. Imagine it—McCabe x Immortal. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Y/N chuckled, looking around at the group. “You guys are really making this hard.”

Before she could say anything else, Kyra wandered into the cafeteria, grabbing a banana from the counter. She hadn’t been part of the pitch battle yet and seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Leah leaned over toward Y/N, lowering her voice with a smirk. “You know if you pick Katie, we’ll never hear the end of it, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly, knowing Leah was probably right. But as she watched Kyra casually walking past the table, her mind sparked with an idea.

“Hey, Kyra,” Y/N called out, causing her to stop mid-step.

Kyra raised an eyebrow, looking a little confused but amused. “Yeah?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, a smirk tugging at her lips. “How do you feel about doing a custom line with Immortal?”

The room went dead silent. All eyes snapped to Kyra, whose expression morphed from confusion to surprise in an instant.

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself. “You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got a unique style. I think we could come up with something sick together. What do you think?”

Kyra blinked a few times, then broke into a grin. “Hell yeah! I’d love to!”

The rest of the table stared in stunned silence, and the moment the reality sank in, Katie’s jaw dropped.

“What?” Katie spluttered, glaring at Y/N like she’d been betrayed. “You picked Kyra? What about me? We’ve been best mates for years! I’m the obvious choice!”

Leah snorted, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter, while Beth and Alessia exchanged amused looks.

Y/N gave Katie a calm smile, trying not to laugh at how genuinely offended she seemed. “It’s not like I won’t do something with you eventually, Katie. I just thought Kyra’s vibe would be perfect for this particular line. Plus, she hasn’t been hounding me about it like someone has.”

Katie crossed her arms, pouting in her seat. “You’re breaking my heart, Y/N. I thought we had something special.”

Y/N snickered, leaning over to nudge her playfully. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ll get your moment.”

But Katie wasn’t letting it go. She turned to Kyra, narrowing her eyes. “You better not screw this up, Kyra.”

Kyra, now fully caught up in the moment, just grinned at Katie. “Don’t worry, McCabe. I’ll do the brand justice.”

Katie muttered something under her breath, still pouting as the rest of the table laughed at her over-the-top reaction. Leah and Alessia were practically crying from laughter, while Beth was already planning how she could poke fun at Katie later.

“You’re so jealous, Katie,” Leah teased, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s actually hilarious.”

“I’m not jealous,” Katie shot back, though the fire in her eyes told a different story. “I’m just saying it should’ve been me. You’ll regret this, Y/N.”

Y/N raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, maybe next time. But for now, it’s Kyra’s turn.”

Kyra beamed, sitting down beside Y/N and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re gonna kill this collab.”

Katie huffed dramatically, but there was a playful glint in her eye now. “Fine, whatever. But if you make a second collab without me, we’re done.”

“Deal,” Y/N said with a grin, enjoying every second of Katie’s theatrics.

The rest of breakfast was filled with teasing banter, and despite Katie’s initial jealousy, she couldn’t stay mad for long. The excitement over the potential collaboration with Kyra soon took over the conversation, and by the end of the meal, even Katie was throwing in ideas for what Kyra’s line could look like.

But as they left the table, Y/N couldn’t resist leaning over to Katie and whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got something special planned for you. Just wait.”

Katie’s pout disappeared, replaced with a sly smile. “You better, Y/N.”

As the team headed off to training, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement for what was to come. The collab with Kyra was going to be epic, but she also knew Katie wouldn’t let her forget that her time in the spotlight was still coming.

The collaboration with Kyra had been a massive success, with Immortal’s custom line selling out within hours of its release. The bold, daring designs had been a perfect reflection of Kyra’s personality, and the fans had loved it. But, as promised, Y/N hadn’t forgotten about Katie. In fact, ever since Katie’s dramatic reaction at breakfast, Y/N had been brainstorming ideas for what their collaboration would look like.

She wanted it to be something special, something that reflected not just Katie’s style but her fiery personality and leadership on the pitch. And, after weeks of planning, the perfect concept had come to mind: Fearless.

Now, it was time to pitch the idea to Katie.

Y/N found her sitting in the locker room after a particularly grueling training session. Katie was sprawled out on one of the benches, half-drinking from a water bottle while chatting with Leah, who was equally wiped out. The sight made Y/N smile—Katie looked so relaxed compared to her usual high-energy self.

“Katie, you got a minute?” Y/N asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Katie glanced up, her face lighting up instantly. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this. What do you have for me?”

Leah nudged Katie with a smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it. Can’t wait to see what Y/N comes up with this time.”

With a wink, Leah left the room, leaving Y/N and Katie alone. Y/N walked over, sitting beside Katie on the bench and pulling out a folder filled with sketches and mood boards.

“Alright,” Y/N started, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what our collab should look like. I want it to be something bold, something that screams Katie McCabe. You’re fearless, both on and off the pitch, and I want this line to reflect that.”

Katie’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she sat up straighter. “Go on…”

Y/N opened the folder, revealing the first set of designs. The theme was striking—sharp, clean lines with edgy details like ripped denim, leather accents, and bold color schemes. The central piece was a black leather jacket with “Fearless” embroidered on the back in fiery red letters, alongside an abstract design that looked like flames.

“I’m calling it the Fearless collection,” Y/N explained. “It’s inspired by your personality. The kind of confidence and boldness you have when you step onto the pitch. I want people to feel unstoppable when they wear this.”

Katie’s jaw dropped as she flipped through the designs, her hands running over the sketches like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Y/N… this is unreal,” Katie muttered, clearly in awe. “This is exactly what I wanted, but better. The jacket, the color palette—it’s so me.”

Y/N smirked. “I know, right? I thought it’d be perfect. We’ll also have custom cleats, streetwear pieces, and accessories. All of it ties into that fearless energy you bring every day.”

Katie was quiet for a moment, still taking it all in, but Y/N could tell she was thrilled. Finally, she looked up, her usual cocky grin returning.

“You nailed it,” Katie said, standing up and pulling Y/N into a hug. “This is gonna be epic. The fans are going to lose their minds.”

Y/N hugged her back, laughing at how excited Katie was. “I’m glad you love it. Now, I just need you to model a few pieces for the promo shoot.”

Katie pulled back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You mean I get to show off? Count me in.”

A few days later, the team gathered in the studio for the Fearless collection shoot. Katie was buzzing with energy, strutting around the set in the pieces from her collection. She was wearing the signature leather jacket, paired with ripped black jeans and boots that screamed “badass.”

The other players were there, too, watching the shoot unfold. Leah, Alessia, Kyra, and Beth were all leaning against the wall, throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment as Katie posed for the camera.

“You’re loving this way too much, McCabe,” Leah called out, laughing when Katie dramatically flipped her jacket’s collar.

Katie shot her a look. “Jealous, Williamson? Don’t worry, maybe Y/N will let you model in the next shoot.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the amusement on her face.

Y/N, standing behind the camera with the photographer, couldn’t help but smile. Katie was completely in her element, commanding attention with every pose. The theme of the collection suited her perfectly, and it showed in how effortlessly she wore each piece.

As the shoot continued, Y/N found herself feeling proud. This collaboration wasn’t just about making clothes—it was about showcasing the side of Katie that everyone admired. She was strong, fearless, and unapologetically herself, and now, her personality was immortalized in fashion.

“Alright, Katie, that’s a wrap,” the photographer said after the final shot.

Katie strutted over to Y/N, grinning like she’d just won a match. “That was amazing. You’re a genius, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, giving her a playful shove. “I told you I’d make it worth the wait.”

“You definitely did,” Katie agreed, glancing at the jacket she was wearing. “I can’t wait to see people walking around in this.”

As the rest of the team gathered around to check out the final shots, Y/N caught sight of Katie watching her. There was a rare softness in her expression, and she stepped closer, her voice quieter now.

“Hey,” Katie said, bumping Y/N’s shoulder. “Thanks for this. I know I was a pain about it, but you really nailed it.”

Y/N grinned, bumping her back. “You’re welcome. But I wouldn’t call you a pain. More like… passionate.”

Katie laughed, shaking her head. “Whatever you say.”

She slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, and as they walked back toward the rest of the team, Y/N felt a sense of contentment. The Fearless collection was going to be a massive success, but more than that, it had brought her and Katie even closer.

And as they joined their teammates, with everyone buzzing about the new line, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

The match against Chelsea was a high-stakes one, a clash between two of the best teams in the league. It was fast-paced, with tackles flying in and tension building as the clock ticked down. The atmosphere was electric—fans roaring, adrenaline running through every player’s veins, and Y/N right in the thick of it. She’d been in brilliant form all season, and this game was no different.

Y/N had always prided herself on her speed, agility, and ability to weave through defenses effortlessly. She’d just danced past two defenders when she spotted a gap in the Chelsea backline. With the ball at her feet, she charged forward, eyes locked on the goal.

And then it happened.

In the blink of an eye, as Y/N was about to take her shot, a Chelsea defender came in with a hard, mistimed tackle. Y/N felt the impact before she even realized what had happened. The crack in her knee echoed in her ears as she collapsed to the ground, clutching her leg in agony.

Time seemed to slow. The roar of the crowd dimmed, replaced by a ringing in her ears. All she could feel was the searing pain shooting through her knee, every nerve on fire. Her heart raced, panic settling in as she tried to move, but her leg wouldn’t respond.

"Y/N! Oh my God, Y/N!" Katie's voice was the first she registered, followed by the concerned faces of her teammates rushing over.

Y/N's breath came in short, shallow gasps as she lay on the grass, her vision blurring from the pain. The medics were on her within seconds, their hands gently prodding her leg, but she already knew. Something was terribly wrong.

“Katie…” Y/N whispered through gritted teeth, tears filling her eyes as the reality began to sink in. “I can’t move my leg.”

Katie knelt beside her, her face pale as she reached for Y/N’s hand. “Don’t say that. It’ll be fine. The medics will fix you up, yeah?”

Y/N tried to nod, but the pain was too much. She could barely focus as the medics worked around her, their concerned expressions doing little to comfort her.

The stretcher arrived quickly, and as they carefully lifted her onto it, Y/N’s heart ached more than her leg. The crowd’s cheers faded into background noise, and she could only focus on the tears that slipped down Katie’s face as she walked beside her, holding her hand tightly.

“Stay with me, okay?” Katie whispered, her voice shaking. “You’re gonna be okay, Y/N. You have to be.”

Y/N wanted to believe her. She wanted to hold on to that hope, but something deep inside her told her otherwise. The way her leg had twisted, the way her knee had buckled—it felt catastrophic.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, the painkillers numbing her enough to dull the physical pain, but nothing could touch the growing dread in her chest.

Hours passed before the team doctor finally approached her after the MRI. Y/N sat in the sterile hospital bed, Katie at her side, fingers still intertwined.

The doctor sighed, his expression grim. “Y/N, I’m afraid the damage is extensive. You’ve torn your ACL, MCL, and PCL, along with significant damage to the meniscus. The recovery time… well, it’s going to be long. And even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to return to professional football.”

Y/N’s world shattered with those words.

She stared at the doctor, unable to speak, the weight of the diagnosis pressing down on her like a physical force. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was replay the moment over and over in her mind—her foot planted, the crack in her knee, the way she had fallen. How could it all end like this?

Beside her, Katie stiffened, her grip on Y/N’s hand tightening. “No… no, there has to be something else. Surgery? Rehab? Y/N can’t just—she can’t just stop playing.”

The doctor’s sympathetic gaze shifted to Katie. “There will be surgeries, multiple, but the extent of the damage… it’s unlikely she’ll return to her previous level of play. I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s chest constricted, her pulse hammering in her ears. She’d dreamed of playing at the highest level since she was a kid, sacrificed everything for it. And now, it was being ripped away from her in a single moment.

Katie looked at her, her own eyes red and puffy, tears threatening to spill. “Y/N…”

“I…” Y/N swallowed, her voice hoarse. “I don’t know what to do.”

Katie pulled her into a tight hug, burying her face in Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

But Y/N couldn’t bring herself to believe that. Football was all she’d ever known, all she’d ever wanted. Without it… who was she?

Days passed in a blur of surgeries, hospital visits, and endless hours of rehab. Y/N’s teammates visited often, bringing flowers and cards, but nothing could lift the crushing weight in her chest. The reality of her situation hung over her like a dark cloud.

Katie was with her every step of the way, never leaving her side, but Y/N could feel the strain it was putting on both of them. There were moments where Y/N would catch Katie watching her with a sadness in her eyes, as if she didn’t know how to fix the situation.

And the truth was, no one could fix it.

Months into her rehab, sitting in the gym, watching her teammates train from the sidelines, Y/N felt the full force of her loss. Watching them run drills, laughing, and playing the game she loved, it hit her all over again. She would never step foot on the pitch as a player again.

As she sat there, her leg in a brace, Katie came up behind her and gently wrapped her arms around Y/N's shoulders, resting her chin on Y/N's head.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Katie whispered softly.

Y/N blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Proud of what? That I can barely bend my knee?”

“No,” Katie said, squeezing her tighter. “For getting through this. For staying strong when everything felt impossible.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, leaning back into Katie’s embrace. “I don’t feel strong, Katie. I feel… lost.”

Katie kissed the top of her head. “You’re not lost. You’ll find your way, and I’ll be right there with you, whatever that looks like.”

And for the first time since the injury, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could still find a way forward—even if it wasn’t the path she had envisioned.

The weeks following Y/N’s injury were some of the hardest days of her life. Rehab was grueling—slow and painful, both physically and emotionally. Every day was a reminder of what she had lost, and even with Katie constantly by her side, it felt like an endless uphill battle.

Y/N spent most of her days in a daze, going through the motions of physical therapy, but her heart wasn’t in it. She felt detached, like she was watching her own life from a distance. Football had been everything to her, and without it, she didn’t know who she was anymore.

Katie could see the toll it was taking. Y/N wasn’t herself. She was quieter, more withdrawn, her once fiery personality dulled by the weight of everything she was going through. Katie hated seeing her like this, and she knew she had to do something to help pull her best friend out of the darkness.

One evening, after another long and silent day of rehab, Katie sat beside Y/N on the couch, watching as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone. She noticed Y/N was lingering on some photos from her clothing line—the one she had kept secret for so long.

Katie nudged her gently. “You know, your clothing line is pretty incredible,” she said, keeping her tone light.

Y/N barely looked up, shrugging. “It’s just a side thing, Katie. It doesn’t really matter now.”

Katie’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t matter? Y/N, it’s a huge deal. Do you know how many people would kill to be able to create something like that? And you did it while playing football at the highest level. That’s insane.”

Y/N let out a sigh, still not meeting Katie’s eyes. “Yeah, but football was always the priority. The clothing thing was just a distraction.”

Katie sat up straighter, her voice firm but gentle. “Maybe it started as a distraction, but it’s more than that now. You built something that people love, Y/N. People respect your work. And now, you’ve got all this time… Maybe this is your chance to really focus on it.”

Y/N finally looked up, her eyes heavy with doubt. “You think I can just switch from football to… fashion? Like it’s that easy?”

Katie smiled softly, placing a hand on Y/N’s knee. “I think you’ve got talent in both. And I think you need something to pour yourself into right now. You love fashion, Y/N. Every time you talk about your brand, you light up. It’s the only time recently I’ve seen you excited about anything.”

Y/N frowned, her mind racing. The clothing line had always been a passion project, something she did on the side, never something she imagined focusing on full-time. But Katie’s words stuck with her. Could this really be her new path?

“I don’t know…” Y/N muttered, her uncertainty palpable.

Katie gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to know everything right now. But just… try. Start designing again. Get involved in your brand like you used to. You’re still Y/N—the girl who built something incredible out of nothing. You’re more than just football, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Y/N stared down at her hands, the weight of Katie’s words slowly sinking in. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to think about her clothing line seriously. The injury had consumed her every thought, every worry, and she’d pushed everything else to the side.

But maybe… maybe Katie was right.

The next day, Katie took matters into her own hands. She surprised Y/N with a visit to the small design studio where Y/N used to work on her brand. Y/N hadn’t been there in months, too caught up in football and then her injury to even think about it.

As they walked in, Y/N hesitated, glancing around at the racks of clothes, the sketches pinned to the walls, the mood boards she’d abandoned in the chaos of her life.

Katie nudged her forward. “Come on, Y/N. This place used to be your sanctuary.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she stepped inside. Memories flooded back—late nights designing, the excitement of launching new collections, the thrill of seeing people wear her clothes. There was a spark inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Katie grinned, watching Y/N’s eyes light up as she walked around the studio. “You still love this, don’t you?”

Y/N nodded slowly, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Yeah… I do.”

“Then do something about it,” Katie urged. “Start designing again. Release something new. You’ve got the time now, Y/N. And you’ve got the talent.”

Y/N stared at the blank sketchpad on the table, her fingers itching to pick up a pencil. She hadn’t designed anything since before the injury, hadn’t let herself even think about fashion. But now, standing here, in the space she’d created, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Katie leaned against the table, her arms crossed, watching Y/N closely. “You could do an exclusive line or something. Work with one of the girls, make it special. Hell, you’ve already got half the team wearing your clothes, so you know they’re fans.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling a bit of the weight lift off her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

Katie’s smile widened. “There’s the Y/N I know. The girl who takes risks, who’s not afraid to go after what she wants.”

Y/N glanced at Katie, her heart warming at the sight of her best friend’s unwavering support. “What would I do without you?”

Katie shrugged, teasing. “Probably wallow in self-pity and eat all the ice cream in London.”

Y/N laughed, the sound a little lighter than it had been in weeks. She picked up the pencil, the feel of it familiar and comforting in her hand. Maybe this was what she needed—a new direction, a new purpose.

And she had Katie by her side, pushing her forward, believing in her even when she didn’t believe in herself.

With a deep breath, Y/N sat down at the table, flipping open the sketchpad. Her mind buzzed with ideas, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt excited about the future.

Katie moved to stand behind her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got this, Y/N. I know you do.”

Y/N smiled up at her, feeling the warmth of Katie’s words wrap around her like a safety net. “Thanks, Katie. For everything.”

“Always,” Katie replied softly, her eyes full of affection. “Now, show me what you’re working on. I might just have to be your first customer.”

Months after Y/N had rediscovered her passion for fashion, her clothing brand had taken off in ways she never imagined. With Katie’s constant encouragement and the support of her teammates, Y/N was back to designing full-time, pouring her heart and soul into every piece. She had launched a new collection, which had been met with rave reviews, and her reputation in the fashion world had only grown.

Then came the call that would change everything.

Arsenal’s board reached out to Y/N with an offer she never expected: they wanted her brand to collaborate with the club to design next season’s kit. It was an opportunity most designers could only dream of—a chance to combine her love for football with her passion for fashion, and to leave a lasting legacy with the club she’d once played for.

When she first got the call, Y/N was speechless, her mind racing with possibilities. Arsenal was her home, even though she could no longer play. This was her chance to stay connected with the sport and the team in a new way, while showcasing her brand on one of the biggest stages in football.

Katie was the first person Y/N told, of course. She nearly tackled Y/N in excitement when she heard the news.

“No way! You’re going to design the next Arsenal kit? That’s massive!” Katie exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she paced around their living room. “Do you know how many designers would kill for this opportunity?”

Y/N grinned, still processing the magnitude of it all. “Yeah, it’s pretty surreal.”

Katie stopped pacing and grabbed Y/N by the shoulders. “You’re going to crush this, Y/N. I know it.”

With Arsenal’s backing and a tight deadline, Y/N threw herself into the project. She wanted the kit to reflect not just the club’s heritage, but also the culture and creativity her brand had become known for. She spent weeks sketching, designing, and meeting with the Arsenal team to perfect the kit. It had to be bold, yet timeless. A symbol of strength, unity, and the passion of the fans and players alike.

Finally, the day came to unveil the design to the team.

Arsenal had arranged a private meeting for Y/N to reveal the kit to the players and staff before the official release. As she stood in front of the group, holding her breath, Katie sat at the front of the crowd, her grin encouraging Y/N from across the room.

Y/N cleared her throat, nerves buzzing through her body. “Alright, so… this is it,” she began, gesturing to the sleek cover over the mannequins that stood in the center of the room. “I wanted this kit to represent Arsenal’s legacy but also bring in something new, something fresh. A mix of tradition and the future.”

With a swift pull, Y/N uncovered the kits. The room went silent for a beat, and then a collective gasp of awe rippled through the crowd.

The home kit was stunning: a deep, rich red with subtle geometric patterns woven into the fabric, representing the architectural lines of the Emirates Stadium. The sleeves and collar featured sleek, modern white accents, while the famous Arsenal crest was outlined in gold, giving it a touch of elegance. It was bold yet classic, a perfect blend of Y/N’s fashion-forward designs and Arsenal’s storied history.

The away kit was a statement in itself—a striking black with intricate detailing of North London streets subtly mapped into the fabric. The fluorescent accents in Arsenal’s gold and red lit up the design, adding flair without losing the focus on its sophistication.

The third kit was more daring, with abstract patterns that paid homage to the diverse cultures and streetwear influences that inspired Y/N’s brand. It was an explosion of color—vibrant and fearless, just like Arsenal’s fighting spirit.

The players erupted in excitement.

“Mate, that’s unreal!” Leah Williamson shouted, her eyes wide with admiration as she stepped closer to the mannequins, running her fingers over the fabric. “This is next level, Y/N.”

Alessia Russo nodded in agreement. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s fresh, but it still feels like Arsenal. You nailed it.”

The entire room buzzed with energy, players exchanging excited glances and murmuring about how amazing it would feel to step out on the pitch in Y/N’s designs.

Katie, of course, was practically vibrating with pride. “I told you! I told you, you were going to kill it!” she shouted, beaming at Y/N.

The team’s excitement filled Y/N with a deep sense of pride, and for the first time since her injury, she felt like she had a place again. She might not be playing on the pitch, but her contribution would live on in a way she’d never imagined.

The collaboration was set to be one of the biggest talking points of the upcoming season, with fans eagerly awaiting the official release. But behind the scenes, the players couldn’t contain their excitement about the kits they’d soon be wearing.

After the reveal, Jonas Eidevall approached Y/N with a genuine smile. “You’ve done something special here, Y/N. This isn’t just a kit—it’s a part of Arsenal now.”

Y/N blushed, overwhelmed by the response. “Thanks, Jonas. It means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Katie bounded over and threw her arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “We need a party to celebrate this, right?” she asked, winking at the group.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “It’s just a kit, Katie.”

“No, it’s not just a kit,” Leah interjected, grinning. “It’s the best kit Arsenal’s ever had, and you’re the genius behind it.”

Y/N smiled as the room erupted into applause, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging. She hadn’t lost everything after all. This was her purpose now. Her legacy, not just in football, but in a way that allowed her creativity to shine through.

And through it all, she had Katie by her side, pushing her to be more, reminding her of who she really was—even when Y/N had forgotten herself.

After the success of her Arsenal kit collaboration, Y/N had been riding a wave of inspiration. Her brand had grown exponentially, with new collections flying off the shelves, and her next big project was something she’d always dreamed of: an upscale luxury party wear line. Sleek, elegant, and designed for people who wanted to make a statement—this collection was her chance to branch out beyond streetwear and athletic fashion into something more high-end.

The timing couldn’t have been better. With the FIFA Best Awards coming up, several of Y/N’s Arsenal teammates were nominated, and they were all buzzing with excitement. Katie had been going on for weeks about what to wear, while Alessia, Leah, and the rest of the girls teased her relentlessly.

Y/N, of course, had an idea.

“What if I dressed you all for the awards?” she casually suggested one day during lunch at the training ground, her eyes glinting mischievously as she looked around the table.

The entire room went quiet for a moment as her words sunk in.

“What do you mean?” Alessia asked, wide-eyed.

“I mean, I’m working on a new line. Upscale, luxury party wear,” Y/N explained, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “I could design custom outfits for each of you to wear on the red carpet. Trust me, you’ll look incredible.”

The girls stared at her in stunned silence for a few seconds before Katie practically jumped out of her seat.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Katie asked, her eyes lighting up. “Y/N, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Leah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Luxury party wear, huh? I didn’t know you were venturing into that.”

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. And what better way to debut it than by having you lot wear it to the FIFA Best Awards?”

Katie shot out of her chair, throwing her arms around Y/N. “This is brilliant! I’m going to look so good, I’ll steal the show.”

Alessia grinned. “You mean we will steal the show.”

The excitement spread quickly as all the girls clamored for details, eager to hear what Y/N had in mind for their looks. Over the next few days, she met with each of them individually to discuss their style preferences, and soon the designs were underway.

A week before the awards, Y/N had the final fittings ready. She had converted part of her flat into a makeshift studio, where she could work on the dresses and suits and ensure they fit perfectly.

Katie was the first to try on her outfit, and she looked absolutely stunning. Y/N had designed her a sleek, black velvet jumpsuit with a deep V neckline and gold chain detailing at the waist. It was edgy, classy, and had just the right amount of boldness to match Katie’s personality.

“I feel like a bloody movie star,” Katie said, grinning as she looked at herself in the mirror. She turned to Y/N, giving her a playful wink. “You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N.”

“You haven’t even seen the others yet,” Y/N teased, adjusting one of the chains on Katie’s outfit. “Trust me, you’re all going to look incredible.”

Alessia’s dress was a soft champagne-colored satin gown with a high slit, delicate straps, and a low, open back. It was elegant and sophisticated, fitting her calm, graceful demeanor. She twirled in front of the mirror, the fabric flowing around her as she beamed at Y/N.

“This is gorgeous,” Alessia whispered, almost in awe. “I never thought I’d wear something like this.”

“You pull it off better than anyone,” Y/N replied, smiling as she watched Alessia’s reaction. “You’re going to turn heads for sure.”

Leah’s outfit was a tailored white suit with silver embellishments on the blazer. It was sharp, powerful, and oozed confidence—just like the woman wearing it. Leah glanced at herself in the mirror, the corners of her mouth curling into a pleased smirk.

“I like it. Strong, but not too much,” Leah said, turning to face Y/N. “How did you know this was exactly what I wanted?”

Y/N shrugged. “I pay attention. You’re a natural in it.”

One by one, the rest of the girls came in for their fittings, each one stunned by the craftsmanship and attention to detail in their custom looks. The excitement in the room was palpable as the FIFA Best Awards drew closer, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as she watched her teammates react to the pieces she had created.

The night of the awards arrived, and Y/N’s designs were finally revealed to the world.

As the team arrived at the red carpet, photographers’ flashes lit up the night, capturing every moment. Katie strutted confidently, her black velvet jumpsuit catching the light with every step. Leah walked beside her, radiating power in her white suit, while Alessia’s satin gown shimmered under the camera flashes.

The media went wild, and the questions started pouring in.

“Who are you wearing?” one reporter asked Katie.

Katie grinned, pointing to Y/N who stood at the back of the group, dressed in her own chic black ensemble. “It’s all Y/N’s brand. She designed everything.”

Y/N couldn’t help but blush as the attention shifted to her. “I just wanted them to feel as confident and amazing as they are,” she said, trying to stay humble as the cameras focused on her.

The girls laughed and pulled her into the spotlight, posing with her for the cameras. They were all glowing, not just from the glamour of the night but from the bond they shared and the confidence that Y/N’s designs had given them.

As the night continued and they mingled with other players and celebrities, people kept stopping them to ask about their outfits, praising Y/N’s designs and her talent.

“You really knocked it out of the park,” Katie whispered to Y/N at one point, her arm slung around her best friend’s shoulders. “Everyone’s talking about your line. This is going to blow up.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Thanks, Katie. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Katie grinned. “Yeah, but don’t forget—I looked the best tonight.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, McCabe.”

As the night went on, Y/N realized that her journey was far from over. The success of her brand was only just beginning, and with her friends by her side, she felt unstoppable. Fashion, football, friendship—she had it all, and she couldn’t wait to see where it would take her next.

The FIFA Best Awards night had barely wrapped up, but the buzz surrounding Y/N’s luxury party wear collection hadn’t died down. Social media was flooded with photos of the Arsenal girls in their custom outfits, and fans were clamoring for more. Y/N was overwhelmed with messages—praise for her designs, inquiries from fashion insiders, and countless new followers. Her brand had already made a name for itself in the streetwear scene, but this was something else entirely. This was a whole new level.

A few days after the awards, Y/N received an unexpected message. A famous fashion designer, someone she had admired from afar for years, had reached out.

"Would love to meet. I have an exciting opportunity for you. Let me know when you're free. — Adrien Duval."

Adrien Duval was one of the biggest names in high fashion. Known for pushing boundaries and creating art through clothing, his shows were the talk of every major fashion week. Y/N had grown up admiring his work, and now, here he was, reaching out to her.

Excitement coursed through her as she replied, setting up a meeting at a high-end café in central London. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but Y/N kept it cool as she arrived at the café, trying to hide the fact that she was, in fact, completely starstruck.

When she walked in, she immediately spotted Adrien sitting at a table near the window, sipping on an espresso. He looked exactly as she’d imagined—tall, impeccably dressed, with an aura of effortless style and authority. When he saw her, he stood up and offered a warm smile.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure,” Adrien greeted, shaking her hand. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Y/N replied, trying not to let her nerves show as they sat down. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this. You’re… well, you're an icon.”

Adrien chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re too kind. But I have to say, I’ve been keeping an eye on your work. Your collection at the FIFA Best Awards—it was spectacular. The perfect combination of boldness and elegance. You’ve got something special, Y/N.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck, but she nodded. “Thank you. I’m just trying to push the boundaries a little.”

“And you’re doing it brilliantly,” Adrien replied, his tone sincere. He leaned in slightly, his expression more serious now. “I’ve come to you with an opportunity. London Fashion Week is approaching, and I think your brand would be a perfect fit. I’d like to offer you the chance to host your own show.”

Y/N blinked, not quite sure if she’d heard him right. “You’re serious?”

Adrien nodded. “I don’t say this lightly. Your work is fresh, innovative, and it's time for the world to see that on the biggest stage. Your brand is already turning heads, but a show at London Fashion Week could catapult you to another level.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, trying to process what he was saying. A fashion show at London Fashion Week. The pinnacle of high fashion, where the most elite designers showcased their collections. It was an opportunity she had always dreamed about, but never imagined would come so soon.

“What do you think?” Adrien asked, watching her reaction closely.

“I… wow, I don’t even know what to say,” Y/N admitted, still in a bit of shock. “It’s an incredible offer. I’d love to do it.”

Adrien smiled, clearly pleased with her response. “Excellent. I had a feeling you’d be up for the challenge. The logistics can be worked out later, but I wanted to make sure I extended the invitation personally. You’re going to do great things, Y/N, and I want to be a part of it.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur of excitement and planning. Adrien explained the process, how the show would work, and what Y/N would need to prepare in the coming months. He offered advice, tips, and even suggested a few big-name models who could potentially walk in her show.

By the time Y/N left the café, her mind was racing. London Fashion Week. She could hardly believe it. The opportunity felt surreal, but she knew she was ready. Her passion for fashion, the endless nights of designing, and her dedication to her brand had all led to this moment. Now, it was her chance to take it to the next level.

As she walked down the street, her phone buzzed with a message from Katie.

Katie: "Heard you had a meeting. What’s up?"

Y/N couldn’t help but grin as she typed back her response.

Y/N: "Just got asked to do a show at London Fashion Week."

Katie: "SHUT UP. Are you serious?!"

Y/N: "Dead serious."

There was a pause, and then her phone rang. Y/N answered with a laugh. “You couldn’t just text?”

Katie’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “London Fashion Week? Y/N, that’s massive! I knew you were killing it, but this is next level. We’re all coming to that show, no question.”

Y/N smiled, her heart warm at the support from her best friend. “Thanks, Katie. I’m still wrapping my head around it, but yeah, it’s happening.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Katie said, her tone softer now. “You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard.”

Y/N felt a lump in her throat at Katie’s words. “Thanks, McCabe. You’ve been there every step of the way.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Katie promised. “You better make me something killer to wear to the show.”

Y/N laughed. “You know I’ve got you covered.”

As she hung up, Y/N looked out at the city around her, her heart swelling with gratitude and excitement. The journey had only just begun, but she knew, with Katie and the rest of the team by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t achieve.

London Fashion Week, here she came.

The night of London Fashion Week had arrived, and the buzz surrounding Y/N’s debut show was electric. Backstage, the energy was palpable—models getting last-minute touch-ups, stylists tweaking outfits, and assistants running around to make sure everything was perfect. Y/N stood off to the side, watching the chaos unfold, her heart pounding in her chest. She had spent months designing this collection, pouring her soul into each piece, and now, it was finally about to be shown to the world.

But something else weighed heavy on her mind.

For so long, football had been her identity. It was the only thing she knew growing up, the only thing she ever dreamed about. But after her career-ending injury, it was as if a part of her had died. She’d been searching for a way to fill that void, and while her clothing line had given her something to focus on, she had never fully accepted that she could truly leave football behind. It was still there, haunting her in the background, a reminder of what could have been.

Katie and a few of her Arsenal teammates were sitting front row, all dressed in pieces from her collection, cheering her on. They’d been her biggest supporters through everything, but Katie had always been the one to push her, to remind her that there was life beyond football. Tonight felt like a culmination of all the hard work, the sleepless nights, the creative struggles—but more than that, it felt like a chance to finally let go.

The lights in the venue dimmed, and the music began to pulse through the speakers. It was time. Y/N took a deep breath, nodding to her team, and the first model stepped out onto the runway.

As each look made its way down the catwalk, Y/N felt a strange mix of emotions. Pride, relief, excitement—but also a sense of closure. The crowd was in awe, their eyes glued to the collection she had crafted with her own hands. Every piece told a story, not just of her as a designer but of her journey—her pain, her growth, her evolution.

Katie caught her eye from the front row, giving her a thumbs up and mouthing, “You’re killing it.” Y/N smiled, feeling her heart swell with gratitude. This was her new purpose, her new path.

The final look came out, and the applause was deafening. Y/N could barely hear herself think as the models lined up for the final walk. She stepped out onto the runway with them, feeling the weight of the moment hit her. The crowd stood up, giving her a standing ovation, but all Y/N could focus on was the sense of peace settling over her.

She walked the length of the runway, giving a small wave to the audience, but when she reached the end, she found Katie’s eyes again. There was a knowing look in them, as if Katie understood exactly what Y/N was feeling. And in that moment, Y/N knew.

She could finally let go.

As the applause faded and the lights dimmed, Y/N stood there, taking it all in. Football had been her first love, and losing it had broken her in ways she never thought possible. But standing on that runway, basking in the glow of her success as a designer, she realized she didn’t need football anymore. She had found something else, something that allowed her to express herself in ways she never could on the pitch.

Backstage, as the models and crew celebrated the success of the show, Y/N found a quiet corner to sit down. She needed a moment to breathe, to process what had just happened. Katie found her shortly after, sliding into the seat next to her, nudging her playfully.

“You did it,” Katie said, her voice full of pride. “That was incredible.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back against the wall. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“It’s only the beginning,” Katie reminded her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But I think you know that.”

Y/N nodded, exhaling deeply. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m ready to move on.”

Katie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Y/N looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of her words. “For the longest time, I was holding on to this idea that I couldn’t be anything without football. But tonight… I felt like I found something that fills that part of me. I think I can finally accept that it’s okay to let football go.”

Katie squeezed her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve come so far. And look at what you’ve built. It’s incredible.”

Y/N smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “Thank you, Katie. For everything. I don’t think I could’ve gotten here without you.”

Katie grinned, pulling her into a side hug. “You’ve always had it in you, mate. I just gave you a little push.”

Y/N laughed, but there were tears in her eyes as she hugged Katie back. For the first time since her injury, she didn’t feel like she had lost anything. She had gained something new—a purpose, a passion, and a future.

And now, she was ready to embrace it fully.

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

The End

[luvzshy]

billie x reader halloween fic with their baby girl! maybe reader and billie go in mike wazowski/ sully onesies and their baby going as boo🥹

Monstrous Love

Summary: Billie, the reader, and their daughter Lily, dressed as Mike, Sully, and Boo, go trick-or-treating on Halloween night. Lily charms everyone with her costume, and Billie and the reader cherish the sweet moments together as a family.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff!

Word Count: ~500 words

Halloween night had arrived, and the living room was filled with excited giggles as you slipped into your big, plush Sully onesie. The material was soft and cozy, and as you pulled the hood over your head, you could see Billie fumbling with her own costume in the mirror across the room. She wore a bright green Mike Wazowski onesie, complete with a giant single eye on the hood and tiny horns at the top. It suited her in the most hilariously adorable way, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to get the eye to sit just right.

“Stop laughing, you blue furball,” Billie muttered, sticking her tongue out playfully. She turned to you with a mock glare but couldn’t keep a straight face. You pulled her into a hug, and she leaned into you with a contented sigh, her arms wrapping around your waist.

“Alright, where’s our Boo?” you whispered, glancing around the room.

At that moment, Lily toddled in, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. Dressed in a little pink T-shirt and purple leggings, with her hair tied in two tiny pigtails with matching pink bows, she was the spitting image of Boo. Her chubby cheeks were rosy with excitement, and her big eyes lit up as she saw the two of you in your costumes.

“Baba! Mama!” she squealed, clapping her hands. She toddled over as fast as her little legs could carry her, reaching up for Billie, who instantly scooped her up.

“Are you ready to go trick-or-treating, Boo?” Billie cooed, kissing her forehead. Lily nodded enthusiastically, patting Billie’s face as if to make sure her mama was real.

You chuckled, reaching out to gently tug on one of Lily’s pigtails. “Come on, monster fam. Let’s go show the world the cutest Boo there ever was.”

Walking through the neighborhood was like stepping into a storybook. Pumpkins glowed on every porch, skeletons hung from trees, and children in costumes of all kinds dashed from house to house. You held Billie’s hand tightly, while Billie cradled Lily against her hip, the three of you drawing attention wherever you went.

Each time you approached a door, Billie would make a goofy monster face at Lily, who would squeal and bury her face in her mama’s shoulder, only to peek out with a giggle as soon as someone opened the door. The neighbors cooed over Lily, offering her tiny candies that she clutched with all her might, her little fingers sticky as she tried to hold them all.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she babbled, her eyes wide with wonder as a group of kids in spooky costumes ran by. She pointed excitedly, her gaze shifting between you and Billie as if to share every little thing she saw.

Halfway down the block, Billie gave you a playful nudge. “Can you believe how obsessed everyone is with her?” she whispered, grinning. “I mean, I knew she was cute, but…”

You laughed, squeezing her hand. “She takes after you,” you teased, making Billie roll her eyes.

By the time you finished making rounds, Lily was starting to nod off, her little head resting on Billie’s shoulder. She clutched a lollipop in one sticky hand, refusing to let it go even as her eyes began to droop. You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, your heart swelling at the sight.

When you finally arrived back home, Billie carefully laid Lily down on the couch, covering her with a soft blanket. She gazed at your sleeping daughter with a soft smile, brushing a hand over her tiny fingers.

“She was perfect tonight,” Billie whispered, looking up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and pure joy.

You nodded, wrapping an arm around Billie’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Couldn’t have asked for a better Halloween,” you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Our little Boo stole the show.”

With one last glance at your sleeping Lily, you and Billie snuggled up on the couch together, still dressed in your onesies, hearts full and grateful for the perfectly imperfect family you’d built.

[vivwritesfics]

Christmas Sweater

Y/N learns to Knit. Daniel loves it (so fucking much)

Masterlist

"Happy November first!" Daniel Ricciardo cheered as he came down to his living room on the morning of November first.

It had been a weird morning already. Danny had woken up alone, something he wasn't used to. And, if he did wake up alone, Y/N was usually in the bathroom. Not this time. His girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

So, he made his way downstairs. When he heard the television on, things in his head clicked into place. She'd gotten up early and gone downstairs to watch television, of course.

But then Daniel walked into the room and properly looked at what Y/N was doing. She sat on the couch with two thick knitting needles in her hands and yarn on the floor in from of her. Some of the yarn was a lovely dark red, some was white and some was dark green. "What are you doing?"

As far as Daniel was aware, his girlfriend had no idea how to knit. He didn't even know she had knitting needles. But she sat on the couch, knitting away, the two needles clacking together as she went. Her brow was furrowed and her tongue was poking out as she worked. No, Y/N didn't know how to knit.

When she got to a good place to stop, Y/N held up her needles, calling Daniel what she had been working on. "Grandma sent me some supplies so I could make you a Christmas sweater," she answered.

Daniel had a bit of a reputation in the F1 community. A reputation for his Christmas sweaters. The most notorious of the Christmas sweaters? Why, the jingle my bells sweater, of course.

"Baby," he said, drawing out the word as he sat beside her on the sofa. "You don't know how to knit."

She waved him off, dropping one of her needles. It slid out of the yarn, dropping to the floor. "I'm watching Youtube to learn, Danny," she said as she reached down to pick up the needle.

Instead of threading it back through the yarn, Y/N pulled out her other needle, pulled apart her work and started again.

Danny watched her. It was slow work at first, and he soon realised why she started so early on in the year. His eyes focused on her hands as she cast back on and began knitting once again.

Y/N had to stop and start several times before she finally got it right. Daniel sat on the couch with her, arm around her as she worked. Several times she held her knit work against his stomach (taking a moment to touch his abs. But, come on, who could resist?)

It took weeks, near to a month of constant work before Y/N finally finished with Daniel's Christmas jumper. She worked as they travelled, while she was supposed to be watching Daniel race.

It was perfect timing, really. She got it finished just before December began. Wrapping it up, Y/N placed it in a box, wrapped the box and finished it with a bow.

She gave it to Daniel on the first of December, exactly a month after he'd seen her start to make it. It was red with little green stripes and white reindeers that was clearly having sex.

"I love it," he said as soon as he unwrapped it. "You couldn't have done anything more perfect for me."

"Try it on then!" Y/N urged.

So, Daniel did exactly as she asked and tried on the jumper. He didn't take it off for the entire month of December. No matter what country he was in, he stayed in his Christmas jumper. No matter how hot and sweaty he got, he stayed in his Christmas jumper.

The best part of it? Y/N learnt how to knit. She began knitting everything. So, so many hats for winter. Gloves and scarves and blankets and sweaters and tops and bags. Anything Y/N could make, she did.

Daniel wore it all proudly. Where he used to wear his Red Bull and AlphaTauri shirts, he now wore whatever Y/N knitted for him.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Riding A Dragon // aemond x wife!reader

; This was based off this post by @ophelialaufey !! sorry this is a bit short.

NSFW:MDNI! fingering, clit stimulation, doing the deed on top of vhagar bro, public sex(?) it's literally in the skies, riding, slightly breast play, not proofread, ONE SHOT.

“Come.” Aemond commands, dragging you by your hand to the open space of dragonpit, before he calls for Vhagar.

“Aemond! You can't be serious right now!” you hiss, trying to pry your hand away from his grip but he remains firm, “Oh I am, Dear wife. When we had just married, you expressed your excitement to ride Vhagar, I thought today would be the perfect day.” he says smugly.

“I am really grateful for your thoughtfulness husband, but I fear I'm incapable, what if she doesn't like me? Or worse she eats me—” you voice your concerns but aemond hushes.

“She won't, she knows how much I love you, she can feel it through the dragon bond.” he confesses and you blush, bowing your head down in shyness.

A large shadow falls over the both of you before vhagar lands, bare fitting in the open space, you watch as she growls as you, and you stand there frozen in fear.

“Come.” he let goes of your hand before going near her head, giving her pats and rubbing her scales in a soothing way, she relaxes into his touch and you slowly stalk towards her, her eye looks at you in question.

Aemond takes your hand in his before he presses it against her scales, you tense up not knowing what to do but aemond guides you, directing in a motion that it seems like your petting her, you soon do it on your own and you notice her letting her guard down from you.

She purrs in content which makes you chuckle, Aemond smiles looking at the both of you

“Let's go, wife.” he says going off her to her and you stop petting her to follow him, he helps you climb her, it wasn't an easy task considering you were still in your dress which is very much unfit for dragon riding but aemond helps you through it, staying right behind and making sure you don't fall.

You sit in the front on the saddle while Aemond sits behind you, adjusting you so it's comfortable for you and him, his hands on your waist pulling you close to him before they leave and grip on the reins from either side of you.

“Soves Vhagar!” he says and Vhagar is quick to take off into the skies, you close your eyes in fear, feeling the wind hit your face at such speed when she takes off into the sky.

You open your eyes when you feel the wind become more gentle as Vhagar stations above the sky, you gasp when you see that you're above the clouds, surrounded by even more clouds, you smile brightly and turn a little to look at aemond who was already looking at you, he presses a kiss to the side of your head before you both fly on Vhagar.

Some time passes and you enjoy the breeze that is hitting against your hair until you feel Aemond wrap one his hands around your waist tightly than before, pulling you against him, and that's when you felt it, something poking against your backside, you look at him and he gives a smirk, making you blush.

You thought he would tell vhagar to land to take care of the business but what he does shocks you.

He hikes your skirt up, hand grazing from your leg to your thighs as he lifts your skirts further and further, you try to swat his hands away but his grip remains firm and he shoots you a warning glare, his hand trails under your bunched up skirt and rests on your inner thigh before he draws small circles there, causing you to gasp.

His hand trails further up and he feels how wet you are through your small clothes, “Oh you're dripping.” he says which makes you flustered, he pushes your small clothes aside, ripping it a little in hurry.

He fingers dip in your wet folds, making you lean against his chest as you let out a contented sigh, to which he smirks at, his middle finger travels to your opening before gathering the slick from there and bring it up to your clit, rubbing small circles cause you to twitch in his grip.

His pace is painfully slow, almost as if he is making it slow on purpose, which he was, he rubs gentle circles on your clit before his hand dips down further and once again pokes at your entrance.

He shifts, making you space to lean back further against him to give him more access, just then vhagar let's out a loud growl because she felt how agitated aemond was, causing you to panic but aemond holds you still, “Lykiri vhagar, lykiri.” he says calmly and the beast calms down.

His pushes his finger inside causing you whimper before he slowly moves it, “Look at you enjoying this, aren't you indecent?” he whispers in your earaking you whine, his fingers rub against a rough patch causing you to moan loudly, his other hand which was holding your waist leaves and travels to your clit, stimulating both at the same time.

You wriggle in his grip at the sensation, “Be still, you'll fall.” he growls lowly into your ear causing you to halt your movements, he let's go of your clit and his hand travels up to grope your breasts, giving them a squeeze as his fastens the pace of his fingers buried in your cunt.

“F-fuck a-aemond!” he pinches your breast meanly, you can feel yourself rapidly reaching your peak, the coil in your core tightening at an immense rate before finally snapping.

You let out a loud moan into the skies, falling limp against Aemond to which he chuckles meanly at, he draws his fingers out before bring it up to his lips and licking them clean, causing you to blush at the sight.

He let's out a contented hum at the taste while you breathe heavily, tired and recovering from the bliss of your peak.

“Oh don't tell me you're tired now, you have another dragon to ride.” he whispers in your ear, you were confused at first, not understanding what he meant.

It was only when he landed vhagar and dragged you to the keep to your shared chambers had you realised what he meant.

He wanted you to ride him.

And ride him you did, for hours, overstimulating both him and yourself.

You fell limply on the bed, exhausted from the events of the day, aemond propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you before kissing your forehead.

Riding two dragons in a day is exhausting, you figured.

——————

[thefemmeeros]

gift-wrapped for them

MEN AND MINORS DNI

summary: it’s your butch’s best friend’s birthday… and you’re their present. or— you get shared and fucked by two butch cocks and really, really enjoy it.

cw throat fucking, t1t fucking, some spanking, some demeaning-ing. calling butch daddy. calling butch sir.

hope you pervs love it and let me know what else you want me to write, missed u all a lot

///—//—//—//—///

the laundry fresh smell of these sheets is familiar. you nestle into them, wanting to reach out and grab your bolster — but you quickly feel the resistance of some silky fabric. your hands are bound in front of you.

“look at that. the princess is awake.”

your head hurts. the last thing you remember is saying goodbye at your butch, charlie’s best friend’s blowout birthday party last night. you’d given the birthday butch, jack, a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. she’d responded with a wink, just as charlie elatedly exclaimed a promise that she’d just love her gift, which jack would receive soon. you knocked out pretty quickly once you got home— you were a notorious lightweight.

which explains the trouble you have now opening your eyes, your hazy mind characteristic of one of your hangovers.

“charlie honey?” you slur, forcing your eyelids apart. you’re sure this is one of their kinky little games, something they’re wont to do and something you often gladly partake in. “i’m stuck,” you whine, sleepy but willing to play along.

the lights in your bedroom are dim. it’s still dark out. and the sight before you leaves breathless and afraid.

two figures stand before you, shirtless, hard packing in their boxers.

“happy birthday, jackie-boy,” says your butch, folding their arms over their chest.

“charlie?” you say with more urgency now, straining against your restraints—you see now that it’s a red, silk ribbon, tied into a bow. “charlie, what’s happening?”

you ignore the heat pooling between your legs at the duo’s ravenous stares as you wiggle on the bed, raising yourself to a kneel on the mattress.

flashing through your mind like a twisted, horny supercut are all the conversations you’ve had with charlie about your desire to be passed around, their enthusiastic reciprocity, your affection for their best friend—the pieces are all there, but is what you think is about to be done to you actually going to be done?

charlie casts you a meaningful look, their gaze softening, but in the subtlest of ways only you can see. they’re so handsome, baring their top surgery scars as they bend down to get on your level, eyes brown pools of ruthless power that, in an instant, tell you how badly they want to hurt you, break you. and it makes you so fucking wet.

“you remember your safe word, princess?” they whisper low, stroking your hair out of your face. your bit lip and sparking eyes and shaky breath give away the game—you’re not afraid, you’re dying for this. charlie sees that. charlie sees your deviance, sees past the white lace and bashful smiles, and draws out the wild woman. charlie asks you to take because they give you faith they’ll keep giving.

being shared, it’s one of your most dirty, secret fantasies—one you’ve never gotten to live out. in taking the control from you, in tying you up like a gift-wrapped femme for their buddy in your unconscious state, they’re telling you, with so much tenderness, there’s no amount of shame too great, no wall you could build too robust to keep them from making you feel good.

you nod, whisper, “i remember.”

you wonder if there’s still traces of alcohol in your breath, if your eye makeup is still intact or smeared already, if your defenceless, disheveled state is turning them on even more.

charlie kisses you, soft and sweet, and you sigh. “this is the last nice thing i’ll say to you tonight, princess. i know you’re gonna be wonderful. i won’t push you past what you can take, and we’ll stop whenever you need to. if you need to safe out and your mouth is stuffed—“

you clench around nothing. oh god.

“—you tap either of us three times. got it?”

you murmur your okay, baby and quickly regret it when they grab your chin, pinch your cheeks with a warning glare. “that’s not what you call me, is it babygirl?”

“no, Daddy. i got it, Daddy. three taps, Daddy,” you make out through their unyielding grasp. they nod, satisfied.

you want them to use you so bad. you want them to get to it already. you don’t need the song and dance. your eyes flick to jack, who’s staring blatantly at your breasts, palming what appears to be an 8-incher straining in her grey boxers.

charlie and jack have always have been the best of friends long before your relationship with charlie began. you knew they had a fling way back in the day, a b-girl for b-girl test that led to them both realising they were stone—but you’d never guess they’d want to share a girl. you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it though. they were both big, immense hunks of butches, your type to a tee— charlie with their broad shoulders, jack with those soft thighs and wide midsection, a wall blotting out the light.

“i’m still your Daddy, but tonight, jackie is your Sir. nod if you understand.”

you nod, your gut burning, your skin tingling.

“we’re going to use your holes to get ourselves off, how we want. however we want.” the emphasis makes you shudder. “you come when i say you can. you speak only when spoken to. and your tears won’t make us stop.”

are you doing a good enough job looking scared? you don’t think you are. you’re having to fight a tawdry smile and a drawled out “promise?” that’s dancing on the tip of your tongue.

then charlie says the words you didn’t even know you needed to hear, but the moment they say them, you feel the last cog click into place, a tether that grounds you to the certainty that you’re going to be okay. they grip your chin, and they say to you, “i’m sharing you. i’m in charge here. jack is fucking you because i said she can. because i own your pussy. i own this pussy.” they grab your warm, wet sex through your barely-there sleep shorts for good measure.

you knew, but the solid reminder that your Daddy is in control; now you’re safe and ready.

charlie draws back up to their full height. “c’mere jackie. come touch our fuckdoll.”

“say less,” murmurs the brown-skinned butch, a notorious player from whom sensuality emanates in dizzying, irresistible waves. she licks her lips as she caresses your cheek, before placing her thumb into your mouth.

you don’t even realise how eagerly you’re sucking till charlie tweaks your nipple and makes you gasp, releasing jack’s finger with a pop. “jesus,” jack murmurs, “you gonna suck our cocks like that? all desperate like that?”

“yes, Sir,” you moan around her thumb, charlie kneeling to your right and playing with your nipples through your tiny white singlet.

“i wanna see her tits,” jack turns to charlie, removing and replacing her thumb with her index and middle finger, coaxing herself deeper into your mouth. “wanna see them while she blows us.”

that she’s not paying attention to you is driving you mad. it’s so unspeakably disrespectful, and so rude, and so fucking hot you feel like you’re getting driven to the edge of something blissful and dangerous.

charlie pulls the thin cotton singlet down past your tits, ripping one of the straps with little effort so they wouldn’t have to untie you. they slap one, growling low before catching a nipple between their teeth and making you cry out, and jack’s fingers don’t let up, prepping your mouth for what’s to come.

“get on the floor. on your knees.”

“yes Daddy.”

they mercifully help you off the bed, the hangover and horniness and sleepiness making you weak in the knees, and settle you onto a pillow—tits hanging out, inner thighs wet with need.

standing, looming over you, leering at you, they stroke themselves through their boxers.

“you want these cocks?”

“yes, Sir! i want them so bad. Sir.” you cry out pathetically, your resolve weakening. both of them chuckle at you, and it’s mean and it’s sexy and the way charlie looks at you with so much love and so much reverence, all of it is pushing you, pushing you.

“open your slut mouth.”

you open.

you once told charlie how you find it hot when they pull their boxers down all the way until only the tip of their butch cock remains sheathed, before releasing all of it and letting it bounce free. they both do this now, teasing you with the sight of their members— charlie’s skin-coloured and curved just how you like it, jack’s jet black and perpendicular to the floor, imposing and maddening with ridges that make you drool.

and they’re both squirting dildos, you note with great pleasure.

“tongue out, princess,” charlie murmurs.

mouth open, tongue out, on your knees before these two butches as they jerk themselves off, you do not wonder if you are broken or wrong for wanting this. you do not feel shy or ashamed anymore. they take that from you, and you just want.

charlie’s cock brushes your cheek, taps on the tip of your tongue, but you’re smart enough not to close your mouth around it quite yet. jack’s joins, both their cocks prodding at your lips and tongue and cheek as your two tormentors breath deeply.

“jack first,” charlie orders. “suck.”

having drooled all over their cocks already, taking the first few inches of jack’s thickness is manageable. but when she moans and grips your hair, shoving you down deeper onto it, you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. jack is not like charlie—is not your Daddy, does not want to praise you, or be gentle. jack is exacting.

a perfect Sir.

you relax your throat and look up at her and she moves you up and down on her cock, huffing and groaning with each stroke. “i love fucking that cute little mouth,” she grinds out, “that teasing little mouth.”

she pulls you off her cock with a pop and you gasp in your breath, just in time for charlie’s cock to replace it. this familiar silicone, the memories wash over you and tighten your core more. charlie doesn’t grab your hair to start. no, they let you struggle to handle it with no hands to assist you. they watch you swirl your tongue over the tip and spit on it and stretch your lips around it till they feel you’ve done enough.

your reward is them holding your face and fucking your throat. “look at your Daddy,” they command breathlessly, locking eyes with you and trembling. “look at me while I come down that throat. fuck, watch me empty my fucking — load — goddamn—“

they thrust so deep your eyes roll back and you feel their warm cum on the back of your throat and somehow you swallow around their thick length, swallow them down so good.

“fuck, now i wanna blow my load in her whore mouth too.” jack chuckles. she’d been stroking herself as she watched them, fisting her cock. “but nah, i think i’ll cum in that tight pussy.”

“yes, please Sir,” you can’t help but say.

they don’t let you move, still looming over you with their huge cocks right by your lips.

“Sir,” charlie says simply, so you suck jack.

“now me,” charlie says, so you suck them.

back and forth they make you bounce between the cocks, till you’re panting, the sensation of two different cocks in your mouth overwhelming and the exercise so deeply demeaning. they’re chuckling at you, prodding your lips with their cocks, calling you a cockdrunk slut—and you can’t get enough.

when they’re satisfied, Daddy helps you up and lays you on the bed with your head hanging off one edge and your legs wide open.

when you see the thick black cock, you know it’s Sir who’s settled behind you. you figure she’ll use your throat, but as Daddy lines themself up against your pussy, you feel a cold splatter of lube on your chest.

“gonna fuck her tits?” Daddy asks, amused as they slide in. fuck, it’s like you really are a toy. they use your holes so casually. “good choice.”

you’re so wet and ready that with the added lube, Daddy slides in to the hilt easily, buries themself deep with a groan that vibrates through your being. “gotta stretch our doll’s pussy for jackie-boy,” Daddy says, grabbing your hips and slamming in hard and deep.

meanwhile, Sir’s squeezing and plucking at your nipples with one hand, stroking herself with the other. “gonna fuck these pretty tits now.”

you stare at the space between her legs as she squeezes your tits together and slides between them with a holy shit that’s hot, pinching and toying with your nipples as she thrusts. combined with the sensation of Daddy’s thrusts, you are slipping into a space where you really do believe you’re just a toy, you feel limp and helpless and fuzzy and gone, yet deeply present, each brush of Daddy’s cock on your g-spot making you scream, each rough pinch of your nipple and slide against your cleavage heightened.

“my turn, charlie. i wanna cum. i’m close. but i want it inside. i’ll come on her tits the next time.”

the next time, the next time.

“it’s your gift, jack,” Daddy shrugs, “she’s all stretched for you now.”

shuffling and rearranging. your Daddy lifts your head, and kisses your chin. “good girl,” they whisper, “you’re making Daddy look so good because they have such a well-behaved babygirl.”

pride is warm and sweet. Daddy’s shine is like the Sun’s radiance. you’re happy you’re so well-behaved today.

“on her knees,” commands Sir. “i wanna see how that ass shakes when i slap it.”

Daddy unties you and helps you onto all fours. then a thwak! as Sir spanks your right cheek and another when she spanks your left. you cry out, jerk forward but Daddy holds you there, their eyes trained on the arch of your back and the way your needy ass is sticking out, hungry for their buddy’s cock.

then they’re both slamming into you, Sir’s cock stretching you and Daddy’s cock nestled back into your throat. and each of Sir’s thrusts pushes you deeper onto Daddy’s cock. and each time you choke on Daddy, you squeeze around Sir.

“fuck, look at our girl,” jack moans, reaching forward and gripping a fistful of your hair. “so stuffed. the perfect fucking cockslut.”

with Sir’s expert thrusts and her guiding you on and off Daddy’s cock, your only job is to take their cocks, take them as best as you can. so you set yourself free, you fall off the edge, and you let go.

they let go in kind, slamming into you with newfound ferocity. then jack touches your clit and you’re two seconds from coming. you’re so close. you’re so fucking close.

“that’s right, baby,” Daddy says, because they know. they always know. “you can cum. cum around our cocks.”

“fuck, if she cums, i’m gonna—“

your elbows buckle but Daddy holds you and you scream, you scream around them, an orgasm ripping through every molecule in your body, exploding you till there’s nothing left.

then Sir is coming, emptying her warm load deep into your pussy, and Daddy’s coming too, hips jerking and shaking, and all three of you are a writhing, shaking mass of pleasure and electricity.

when they pull out, groaning and breathing hard, you’re empty and full all at once. you collapse onto your tummy, still trembling slightly, nerve-endings still firing uselessly.

“good job, princess,” murmurs your Daddy. “you did good.”

“but we’re not done with you yet.” Sir swats your ass playfully and grabs a handful.

you smile, and whisper, “promise?”

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first rays of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone.

It’s Rhysand.

The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced ease, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your power to continue surging through your bones and veins. Your power is like a current, charged with vitality, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening from the fond memory. And in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon surrendered its space to the rising sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You take note of the relaxation manifesting into the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that now settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful look settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed room, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well.

You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by an ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and soft light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You.

A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves quickly. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

[cinnamonest]

I do want to also continue my primary momcon storyline at one point, but with the recent delinquent/bully Ajax posts I am now contemplating modern small town au delinquent Ajax but instead of student/classmate it's momcon…

Poor single mom who is already judged and ostracized by the small town community for being a single mom who had her baby way too young, unmarried, and with a deadbeat at that, made so much worse by the fact that your precious baby boy is a notorious problem child, treated as a menace and threat to the entire town. Hearing people mutter about how that's what happens when some girl that can't keep her legs shut has a kid with no father, how the whole household is messed up in the head, how his lack of inhibition must be hereditary.

Everyone knows him, and by extension, everyone knows you. Who you are, what your marital status is, the fact that you’re the mother of the town menace. You were hoping to live quietly, avoiding negative judgement as much as possible, but unfortunately, that proves not doable when your son is constantly drawing attention to himself in the worst of ways.

You’re always profusely apologizing whenever you get called to the school, bowing your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you promise for the umpteenth time that you'll talk with him and that it won't happen again, unable to look the faculty in the eye, knowing from experience how much their disdainful, judgmental glares hurt. Knowing what they're thinking in their heads even if they don't say it out loud, what they probably say to each other once you leave. How it's your fault, how you have no control over your child.

Or that one line that still hurts you to think about, that time you overheard two other moms with kids on the playground mutter about how they do this or that with their children, or how they would never have a kid without a present father — or else they turn out like that kid…

You were told that once before to your face, back when he was little — that you needed to hurry up and find a step father for him, or else he'll become a bad kid — because he's a boy and everyone knows boys don't obey their mothers the way they do fathers, you know? Sure they love them and all, but once he gets older he's going to start seeing you as small and weak, socialized by other boys and culture into feeling superior to you, and everyone knows that turns into blatant disregard for your authority.

But it's because of him that you can't — you tried, but he always drove away every man you dated, always reacted very badly whenever you got a new boyfriend, being mean and hitting and kicking and setting up cruel pranks and making the man miserable until he told you he couldn't do it anymore and left you alone again. Eventually it gets to be too much for you to handle, and you resign yourself to give up for now, maybe try again when he’s older and mature enough to have a serious discussion on the matter.

Or maybe wait until he’s grown and moved out — if that ever happens, seeing as when you bring up the future, he insists that he’ll stay here and take care of you, says I could never go off somewhere and leave you here by yourself, Mama.

Regardless, you do try and work with him, get him to behave better, but you just can’t. It’s incredibly frustrating. Everything you say goes in one ear, out the other (maybe those people had a point when they said he wouldn't respect your authority). You fuss at him as you wrap the little band-aids all over each of his fingers where they’re scraped up from the fight of the day, but he just smiles, seems to not really be paying any attention, just happy to have your attention and see you worrying over him.

He always dismisses you with ease, promising you he’ll do better and won’t beat anyone up again, but you can very easily tell he doesn’t really mean it at all. And his actions follow suit — you often get a phone call from the school the very next day.

He doesn't really have friends anyway, your attempts to get him to socialize with other kids always ended up leading to fights instead. But that's okay, he doesn't need friends, he says, he has his Mama.

You do feel like it's your fault. Why did he become so violent? Surely you did something wrong. But at the same time, you don't feel like you did anything bad to him, because if nothing else, Ajax is ferociously defensive of you.

You lose count of how many times, after being called in about yet another fight, your son proudly tells you he was defending your honor — yes, he may have cracked that boy's skull open against the brick wall of the building, but he only did it because that bastard had the nerve to call his Mama a whore, so he deserved to have his face disfigured like that. Yes, he may have put three kids in the hospital, but only because they were doing the thing teen boys do where they joke about fucking someone's mom, and he couldn't stand for that, he had to teach them a lesson so they think twice before doing that again. And it's true that one time he did stab someone, he'll confess to that, but it was because that guy spread rumors that his Mama was hooking to make money, and he couldn't stand for that.

This becomes a very well-known thing with him, which creates a bit of a conundrum — on one hand, most people learn to shut up about you if there's even a possibility he's within earshot. However, some of the other rowdy, bully-type boys know that talking about Mama is like his berserk-button, a guaranteed way to get a reaction out of him, so they go out of their way to set him off, believing they can just run away before he can get to them. Usually they stop once they get proven wrong about being able to run and get beaten up badly enough, but there's always some kid dumb enough to try, thus the violence is endless.

Not to mention those cases are worse. Normal fights get a visit to the nurse, but if the motive involves you, he's far more violent. The thankfully few, but nonetheless increasing number of times you had to pick him up from jail were almost all related to those fights in particular, that got so out of hand they warranted a teacher or bystander calling for help. Not to mention he's not at all hesitant to hunt offenders down in town to hurt them, away from the school authorities (who are always keeping an eye on him), so he'll get more punches in before a townsperson notices and calls for help.

And much like the school faculty, the law enforcement always gives you these awful, hurtful looks of disdain, a condescending tone in their voices when they ask if you're here to get your kid again and sighing when you nod your head. A few have the nerve to tell you that you really need to do something or else it's only a matter of time before he does something you can't just bail him out of.

And he's always so cheerful when you do come get him. A bit sheepish, apologizes for the inconvenience of you having to drive out here to come get him (not for the act that got him put there in the first place), but otherwise very smiley and touchy and grateful.

Very, very touchy. He's always been like that. He was a cuddly kid, always lifting his arms up in a gesture to be picked up, always clinging to your sleeves. He never went through that phase most boys go through, where they think they're too old to be spending time with their Mom or get embarrassed by affection and push her away or distance themselves from her. You were always grateful for that, it was heartwarming that he always seemed to be proud of you and happy to be seen with you.

But he does get very, very touchy. Always wrapping his arms around you. When you come to school events, visiting distant relatives (who all dislike him, but stopped bringing it up when you got defensive), even when you go grocery shopping (he always comes along, insistent on helping you), he's always coming up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and keeping his arms looped around you from behind. And sure, he's never stopped kissing you on the mouth and not your forehead or something, but that's normal for some families, right? And it's only for a second, so it's not weird.

People do notice. You see the furrowed eyebrows and wrinkles noses and perplexed expressions, people leaning over to whisper something in another’s ear.

But at the same time, how could you ever bring something like that up? How could you possibly be mad at him for showing you affection? It's not as if you don't like it, it's just somewhat inappropriate in public… but it would surely hurt his feelings if you told him not to, so you say nothing.

You’re so, so grateful for him. He’s always there for you, always so loving, and has never even complained about having to go without a lot of things other people have.

And because he sees you struggling so much financially, by the time he’s a teenager he gets that itch where he feels like he has to prove himself, because how can he just sit back and let his Mama provide for everything, when he’s technically The Man of the household?

So soon enough he’s telling you — rather, insisting, no matter what you say — that he wants to help you pay for expenses.

It’s not consistently timed, but every now and then, he sometimes comes home to pull wads of cash out of his pockets, handed over to you with a sweet smile… and where did he get that money? Don’t worry about it, is all he’ll willingly say.

You know there’s no way anyone in this small little town would willingly hire him, since everyone knows who he is, and he’s coming back around the same time as he normally would… except sometimes he goes out in the evenings every now and then for just a few hours, when he never did that before, and takes his bag with him for some reason, and you know now that you think about it you recall the local news talking about a string of break-in thefts and increase in drug usage and — no, no, you know what? You decide to not think about it. Your mind has had as much as you can handle and you decide to tell yourself your beloved baby boy has some lucrative job he just never talks about for some reason or another. If you can convince yourself of that, well, that’s the first step to blissful ignorance, so you just cup his face in your hands and kiss his sweet face and tell him you’re so thankful and how much you love him and feel your heart melt when he looks so happy and proud of himself for you saying so.

But because he’s at least starting to show some self-awareness, understanding money issues and such, you figure this is a good time to get him invested in his own future.

You’re also a little worried about said future, given that the prospects for partnership in such a rural place are already sparse. Since everyone knows him, people guard their daughters and watch him like a hawk, tell them to stay the hell away from that boy, and they do listen, keep their distance. This troubles you, you bring it up to him — if you get a bad reputation, you’ll scare all the girls away! — and for once, he actually has some reaction.

But you’re not scared of me, are you?

Of course, you coo and fuss and say of course not — he's your baby, even if he hurts others, he's always so soft and sweet to you — and that seems to make him content, and anything you say about future prospects thereafter goes ignored.

Well, he ignores anything about prospects for him, at least. It's a different story when it comes to you.

Because the subject does come up once again. If you can just get a wealthy man, you say one day, you can easily make life so much easier for the both of you. You could get him a good education without debt, really set him up to have a bright future.

But the moment you mention it, his expression contorts with some amalgamation of shock, disgust, outrage, concern. He shakes his head and grabs you so firmly by your shoulders and says you can't be serious.

He'll be fine without college. No other man is going to appreciate you like he does. Love you like he does. No way can he let some guy just come in and invade the space you two have always shared. It would feel wrong, it would feel so foreign to him to have someone else living here when it's always been just you two. Besides, so many men would just use you, hurt you, leave you, he doesn't want to see you get hurt — and he'd never hurt you.

He's insistent, actually, on not going off to study. He wants to stay home, he says. He can't just leave you all alone! You'll be so lonely and you might replace him with another man— ah, you might get a boyfriend, and he couldn't be there to keep the guy in line.

And if some other man hurt you— well, he would do something really really bad, something that would get him locked up for a long time.

You don't want that, do you?

Because then, if some guy dumps you — which would inevitably happen, that's just how guys are, they'd use you and leave once they got bored or decided to replace you.

Like Dad, he says.

And sure enough, you tense up — he knows exactly what to say to make his words sting, he knows how much it hurts you, knows it's digging up pain you've tried to bury. You want to think he wouldn't do that on purpose. He's just distressed and the words came out without thinking.

But that pain is the hook to get you to listen. Because, he says, then if he goes away too, you'll be all alone without him. You'll have no one, and everyone in town already judges you, how would you ever survive without him? You need him, don't you? Could you really deal with the guilt of knowing it's your fault he would be locked up?

You try to reason with him, and his grip on your shoulders grows so tight it hurts.

For the first time, you feel a little scared of him, as he looks down at you — when did your baby boy get so much taller than you? — with a dark look in his eyes.

You find yourself shrinking back. Stammering out a soft little okay, nodding your head, saying you understand. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

And with that, he's immediately back to normal, smiley and happy and relieved you understand. He just doesn't want you to get hurt, is all. Because he loves you. You know that, right?

As long as you stay with him and him alone, he won't have any reason to really hurt someone. So, you know, his future hinges on your decisions, because he just can't help himself when it comes to defending you.

But that’s unlikely to happen on its own (everyone avoids you because of him and all), which is why you'd have to deliberately choose to pursue another man, which would make what happens your fault. He'll chase off any guys that get too close on their own.

Just don't put him in a position where he's forced to kill someone, and everything will be fine. You'll always have him, after all.